Because it was an exceptionally fine and bright summer day at the Burrow, Harry was blinded and saw almost nothing when he dived through the door into the Weasleys’ kitchen. He was sweaty and thirsty from playing Quidditch, and made eagerly for the tap to have a drink of water. He was almost halfway through the dusky room when he realized that Mrs Weasley was seated at the kitchen table with a guest. Harry froze for a moment, then took an involuntary step forward toward the guest who rose to stand. He probably saw Harry more distinctly than Harry saw him, but the characteristic long hair and hook-nosed profile of the guest was unmistakable. Harry was surprised by the strong feelings that surged up in him at the sight of the wizard, and was at a loss for a moment of interpreting them, because there was a great dose of ambivalence included, but after only a fraction of a second all feelings summed up and resulted in Harry’s face breaking up in one big smile and an enthusiastic greeting of Professor Snape.

“Charming, Mr Potter, charming,” Snape responded sarcastically, but could not stop a small smile from appearing at the corner of his lips.

“Severus is back from his holidays, Harry. He’s here about my book,” explained Mrs Weasley. “It’s ready for the press next week, but apparently there are still a few references to check.”

“And since it was you who led me to accept the role of proof-reader, and because the time is tight, I thought it only fair to claim your assistance, Mr Potter,” said Snape silkily.

Last year, which had been his final and seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry had reflected on the inequality between Muggle-born children and children from magical families concerning the knowledge about the magical world in a wide range of matters – like the vital importance of not taking pity on monsters or demons, for example, which young wizards and witches normally were taught at an early age. Harry had repeatedly experienced the draw-backs from his lack of basic education in magical sujects, and had therefore suggested to Mrs Weasley that she write a book which was to be an instruction for young Muggle-born magical children and their families to understand the magical world.  

Mrs Weasley needed a distraction from mourning her son, Fred, who had died a little more than a year ago in the battle against Lord Voldemort, and had dedicated herself to the task with something close to mania. Professor Snape, headmaster of Hogwarts, was the natural choice of sponsor for the book. And because he had on several occasions been condescending towards Harry because of his occasional blanks in education, Harry had, a bit out of spite, suggested to Mrs Weasley and her editors that Snape be asked to check references and make sure that all subjects were correctly addressed.

The rest of the Weasley Quidditch team were entering the kitchen at this point and more greetings travelled through the air and cups of water were handed out.

“I don’t know where to put you two to be able to work in peace,” Mrs Weasley complained to Snape. “I always wrote when the children were at school. Right now, everyone seem to be at home, even Charlie and Percy.”

“I was going to suggest that Mr Potter make the sacrifice and accompany me to my house,” said Snape. “We’ll work quicker if he’s not subjected to constant distractions.” Snape was glancing at Ginny who had sneaked up by Harry’s side. Ginny tossed her head and replied:

“Oh, he won’t mind in the least. I’ve had so much trouble keeping him away from his books this summer. I might just as well let him have his fill for a day or two.”

Ginny had been sick and tired of school last year, but passed her NEWT exams with good enough grades all the same. She had decided not to enter higher education in the fall, however, but had been recruited by a London-based Quidditch team and was to play in the higher league. On the side, she planned to work in her brother’s joke shop in Diagon Alley. Harry, on the other hand, had found himself drawn to both theoretical and practical studies after Voldemort’s demise, with a thirst to learn and to prove himself, and had scored high on all his NEWT exams.

“So you see this as a reward, do you Mr Potter? That wasn’t my intention at all. I’ll have to come up with something else then to punish you for getting me involved in this kind of mundane project,” drawled Snape.

Harry only grinned back. He couldn’t say why he felt so elated by Snape’s visit. Maybe he had not had faith in Snape’s promise at the end of term that they were bound to meet again. Their truce was too brittle, too new-found, after a year of antagonism, of misunderstandings and of adventures that had on many occasions led one of them to actually save the other’s life, or reputation, and the other way around.

No, Harry was not sorry to go away and work with Snape at all. He had spent the entire summer with the Weasley family, Ginny being his girlfriend since the end of the war and very much in charge of planning amusements for them both. In the beginning of summer, they had visited the south of France in a large party together with Bill Weasley’s wife’s family. Harry had enjoyed himself, but the activities had been mainly social, or physical, with swimming, sunbathing, eating and dancing. Only when they returned to the Burrow a couple of weeks ago had he been able to pick up the work on some projects of his that were left unfinished from last year.

“Ron, do you think we should show Professor Snape our Swallowscope before we go? Do you have time?” Harry glanced at Snape.

“If he’s interested…” Ron said.

“Why not?” said Snape. ”You’ve made progress with your incantation on inanimate things, then?” he added to Harry.

“I have. The paper’s nearly finished. I was going to send it to you. And I thought it was time to actually test the implications for Swallowscopes that you suggested last term.”

A Swallowscope was a magical item, a sort of box constructed from diverse magical materials and intricately imbibed with charms and spells. It was used in St Mungo’s magical hospital to contain pain and other bodily adverse reactions from patients that were not treatable by potions.

“Mr Weasley got hold of a discarded one, and Ron and I have figured out how it works, mended it, and now I’ve started to ameliorate it with Ancient Magic,” Harry explained enthusiastically while leading Snape over to a shed where Mr Weasley kept a myriad of things, mostly modified Muggle artifacts.

Ron and Harry took turns to explain their work to Snape. Ron seemed to have inherited Mr Weasley’s intuition for mending broken items and working out the magical mechanics behind various functions whereas Harry stood for the new ideas and the inventions. The aim was to make the Swallowscope more sensitive of human emotions and thus improve its alleviating effects on adverse bodily reactions. Snape hummed and nodded and seemed quite interested.

“I need to try out an alternative principle to see if it’s more effective - it’s quite difficult to get it all right,” said Harry.

“It’ll need to be tested in authentic situations at St Mungo’s too, later,” Snape pointed out.

Ron and Harry started to discuss various details that were still to be solved, but Harry soon noticed that Snape grew impatient.

“I guess we need to be going,” he interrupted Ron and glanced interrogatively at Snape who nodded.

*

Harry had visited Snape’s house at Spinner's End once before, almost exactly a year ago. This time he was in a better position to observe the details of the neighbourhood than last time, because he was less distraught and more alert. The streets made the same ruff and desolate impression that he remembered from last year, however. Harry wondered why Snape kept living in his childhood home despite not having many happy memories from the years with his family, as far as Harry understood.

A soon as they entered Snape’s small living-room, Snape started to arrange the set-up for their work. He had a list of references that needed to be checked, and he picked out books from his library and arranged them in piles by subject.

“At a pinch, we can always consult Hogwart’s library, but this should suffice – it’s not as if it’s advanced science all the same. Let’s start from each end of the list and meet at the middle. But first…” Snape turned around and fetched something from a travel trunk in a corner. “Here you are. A late birthday present,” he said, handing a rectangular package that looked like a wrapped-up book unceremoniously over to Harry.

Harry received it dumbfounded, and to his horror suddenly felt his eyes sting and his throat clump. Taken by surprise once again by his feelings, he shook his head inwardly to himself – decidedly he had trouble with handling kindness, especially from a quarter where he had learnt to expect none. He blinked ferociously and had to clear his throat several times before he managed to croak a ‘thank you’.

“Well, open it,” Snape said a bit impatiently. “And no need to be overwhelmed, Mr Potter. I did get a present from you too, didn’t I?” Harry frowned as he sat down in one of Snape’s armchairs and started to tug at the wrapping.

“Oh…” he said as it dawned on him, “you mean the protecting incantation that I wrote to you?”

Snape nodded.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Harry muttered.

“It coincided,” said Snape.

“July 10th?” Harry ventured, committing the date to memory.

“Hmm,” Snape confirmed. “I’m much obliged to you, especially for the parsel phonetics,” he went on.

“We can try it out if you want. I can read the curse and you can test the effect of the incantation,” Harry proposed. He was speaking of a curse that only affected those who bore the dark mark and the effect of which was to strangle the person in question. It was an old curse by Voldemort, created to control his Death Eaters. It had been rediscovered last year and used by criminals on an attack on Snape. Both Snape and Harry were subject to serious threats by criminal gangs who fought each other in the void after Voldemort, supported by remaining Death Eaters who particularly resented the betrayal of Severus Snape, former Death Eater and of Harry, the victor over Voldemort. Thanks to Harry’s counter-acting incantation Snape would be able to defend himself to that particular curse at least. The parsel magic with its hissing, snake-like, syllables was central to its strength.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Harry exclaimed. He had opened his present and discovered an old leatherback with golden engravings. “It’s about Ancient magic, too!” he continued enthusiastically. “It’s a book that not even Dumbledore possessed!” Harry had plunged into studies of Ancient magic last year and borrowed several books from the late headmaster’s library. “And it’s my own, I get to keep it,” Harry said greedily, but as he did, he glanced uncertainly at Snape as if he was not entirely sure.

“Of course!” Snape snorted. ”That’s the definition of a present. Didn’t you… ?” Snape interrupted himself with a frown, and Harry deduced that Snape thought it was odd behaviour of Harry to doubt his right to keep the book. He cursed his years with the Dursleys and felt even more embarrassed. He had managed better when celebrating his nineteenth birthday with the Weasleys a few days ago, but it was easier to expect kindness from them, and they only gave small everyday gifts which Harry loved to receive, but would be less liable to be overwhelmed by. “I found the book in Reykavik, on Iceland,” Snape added, choosing not to comment on Harry’s obvious inexperience with presents. “It’s written in Middle English as you can see, translated from an Old English version which in turn stems from Old Norse.” Harry grinned happily.

”Thank you!” he said again, making sure his voice was clear and firm this time.

They started to work efficiently, checking item after item on the list, occasionally making small changes to an expression in Mrs Weasley’s original text. While working, Snape switched to using Harry’s first name quite naturally and amicably, but as soon as he grew more conscious of who he was addressing, he reverted to using ‘Mr Potter’. It was confusing, thought Harry, but he knew it had to do with the past, with Snape’s difficult relationship with his father at school, accentuated – he knew that now – by Snape’s deep love for Lily, Harry’s mother. Snape’s feelings for Harry must be at least as ambivalent, if not more so, as Harry’s own. It was a miracle that they had reached this far from the almost hatred that had subsided between them during so many years. But the sudden revelation of Snape’s loyalty to Lily and to Dumbledore, of his amazing deed in double crossing Voldemort and of his immense sacrifice in doing so, had changed Harry’s opinion of him radically. Which wasn’t to say that the man wasn’t as difficult as a manticore to handle sometimes, Harry thought to himself when Snape grumbled something with ‘Mr Potter’ again. Apparently he wanted to know if Harry needed to eat. Harry had been hungry for quite some time, having played Quidditch for several hours that morning, but since he did not want to interrupt their work, he had said nothing.

The sight of him wolfing down the sandwiches that Snape offered made it obvious, however, and Snape made vague excuses.

“I never cook while I’m here – I take my meals at Hogwarts. Do you want to return to the Burrow for the evening to have a cooked meal?” Harry chuckled a little. After all, he used to live for weeks on only sandwiches at the Dursleys.

“Oh, I’ll survive,” he said lightly. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Already early in the evening, however, Harry started to feel his eyes stinging and his head getting heavier. He struggled on for a while, but at last he was forced to admit:

“I’m sorry, Professor, I need to get some sleep. I was out with Ginny last night – she enjoys dancing in the clubs in London. I still got up early this morning to have some reading done, but the night out is catching up with me and…”

“Miss Ginny has the appetite for life equal to that of a swarm of grasshoppers,” Snape said drily. Harry grinned apologetically. He would do anything for Ginny but it was hard sometimes to comply with her demands.

“If I can get a few hours sleep, I’ll be quite restored. I’ll wake up early and continue the work – I’ve no problems at all getting up in the mornings,” he assured Snape.

“Hmph… I’ll go on for a couple of hours. More of a night worker, myself,” Snape muttered but showed Harry upstairs to a small spare bedroom. Last time that Harry had spent the night in Snape’s house he had slept on a mattress on the floor in the living-room because he had been assailed at the time by violent nightmares, which had proven not to be nightmares at all, but a spectre trying to kill him from the other side of the grave.

Harry went to sleep fast and deep. He couldn’t say what woke him up. Only a faint light of dawn filtered through the curtains, but Harry was suddenly alert, cast the cover aside and walked slowly to the window. Without knowing why, he positioned himself close to the wall and lifted a rim of the curtain carefully to peer outside. There, on the other side of the street, opposite the entrance to Snape’s house, he saw a figure that made his blood freeze.

The person Harry had fastened his eyes on outside Snape’s house was a small, slender-limbed witch with long blond hair who looked almost like a child. But Harry knew that this witch, Henna Hatch, was a Metamorphmagus with a male counterpart whose androgynous figure would fire Avada Kedavras without hesitation. Both Snape and Harry himself had been very close to falling victims to her curses during a battle that took place at Hogwarts at the end of last term against the gang she belonged to, the Shiftings, an organization associated with the old Death Eaters but also comprising much younger criminal elements.

A square-shouldered strong-looking wizard was crouching at her side, wand drawn. Would that be her father, Hades Hatch? Harry wondered and let go of the curtain slowly. He forced himself to move carefully while in reality he wanted to tumble down the stairs to find Snape, but he did not want them to detect someone was awake in the house. It might give Snape and him crucial time to prepare themselves, because the house was obviously going to be under attack very soon.

For moving so slowly, Harry panted very hard when reaching the bottom floor. To his relief he spotted Snape asleep in the armchair in front of the extinct fire – apparently Snape had never made it to bed last night. Harry heard a faint noise from the entrance door, froze and turned his head. Nothing happened at first, but then his eyes widened as a purple coloured mist began seeping in under the door.

Panicking, Harry darted over to Snape and started to shake him by the shoulder. Snape woke quickly and quietly, riveting his black eyes on Harry, sitting up and gripping his wand that had been lying only inches from his fingers.

“They’re here!” Harry whispered in a gasp, clutching Snape’s arm. “Henna Hatch is outside. They’ve spelled a gas to enter the house. Look!”

 “Shit!” Snape exclaimed in a low voice. Harry had time to reflect that the professor normally would use wizard curse words, but maybe it was the effect of being at his Muggle home. “Upstairs! Get upstairs!” croaked Snape, putting a fold of his long sleeve over his mouth, thrusting the blanket he had been sleeping under for Harry to cover his airways.

Harry scrambled back up the stairs, less quiet this time. Snape followed him, casting a spell that seemed to seal the well between the floors. The gas would not easily reach upstairs, but on the other hand they were trapped, Harry thought.

“The house is well protected, they won’t be able to enter,” said Snape.

“No, I think they expect the toxic effects of the gas to make you come out to them,” Harry responded.

Snape fumbled with a pocket watch of his, with many small pinions in an intricate pattern.

“Security watch,” he explained. “I’m alerting the Aurors. Mrs Steadfast forced this upon me before I left for Iceland.”

“Wise witch,” muttered Harry. Mrs Steadfast was the head of the Aurors under Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic. Mrs Steadfast wanted both Snape and Harry to have personal protection in the form of an Auror body-guard, but both Harry and Snape had declined because of integrity reasons. “What do we do now?”

Snape had entered the room where Harry had been sleeping and positioned himself beside the window just as Harry had done when waking up. He was observing the street below.

“They’re about seven wizards and witches,” said Snape. Harry noticed that the hand that let go of the curtain trembled the least little bit.

“Is that Hades Hatch who is at Henna’s side?” Harry asked. Last year during the battle with the Shiftings when they duelled, Henna Hatch had accused Harry of killing her half-brother – an accusation which was true, because her half-brother, Machivato, had attacked Ginny and Harry on a vacation to Paris, and Harry had had no choice but to kill him. It had been a most agonising experience, for both Harry and Ginny. Henna Hatch had also revealed that her father, Hades Hatch, held a grudge against Snape because of something that Snape had done long ago. Snape had been reticent on this matter, barely recognizing that he knew a Mr Hatch at all. It showed again now since Snape clamped his jaws and only grunted indistinctly.

“Is it him?” Harry insisted.

“I think so, I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen,” Snape responded aggressively.

“Thirteen?” Harry exclaimed incredulous. What could Snape possibly have done to Hades Hatch as barely a teenager that made him hold a grudge for twenty five years?

“It feels ridiculous to crouch inside! Should we go out and fight them?” Snape asked briskly, suddenly energetic.

“Do you mean…?” Harry hesitated, torn between cautiousness and common sense on the one hand that made him see that waiting for the Aurors was the most sensible alternative, and temptation of going into battle together with Snape on the other hand, using the Spiral Knights’ Battle Move that he had learnt to master last year. “Er… why not?” Harry’s worried face suddenly broke up in a broad mischievous smile.

“They don’t know you’re in here with me and they counted on having me alone, I think,” Snape said. “We did it a few months ago – we can hold them at bay for a reasonable amount of time before the Aurors arrive.”

“How do we get out?” Harry wanted to know. “And what about your Muggle neighbours? They won’t know what hit them!?”

“It’s so early no one’s out. Anyway, I suspect some of my neighbours have been bribed to spy on me. How else did the Shiftings know I had returned from abroad? I’m sure there was no surveillance when I got back two days ago, nor yesterday when we arrived together,” said Snape. “But I’ll draw disillusionment spells around us when battling – I guess the Hatches might already have done so. None of us want to deal with the Ministry for troubling the Muggles.”

Harry and Snape got out on the roof from an attic window and mounted back-to-back in a spiral in the air. The combat technique which utilized both Apparition and air gliding elements, made the two wizards’ magic dock tightly and made the swirling movement up and down in the air go almost by itself, letting the combatants direct all their energy at cursing their enemies. Harry who had thought that all Aurors mastered this technique, had been surprised to learn last year that it was considered extremely difficult and that the fact that Snape and he performed it to perfection was because their magic was so well balanced. It was mere chance that Snape had taught Harry, because they had not exactly been friends at the time.

On the street beneath them, they heard cries of dismay and curses.

“It’s them!” Henna cried to her father. 

Hades and Henna Hatch had brooms at hand and started to circle Snape and Harry, putting up a fight with fierce determination. The speed attained on broomsticks could never compare with the Spiral Knights Move, however.

The fight did not last long, because from both ends of the street Aurors approached, ambushing the Shiftings left on the ground.

“Severus, you snake!” Hades Hatch roared and fired an Avada Kedavra at Snape and Harry that missed.

After that, Hades Hatch and his daughter turned and fled, being outnumbered. Four Aurors took after them, but Harry doubted they would catch up. Snape and Harry landed, the fight too short to have really satisfied their appetite for battling, much of their charged up magic still rippling through their bodies.

Soundy, the chief Auror when Mrs Steadfast was on holiday, eyed them from top to toe and muttered:

“Nice of you to let us help out, Professor – not that you needed it.”

“I would have needed your help if Mr Potter had not come to work with me, if he had not stayed the night, and happened to be an early riser,” said Snape, only the slightest bit out of breath. “But the house is full of poison – it needs to be decontaminated. I’m curious to know what kind of substance they were using to smoke me out. That was cunning – I had not protected myself against that particular kind of attack.”

“I’ll put my men on the task. Meanwhile, come with me to Headquarters and tell me what you know,” said Soundy.

They knew preciously little, since everything had happened so fast.

“What are they after, anyway?” asked Soundy, frustrated. “Revenge?”

“Don’t forget that we took their book,” said Snape. “The one with Voldemort’s instructions how to make him come back a second time.” Harry shuddered.

“Well, they have no chance,” he said in a low voice. “All the horcruxes are destroyed. And they need to find that son of Voldemort first, if he exists, to make it happen. Surely they no longer think it’s you or me?” Harry was speaking to Snape who had suffered wild speculations in the press last year, particularly by Rita Skeeter, as to his descent, and so had Harry. Snape shook his head, but it was Soundy who spoke:

“I think those crazy ideas about your shocking parentage to Voldemort belonged mainly to our former Auror colleague who betrayed us, your Dark Arts teacher last year, Bellamy Burgess. He wasn’t part of the attack this morning. Are you sure that Henna and Hades Hatch believe in this outrageous theory? My guess is that they’re only after revenge, pure and simple. It’d help if you could tell us a bit more of your previous interactions with Mr Hatch, Professor.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t know what that’s about,” said Snape, looking Soundy steadily in the eyes, practicing, Harry knew it, Occlumency to conceal his real thoughts and feelings. Harry always got frustrated when Snape displayed his wax-like face of Occlumency – it reminded him of his cold, inscrutable and unreachable teacher from the years before. He much preferred the present Snape who, even if he could flare up and get mad sometimes, was more spontaneous and alive than before. “They might only resent the fact that I made my contribution to the fall of the Dark Lord,” Snape added.

“They might,” Soundy confirmed conciliatory, letting Snape off the hook far too easily in Harry’s opinion. “Well, we know what we have to do,” Soundy continued. “First, we need to find those Shiftings and arrest them. Got four prisoners today - that’s a start. Second, we need to find out if the son of Voldemort exists, and third, we need to locate the last Pleasure Temple of Voldemort and release the victims from the place, if they’re still alive. The last one’s actually our priority, but it’s complicated. We need to get our hands on the Secret keeper to get through the Fidelius charm that protects the place. He or she has eluded us for so long now, but we haven’t lost hope.”

There was a short pause during which Harry thought with horror on the cave that they knew existed, where Voldemort’s Death Eaters had kept and, as far as they knew, were still keeping prisoners, Muggles and Witches, to play with and torture. Soundy who had searched for the cave with his Aurors for more than a year seemed not to want to dwell on it longer because he turned to Harry and went on:

“Now, will I see you at the start of term next week at the Auror program, Mr Potter? Tell me, what’s the arrangement? Mrs Steady only mentioned it briefly before leaving for the US on her holiday.” Harry blushed a little as he got both excited and a bit embarrassed when he started explaining the arrangement he had made with Mrs Steadfast. He was not fond of special arrangements on his behalf as a rule, since he was adamant not to get special treatment only because of being the ‘Boy-who-lived’, but Mrs Steadfast had persuaded him this was not the case here.

“Well, I’ve been accepted to the healer program at St Mungo’s, and I have confirmed: I’ll start my training to become a healer, and that will be my priority. I made that very clear to Mrs Steadfast. But I will at the same time enter the program here with the Aurors, together with Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas from my class at Hogwarts and start the training. Mrs Steadfast will follow my progress and… Well, it’ll take longer of course than for the others, but I’ll try to catch up and do my best – and we’ll see…” Harry finished lamely.

“Double programs, no less! A worthy challenge for the Saviour of the Wizard World,” said Snape sarcastically. “The press will have a day reporting your success.” Harry riveted his eyes on Snape and snapped back:

“No, they won’t, because at St Mungo’s I’ll be Harry Evans and I’ll keep that part of my career as secret and as anonymous as possible. That was the argument which convinced me of doing this. Everyone expects me to become an Auror, so I will. I can’t get away from the attentions of the press, so I might just as well live up to their expectations. I’m thrilled about the training as well of course, and it’ll enable me to keep up with Ron and the others. Moreover, I’m already involved in all of this.” Harry made a sweeping movement with his hands as if to include all that they had been talking about previously.

“You don’t have to justify yourself, Mr Potter,” Soundy said. “I think it’s a superb arrangement. We’re happy to have you with the Aurors.”

“Harry Evans, hein?” Snape said in a milder tone of voice. “Yes, it might be a wise move with two careers after all. I sincerely hope that they’ll leave you in peace at St Mungo’s. I’m sorry I implied… some sort of arrogance on your part…” Harry clenched his jaws. Snape was often quick to judge Harry to his disadvantage. But at least he was apologising for it this time.

“You, too, do multiple tasks,” he pointed out to Snape. “Headmaster at Hogwarts, extra shifts at the Emergency at St Mungo’s, extra teaching on the Healer program… and on the Auror program. And on top of it collaborating with the Aurors to find the Pleasure Temple.”

Soundy raised his eye-brows as Harry enumerated Snape’s engagements.

“A fine raw model you’ve found there, Mr Potter,” he said drily.

Snape muttered something indistinctly.

“It’ll be hard work no doubt,” said Harry. “I’ll do my best.”

The few weeks left of the summer holidays passed uneventfully. Ginny had started to work part time at her brother’s joke shop in London, and Harry had a summer job at the Apothecary joint to St Mungo’s. His working tasks were simple and consisted mostly in preparing ingredients, but it enabled him to learn how an apothecary was organized. Despite the unpleasant interruption by the Hatches, Snape and he had managed to finish with Mrs Weasley’s book which was coming out in print just in time for the start of term at Hogwarts.

Ginny and Harry, Ron and Hermione had moved in at Grimmauld Place since all of them would work or study in London. Both Hermione and Harry felt that they had already abused of Ginny’s and Ron’s parents’ hospitality for the summer. Mr and Mrs Weasley did not see it like that of course. They never seemed to mind having their grown-up children and their boy-friends and girl-friends over at the Burrow.  

Living by themselves in a big house was new and exciting, but also demanded some coordination and co-operation between the four of them. Harry did not want to misemploy his house-elf, the old Kreacher, and had therefore agreed with his friends to share some house hold tasks between themselves. Harry would often cook, while the others had cleaning and shopping on their list. Kreacher, nowadays, was docile and devoted, but was very close to being offended by his master’s meddling with the household. Harry spoke to him mildly and artfully, but with respect, and managed to convince the traditional house-elf that this was simply the modern ways of wizards close to the millennium shift and that he must let them have their way.

Hermione was about to enter the program of magical law, but was already, before actually starting her studies, making herself a name in the newspapers. Other than the fact that she had helped out last year to defend Snape against various accusations from during the time he acted as double spy for Dumbledore and Voldemort, which had earned her some attention in the Daily Prophet, she was since the beginning of the summer engaged in a growing debate dealing with the field of Obliviate spells in the Magical world.

Hermione had Obliviated her own parents, who were Muggles, two years ago, before joining Harry in the search for the Horcruxes. It was done in all well-meaning to protect her parents from falling victims to Voldemort’s persecutions. Her parents had moved to Australia with no trace of a memory of having ever had a daughter. When the war was over, Hermione had naturally been keen to undo the Obliviate spells and have her parents back, but it had proven to be easier said than done.

Other than the questionable ethics in not letting people decide over their own memories and make their own choices in life, it had become apparent that Obliviate spells were sometimes associated with serious side effects. In the case of Hermione’s mother, it seemed to have enhanced symptoms of dementia that initially resembled Alzheimer’s disease, but which after an investigation at St Mungo’s had been found to be indeed due to the subjection to Obliviate. Alzheimer’s disease had increased in the Muggle population the last decades and the debate now was whether this might have been caused by the widespread use of Obliviate spells on Muggles who accidentally witnessed magic; spells which were performed by the officials of the Ministry of Magic itself, for the purpose of maintaining the Statue of Secrecy agreed upon in the magical world. Muggles were less tolerant to magic than wizards and witches, so the Obliviate spells normally used were so weak that nobody in the magical world had dreamed of the possibility of their impairing the health of the Muggles.

The debate had run high on the pages of the Daily Prophet all summer and continued with unflagging force at the beginning of the autumn. There were those, like Hermione, who rose the alarm and demanded a change of Ministry policy, and there were those on the other side who played down the significance of the data and pooh-poohed their opponents – why, obliviating Muggles was a practice going centuries back, there was no harm done and if there was, it was necessary anyway, because what was the alternative?

***

One evening a few weeks after the beginning of term, Ron, Hermione and Harry were in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, preparing tea for a visitor they knew was coming.

Ginny was not at home; she was out with her quidditch team after practice and had let them know that she would be late. Being late, for Ginny, meant coming home in the small hours of the morning.

The other three were rather done in after a couple of weeks full of new routines and demanding studies at their respective program. Harry went through intense training of anatomy along with organ-specific magical content studies at St Mungo’s, alternating with basic patient communication training, which was conducted at the Emergency Hall. It was a place where it was bound to happen a lot of unpredictable things all day long, and Harry’s head was often so full of images when he returned home that they would replay like a movie all evening and colour his dreams during the nights.

Ron was in the middle of an intense recapitulation of protective spells and incantations which were necessary before being allowed on the Aurors training premises. Besides, they were mercilessly worked out by their Physical educator Auror, a wizard by name Walter whom Mrs Steadfast had brought with her from the US. The reward for their efforts, in five weeks’ time, would be to start the proper combat training, although Ron at times almost doubted it was worth it.

Harry only made two or three appearances a week at the Aurors’ office. He studied extra in the evenings and would have to take the same test as the others before being allowed to move on to the real Auror training. He already mastered protective spells without fault, but was a bit nervous about the physical. He worked out with Ginny regularly at her Quidditch arena. It was a way to spend time together because otherwise they had very different schedules, Harry rising early, Ginny coming home late.

The magical law program was impossibly crammed with theoretical studies. Hermione had always loved books, but compared to her years at Hogwarts she now surrounded herself with at least ten times as many heaps of books as she used to do.

“I wonder what Neville wants to see us about,” said Hermione. “He wasn’t very specific in his letter. But it’ll be nice to meet him again. It’s been three months since we said good-bye at The Three Broomsticks that last night at Hogwarts.”

“Maybe he wants to ask some advice of you, Hermione,” said Harry. “Although, he specifically wrote that he would be pleased to see us all.”

“Neville took that summer herbology class, you know” said Ron. “He’s been abroad to South America – in Peru and other countries. It’ll be exciting to hear about it.”  

The others agreed. Harry left to meet up with Neville and bring him through the Fidelius charm at Grimmauld Place. They still maintained high security measures. Mrs Steadfast had recently come back from her vacation and had insisted on rigorous precautions, particularly after hearing about the attack at Spinner’s End.

They small talked, drank tea and laughed together, telling Neville about their vacation in Le Grand Eclat in France.

“It sounds so luxurious and sociable!” Neville exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Ron conceded. “I’m not sure that Mum and Dad felt at ease all the time, but they adjusted for Bill’s sake – and, hey, they can only be themselves, right?”

“I felt a bit out of place, too,” Harry confessed. “Not so much when we were all together, because then we only had to follow Fleur and her family’s lead, but another time when I went alone to meet with a distant relative of my father’s, one of his great aunts to be precise. I remember feeling particularly daft at the time. She practically lived in a small palace.”

“You never told us much about that meeting,” Ron pointed out. “Was it that bad?”

“There wasn’t much to tell. I was received with a minimum of civility. I could tell that she didn’t like me from start. I don’t know why. I had a few words with a second cousin of James’ later, but nothing really came out of it.” Harry turned his head and clammed up. The encounters had not met his expectations. There wasn’t much he wanted to tell, really.   

Herminone finally asked Neville if there was something in particular that he had wanted to talk to them about. Neville grew serious and put his cup down.

“When I came home last week-end, I spent two days catching up on British news in the Daily Prophet. It was almost impossible to get hold of a magical British newspaper where I was in the mountains of Chile and Peru,” he began.

“Okay,” said Hermione, frowning, “…and what did you find of interest?”

“Well, your own letters to the Editor to start with, Hermione, in June, and then all the contributions you wrote together with others during the summer – that’s to say your joint calls for abolishing the Obliviate practice on Muggles, and the various retorts to them, up to today. It’s an interesting debate.”

“I didn’t know to start with that there already existed an organization who fought against the use of Oblivates,” Hermione explained. “When I wrote those letters to the press, I thought that I was all alone, but these other people contacted me. They’re lawyers, healers and various people who have in one way or another been made conscious of the possible side effects of Obliviates, or who simply react to the unethical dimension of overruling people’s own will, which is a good enough cause.” Hermione was getting excited.

“Well, I wanted to tell you something… and maybe get you interested in attacking the matter from a different angle,” said Neville, also looking eager. The three friends scrutinized him with interest. “Countries on several continents actually picked up on the debate in Great Britain. So was the case in South America,” Neville went on. “The newspaper that I read in Chile cited the Daily Prophet, but of course I didn’t know at the time that it was you who was behind it all, Hermione… I got interested in those articles because of… but first let me tell you what they wrote. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the political history of Chile?”

Ron shook his head and made a grimace, and Harry too pulled a wry face. It was nothing they remembered from Professor Binns’ classes.

“For a long time – considerably longer than for us with Voldemort – Chile had an authoritarian regime who abducted their own people - those who protested against the regime - and tortured them. Sometimes these people simply disappeared and never came back, sometimes they would resurface at various medical institutions with symptoms of delirium and psychosis,” Neville explained. Hermione drew a shuddering breath.

“Why do lunatics need to pop up everywhere and impose themselves on innocent people?” Ron growled darkly. Harry only clenched his jaws.

“Several decades have past, but it’s still a national trauma,” said Neville. “And the debate that rose in response to the British one about the Obliviate spells was slightly different, because apparently the regime – in the case of Chile, the Muggle regime and the magical one happened to be the same, and the same treatment was carried out on both populations - the regime systematically subjected their victims to forceful Obliviatings after their torture sessions. The debate now is about those Obliviatings causing psychiatric disease, not only among Muggles, but in magical people as well. Muggles might be more prone to dementia or Alzheimer’s disease, but wizards and witches seem to develop more of psychotic or catatonic symptoms, there were even reports of shut-in syndromes.”

“What’s that?” Hermione wanted to know.

“It’s a condition where the person seems completely shut off from reality and cannot communicate with the exterior, but where he or she in reality actually takes in more of the world than can be detected. They’re shut up within themselves,” Harry explained. “Something like that, right?” he asked Neville to confirm.

“You’d know better than me, Harry, but that’s what I’ve understood as well, reading about it,” said Neville.

“I only just started as a healer student,” Harry muttered. “We haven’t studied those things yet. But why do you…” It dawned on him as he posed the question and he reddened a bit. “Your parents…?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” Neville answered in a collected tone and met Harry’s eyes briefly. His gaze said that he understood that Harry fully comprehended the tragedy of Neville’s parents who had been nursed at St Mungo’s for nearly twenty years since they were tortured with the Cruciatus curse by Death Eaters. “The problem in the magical community…” Neville continued, “if it’s okay with you to leave the Muggle side of the problem for a while, Hermione, because you’ve got that discussion going pretty successfully already, and I think there might be a mutual benefice in bringing this up as well?”

“Of course,” said Hermione. “I see what you mean, but explain a bit more to us, please.”

“In the magical community, Oblivate spells are used as treatment, they’re claimed to be a cure even, in the hospitals. It’s regarded as a merciful treatment when something horrible has happened to a person who needs to forget. But I’m afraid… What if… What if it only makes people worse? Or if it replaces one problem with another?”

Harry looked at him seriously. He had had the same thoughts already. He did not like Obliviatings at all.

“Well, Mr Lockhart certainly went nuts when that Obliviate spell rebounded on him in the Chamber of Secrets in our second year at Hogwarts,” said Ron.

“Healers will argue that it was an augmented effect of the spell in that specific case, because of the broken wand it was performed with – it was classified as spell damage,“ said Harry. “Some healers mean that a well-dosed Obliviate is a good treatment.” He hesitated. “We haven’t talked about it lately, but you already know that I think that Ginny suffers some side effects from that Obliviating that she took last spring.”

“That was after you were attacked in Paris, right?” asked Neville.

“Yes,” said Harry. “Ginny watched me kill the attacker. It was a horrible experience, claustrophobic… we were shut up…”

“Ginny’s not here…” said Ron.

“But we must speak of it sometime,” said Harry, sounding a bit desperate. “I meant to deal with it this summer, but Ginny’s so good at avoiding it, at making things happen and keeping us busy all the time. But you know that somehow she got mixed up after that Obliviating and that she actually…” Harry’s voice wavered a little, “…that she actually believes that I somehow killed Fred during the battle at Hogwarts. She mixed his killing up with the Avada kedavra I did on that lunatic in Paris!”

“Ginny’s not here to defend herself,” Ron said again. Harry shot him a dark gaze. Sometimes Ron’s simple principles could not meet up with the complexity of the situation.

”I’m not accusing her of anything,” Harry retorted. “And you know that if she were here, she wouldn’t stay in the room to carry through the discussion. She would rage, dismiss it and leave at once. You know that!”

”She consented to take the treatment, Harry,” Hermione said with regret in her voice.

“But she’s altered! She’s even more impatient than before. She’s restless, and there’s a constant anxiety lurking under the surface. She rushes everything, she…”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Hermione interrupted with a glance at Ron who pressed his lips together. Ginny was his little sister and he was torn between his loyalty to a family member and to Harry. “She consented to the treatment…” Hermione repeated. Harry closed his eyes and tried to push the frustration with his friends away. It was not their fault.

“I’m sorry I was carried away,” he said to Neville when he opened his eyes. “I’m worried about Ginny. But we were talking about your parents.” Neville looked at him with sympathy.

“My parents were too ill to give their consent to any treatment. My grand-mother authorized the treatment at the time. They’ve received multiple Obliviatings over the years.” Neville drew a deep breath. “I think that they might be locked-in,” he said. “I’d like to undo the Obliviatings and see if they could come back, become more lucid.”

A strange feeling rose in Harry. He sympathized so strongly with Neville that his heart made a couple of painful jolts. To have your parents back… He did not dare say anything. Hermione spoke instead.

“I think you’re right, it’s time to question the use of Obliviate spells on magical people as well,” she said to Neville. “Do you want to join our campaign group? What does your grand-mother say?” Neville pulled a wry face.

“It’s a sensitive subject with her. She authorized the treatment, after all. It will be difficult for her to consider the possibility of having deteriorated their condition instead of helping them. And I realize it’s a great risk to take. I can’t appear in the public debate just now. I need to work on grand-mother in private and to discuss matters with my parents’ healers at St Mungo’s. But it would facilitate my chances of convincing them if there was a public debate and more voices to question these kind of procedures.”

Harry looked thoughtfully at Neville. His friend had made it all out, had he not? Harry was impressed. Snape would say that Neville let his Slytherin side play to his advantage. Snape had advocated that Harry too try to be more Slytherin, if only for self-preservation purposes. Harry seldom seemed to satisfy Snape on that account, however.

“I’ll try to help you, Neville,” Hermione said decisively. “Our group have already talked about bringing the Obliviate treatments into the debate. Now is perhaps the time.”

“Thank you so much, Hermione! I hoped that you would help,” Neville said, shifting suddenly from the almost handsome and confident young man he had become, to the insecure child they remembered him as. He looked vulnerable and in need of friends. Harry suddenly shuddered.

“I hope that I’ll never have to suffer an Obliviate,” he said forcefully, ignoring that within only a couple of weeks, he would learn that he had already been subjected to the memory charm twice before in his life.

Harry had become passionate about healing after the battle against Voldemort. Because he had been in possession of the powerful Elder Wand, he had been able to help the healers cure wounded people, although he had very little knowledge about healing at the time. But the feeling of reversing damage, of taking pain away and of helping people recover had been both satisfying and soothing to Harry’s mind at the time. It was as if he had at last found a sure way of influencing the world a tiny little bit in the right direction and contributed to reduce the suffering in the world - which he had learnt by experience was considerable - to a lower level. He simply found it full-filling, and therefore he had seldom been more focused and determined as when he started his healer training at St Mungo’s.

The atmosphere at St Mungo’s was unique, especially at the Emergency Hall, where first year students started their main training: it could be calm and peaceful one moment, and a roaring chaos the other. Healer students worked the first few months of their training together with care witches and care wizards who were the magical counterparts of Muggle nurses. Harry had the impression that the distinction and the hierarchy among the personnel were less pronounced than in Muggle hospitals, however. Depending on individual skills, some care witches and wizards performed some healing spells while others concentrated on the more practical sides of the job in administrating potions, applying salves and in administering soothing magic. Healers were specialists and performed more advanced healing spells but it was clearly recognized that you worked as a team and that no one could do without the other for very long.

One day Harry was working in the Emergency Hall, patiently administering eye drops to a patient who had been blinded by his own uncontrolled Lumos spell. It was a not uncommon ailment in the magical world since fewer witches and wizards than expected had perfect control of their powers at all times. One hundred drops had to be administered over a period of one and a half hour and the patient would be cured. Harry had worked all morning with his favorite care wizard tutor, Hugo, who was a talkative young man, maybe five years older than Harry.

“Here comes your mentor,” Hugo said suddenly. Harry turned his head, expecting to see Healer Sheno who was his appointed mentor on the program, but to his surprise he saw Snape approaching between chairs and strechers.

“Hello, Professor,” he said, smiling and jumping up, glancing at the same time at his watch. Twenty seconds to go before the next set of drops.

“Your disciple is doing well, Healer Snape,” said Hugo. Harry coloured a little. Hugo seemed to imply more of an active involvement in Harry’s training on Snape’s side than there was official ground for. Although vastly respected among his co-workers at St Mungo’s, Snape was strictly speaking only an employee by the hour, doing evening shifts at the Emergency now and then. It was true, however, that he had already popped in to check on Harry a couple of times since the start of term. Every single time, Harry was both surprised and self-consciously grateful.

“I can see that,” Snape replied, watching Harry uncork a bottle and nimbly apply the drops in each eye of the patient. “Feeling better?” Snape asked the wizard.

“Definitely. My eyesight is already restored, but they say I need the complete cure,” the wizard replied a bit sullenly.

“They’re right,” said Snape sententiously. “Too many drinks yesterday?” he asked sternly. The wizard reddened. “Alcohol is the major cause behind all spell damage, remember that, Mr Evans,” supplied Snape. Harry, who winced a bit at his new name, had already heard about this fact, but he had not been so blunt as to press his client who had denied any abuse of substance on being asked initially. “Take it easy in the future. At least learn to respect your limitations when under its influence,” Snape reinforced to the patient.

“He’s right, you know,” said Harry in a milder tone to the affronted wizard. “Healer Snape’s an experienced healer. You’re probably aware of it already, but the fact that this happened to you is a sign of warning and I too think that you should reconsider your use of alcohol. Maybe reduce consumption a bit?”

“I’ll think about it,” said the wizard and looked away, slightly ashamed but more reconciled by Harry’s gentle address.

“Do you have time for lunch, Mr Evans?” Snape asked. Harry started again at the use of his new name. Most people called him Harry here, but it was true that the badge on his chest said Healer Apprentice Evans.

“There are twenty drops more to go, unfortunately,” he said, regretting to have to turn Snape down.

“You go have some lunch, Harry,” Hugo intervened. “I’ll take care of this. You covered for me yesterday – I know for a fact you didn’t get any lunch then. You have a seminar with your student group this afternoon if I’m not mistaken. Hygiene spells, right? You should go now or you won’t have time to eat at all.”

“Thanks!” Harry was conscious of feeling ridiculously grateful again. Why did everything seem so important when Snape was involved – even a simple lunch?

He followed Snape towards the physical exit of the building. Changing clothes was not a problem at St Mungo’s – a general spell was inbibed in the vault of the entrance and the green working robes were automatically switched to the ordinary clothes Harry had arrived in that morning.

“Where’re we going?” Harry asked as Snape stopped outside on the pavement.

“Well,” said Snape and hesitated, “I was thinking of taking you to a place where I used to go when I worked here – a wizard pub not far away. But then Audrey invited me to have lunch with her in a Muggle restaurant. When she heard I was going to see you, she asked me to bring you along. Do you think we should go?” Harry was surprised and a bit embarrassed by being asked. And was it even possible to turn down an invitation from the head of the Aurors? he thought.

“Er… why not? I like Mrs Steadfast,” he said cautiously. “Do you think she’ll put up with the hospital talk, though? You’ll want an update from St Mungo’s, won’t you?” he added.

“I certainly do. I also need to speak to you about something coming up at the Auror program, however, so it might be a good idea to have her there.” Snape frowned as if having problems deciding. “She has taken me to a range of different Muggle places lately, I don’t know why…” he muttered.

“Well, you’re recognized in magic places, from having figured in the press both of you, so maybe she only wants a bit of anonymity,” Harry proposed, sympathizing with the sentiment, being quite allergic to the press from his years as ‘the boy-who-lived’.

“It doesn’t matter if we’re recognized or not – it’s only business, isn’t it?” Snape frowned again. Harry did not say anything. He had a vague feeling that Mrs Steadfast, Mrs Steady to her co-workers, or Audrey as Snape called her, was perhaps interested in Snape in some way other than purely professional, but he did not dare to make any allusion to this, because it was only a hunch. “Well, let’s join her.” Snape finally made up his mind and they Disapparated discretely.

They found Mrs Steadfast studying the four alternatives for lunch in the snug little restaurant. She shone up when they greeted her.

“You made it,” she said with satisfaction.

“Three?” asked a waitress, and on confirmation she showed them to a table.

“I’ll have a Caesar salad, please,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“I’ll take one as well,” said Harry. Snape frowned.

“You should take the opportunity of having a cooked meal,” he said sternly to Harry. “Apparently he’s been skipping lunch from time to time, so his tutor said at St Mungo’s,” Snape added to Mrs Steadfast.

“Harry, you must take better care of yourself!” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast. “You’re struggling with two very demanding training programs – you must see to it to fill up your reserves of energy. You’re thin as it is!” Harry grew slightly irritated.

“I cook in the evenings, actually. And I’m perfectly capable of ordering lunch for myself, thank you!” he hissed. The waitress who had been standing beside the table taking their order and who was not much older than Harry smiled at him.

“The first few months of the first term are the worst,” she said conspiratorially. “When they see with their own eyes by Christmas that you have survived, they’ll calm down. All parents are the same.” Harry cringed a little at the implication and opened his mouth to correct her mistake, but when he met her kind, well-meaning gaze, he swallowed and smiled.

“I suppose they are,” he said. The waitress nodded knowingly and left.

Mrs Steadfast had reddened up to her hair-roots and Snape looked absolutely horrified at Harry who made an exculpating gesture.

“I’m sorry, but you brought it on yourselves. First, this would never have happened in a restaurant in the magic world because everyone would know who you are, and second, my eating habits are none of your business!” he said.

Mrs Steadfast looked as if she had bit into a lemon at first, but then her face broke up and she started to laugh heartily. Harry joined in the laughter – it was funny really, that the head of the Aurors, and his former teacher had been mistaken for his parents. Eventually the horror left Snape’s face as well, and he managed a little chuckle, but it was as if it was caught deep down his throat somehow. Harry took pity on him and launched into an enthusiastic account of his exploits at St Mungo’s.

Mrs Steadfast had a lively and alert temper, and was easy to talk to. She often fell into a bantering tone with Snape that loosened the stiff side of him up a bit. Her presence actually facilitated the sometimes tentative and haltering interaction between Harry and Snape. She was not uninterested in matters at St Mungo’s and seemed to understand that Harry needed to talk to Snape about his myriad of impressions from the world of healing. Snape on his side did not fall into the trap of being sententious or into lecturing Harry, but seemed to understand the necessity of the young apprentice discovering things by himself. So Snape only filled in, clarified, or sometimes put a counter question to entice Harry to reconsider his conclusions on some matters, in order to learn.

Eventually, Mrs Steadfast got a message on her security watch, and announced that she had to go ahead.

“Severus, don’t forget to bring up with Harry what you talked to me about. It seemed to me that it’s important to prepare Harry for this and find a strategy that both of you can live with,” she said.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you…?” Snape suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

“It’s part of your teacher responsibilities, Severus,” Mrs Steadfast said sternly. “And I don’t have time right now, I’m sorry. Just hear him out, Harry. Don’t get too upset,” she added.

She left and Harry glanced cautiously at Snape. What was all this about? Snape looked calm and inscrutable again so Harry waited.

“You know that the first term of the Auror program is mainly about teaching you security measures and basic protection,” Snape begun. “Protection spells, physical defence, precaution theory and so on…”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Well, it includes Occlumency,” said Snape. “I’m going to give a couple of classes, teaching you. And you’ll need to practice it as well.” He fell silent to let the message sink in.

“Shit,” Harry said in a low voice and lowered his head. “Shit.”

“Er… yes,” said Snape. “I suspected your reaction would be… er… adverse.”

“Will I have to…? Do you have to…?” Harry begun. ”You’ve already plunged into every damned memory of mine!” he burst out exasperated. ”I guess no one knows better than you what my years with the Dursleys were like when I was a child. Must’ve been boring for you eventually.” He suddenly straightened his back and spoke challengingly. Snape shook his head.

”I was quite troubled by some of those memories,” he said slowly. ”Petunia always was a jealous and resentful big sister to Lily, but I never thought her capable of treating a child like she treated you…” Snape made a grimace of distaste. “If you had been a year younger when I read your memories, I would have made sure you never went back to Privet Drive. As things were, they didn’t dare to be really nasty to you when you grew older, and they were made to understand that you had friends among the wizards, weren’t they? At least that’s what Dumbledore convinced me of.” Harry snorted.

”Yeah, the Dursleys were very kind and supporting that summer after fifth year when Sirius died,” he muttered sarcastically. Snape made a grimace.

”I know…” he said.

What did Snape know? Harry thought angrily.

”I don’t think that you know actually” he said stiffly. ”I blamed myself so badly, I nearly….” Harry stopped himself. Snape leant over.

”You were near killing yourself - was that what you were going to say?” Harry drew his breath. Snape really did not beat around the bush, but then Harry had learnt last year that Snape was not very sentimental, nor particularly upset about suicide, and treated it with a matter-of –fact attitude that actually lessened the anxiety that Harry often felt when the subject came up.

”Never mind,” said Harry, exhaling and turning his head away. ”It’s a long time ago. I made it through that summer too.”

”I did speak some words of concern to Dumbledore that summer,” said Snape hesitantly, ”Knowing from our Occlumency lessons what your relations were like, and having some experience of what a fifteen year old boy might feel like after losing someone… I sort of…” Harry remembered that Snape had been fifteen when his mother died and that he had hinted once that he had been desperate enough at the time to brew the Draught of permanent peace in order to end his life, but had been stopped by Lily.

”Oh, I never had the right to make that choice, did I?” Harry interrupted with something of regret in his voice. “Not after what my mother did for me… And I was saved by being angry at you, by blaming you for Sirius’ death instead of myself… And then an old friend of mine came by and comforted me… sort of….” His voice trailed off, not wanting to pursue the matter. Snape lent forward with a sparkle of interest in his eyes.

”An old friend…?” he inquired. ”Would that be something your mother had given you? A toy of some kind? Was it?” Harry gasped. He stared back into Snape’s black eyes and hissed:

”You think it’s fair, do you, that you can ask whatever questions you like about my mother whereas I’m forbidden to mention her name in front of you?” Snape pulled a wry face and averted his gaze. Last year he had indeed in a fit of rage forbidden Harry to mention Lily at all between them.

”No…” he conceded.

”Do you want to talk about her?” Harry asked challengingly. Snape hesitated - he was obviously curious of the answer to his question. Finally, however, he shook his head to himself as if debating internally.

”Let’s leave it,” he said.

Secretly, Harry was shaken. How could Snape make such an educated guess about his old tin figure, the only toy he had brought with him to the Dursleys, the only toy that was truly his? Petunia had told him that it had lain in the basket that Hagrid had put on the Dursleys’ doorstep when delivering Harry to them that night after his parents had been killed. At one time Harry had asked Hagrid about the tin figure, but Hagrid did not seem to know anything about it. “Could you ‘ave ‘eld it in your ‘and all the time?” he wondered because he could not remember seeing it.

Although the tin figure had been a most unremarkable, oldfahioned and worn plaything, it had been Harry’s favourite toy when he grew up. For as long as he could remember he had ascribed supernatural powers to the tiny figure – it had been his hero. Departing from this toy he had constructed his own universe of adventures full of magic. Whenever his aunt heard him playing and fantasizing she had punished him, so he learnt to play quietly. Several times did she try to take the toy away from Harry, but he always fought desperately to keep it. Once when she had succeeded in removing it from him, and hiding it, he had fallen ill and stopped eating until she reluctantly returned the toy to him. Another time Dudley had tried to claim the toy as his, despite having shelf after shelf of playthings in his room. He had almost beaten Harry to a pulp with a heavy caterpillar to make him let go of the figure. It was one of very few times when Petunia actually had been forced to intervene and lift Harry away from Dudley. Otherwise, she usually let Dudley have a go at Harry whenever he wanted.

The tin toy also seemed to have healing and comforting properties. As a small child, when Harry was too tired or too sad to play at all, and only sat with the toy in his hand, crying silently from being punished or simply shut out from the rest of the family, sometimes there would emanate like a glow from the toy and the pain and grief that Harry felt would ease up. When he grew older, he played more seldom with his tin figure, which was left in the shrubbery under the stairs when he moved to Dudley’s second bedroom.

The last time Harry had held it in his hand was the summer after Sirius had been killed by Bellatrix at the Ministry of Magic. He had been so filled with guilt and unbearable feelings, mixed with the confusion and fear from what Dumbledore had told him about the Prophesy and his probable future that he could hardly stand it. How Snape could make such a qualified guess about Harry’s feelings and sequent of events that summer, so very close to the truth, surprised and bewildered Harry.

Thinking more closely about it, Harry supposed that it was not impossible that his mother who had been skilled at Ancient magic, had somehow enchanted the toy in some way to comfort Harry. He cast an intrigued gaze at Snape again, but abstained from saying anything. He wished he could get hold of the tin toy and check it out, now that he himself mastered some Ancient magic, but it was left at the Dursleys and he was not ready to visit them right now – he was not even sure he would be let into the house - so he supposed it would have to wait.

”About the Occlumency lessons,” said Snape. ”This is what I propose: either you leave it until next year – because strictly speaking you’re only studying half time at the Auror program, so you would be allowed to skip a lesson or two – or I can let Miss Swan Legilimency you instead of myself, if that makes it easier for you? It’s mostly a problem between you and me, isn’t it, because of our history?”

“You would abstain from Legilimencying me?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“If you prefer. Auror Swan will be my assistant in class and she’s a skilled Legilimens,” said Snape.

“It might work,” Harry said relieved. “I’m sorry, it’s not… You know that I respect you and all… very much nowadays… but it’s… I feel so very exposed and… and defenceless when you do it… I cannot help it…”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Snape said quickly. “I understand because there’s something peculiar… I happened to Legilimency you by mistake a couple of times last year, if you remember, and I didn’t particularly like it myself. I’m usually in better control of my Legilimency skills, but it seems that our lessons have left an easier access between our minds. It’s a side effect, I think, of your being so young at the time I tried to teach you, and of my being too harsh with you. I’m sorry about that.” Harry sighed.

“I’m sorry about looking into the penseive that day, I already told you…” he said, lowering his head.

“We’re even,” Snape said quickly. “We reached the conclusion at the end of last term that we’re even. Let’s stick to that.” Harry nodded.

“You promise not to Legilimency me, then?” he asked again anxiously.

”I’ll let Miss Swan do it,” Snape promised.

“Okay,” said Harry. “I’m still not looking forward to it. I’m really lousy at Occlumency.”

Approximately one week later, in the evening, Ginny heard a knock on the door to Grimmauld place. She lifted both eyebrows in surprise and approached the door cautiously. Hermione was coming down the stairs, frowning and looking inquiringly at Ginny. Ginny shook her head and drew her wand before she opened the door brusquely, revealing a black clad Professor Snape on the doorstep.

“How did you find the house?” Ginny asked without preamble. “It’s protected by a Fidelius charm. We always fetch our guests in person.”

“You’re wise in being so careful, Miss Ginny,” said Snape, then continued awkwardly: “Mr Potter invited me.” Ginny snorted.

“Excuse me, but I don’t believe you,” she said curtly. Snape reddened.

”He didn’t invite me today, obviously,” he said. “It was a while ago.”

“Incredible,” said Ginny. ”Well, this just proves it: Harry’s so naive at times.”

“I need to see him,” said Snape. Ginny gave up a little laugh.

“I know for a fact that he does not want to see you, Professor. He’s been fuming since he came home from the Auror Headquarters. I’ve never seen him so angry. Do you realize what you’ve done to him?” Snape sighed.

”I’ve come to apologise, please, Miss Ginny. It’s not as simple as…”

“It’s simple: he doesn’t want to see you… He’s not ready to forgive you,” said Ginny bitingly. Hermione had joined her.

“Let the Professor come in, Ginny. We shouldn’t be standing here on the doorstep,” she said, aghast at the tone Ginny used to address Snape.

“Professor Snape can leave right now, Hermione,” said Ginny.

“Ginny!” Hermione hissed. “He’s the headmaster at Hogwarts.”

“Well, I’m no student of Hogwarts any longer,” Ginny said stubbornly.

Harry who was hiding on the staircase landing opposite the entrance, listening in, smiled grimly to himself. Ginny was doing well, resisting Snape like that. She was being hard as nails and exceedingly rude and Snape could just take it for being such a git!

“You do realise, Professor, don’t you,” said Ginny, “that precisely because Harry trusts you to such a degree, you’re so much more susceptible of hurting him? He really came to respect you last year, despite everything, and has stupidly trusted you until today when you cold-bloodedly broke your promise.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that…” Snape muttered weakly, surprisingly subdued.

“He vouched for you at your trial at the Ministry, by Merlin! How do you ever think he’ll be able to trust you again?” Ginny continued relentlessly. Snape actually took a step back, down the stairs as if leaving. Harry half rose on his landing. He hadn’t counted on Ginny actually succeeding in driving Snape off. Hermione came to his help by gripping Ginny by the arm and hissing to her:

“For Harry’s sake, it’d be much better to let him sort this out with Snape, you know that, Ginny. He’ll be unhappy if they don’t.”

“Harry’s much better off without him. Snape’s encouraging all that stupid extra work with Ancient magic and I-know-not-what, too, when Harry could be with me instead.”

“That’s just selfish of you Ginny.”

“Well, Snape has betrayed him. What more is there to say?”

“Everyone has a right to defend themselves and to explain their actions. Ron told me that Harry just yelled and stormed out of the room after it happened.”

 “You’re incredible, Hermione. Some things are crystal clear, unmistakable and unpardonable and don’t need debating. You’re much too fond of twisting things around. I guess that’s why you entered the magical law program.” Ginny sounded defiant.

Harry did not see them, but he heard from her tone of voice when she answered that Hermione had become affronted.

“What about your own behaviour yesterday at the club, Ginny? “ she hissed. “Was that unmistakable and unpardonable too? Where do you draw the line, eh? Snape’s not the only person with a potential to hurt Harry, you know.” Ginny and Hermione were both silent for a short while, as if staring each other out.

Snape still had one foot on the step outside and seemed undecided, back half turned to the entrance. Harry frowned – what did Hermione refer to? He knew that Ron and she had accompanied Ginny to one of her parties the previous night. He had chosen to stay at home to get enough sleep in view of the upcoming Occlumency lesson. He heard Ginny answer with a voice trembling mostly from anger:

“I’m not concealing anything from Harry. We have an allowing relationship. He doesn’t prevent me from having fun – and he knows that I love him.”

Harry felt comforted by Ginny’s answer - Hermione had misinterpreted some situation, surely. Ginny could be pretty wild sometimes, but he did not begrudge her some fun. Hermione had stepped forward and opened the door more widely, inviting Snape to come in. The Professor advanced slowly into the hall and the door shut behind him.

“You’d better be able to explain what you did and make it up to Harry,” Ginny said haughtily to Snape. “If he consents to come down - which I very much doubt,” she added.

“I told you I came to apologise,” Snape muttered, but it did not seem to satisfy Ginny who started anew:

“You know, Harry has suffered enough in his life, he doesn’t deserve to be betrayed. A person like him must be cherished and taken care of by those who call themselves his friends.”

“You are probably right and I have no intention to…”

“He might be powerful, yet he’s fragile,” Ginny went on relentlessly. “It’s criminal to treat him like you did today!”

Harry was starting to think that Ginny was overdoing it, when a loud howl made him cower and instinctively put his hands over his ears.

“Traitors and Mudbloods in my house! Get out, you filthy creatures!” The portrait of Mrs Black had woken up and was raging.

“Go to the library – I’ll take care of her!” Ginny shouted. “I’ll ask Harry if he wants to come down. Don’t count on it, though! Shut up, you bitch! Talking to Mrs Black, not to you Hermione.”

Harry took the opportunity to sneak away to his and Ginny’s room. He hastened to open some drawers, rummaged around and found his old pair of glasses. He put them on and studied the effect in the mirror with satisfaction. It was astounding how they changed his appearance. Nowadays that his eyesight was restored and he did not need them, he only used them when he had to face the press, in order to give the public something to recognise him by. Since he lookd very different without his glasses, it also bought him some anonymity in his everyday life – not so many wizards and witches recognised him by his looks these days. Strange that his old glasses did not blur his sight to a greater extent, though. He did not have time to ponder upon this because Ginny entered the room. She frowned when she saw him.

“I heard Mrs Black,” he said quickly. “I know that you let Snape in.”

“Hermione let him in,” Ginny said indignantly. “You don’t have to go down you know.”

“I’m going to tell him how disappointed I am,” said Harry.

“You’re going to forgive him. You’re incredible, you know, Harry!” Ginny burst out.

“I’m not going to…” Harry said affronted. “I’m just going to… talk to him. He’s going to hate to see me like this.” Harry cast a last grim look of satisfaction in the mirror. A copy of James Potter met him there. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“You’re being childish, Harry. Just dismiss him. Don’t go down.”

But Harry opened the door and walked down the stairs. The thought of what had happened earlier that day made his blood boil again. It was so unfair! Why did Snape never respect his feelings? Why did he always have to put Harry to the test? Entering someone’s mind was a violation, no less! And he had promised not to. He had promised!

When he entered the library, he saw Snape flinch at the sight of him, and clench his jaws. Hermione rolled her eyes just like Ginny had done. Harry tried not to let the triumph show on his face, but kept his features under control.

“Professor,” he said coldly, “I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.”

Ginny had entered behind Harry and was whispering with Hermione. Apparently the two of them seemed reconciled.

“Mr Potter,” Snape pronounced with difficulty, clearly disturbed by Harry’s appearance.

Harry stepped up nonchalantly to a small table and picked up a book.

“I’ve come to give you an explanation,” said Snape, frowning deeply and raising his voice. Harry was half turned from him, riffling through the pages of the book. “Will you show some respect and look at me when I speak to you?” Snape was using his teacher’s voice which had a partial effect on Harry in so much that he put the book down again, but he kept glancing insolently under his fringe at Snape.

“I…” Snape took a deep breath and frowned. “Will you take off your glasses, please Mr Potter?” Snape rose his voice again.

“I can’t see that my glasses have anything to do with this,” Harry said nonchalantly.  

“Precisely, that’s why you should take them off,” Snape said sharply.

“I can wear my glasses if I want to,” said Harry stubbornly.

“You don’t need them any longer!” Snape barked. “I can’t have a normal conversation with you looking like…” To Harry’s satisfaction Snape gestured wildly with exasperation, not even finding words to explain himself. Hermione and Ginny were staring at Harry, incredulity written on their faces. Harry crossed his arms, riveting his eyes challengingly at Snape.

“Take them off!” Snape roared. ”I’ve come to apologise, by Merlin!”

Harry pressed his lips together. He was so angry, so very angry with Snape. He would not take his glasses off. Let Snape explode and walk away if he could not do better.

“Harry! By all hot goblin swords!” Snape shut his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and riveting them on Harry again. This time he spoke slowly. “Out of respect for an old friend of your mother’s, please take those glasses off and let me explain.”

Harry felt his heart start to beat faster. He swallowed. Never before had Snape used his connection with Lily to plead with Harry like this. He felt a lump in his throat as he fumblingly tore off his glasses and threw them on the small table. He realized that he was not only angry, he was hurt and grieved by Snape’s betrayal earlier.

“Will you leave us alone for a while,” he mumbled hoarsely to Ginny and Hermione. Ginny shook her head slowly at him, but Hermione took her under the arm and gently drew her away, shutting the door carefully after them.

Snape was standing half turned from Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Merlin,” he muttered darkly, softening however when he met Harry’s now unshielded and hurt gaze. “I deserve… all your frustration and disappointment,” said Snape. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, and what I did this afternoon when I Legilimencied you - out of pure zest I might add - is one of the stupidest and pettiest of them all.”

Harry opened his mouth.

“I know…” Snape lifted a hand to interrupt him. “I know that I promised. And I did let Miss Swan do the exercise with you. But I was so pleased… so honestly pleased and relieved when I realized that you succeeded in blocking her…”

Harry shook his head. It was no excuse for what his teacher had done.

“You should know that I have qualms… great qualms of conscience because of everything that I was forced to do during the past years. Playing the part of a spy sometimes put me in situations where I had to choose between two equally execrable outcomes. Obliviating after having Relieved those students the year before last is one example. It was shocking to learn that some of them experienced side effects from the Obliviate spell. It was my doing, my choice at the time, as was the way in which I tried to teach you Occlumency after Voldemort came back.”

Harry bit his lips. He knew that the Oblivatings Snape spoke of had been performed in the best of intentions to help the students and in order not to expose Snape’s role as a spy.

“I’ve been afraid, truly afraid that I had damaged you permanently by those Occlumency lessons in your fifth year. I was carried away today when I realised that you managed to Occlude against Miss Swan’s intrusion. You not only succeeded - you did really well, because she’s an accomplished Legilimens. I thought you cured, and stupidly I wanted to test your ability to stop me as well. I was too hasty, I should have waited for your permission and for this I’m truly sorry.” Harry sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

“It was worse than ever,” he said unhappily. “I have no resistance at all when it comes to you. The memories just poured out and swirled around vertiginously. It was horrible, and particularly memories involving my mother, too… You can’t be very keen to see those kind of…”

“I’m not,” Snape said quickly and with emphasis. “I’m certainly not.”

They stayed silent for a while.

“At least we know now that the difficulty to Occlude does not extend to other persons, and that your abilities per se are not damaged, which is a relief. And I wanted to tell you something… I wanted to come clean with you… in return for your possibly forgiving me the transgression today… although this might upset you, too… but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s better that I confess altogether… Because what I’m going to tell you shows that you didn’t do so abyssmally in our lessons that you think.”

“I didn’t?” Harry asked suspiciously.

”No,” said Snape. ”In our last session but one…” he grimaced a bit and Harry mirrored him, because the last session was not a pleasant memory to any of them “…you were, as usual, frustrated and angry with me, and I acknowledge that I relished in your blatant incapacity in reigning in your emotions…”

“I was fifteen!” Harry burst out.

“I know! I acknowledge being a mean and bitter man at the time, Harry, barely tolerating the sight of you - jealous and narrow-minded, and confined, constrained, you know, in my role…” Snape shook his head. “How can I explain to you? You heard me talk about the side effects of exerting too much Occlumency in class today… I was probably too engulfed in my mission at the time to pay any deed to those effects, but in retrospect, of course I realise that it took its toll on me!”

Indeed, Harry and the other Auror apprentices who had attended Hogwarts had not needed much imagination during the lesson about Occlumency to visualize those side effects, since they all realized that they had lived with a teacher - the very wizard who stood in front of them - who showed every sign of them for years. The original object of Occlumency was to withstand single short attacks on the mind, it was not intended for prolonged utilization. The side effects had been especially prominent, Harry recognized, after the resurrection of Voldemort when Snape had returned as a Death Eater to spy on him. 

“In this session,” Snape continued, “you had decided, since you could not block me, to show me a long series of our mutual dealings where I had treated you badly. You so to say held up a mirror, showing me myself, by shoving all those memories at me whenever I Legilimencied you.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. He did not remember doing this.

“I laughed at you at first, told you that you were pathetic, but you persisted, showing me scene after scene where I played the principal part. Some of it was quite unexpected and instructive: I learnt for example that during that very first lesson of Potions in your first year, when I accused you of being inattentive, and ridiculed you in front of the entire class, that you were indeed taking notes, writing down, word by word, what I was saying.”

Harry looked at Snape with reproach, without a word, and Snape continued.

“I know, I was extremely prejudiced, extremely unfair to you – that’s precisely what you were able to show me at the time. But you see, being able to choose which memories to show, steering the Legilimens to determined parts of your mind, is in fact a form of Occlumency, even if you were unaware of it at the time. It’s a more subtle form of Occlumency and you usually don’t start with teaching that method. A pupil always starts by learning to block. But I have myself used this selective Occlumency with great success, because it allows you to disguise the fact that you’re manipulating the Legilimens, and you can alter his understanding of you. You can for example increase the importance of a rather insignificant memory and make the Legilimens draw the wrong conclusions.”

Harry inclined his head a little. This was interesting. He still did not recall, however…

“At the end of one of my attacks – I was being quite merciless on you – there came a memory that neither you, nor I actually had any conscious recollection of.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed. ”How’s that possible…?”

It was like being in two places at the same time: Harry was aware of being nineteen years old and standing in the library at Grimmauld Place opposite Snape, while at the same time seeing himself as a fourteen-year-old, lying in a bed in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione were there, as were Mrs Weasley, Snape and Dumbledore. Harry caught a glimpse of a black dog at the other end of the hospital wing, turning the handle with a paw before the tail disappeared and the door shut. Harry widened his eyes a little as he realized that he had just watched Sirius Black’s Animagus form run out of the room and that he recognized this scene as the one after the completion of the Triwizard Tournament, after Cederic’s death and the resurrection of Voldemort.

*“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

“Then good luck,” said Dumbledore.*

Snape turned to leave when Harry sat up in his bed.

“No!” he exclaimed with wide eyes. “No, you can’t go to Voldemort! You can’t!”

Snape swirled around and looked at Harry with consternation.

“I…” he started to say but Harry interrupted him.

“Did you tell him what Voldemort said in the graveyard?” he asked Dumbledore in a trembling voice. “Professor, have you told Snape what I heard Voldemort say he would do to the followers who didn’t show up tonight right after his call?”

“Harry, Professor Snape knows Voldemort’s ways, and is aware of the risk he’s taking.”

“But he’ll kill him! Voldemort said so. He’ll kill you!” A panic stricken Harry turned from Dumbledore to Snape.

“Potter, don’t meddle. This is a decision that belongs to adults, way beyond your understanding,” Snape said haughtily.

“But I was there… in front of him…” Harry whispered, his gaze wavering slightly before he fastened it again on his professor, feverish. “I do understand. I do know.”

Snape must have read something in Harry’s eyes because suddenly he made a slight movement of compassion.

“I’m prepared to take the risk,” he said hoarsely.

“But he’ll Crucio you,” Harry spoke in a hacking voice, the experience from the night where he himself had been Crucioed so very fresh in his memory. “He’ll Crucio you, or kill you.”

“Albus, you must stop him from addressing me like this. I’m ready to carry out our plan but…” Snape turned to Dumbledore but Harry interrupted him once again by starting to laugh softly, sobbing at the same time with so much desperation that the others froze from the strange sounds he made.

“You’ll try to persuade him you’re his… You’ll try to appeal to him… You’ll fall to your knees, crawl on the ground and kiss the hem of his robe like the other Death Eaters did. It won’t help… It won’t help… He’ll Crucio you. He will.” Harry was shaking now, the delayed shock from what had happened in the graveyard kicking in.  It was as if it was unfathomable for him to picture anyone approaching the dark wizard willingly. He looked up at Snape.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Don’t go!” Snape stared with horror at him.

“Albus,” he said, closing his eyes. “I cannot go with these images of the boy in my head. He’s warning me, he’s asking me not to go, by Merlin, just like… just like she would have done…” Snape’s voice broke. “Please, Albus, I cannot have those words of his ringing in my ears when I appear in front of the Dark Lord.”

Dumbledore nodded, desolation written on his face. He lifted his arm and:

“Obliviate,” he said.

Harry drew a deep breath as the memory faded and he found himself in front of a slightly older but healthier looking, yet pale Snape.

“He Obliviated us!” Harry exclaimed. “Dumbledore Obliviated all of us, Mrs Weasley, Ron and Hermione as well. What a nerve!”

Snape sighed.

“He had to,” he said.

“You asked him to do it,” Harry realised.

“You understand why, don’t you?”

“Yes, I see now that you couldn’t appear in front of Voldemort after that scene. You mustn’t show any sympathies at all for the Boy-who-lived. And Voldemort would Legilimency you no doubt,” Harry said slowly.

“Yes, he would, and he did,” Snape confirmed. “Thoroughly. But my going back to him was crucial, and there was a very narrow window for me in which to act. I had prepared for this step during the entire term and was quite resolved, quite determined, but my view of you had to be doubtless. I believe that’s what convinced Voldemort of my loyalty in the end… that my hatred of James Potter was still burning, and that I hated you as his offspring – hated the same enemy that Voldemort wanted to destroy… So you see it was important for my role as a counterspy to keep that hatred up. It needed to be nearly true, or true in some circumstances at any rate. I think that Dumbledore was very much aware of this and that he sometimes deliberately kept us in ignorance of each other’s better sides so that our mutual loathing persisted. It was a difficult balance.”

“What happened when this memory came back to us during our Occlumency lesson? You were still a counterspy at the time. This took place less than a year after Voldemort came back,” Harry asked. Snape sighed and made a grimace.

“This part is kind of awkward and embarrassing for me, and is the reason why I in my turn Obliviated you.”

Harry widened his eyes. But of course, he must have been Obliviated a second time, otherwise he would have remembered it now.

“I’ll show you in a minute,” said Snape “But let me tell you that it did trouble me to learn that you had tried to warn me before I returned to Voldemort. I brooded upon it for a whole week, but then, the next lesson, you know what happened. It was our last session of Occlumency. I forbade you to come back after that…”

“That’s when I stole a look in the Pensieve…” 

“It was a relief really, because I could go back to hating you, not risking to betray myself in front of Voldemort,” Snape said drily.

Harry smiled self-consciously with a streak of apology in his eyes. Snape grunted and took a deep breath as if steeling himself.

“Here’s what happened at the end of the lesson. I would appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone about it.” Harry looked intrigued but nodded and let Snape point his wand at him again to see the images of four and a half years ago in Snape’s dungeon.

The at the time fifteen-year-old Harry looked at his teacher and said:

“Dumbledore Obliviated us. I tried to warn you. Didn’t Voldemort Crucio you when you went back?” Snape looked troubled and said:

“You shouldn’t have seen this, Potter. What if the Dark Lord Legilimencies you and finds this scene in your head? He’ll understand I’m Dumbledore’s spy. This would not have happened if you had applied yourself better to learn Occlumency. I managed to Legilimency a hidden memory from you, which is proof that you let me in, almost on purpose it strikes me, far too far in your mind.”

Red spots of anger appeared on the cheeks of the fifteen-year-old Harry.

“You don’t even believe in Occlumency,” Snape continued accusingly. “You consider yourself above that kind of mental trick, don’t you? No, the Great Harry Potter goes for spectacular spells, like this summer, chasing Dementors away with fancy Patronuses, right? Why, you have decided not to stir a finger in order to learn Occlumency, haven’t you?”

“A Patronus is the only way to defend oneself against a Dementor - there was nothing fancy about it!” Harry retorted angrily.

 “For your information, you can learn to push a Dementor away by ignoring him with help of Occlumency. If no feelings emanate from you, they can’t feed on you.”

“I cannot stay impassive in front of what the Dementors evoke in me,” Harry protested. “It’s impossible!”

“Nonsense, Potter! You’re weak, emotional and impulsive, and you’re proud of it on top of everything. Refuse to hear reason, only follow your own mind…” Snape ranted. The fifteen-year-old Harry was white with anger and breathed with difficulty.

“I… I struggle… I struggle…” he stuttered, as if he wanted to explain something to Snape but didn’t find the words. Instead he turned towards a cupboard in Snape’s office from where faint thuds were heard. “There’s a Boggart in there, right? I’ll show you then… Boggarts always turn into Dementors in front of me. Just you read my mind. I’ll show you and you can tell me if you think it’d be easy to ignore the images I see and the cries that I hear when a Dementor comes near me.”

Before Snape had time to react, Harry lifted his wand to unlock the cupboard and let the Boggart out.

“You’ve already plundered my entire stock of memories in these sessions, so why not give you this as well?” There was humiliation mixed with fury and defiance in Harry’s voice. “I hear and see when my mother was killed by Voldemort,” Harry said between his teeth as the doors opened.

“Potter! No!” Snape called out beside him.

But it was too late: the Boggart emerged from the cupboard and transformed into a Dementor, hovering above Harry who felt his sight blur while desperate cries started to echo in his ears and dim images of his mother fleeing up a staircase appeared. Sinking down on his knees, he forced his impressions on Snape – he knew how it felt to have his mind read by now - and he realised that he somehow managed to transmit the images to his teacher, because he heard Snape cry out by his side. Harry made no attempts to defend himself against the Boggart, instead he let it influence him deliberately, reliving the horror and the death of his mother. He was growing faint and started to get afraid. Why did not Snape drive the Dementor away? He made an attempt at focusing his eyes, and to his surprise Snape seemed to be in as much agony as Harry, who by now was beyond being able to defend himself. When the gaping mouth of the dementor approached his face, he lost consciousness.

Snape only now seemed to become aware of what condition his pupil was in, and with an immense effort managed to turn the Boggart’s attention towards himself instead.

Nineteen-year-old Harry in the living room at Grimmauld Place narrowed his eyes. What was going on in the dungeon? Why did Snape in this memory tremble and look so out of his wits? And what was that form the Boggart was assuming?

When fifteen-year-old Harry regained consciousness the Dementor was gone and all was silent except for the sound of strangled sobs. When Harry turned around a strange scene met his eyes: Snape was prostrated on his knees in front of a woman with red hair. His face was streaked with tears, his posture was pleading and his hands which moved tentatively towards her seemed to beg desperately for forgiveness although no words came over his lips. Harry’s hart started to beat very fast at the sight of the pain, the regret and the terror etched on Snape’s face.

“Professor, it’s only a Boggart, we must get rid of it,” he said hurriedly, at which the woman turned around. For one second Harry was shocked to see the face of his mother, before she transformed into a Dementor that attacked him again. The same memories as before resurged but with even greater force. Cries, green lightening… Harry started to shake violently. Snape managed to turn the Boggart away from Harry before Harry passed out this time, and the silently condemning woman reappeared. Harry heard a faint ‘Riddiculus’, but nothing happened, and Snape appeared once again to be completely paralyzed by the Boggart.

“Professor, we must end it!” fifteen-year-old Harry exclaimed, shocked at his teacher’s inability to drive the Boggart away. Equally weak and anguished, Harry gripped his wand and one last time he turned the woman’s attention towards himself. This time he was prepared and he conjured a Patronus in time for the Dementor to shrink back, then he managed a ‘Riddiculus’ and with what felt like an immense effort, Harry shut the Boggart in the cupboard.

Bewildered, the fifteen-year-old turned towards Snape who was still on his knees, his long black hair hanging in front of his lowered face, chest heaving. Sweat dripping down his own back, feeling faint, Harry asked in a small voice:

”Professor, why do you beg my mother’s forgiveness?”

Snape lifted his head. His face was still streaked with tears and so white he looked like a ghost.

“Obliviate.”

In the living room at Grimmauld Place, Snape and Harry remained silent for a long while. Snape rested his elbows on his knees, head bent down toward his still hands and his long black hair hanging down in front of his face.

”The thing you’re most afraid of is my mother… You’re afraid that she still accuses you…” Harry said slowly. He halted. ”What does she accuse you of, precisely? Why is she so terribly unforgiving? I mean I know you… with the Prophesy… but…?” he asked. Snape looked at him for a while straight in the eyes before he answered.

”Why, she’s angry with me for putting her child in mortal danger… which I did… which I am indeed guilty of…” Harry drew his breath.

”I didn’t realise that you met Lily after the Prophesy, after you changed sides? I didn’t think that Dumbledore allowed you to see her…?”

Snape lifted a hand as a sign for Harry to stop and looked away with a plagued expression on his face which served to confirm to Harry that the assumption that Lily and Snape had met each other once again after the Prophesy had been brought to Voldemort, must be true.

”I’m so sorry Professor,” Harry said after a pause. ”You know you have repaid what you did… we talked about it at the end of last term… You need not feel guilty on my account… That scene in the dungeon, it was… it was…”

“It was dreadful… abominable…” Snape replied with a sigh.

“Do you…? Are you able to handle a Boggart today?” Harry asked cautiously. Snape shook his head and looked away.

“Er… Probably not…” he mumbled. “I avoid them.”

“But that’s…” Harry started to say, bewildered, but was stopped again by Snape’s raising a hand.

“Please leave it, Harry,” said Snape.

It wasn’t normal, Harry thought to himself. It was not normal that a powerful wizard like Snape was not capable of taking care of a simple Boggart. Harry and his friends had learnt to handle Boggarts in their third year at Hogwarts. For the first time, Harry started to realise that Snape’s reluctance to speak about Lily was not only sprung from stubbornness. It was not only eccentricity on his part, not only a way of protecting his integrity and personal life, but was instead a sign of something disturbing and debilitating - a deep wound, an abyss of grief and guilt lurking under the professor’s impassive surface. Harry shuddered at the realisation when Snape started to speak again, having regained most of his countenance.

“I realize that I alone brought that scene in the dungeons about,” he said. “I pushed you over the limit. You were only fifteen and I took advantage of the situation. I plagued you. I was severe in my teaching and didn’t explain much to you, only craved of you to try harder. Maybe I wanted you to fail to be able to say that you were worthless… I’m so sorry, Harry. I loathe myself for that behaviour today.” Harry tried to say something but Snape stopped him. “This afternoon, however, it was not my intention to hurt you. I know that I had promised not to Legilimency you and that I shouldn’t have attempted it. But it was done spontaneously, out of impatience, but without ill intent.”

Harry sighed, but his look told Snape that the young wizard had forgiven him.

 “I’m afraid we’ll have to live with the consequences of our Occlumency lessons,” Snape continued composedly. “We might be able to take advantage of this peculiar connection that we have between our minds, however, and learn to communicate wordlessly with one another. It’s not about intruding or even reading each other’s minds, it’s about sending mental messages, deliberately, to each other. It’s a bit like I showed you before, when you share a memory with another person. It should work. And it could come in useful.”

Harry smiled faintly at his professor. Wordless communication, indeed – yes, that might be interesting. The proposal told Harry that Snape had an amazing ability to recover and to turn things to his advantage, and Harry could but admire Snape for that fact.

Yet, what still lingered in Harry’s mind was the scene in the dungeon where Snape had been incapacitated to such a degree, and a suspicion that the confession today, including the revelation of the shape of his Boggart, had cost Snape immensely in terms of courage and self-control. The professor must have steeled himself before joining Harry today. No wonder Snape had been ready to turn back and walk away on the door-step to Grimmauld Place.

Harry had two circles of friends that he socialised with, or four, depending on how you counted. One consisted of his old friends at Hogwarts among which Ron, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas constituted a close-knit group since they had started at the Auror program together. Naturally, Harry was considered one of them. Ginny had made new friends at her Quidditch team whom she brought along. The Qudditch players and the Auror apprentices got along very well. Dean even found a girlfriend in the team, so the two groups quickly merged into one. They were young, merry and tireless in their pursuits of amusements as they preferred to go out in large parties. Based at London, they had a vast supply of pleasures and could give free reign to their appetite.

The other group of friends was more loosely put together and more complex, but not less attractive to Harry, on the contrary. It consisted of a few new acquaintances from St Mungo’s, among them care-wizard Hugo and his girlfriend Esmeralda who was best friends with Josepha, a newly examined healer at St Mungo’s whom Harry had met last year. Josepha was also the girlfriend of Luna, Harry’s old friend from Hogwarts. Luna had moved in with Josepha as soon as she had finished school and was now working in a second-hand shop at Diagon Alley. As such, she met Ginny now and then who worked at her brother’s joke shop only a few houses away. Josepha and Luna naturally had a network of contacts in the magical gay community of London and therefore they knew Hercules, George Weasley’s boyfriend since almost a year, but also Simmings, a young Auror who had been based at Hogwarts the previous year and whom Harry had learnt to know pretty well. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione naturally stuck together and therefore socialised in both groups in different constellations.

One late afternoon in October, the four friends were invited to Josepha’s and Luna’s large apartment only a few blocks away from Grimmauld Place together with a selection of the couple’s motley set of acquaintance. Harry had brought Teddy, his youngest friend of all, only one and a half years old, but a very go-ahead and stout young man. Remus Lupin had appointed Harry godfather of his and Nymphadora Tonks’ child only shortly before they were both killed at the battle of Hogwarts. The orphaned Teddy was raised by his grandmother, with a not unsubstantial support from Mrs Weasley, but Harry was keen on taking responsibility for Teddy as well and relieve the pressure on Mrs Tonks now and then, especially since Teddy had become such a quick and agile little fellow.

Josepha’s and Luna’s apartment was brighter and airier than the house of the Black family and was full of magical art because Josepha was a keen collector and had inherited some pieces from her family. Luna contributed with her own style to their home, with magical gadgets and trinkets of more eccentric appearance, which clashed a bit with Josepha’s more classical taste, but the couple seemed reconciled with the fact, being very much in love.

This particular evening, Luna had gone all in and made playful decorations with chiffons and bling in the ceiling of the living room where the guests mingled, and she had prepared a set of various magical creatures-alike appetisers and pastries. A set of rather hard core homosexuals were invited, mutual friends of Josepha, Hercules and of Simmings, and those had taken a particular liking to Luna and her personality.

“Darling, these are marvellous!” exclaimed a tall and thin, well-clad androgynous person, blowing a kiss at Luna before putting a petit four in their mouth. “Oh, what is this?” They made a show of displaying a horrified face as little Teddy whisked round their elegant legs; the child was riding on a small hobby-horse, enchanted to whinny and neigh from time to time.

Harry had noticed that some of the gay people had an image of not being compatible with children at all, either ignoring them or abhorring them. Maybe it was some kind of defence or self-censorship - a sort of self-preservation against the prejudices in the magical world where homosexuals were not to be associated with children, or they might be accused of improprieties, or worse assaults.

Others, like Simmings, were delighted with Teddy who got more than enough of his due of attention. Simmings did not hesitate to throw himself on the floor to play with Teddy, or to chase him throughout the room.

“Look at Teddy,” said Hermione. “He’s so fond of that pony of his! It’s as if he’s fused to that stick.”

“I know,” said Harry who had stopped playing to catch his breath for a while. “He’s fond of all kind of animals, but his favourites are still cubs and wolves. He has inherited some kind of affinity for the canine species from Lupin.”

“And the metamophmagus talents from Tonks,” Hermione supplied.

“He’s absolutely gorgeous,” said Josepha tenderly, being visibly pregnant. Harry shook his head.

“He certainly is. But when I think that I was younger than Teddy is now when my father gave me my first broom to ride…” he said.

“You were…?” said Josepha, moving her eyes from Teddy to Harry.

“Maybe those were different times,” said Hermione. “But I agree, I wouldn’t dare trust Teddy with a broom, not even an enchanted one.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can start early enough,” said Ginny. “I’m sure he could handle it, Harry. He would fall off a couple of times at first of course, but then he would learn.”

“I think I’d rather wait to give him one… There’s ample of time for him to practice on a broom later,” said Harry. “I suppose I’m a wimp compared to my father,” he added.

“Harry Potter – a wimp?” asked one of Hercules’ and Josepha’s friends who was passing by, making a show of opening his mouth wide. “You’re the toughie, the super stud personified in our community, Harry,” he added and winked. Harry smiled and shook his head. He had been confused at first by the jargon used among the gay friends, but once he got used to it, he was rather amused. It was hearty and a bit disrespectful at the same time, which was a relief compared to some of the pretty star-struck reactions he met with from time to time in the heterosexual world. “Especially in the eyes of some,” the young man added pointedly, giving a glance that was supposed to be subtle at Simmings.

Simmings was on his way over to Harry and his friends with a wildly kicking Teddy in his arms. He had overheard the exchange of words and retorted:

“I actually think nothing of the sort. I think that Harry is in possession of a really good combination of softer qualities and of strength and courage. He’s a more sensitive person than you think, and more genuine too than you hardened fags will ever be,“ he said.

“If that was supposed to convince me that you’re not madly in love with him, Simmings…” the young man snorted and swept away, pretending to be affronted, but looking back studiedly over his shoulder, winking at Harry.

Simmings was handing over the toddler to Harry, which forced them close together. When Teddy had at last wriggled over in Harry’s arms, Simmings stepped back, red in his face. Harry observed an amused little smile in the corner of Ginny’s mouth. A bit confused, Harry cleared his voice.

“Thanks for playing with Teddy, Simmings. I suppose he’s getting tired – and hungry.” Bending over the now still but a bit huffed child in his arms, he continued: “Let’s give you something to eat, Teddy, and then you can sit with me and rest for a while.”

“I’ll warm Teddy’s food for you, Harry,” said Luna.

“Let’s find a quiet corner in the adjacent room,” said Josepha.

The party went on, but Josepha kept Harry company while he fed Teddy. After a while Hermione joined them at the table.

Neville was a common acquaintance, and Josepha told them that he had come by only a few days ago but that he had not been able to attend the party today.

“I like him very much,” she confided in them. “At first I was afraid that Luna’s and his friendship would come to an end when she and I started going out. He was in love with her after all.”

“Yeah, he was pretty depressed about it for a time,” Harry recalled. “It did not exactly boost his confidence.”

“No, it never does, does it? To be rejected is hard on us all in a relationship. Regardless why it ended, you’ll often blame yourself and lose confidence. Especially if you were abandoned before, I mean, in your childhood, like Neville was in a way when he lost his parents,” explained Josepha. Harry looked with interest at her.

“Do you know about psychological stuff like that?” he wondered.

“Well, a bit,” she conceded. “It interests me. I chose between becoming a mind healer and a healer for new-born magical children. In the end, I chose child medicine.”

“It must be difficult to draw general conclusions like that, isn’t it?” asked Hermione. “It must be individual.”

“It is to a great extent,” Josepha conceded. ”But there seem to be some principles that hold most of the time. When it comes to Neville, I didn’t mean to analyse his childhood, I only meant to say that I was impressed that he managed to overcome his hurt feelings and persist in his friendship with Luna. I mean, there’s not a hint of aggression or resentment towards me either. He’s the most humble and well-meaning person I’ve met.”

Harry and Hermione agreed with her.

“It’s obvious, however, that the fate of his parents has marked him as a person,” Hermione filled in thoughtfully. “Only consider that he travelled all the way to South America in the hope of finding an herb that would help his parents.”

“He did?” said Harry. “I hadn’t realised that was the aim of the trip.”

“He didn’t tell us when he came to Grimmauld Place at first, but he told me later. His hopes were crushed, however - it turned out to be false marketing: the plant was weak and useless. Now he focuses on the undoing of his parents’ Obliviates instead.”

“Oh, those Obliviatings!” They were interrupted by Hugo and his girlfriend Esmeralda who settled down at their table. “We’ve read so much about them. I truly wish you good luck with your campaign against them!” Esmeralda said to Hermione.

They talked about the campaign for a while, Hugo and Josepha contributing with testimonies from St Mungo’s of Obliviate treatments with varying effects. Harry listened but did not say much - there was no point in bringing up Ginny’s predicament from the treatment again. He could hear her laughing from the adjacent room. She was popular with the gay men, worshiped for her good looks and charisma. She lapped the attention up, and they all seemed to be having a good time together. Teddy was growing drowsy after eating, leaning against Harry’s chest. Josepha suggested that he put him down on the sofa, but Harry declined, rejoicing to feel the warm little body against his and the steady breathing slowing down as the toddler fell to sleep.

“I can’t wait to have a little one like that of my own,” Josepha said longingly.

“Which week is it again?” Hermione wanted to know.

“I’m in the twenty eighth week of my pregnancy,” Josepha replied. “We’re due in the middle of January if all goes well.”

“It will,” said Luna who had joined them after having finished in the kitchen, calmly taking Josepha’s hand.

“You never know,” Josepha mumbled. “I’ve seen what can happen, trust me…”

“You’ve seen too much,” Luna replied. “It will go well.” Josepha smiled tenderly at her.

“Did you decide right after you met that you wanted a baby?” Ron who had joined them wanted to know. Hermione blushed a bit on his behalf for asking so bluntly, but Josepha answered straight-forwardly.

“I had already decided that I wanted a child. I had finished my education, I had a job, and I didn’t want to wait too long. I had already started to plan to do it on my own when I met Luna, and she thought it was a magnificent plan.”

“How…?” Ron asked, but Hermione elbowed him hard in his side. “Ouch!” he said. Josepha smiled indulgently.

“It’s OK,” she said to Hermione then turned to Ron. “I understand that you wonder, although you would not exactly ask a heterosexual couple how they did it, would you?” Ron reddened.

“No, I would assume…” he started to say.

“Well, you would be wrong in ten percent of the cases approximately,” said Josepha. “Because a lot of heterosexual couples need some assistance to have children as well. In my case… or in our case…” She squeezed Luna’s hand. “We actually turned to a Muggle hospital since there is no legal ground to get help in our own world. And, well… they did an insemination… it’s not that complicated…”

“You mean…” Hugo looked at her with big eyes.

“I mean that somewhere out there, there is a man who donated his sperms to that hospital. Someone kind and generous who wanted to help others. We’ll be eternally grateful to this man, but he will remain anonymous to us and to our child. We have no means to find out who he is, and hopefully it doesn’t matter.”

“No, hopefully it doesn’t,” Harry echoed, his thoughts wandering back to when he had learnt about his parents and who they really were, and how important it had been for him. He had sucked up every little bit of information about them, and for years – he realized that now – he had been very keen to find likenesses between himself and James, his father. He had sought the similarities out, almost deliberately it seemed to him in retrospect, cultured sides that he knew resembled those of his father, and regretted when he had been unable to meet up with the comparison. He remembered how desolate he had been when Sirius implied that he was too cautious, less courageous than James.

But then, he thought, he had never had a loving family, which this baby would no doubt have with Josepha and Luna. The donor of this baby would not be a part of the child’s history in the same painful way that Harry’s parents belonged to his. There would be no history, except that of an exceptional gift, and that of a couple who loved their child.

Harry was torn from his reverie by Ginny who had come up by his side.

“Harry… George and Hercules and the others are leaving now. I’ll go along. Pluto sent me an owl earlier to tell me that they’re going out tonight. I want to join them at the Xenophoria,” she said. Pluto was short for Plutarch who was her Quidditch captain and the Xenophoria was the most exclusive magical night club in London.

“But Ginny, we agreed on a quiet night tonight,” said Harry. “We’ve got Teddy and…”

“He’s sleeping now, and tomorrow my mother will pick him up early – I won’t be awake anyway to see him off in the morning. We had a nice little moment earlier today, Teddy and I, and I’ll soon see him again,” Ginny reasoned a bit impatiently.

“But I went out with you yesterday, and the day before that, and we had agreed that…” Harry tried to object but was interrupted.

“You know that we have agents from the French Quidditch league visiting this week, people I already met at Le Grand Eclat. It’s an opportunity for me to show myself, and I owe it to the team,” Ginny argued.

“To show yourself…” on the dance floor? Harry was close to saying, but bit his lip in time. He did not want to argue in front of the others.

“You do understand don’t you, Harry? You always do,” Ginny said, cradling her fingers through his thick black hair, cajoling and convincing now. Harry swallowed.

“Yeah, well…” he said reluctantly.

“Pluto sent an owl expressly for me, you see, and I answered him that I would come.” She spoke very softly and persuadingly now.

“Yeah, I see…” said Harry, realizing that the case was already lost.

“I knew you would understand. You always do, Harry,” said Ginny, adding with more impatience: “I long for those simplified security watches to appear on the market – they’re more amenable than owls after all, more elegant and affordable. I’ve told George to get me one as soon as they come out.” She put a gentle hand on Teddy’s head, bent down gracefully to kiss Harry on the mouth, glanced at the others and said good-bye. More guests were waving good-bye and blowing kisses at them from the door. Luna and Josepha rose to accompany Ginny and see them all off.

When the great majority of the guests left at once, the apartment suddenly turned very quiet. Ron cleared his voice.

“I wonder,” he said in a slightly unnatural voice, “whether the upcoming security watches are going to replace owl mail altogether in the future – do you think so? What a pity if they do.”

No one answered him. Hugo looked with a mixture of embarrassment and pity at Harry. Harry’s head had been studiedly bent down over Teddy since Ginny left, stroking the child’s soft hair repeatedly. The child started to stir, and Harry stopped abruptly, letting Teddy settle again.

“She’s young, your girl-friend,” Hugo stated gently. Harry glanced up at him, smiling sadly.

“Yes,” he said in a quiet voice. “She’s a year younger than the rest of us.”

“And it’s her first time living in London,” Hugo went on. Harry cleared his voice.

“It wouldn’t be a problem, really,” he said. “I do understand that she wants to… that she needs to have fun and go out, but…” His gaze met Hermione’s who averted her eyes, and Ron looked self-conscious.

“It’s been a bit too much lately,” Harry explained. “Even Ron who often accompanies Ginny and her friends thought so.” Ron cleared his voice.

“Yeah,” he conceded. “I reckon we were a bit over enthusiastic in the beginning. All the pubs, all the clubs – the old gang all together… and new friends on top of it… It resulted in many nights out… and a bit too much booze sometimes… a bit too often, you know… We needed to set it right, to reach a balance…”

“So we had a discussion, the four of us, only a couple of weeks ago, because we realised it was not going to hold,” Harry explained.

“On the other hand, Harry and I were accused of taking our studies too seriously,” Hermione filled in. “Ron and Ginny wanted us to accompany them more often, and to loosen up a bit…” She sighed. “At the beginning of a program you’re naturally keen to keep up. You don’t really know the level they’re expecting of you, and it’s quite possible that I was overzealous. I always seem to aim high.”

“And I understand,” Ron said quickly. “I wouldn’t want you to fail because of me, Hermione. But the Auror program is more practical and physical, so I don’t need to study so much in the evenings. Harry on the other hand has two programs to keep up with. And Ginny doesn’t study at all…”

“We were out of tune with each other so to speak,” Harry explained, “but in the end we all reached an agreement where Hermione and I would make sure to have at least two nights off every week.”

“Except in view of upcoming exams,” Hermione added.

“I actually agreed to going out three nights a week,” Harry added. “You don’t want to be accused of being a boring boyfriend…” He made a wry face.

“But we also agreed…” Hermione said.

“…on having at least two early nights a week,” Ron filled in.

“Visiting friends like today, or only having a quiet evening among ourselves,” said Harry.

“I have enjoyed slowing down a bit,” said Ron. “I don’t mind cuddling up in front of a fire at Grimmauld Place.” Hermione smiled at him, but then turned a desolate face toward Harry.

“Ginny didn’t keep the agreement today…” she said.

“I’ve been trying to tell you that she’s overly restless,” said Harry. “Staying at home makes her anxious.” He did not expect an answer from his friends. He bent over Teddy and murmured: “OK, let’s get you home without waking you up, shall we?”

“Will you make it through the fire place?” asked Luna.

“No, it’ll wake him up, I think. We’d better walk, the Muggle way you know.” Harry smiled. “It’s not far away. I’ll carry him. You’re coming along?” He looked inquiringly at Ron and Hermione who nodded.

In the mornings on weekdays, Harry would most often be found in the Emergency hall at St Mungo’s. He was working closely with Healer Sheno, his mentor, who let his young apprentice assist in all sorts of matters, from small ailments to learning to deal with complicated spell damage. Shortly before noon one day – Harry was already starting to get hungry – Sheno was called on his alarm.

“An injured Auror is coming in,” he exclaimed. Harry's eyes widened and he felt his heart start to beat faster. It might be someone he knew.

“Ok, Harry, let’s meet up with them. Remember now not to be too hasty. In cases like this there might be multiple injuries. You need to keep your head cool and assess the whole picture before you start healing your patient.”

“Otherwise you might start healing a less serious wound and miss a major one.” Harry confirmed that he understood, while they were running towards the emergency booths. “You want me to do the diagnostic scan?” he added a bit nervously. Sheno nodded.

“Unless they’re unconscious – in which case it might be a head injury and that’s a bit advanced for you as yet.”

The drapery was lifted magically for them to enter the booth. Harry instantly recognized Ron in company with two Aurors gathered around a still and bloodied body. Ron’s face was screwed up in concern and met Harry’s eyes briefly, backing off to make room for the healers.

“OK, Harry, I’ll take this…” Sheno started to say when they were interrupted by a woman’s voice behind them.

“I’ll wake him up.” To Harry’s surprise, Mrs Steadfast took a few quick steps past them towards the wounded wizard and before Sheno could stop her she had waved her wand over the wizard's face. Harry had by now recognized Soundy, Mrs Steadfast’s right hand, as the victim.

“My dear lady, that wasn’t very wise…” Sheno started to scold, hurrying up by Soundy’s side. To their surprise the wizard opened his eyes, his gaze quickly clearing up. He fastened them on Mrs Steadfast and said hoarsely:

“I didn’t betray anything, Mrs Steady. When I felt the first sensation of the Imperius, I self-stupefied and blanked out.”

The book, Harry thought instinctively. Soundy must be in on the secret where Voldemort’s book was hidden and someone from the Shiftings had abducted him to torture its whereabouts out of him.

“I knew you would resist, Soundy, I knew I could count on you.” Mrs Steadfast had taken the wizard’s hand in her own, a bit moved after all. “They still seem to have roughed you up a bit,” she added with sympathy. Soundy made a grimace of pain.

“They ambushed me outside my house this morning,” he said. “Both Mr Burgess and Mr Hatch were there. When I think that Bellamy used to be one of my trainees, I…”

“Hush, we’ll talk later, when you’re healed,” said Mr Steadfast. “Bellamy Burgess is a lost cause - it happens. Now, we found you, didn’t we? We even caught a couple of Shifting members. Easy now.”

“He’s yours for diagnosis, Harry,” said Sheno. “No head injury, I checked. Self-stupefaction – what a thing to do when you’re captured and exposed!” He sounded both incredulous and disapproving. Harry stepped forward to proceed with the examination, gesturing to a care wizard to help him Tergeo the blood away for visual inspection of the wounds as well. While he started his diagnostic incantation, he was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him.

“If you know for a fact that you’re unable to resist the Imperius curse – which very few wizards and witches are able to do – you need another strategy to avoid it,” said Mrs Steadfast. “I always teach my crew self-stupefaction. It’s difficult enough, it needs to be brought on quickly before the Imperius starts to act.”

“But you’re at your opponents’ complete mercy!” Sheno objected, keeping an eye on Harry while debating with Mrs Steadfast.

“Well, it needs to be used with discernment. When you’re certain that you possess a knowledge that your opponent wants, you can be pretty sure they’re not going to kill you – they’re going to wait for you to wake up, and you’ll have bought yourself – and your rescuers - time.”

“I suppose it’s quite difficult?” asked Ron, looking with admiration at Soundy.

“It takes some time to learn, lad,” mumbled Soundy, shutting his eyes and grimacing with pain again.

At that moment another imposing figure entered the booth.

“Did they get the location out of him?” Snape barked without preamble. Mrs Steadfast looked at him with reproach and Soundy snapped his eyes open again.

“Thanks for your concern, Professor,” he said sarcastically. “No, they didn’t…” he added weakly and closed his eyes again.

“Sorry,” muttered Snape. “I just heard about the abduction. I came here as soon as I could. I wanted to know if we needed to take further actions. No actual damage done then?” he asked Mrs Steadfast.

“Well… yes and no!” She rolled her eyes and gestured at Soundy’s injured body.

“Of course, but this can be managed,” said Snape. “Diagnosis?” he added to Harry who had just lowered his wand.

“Just a minute,” the young wizard muttered, lifting his hands and humming an incantation over Soundy’s upper abdomen. Sheno and Snape observed him impassively.

“Young Evans is doing well,” Snape murmured to Sheno.

“Indeed,” Sheno said. “Harry’s doing well whatever he has a try at, but I believe he has a special talent for diagnostics. He’s got very sensitive hands when it comes to detecting magical injuries.”

“I noticed so, too, last year in Defence against the Dark Arts class. Sensitive hands can get you quite far if you’ve got a good head to interpret your results,” Snape answered.

“Yeah, you should know…” Sheno replied. ”There are stories you know, among the staff at St Mungo’s, dating decades back, of your detection abilities.”

“Exaggerated, no doubt,” Snape muttered. Sheno opened his mouth to reply when Harry stopped his humming.

“The physical injuries are moderate,” he said. “The worst injury was a ruptured spleen which I healed right away and spelled the leaking blood back into the circulation.” He waited to get an affirmative nod from Sheno that he had done well to do so, before he continued. “Otherwise cuts and bruises mostly. Care-witch Isobel will heal them, but I’ve also discovered that Soundy’s been hit with a dark curse!”

“Bellamy Burgess had a go at me before I blacked out,” Soundy’s eyes darkened. “Quite uncontrolled in his manners that man is. I don’t understand why I didn’t realise what a lunatic we had among us last year before he left us for the Shiftings.”

“I’ll catch him for you, Soundy,” Mrs Steadfast said with grim determination.

“Please wait before you tell us which spell was used on you,” Snape said to Soundy and turned to Harry. “In this case you have a conscious patient who is able to speak for himself and who is moreover an experienced Auror. He’ll no doubt be able to tell you which curse was used, or at least be able to give you some clue to it. But, please consider alternative ways of diagnosing the curse, other than asking the patient. What could you do? What did the diagnostic spell tell you?”

With Snape’s guidance Harry was able to reason his way both to the cause and to the cure of the curse. Since he had never performed the healing incantation before, however, Snape showed him, and Soundy drew a deep breath.

“Much better,” he said. “Glad to contribute to your education, Harry!”

“I’m sorry!” Harry exclaimed, guilt-stricken. ”It would’ve been quicker if I hadn’t…”

“No, no…” said Soundy.”It would’ve gone marginally faster. Marginally,” he reinforced. “I meant what I said – I’m really glad to see you make such progress. I hope that you’ll impress us with your Auror skills at the upcoming exam tomorrow as well, Harry. Walter here is preparing something special for you all.” The tall and fair haired wizard beside the stretcher grinned broadly.

“Are you, Sir?” Harry said, trying to stifle a wry face. In his view, the American physical education trainer was a bit over zealous. What was he doing on the rescue mission anyway? He was not a proper Auror to Harry’s knowledge.

“We need to know that you’re able to protect yourselves before joining in on real missions. Ron accompanying the rescue team today was a reward for good thinking,” said Mrs Steadfast. Harry looked appreciatively at his friend and Ron blushed.

“I only kept my head cool,” he said. “It was discovered right away that Soundy had been taken, because his wife saw what happened through the window and alerted us…”

“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Soundy, “I need to floo-call Sîan and tell her I’m okay.”

“Already done,” said Mrs Steadfast. “She’s on her way.” Soundy sank back on the stretcher, looking embarrassed.

“That was not strictly necessary,” he muttered. “I’ll be able to go home soon, won’t I? I’m healed and done.”

“You’ll stay twenty-four hours for observation,” said Sheno. “Routine after a Dark Arts injury,” he added sternly when Soundy opened his mouth to protest.

“Possible late effects,” Snape clarified for Harry’s benefit. “Rare, but possible. Late organ failure. You’ll need to spell check the magical content of the organs every three hours during admission.” Mrs Steadfast picked up the previous tread.

“Mr Weasley was the only one of the students and one of very few of my own Aurors who didn’t vote for going straight to the place where the… er… a certain protected object is hidden,” she said. Harry did not know how many on the team knew of the book Voldemort had left for his son, which they had managed to lay hands on last term, but it seemed that Mrs Steadfast had kept even the majority of her Aurors in the dark, which was good. The fewer that knew the better.

“I said I thought that Soundy would resist for a while and that we had time to plan our rescue, “said Ron.

“Thank you,” said Soundy drily. “I had expected better of my colleagues.”

“You know what happens when one of our own is targeted,” said Mrs Steadfast. “They panicked. But rushing straight to our hiding place would’ve compromised us,” she added. “I’m sure they had spies in the quarters surrounding the Ministry to track us. We would have led them to the hiding place.”

“I was thinking of all the times I’ve rushed ahead on impulse over the years,” Ron muttered. “I must have learnt something from our adventures.” Harry and he smiled at each others in understanding. Harry would never forget the trauma of having lived with Voldemort looming over his existence all those years, but with time passing, some of his and Ron’s and Hermione’s adventures over the years had started to attain a certain mellowed lustre. “And then Walter came up with this brilliant plan,” Ron pursued. Walter was the only teacher who permitted the students to use his first name.

“It’s new, but I had seen it done in the States,” Walter drawled importantly.

“We were able to find Soundy thanks to his security watch,” Mrs Steadfast explained.

“The Auror in charge of magical artefacts did the job,” Ron said enthusiastically. ”It wasn’t easy, but it was possible to track Soundy very accurately even though he was unresponsive at the time.”

“We were lucky,” said Mrs Steadfast. ”Security watches are new. It’s only a matter of time before criminals will learn how to manipulate them if they don’t want to be traced. There’s a lot of creativity in the criminal world as well. We just need to keep ahead of them.”

Care witch Isobel and one of her colleagues were preparing to move Soundy to the Dark Arts injuries ward. One Auror was to remain with him, but the others prepared to return to headquarters. Snape said he was needed back at Hogwarts. He had only been able to join them by skipping lunch, and there was a class waiting for him right now.

“A bunch of nitwits,” he muttered. Mrs Steadfast raised an eyebrow.

“You obviously should have chosen to become an Auror or a Healer full time if you wanted to be closer to the action, Severus. Can’t help you there, but there’s nothing dishonourable in the task of a headmaster,” she bantered. “I can fill you in on details later if you’ll have dinner with me tonight?” she offered. Snape narrowed his eyes.

“Muggle restaurant?” he asked suspiciously.

”Why not?” Mrs Steadfast answered innocently.

”Humph, maybe, I’ll be in touch,” said Snape and swept away.

“Such a charming, forth-coming wizard,” Mrs Steadfast said sarcastically, shaking her head to herself before lifting her gaze to Ron and Harry. “Why does he stay as a teacher at Hogwarts when he could work as a healer? You can tell he’s more passionate about healing than about pupils.” She looked inquiringly at Harry. For some reason she seemed to regard him as some sort of expert on Snape behaviour since the close of last term. She was wrong, Harry thought, Snape was quite as much an enigma to him as to her. Although some things were obvious.

“Why, out of loyalty,” he said. Mrs Steadfast nodded thoughtfully before she knitted her eyebrows again.

“Loyalty to whom?” she asked.

“Why, to Albus Dumbledore,” said Harry.

“Ah, of course,” Mrs Steadfast said, looking more puzzled than ever. She cleared her throat and said sternly: “You two should make sure to revise properly for tomorrow’s test. No other plans for tonight, I hope?” The two young men looked slightly guilty. Mrs Steadfast raised an eyebrow.

“We’re attending a Quidditch match this evening,” said Harry. “But it won’t get late, and I’ll bring my notes to revise between scores.” Mrs Steadfast raised her eyebrows even higher. “Ginny’s team is playing France. It’s a matter of…”

”National honour,” Ron filled in.

”Suit yourselves,” Mrs Steadfast muttered. ”But don’t fail your tests!” she cautioned them.

Harry was preparing to leave Grimmauld Place after having lunch all by himself. He and his fellow Auror trainees had the same morning completed the first part of the November preliminaries of the Auror program and had been given a few hours to recover before returning for the remainder of the examination in the afternoon. Ron, Dean and Seamus had gone to Dean’s place to have lunch and relax a bit, but Harry had wanted to see if Ginny was awake at home, and steal a moment with her. She had still been fast asleep, however, and Harry had not wanted to wake her up. He had eaten and then laid down and rested next to her for an hour. He had slumbered and still felt drowsy and slow, but needed to pass St Mungo’s quickly on his way back to the Ministry, so off he went by Apparition.

The physical test had been extremely hard – Harry already felt the upcoming stiffness from excessive exercise in his muscles. It seemed to Harry that Walter had focused on raw physical strength in the examination and it appeared to be Harry’s weakness. He regretted being a bit thin, but it seemed impossible for him to gain weight for a durable time. Years of wrestling and running away from his cousin Dudley, and another set of years with quidditch training had made him resilient and hardy, however, and his stubbornness served him well, too. So he had passed, although several of his fellow students who had spent the last few weeks building muscles specifically for this test had done better. Ron was one of them. Being both tall and now with quite a coat of muscles on his body, he received the next highest score on the physical test. Harry was happy for Ron’s sake, but consoled himself with having won an easy victory on the steeple chase course where they had been allowed their wands; Harry being both fast, quick in judgement and nimble with his spells.

Harry was expediently in and out of St Mungo’s, and was subsequently going to Apparate to the Ministry, but once in the Apparition hall of the hospital, he suddenly felt like walking a bit. He frowned at himself, trying to shake off the remains of sleepiness – why did he feel like walking? The weather was terrible and he would be late. It was raining outside, so Harry brought out his wand to cast an Impervious spell on himself. He felt a reluctance to do so, but why should he? He would be soaked if he did not. He cast the spell and proceeded through the door out on the Muggle street, when the realization hit him: Someone was trying to Imperius him. They wanted him to walk on the streets, and they wanted him to get soaked.

A shiver of terror blazed through Harry’s body. Who was it? He cast discrete glances around him, but continued to walk. Let them think that they had succeeded in controlling him, partially at least. There were only Muggle clad figures on the pavement around him, but he thought that he perceived a somewhat familiar magical signature nearby. Harry walked on, thinking fervently about what to do, who to alert.

He suddenly felt a strong urge to contact Snape and to warn him. But this must be the Imperius acting upon him, he realized almost immediately. Snape would be safe at Hogwarts. It was not logical at all that Harry would feel a need to Apparate to Spinner’s End that Snape visited very seldom anyway. And Apparating to Spinner’s End, if Harry was being traced, would only serve to unveil the location of Snape’s residence which was since August under a Fidelius protection. Harry had been trusted by Mrs Steadfast to be the Secret keeper of Snape’s home. Harry felt a surge of terror – it was of the utmost importance that he resisted the Unforgivable curse and did not betray Snape.

Was this Bellamy Burgess trying to get at Harry and Snape? But Harry thought that he would recognize Burgess’ magical signature from last year, and he did not. Could it be Hades Hatch, or Henna Hatch? What did they want? Why not simply try to kill him? Probably because they wanted Snape as well, and they wanted Voldemort’s note book, Harry realised.

Harry knew from before that he was able to resist the Imperius, and what happened right now confirmed this fact. He could feel waves of compelling forces pour over him, but he was at the same time master of his own will. He was scared, though. What would the persons do when they realized that he did not obey?

Harry decided to Apparate to the Ministry. Although he was sure of being traced, he thought that by entering the building quickly he would increase his chances of giving the alarm. He Disapparated suddenly, in the middle of a step, and Apparated with extreme precision in the Minstry’s common entrance, only one step from the security guard, and hissed a warning to the wizard, never really letting go of his wand during the security check. To his surprise, the guard did not seem alarmed, but winked at him and stated calmly that he would alert Mrs Steadfast at once.

Confused, Harry proceeded with caution to the elevator, staring hard at each of the wizards and witches who surrounded him, but comforting himself with the thought that an attack among so many bystanders was improbable. When the elevator stopped he hurried, alone, down the corridor to the Auror office with a sense of impending relief.

The door to Mrs Steadfast’s office was closed so Harry entered the classroom next to the Aurors’ common room. The sight that met him made him stop dead in consternation.

All of his classmates, including Ron, Dean and Seamus were seated at their places, vague expressions on their faces, completely soaked with rain from top to toe. By Merlin, thought Harry. Every single one of us has been targeted. He was glad, though, for his classmates’ sake, because the fact that they had managed to make it to the Auror Office showed that they had in the end been able to escape the Imperius, did it not? But why did they not dry themselves up with a spell? He opened his mouth to say something to Ron, when Mrs Steadfast stepped into the room together with Snape.

Snape looked worried and wary. He lifted his eyebrows at the sight of the soaked students, subsequently narrowing his eyes with suspicion. Mrs Steadfast looked impassive, but was that the slightest twitch of amusement in the corner of her mouth? Harry riveted his eyes on Snape, confused. What was all this about? What if people were still Imperiused in this room? What if Mrs Steadfast herself was Imperiused?

Harry sought to catch Snape’s eyes. Watch out! Harry tried to send an image of alert to Snape. They had practiced silent communication only the other day. Snape looked at him attentively, appreciating that Harry was the only one who wore dry clothes, nodding imperceptibly and making a slight movement with his right shoulder. Harry followed the arm down to Snape’s hand where he perceived the tip of Snape’s wand hidden in his palm. Snape seemed to be prepared - he too suspected something. Harry already had his wand out openly.

“Children,” said Mrs Steadfast in a neutral voice. “We have a serious situation. We’re waiting for Walter in order to clear this up.”

“And here I am, Mrs Steady!” Walter stepped into the room, full of confidence and not looking in the least troubled. “Ready to solve all your problems!” The drawling voice did not stop Harry from being hit with an instant realization. He recognized the magical signature! He acted on instinct.

It’s him! Harry launched by thought to Snape, conveying the image of the American. The Imperius! Almost instantly he received in return an image from Snape of them attacking Walter. Harry confirmed readily with a grim nod, gripping his wand tighter.

Everything happened very quickly from there: Harry was in plain sight, so Walter had no problem defending himself when Harry attacked - it was expected, but Snape’s Expelliarmus came almost imperceptibly from the other side and Walter ended up disarmed and with Snape’s wand at his throat. Snape grabbed the wizard by the chest and dragged him backwards while a chocked buzz travelled through the room. Harry picked up both his and Walter’s wands that had dropped to the floor. He pointed them wearily at Mrs Steadfast.

“Harry, evacuate the room,” ordered Snape. “Get some help, but be careful – we don’t know how deeply this man has infiltrated the office and how many he has Imperiused.”

The students rose with confused expressions on their faces, but Mrs Steadfast stepped in, unafraid, between Snape and Harry.

“By Mars! You’re quick, you two!” She turned to the students. “Sit down, all. Please, Severus, Harry, this is only an exercise. It’s not for real. Walter is a true ally. Release him, please.”

Harry frowned and Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously, not yet letting go of the American teacher.

“Check Mrs Steadfast for influence of the Imperius, Harry,” he said curtly. “She was acting strangely earlier.”

”By Saturnus, I had to conceal the procedure from you, Severus – the exercise wasn’t finished, even if you had resisted the Imperius.” Mrs Steadfast spread her arms out in an innocent gesture, and let Harry examine her.

“She’s not under its influence,” said Harry after having read a short incantation over Mrs Steadfast.  

Snape released Walter who looked a bit squashed. At least some of his show of superiority was gone as he cleared his throat and adjusted his clothes.

“Well…” he said. Mrs Steadfast suddenly giggled nervously.

”I think that you might’ve learned something in the bargain for once, Boss,” she said. “Come in you all!” She addressed several Aurors who had gathered at the door. They positioned themselves along the wall, some of them leering at the Auror apprentices. “You’ve all learnt to know Walter, our Physical Education trainer over the past few months,” Mrs Steadfast continued. “He’s a devoted athlete in every sense, but that’s not the whole truth about him. Everybody, please let me introduce Auror McSmithery from the MECUSA.”

A murmur went through the room, the students in their soaked clothes no longer looking only abashed, but excited as well, and several of the British Aurors straightening their backs.

The name rang a bell to Harry as well, but he did not feel in the least impressed. Now that the impending danger was gone, he felt anger mount in him. So Walter had worked under cover all this time. The Imperius had only been an exercise! Harry was only now able to appreciate how scared he had been during the last hour. Rage started to boil in him. Famous or not, he did not give a gnome’s toenail if this Auror was Dumbledore himself! Clenching his jaws he tossed his head at Auror McSmithery and flashed his eyes at Mrs Steadfast.

“Is it supposed to be a feat to cast Imperius first year students?” Harry spat. The others started at his outburst. “Did you know that your famous Auror took the opportunity to try to make me break the Fidelius and show him Professor Snape’s residence?” Harry launched at Mrs Steadfast. Walter McSmithery cleared his throat.

“This wasn’t only a first year preliminary test,” he said, his voice devoid of the slightly arrogant and drawling tone that he had maintained since he arrived at the office. He sounded much sharper now. Harry glared at him suspiciously. “You did extremely well to resist me, Mr Potter. We had heard the rumours of your ability to resist the Imperius, but we needed to test you. Were you even briefly under its influence?” He looked inquiringly at Harry.

“No, I don’t think so. I only walked on so that the person trying to Imperius me would think so and be off his guard,” Harry replied, still suspicious, but beginning to calm down.

“Very good, I wasn’t sure if I had a partial effect on you,” said McSmithery. “Most importantly, you did not betray your role of Secret Keeper. You on the contrary,” McSmithery turned accusingly to Snape, “you led me to Grimmauld Place! You’re not the Secret keeper, but you belong by special invitation to the inner circle. The professor was my first target today, then I picked the students one by one, ending with Mr Potter here. Mr Snape managed to slip out of the Imperius a little later on and I let him go, but he did betray the location first,” explained the American Auror. An impassive Snape lifted an eyebrow.

“Did I now?” he said. “I defy you to find Grimmauld Place based upon what I showed you.”

McSmithery narrowed his eyes.

“Based upon what you showed me? You led me there… We Apparated… I saw with my own eyes…”

“I’m sorry, Walter,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Professor Snape seems to have misled you. Severus came to my office this afternoon in a real state, warning me of the Imperius attempt, wanting me to send out squadrons of Aurors to protect Potter and his friends. I had to use all my ingenuity to calm him down. Severus apparently made some mind dodging thing to fool you, Walter. It’s his speciality. Apparently he betrayed nothing in fact, but let you imagine that he had.”

McSmithery’s mouth actually fell open briefly before he closed it and shook his head, colouring slightly. Snape lifted his eyebrows calmly. Harry felt a surge of pride on his professor’s behalf. Some of the others must have experienced similar sentiments, because Seamus muttered defiantly:

“Professor Snape fooled Voldemort himself, haven’t you heard?”

The soaked students straightened their backs. All confusion was gone from their faces by now. Auror McSmithery cleared his voice again.

“I can only congratulate you, Mrs Steady, on having such accomplished associates as Mr Snape and Mr Potter,” he said and bowed curtly.

“Walter has over the past weeks been assessing our entire group,” explained Mrs Steadfast. Her Aurors along the wall looked at each others. “Including loosely tied associates,” she glanced apologetically at Snape. “I’m very sorry that I’ve had to subject you to this scrutiny, especially since it was done in secret. The decision came from above and I had to carry out orders. It became evident last June that we had been infiltrated by someone who initially was associated with Voldemort and subsequently with the Shiftings group. I’m speaking of Bellamy Burgess who a lot of you knew and who we did not suspect until he betrayed us. His example made it necessary to cross-check the entire squad. Only someone from the outside could do it. The physical education training was a cover.”

“My mission has now come to an end,” Walter relayed Mrs Steadfast. “I’ve written my report in detail, and I’ve found no indications of further treachery. Today’s exercise with you lot ending up here soaked to your bone…” He looked at his students who lowered their heads. “…was a reminder not to let your success mount to your head. You all passed today’s physical, complying with basic protective behaviour, but as you can see, you’re still easy targets for a person willing to use Unforgivables.”

“That said, it’s useful to know whether you’re immune to the Imperius or not, and I’m sorry but it’s part of the Auror training to be tested for it,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“Immunity is extremely rare,” said Walter McSmithery. “It’s unusual to find three persons within one group.”

“Three?” asked one of Mrs Steadfast’s Aurors.

“Your boss has an innate immunity to the Imperius, as well as Mr Snape and Mr Potter,” said Walter McSmithery. “I should know – I’ve tested her multiple times when she worked with us at the MECUSA. With her independent personality it isn’t unexpected, perhaps.” There was a slight sarcasm in Walter McSmithery’s voice, but Snape looked appreciatively at Mrs Steadfast. “Do you know if you’re related in some way?” the American Auror turned unsuspicious to Snape and Harry. “Kinship might explain this statistical unlikelihood occurring,” he added. To his surprise sniggers were heard in the whole room and Snape and Harry both pulled wry faces.

“You didn’t follow the British press last spring, did you, Walter?” said Mrs Steadfast. “Professor Snape and Harry Potter were both accused of being Voldemort’s descendants, but it turned out to be entirely unfounded.”

“Some kind of distant relationship between the two of you, maybe?” muttered the Auror. “It’s extremely rare to find…”

“They’ve got a court order stating that they’re not kin,” Mrs Steadfast cut short, because she had noticed a heightened colour on Snape’s cheeks. It was true that last June at Severus Snape’s trial, the head of the Wizengamot herself had declared once and for all that Harry was the son of James Potter and nothing else. It had put an end to all the malicious rumours circulating.

“Now, you still have some theory to write,” said Walter McSmithery, giving up on the subject. “But first, you’re allowed a warming charm to dry yourselves up.”

Late in the afternoon the next day, Harry was sitting opposite Mrs Steadfast in her office, going through the results of his exam. The head of the Aurors had given him much praise, concluding that not only was he keeping up on a theoretical level but, not surprisingly, he was also well ahead when it came to defence practices. She sounded encouraging, yet a bit distant and off, not quite herself. Maybe she was only tired, thought Harry - she must have been through the entire class today, repeating herself many times over, and Harry was the last on the list. But as he rose to leave, he caught a shadow of sadness passing over her face and he could not prevent himself from asking:

“Are you okay, Mrs Steadfast?”

She looked at him in surprise, trying to put her features in place, not quite succeeding.

“I’m fine, thank you, Harry,” she said, turning her head and biting her lip. She actually looked as if she was going to start crying. Harry sat down again.

“Is it because of Professor Snape?” he asked cautiously.

“Severus?” Mrs Steadfast sounded genuinely puzzled and Harry blushed, regretting his presumption. Mrs Steadfast sighed. “I’m getting nowhere with Severus,” she said, surprising Harry with her honesty. ”Nowhere at all… despite dining together all over Muggle London… and maybe it’s just as well. I’m abysmal at relationships.” She gave away a sad little laugh and Harry smiled back.

”It’s never easy,” he mumbled, thinking of Ginny.

“How is she?” Mrs Steadfast asked, picking up his thread of thought with ease. Harry sighed.

”Oh…” He paused. ”If you ask her, she’ll say that she’s having the best time of her life right now,” he said hesitatingly. “Playing Quidditch, partying…”

“She’s a wild one,” Mrs Steadfast nodded to herself. “So was I once… You should take care, Harry, not to try to restrain her. There’s no point - I’d say it’s virtually impossible with such a disposition.”

“I’ve realized that already,” Harry murmured. ”And I like her disposition even if it’s different from mine. I don’t feel any impulse of holding her back, it’s just that… I’m not entirely sure that she is happy, if you know what I mean? There’s a restlessness to her which drives her to search for more, for something better, for new things, all the time. Now, she’s talking about moving to France, playing for the Quidditch league in Le Grand Eclat…”

“Having her move abroad would be hard for you, I see,” said Mrs Steadfast with sympathy.

“I thought we’d have at least a year together in London,” Harry said dispiritedly.

“It’s better to let her explore the world now, before you settle down, Harry, believe me,” Mrs Steadfast tried to console him. “Me, I married early, had my daughter at twenty and my son at twenty-two while training to become an Auror. Moved to the US at twenty-four and divorced not long thereafter…” Her voice trailed off and she looked unhappy again.

“What happened?” Harry asked cautiously. Mrs Steadfast sighed deeply.

“My husband was almost as impatient and as ambitious as I was. Everything happened too fast for us to handle, but the bottom line of it was that we were not suited for each other. I don’t regret the divorce, but the manner in which it came about is catching up with me at the moment.” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry, Harry, this must be embarrassing for you.” She dabbed her eyes with a piece of cloth and cleared her voice. “You caught me at a bad moment. I had a letter from my daughter this afternoon and I haven’t had time to process it yet.”

“Bad news?” Harry asked alarmed. Mrs Steadfast sighed again.

“Old news…” she said with exasperation. “It’s the same story all over again. I don’t know when they’re going to forgive me.” She drew a hacking breath and dabbed her eyes again. “So sorry, I’m making a fool of myself, am I not?”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Steady,” said Harry softly. “I’m only your student part time, and I’m practically a healer, broadly speaking.” He smiled at her then asked gravely. “Why won’t they forgive you? When you say ’they’ I suppose you mean your children?” Mrs Steadfast nodded with a new gush of tears, a sob and more dabbing.

“My daughter is twenty-four today and my son is twenty-two – not much older than you in fact. They were very young when we divorced, but… I thought that we sorted it out reasonably well at the time… considering our differences… We alternated with the children on a weekly basis. It was hard to be separated from them, but I worked a lot when they were not at home, and we found a rhythm, or so I thought… They both grew up so quickly and, before I knew it, they had entered their higher magical education programs, preparing for work. A year ago my daughter was about to move to Britain to complete her last year of studies here. That was why I applied for the post as Head of the Aurors in London in the first place. That, and to be close to my grandmother who’s getting old and who needs someone to look after her.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows. He had met Betty Steadfast, former Head of the Aurors, last spring, and although elderly, she had struck him as a tough old lady.

“At this point…” Mrs Steadfast swallowed hard. ”At this point, my former husband found it fit to tell my children why we separated all those years ago. We had not entered into it specifically when they were younger, and they had not asked… otherwise I would’ve explained - I would’ve explained! As it was, it all came out wrong. They only heard their dad’s side of the story, and… and… They’ve been cross with me ever since.” Mrs Steadfast’s voice broke again.

Harry stayed silent but looked at Mrs Steadfast with compassion. Did she want to confide in him? She chose to go on, stumbling a bit over the words.

“I fell in love you see, at work, all those years ago, when I entered the MECUSA. I worked closely with a French Auror, Roger… You’ve actually met him…”

Harry’s eyes widened. Roger was the French Auror who had tried to protect Ginny and him when they were attacked in Paris last April. The wizard had been severely hurt by an Avada Kedavra early on in the fight. Harry nodded at Mrs Steadfast that he understood who it was.

“Roger and I were both married. I promptly had a divorce despite my children being so young. He didn’t have children, but he never went through with the divorce. Our relationship lasted over fifteen years before it weaned off. I realized at long last that he would never leave his jealous, sickly wife… We’re still good friends, though.” She sniffed. “I don’t regret it. It’s life. My husband and I weren’t suited for each other anyway. What I don’t understand is why my children reproach me in retrospect…” She sighed.

“You’ve spoken to them?” asked Harry.

”I have. I saw them in August when I visited the US. It’s not desperate, they’re softening a bit, but they’re sort of still marking a certain distance. Or, maybe it’s me being sensitive. Maybe it’s just them growing up.”

“What did the letter say?” Harry asked kindly.

“They were supposed to visit London for Christmas, but now Emma wrote that they had decided to stay in the US. She’s got a new boyfriend and he can’t come with her because of his parents, so she decided to stay. If she stays, so will Daniel – they always keep together…”

Harry remained in the office a while, trying to console Mrs Steadfast. It was hard being on two different continents, he gathered. Her children not coming to visit for Christmas still might not spring from resentment, but from practical difficulties, he argued.

“Why is it me who has to make the sacrifice? I’m the one ending up alone,” she whispered bitterly before pulling herself together. “Listen to me - all self-pity!” she said in a disgusted tone and straightened her back. “At least I have the Office! And I still have my grandmother!” Her features softened with tenderness.

“See – that’s good!” Harry said gravely.

He left Mrs Steadfast looking a bit comforted, yet still dispirited.

In the corridor, walking towards the elevator, he met Snape on his way to the Auror Headquarters.

”Hello, Professor. Are you going to see Mrs Steady?” Harry asked.

Snape nodded.

”I only just left her. Please go easy on her. She’s kind of vulnerable right now, so just wait for a while, okay? And be nice to her,” said Harry, all of a sudden feeling very protective of Mrs Steadfast. Snape raised his eyebrows and stared at him.

“What?” he said.

“I mean… Don’t go inside and start snapping at her in that impatient way of yours. She’s a human being you know.”

“Why, are you implying that I’m insensitive as a rule?” Snape knitted his eyebrows, but looked more worried than angry.

“Not exactly, Sir… But I just found her crying in her office,” Harry spelled out. “She’s unhappy about her children.”

“Unhappy? Maybe I should come back another time then,” Snape muttered uncertainly and hesitated to turn around. Harry stared at him, surprised to see his lack of confidence.

“No, sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean it like that. She’ll be glad to see you, I think.”

Snape frowned, confused.

“All I meant was that you could check that impatient side of yours that at times can be a bit wounding,” said Harry.

Snape looked even more puzzled.

“Sorry, Professor, listen, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Look, I only wanted to warn you, so that you won’t barge in and hurt her feelings unintentionally when she’s already hurting. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do that, right?” Harry tried to explain.

“You think I should go to her then?” asked Snape, glancing down the corridor at the entrance of the Auror Headquarter. Harry looked at him incredulous. Was Snape asking him advice?

“Yes, go and see her and be nice to her,” he said flatly. Snape made a grimace and set off slowly.

“Be nice…” he muttered to himself sarcastically.

“By the way, Professor, I meant to ask you - I’m coming to Hogwarts on Friday. Can I see you in the afternoon about the Ancient magic paper I’m writing, please? I’m a bit stuck,” Harry launched after him. Snape turned around and frowned at him again.

“Sure,” he replied shortly.

***

Harry, Ron and Hermione had been invited to Hogwarts by Professor McGonagall in order to teach the third-years and the sixth-years contemporary history. No one was better suited than them to tell the tale of Voldemort and of the two wizard wars on the British Isles, she argued. Since Professor McGonagall did not expect to gain a hearing with Professor Binns, the teacher of Magic History at Hogwarts, because he was a ghost who taught practically by autopilot, and only subjects that happened at least a hundred and fifty years ago, she called the lesson ‘The Deputy Headmaster’s Special Class’ and it took place in the Transfiguration classroom.

Naturally, it had nothing to do with transfiguration. The three friends were slightly flattered by the task, and took it very seriously. They also felt it was a treat to be able to return to Hogwarts, if only for a morning. They had prepared themselves with great care, Hermione being the mastermind behind their planning. Harry suspected that she was slightly ambiguous about her choice of career and that she might have liked to become a teacher herself.

Ron had taken on the task of researching the wizard society during the first war and the upraise of Voldemort. His parents had been part of the resistance movement at that time, and he had heard them speak of it during his childhood. With a little help from Mr Weasley, Ron put together a lively description of the events and of the political implications at the Ministry of Magic at the time. Hermione explained the ideological issues involved in the war, with a small but enlightening side track upon the relationship between Muggles and Magical people throughout the ages.

Finally, Harry spoke about Voldemort himself. He had chosen to reveal to the pupils all the details of Tom Riddle’s family background and upbringing that he had learnt from Dumbledore. It was a meagre but important biography, put together with great difficulty by the late headmaster, because he had understood that it was crucial for Harry to understand his opponent. Harry thought that transmitting this knowledge now to a larger public was susceptible to tarnish the hyped myth about Lord Voldemort which had only served to inspire so much fear over the years and which still prevailed in many ways. Hopefully the pupils would bring the facts learnt in this lesson home to their parents and a more nuanced picture of Voldemort would be more generally known.

The three friends really put their hearts into their performance, and were rewarded by rapt attention and in the end enthusiastic applause from the pupils. Flushed and happy, they lingered on for a while in the Great Hall after having been invited to lunch, speaking to old friends who were now last year students. When Ron and Hermione at long last prepared to return to Grimmauld Place, Harry told them that he would mount to Snape’s office for advice on some work of theirs.

***

Harry found the headmaster ready to wind down after the week’s almost completion. When Harry apologised for burdening the hard working wizard with yet another task, Snape looked puzzled, then dismissed the apology with a sarcastic mutter that doing some real research work was a relief compared to a headmaster’s normally tedious tasks. He was ready to help, and would Harry please dampen his oversized conscience a bit?

They worked in harmony for quite some time, until they realised that they had missed dinner in the Great Hall. Snape ordered some sandwiches to be brought to the office from the kitchen, and they ate, mostly in comfortable silence.

Harry was beginning to get tired when he decided to take a pause from work and have a closer look at the shelf where Snape kept Dumbledore’s old books. There was a shortage of written sources in Ancient Magic. Harry thought that he must have been through all the important tomes concerning the subject by now, but he wanted to check if there was anything else remotely connected to the issue of magically detecting human emotions and intent that they were studying. He sat on the floor, picking tomes from the shelf and leafing through them, admiring a beautiful print, or reading a few lines here and there. When putting a large tome back in place, Harry spotted a thin leaflet that seemed to have been wedged behind the other books at the back of the shelf. He gently coaxed the tiny book out. ‘The use of Sacrifice in Ancient Magic’, the title said.

Harry let out a small exclamation and Snape lifted his head. Harry rose quickly from the floor with the leaflet in his hand and when doing so, a stationary dropped out of the book and sailed away on the floor. Harry bent down to pick it up, straightened his back and stared at the piece of parchment. It was perfectly flattened and a bit brittle at the edges as if it had been left untouched, pressed between the pages of the book for a long time. The first thing that struck Harry was the date written at the upper right corner. He gasped.

Snape lifted his head again, frowned and rose slowly. Harry’s eager eyes scanned the words scattered over what seemed to be a draft of a letter. It did not really make sense to him, but it gave him a hunch of who the writer must have been and he started to breathe quicker. The writing was full of crossing-outs, scribbles and further down the page small drawings. The writer must have had a hard time finding her words, thought Harry.

“Found something interesting?” Snape asked noncommittally.

Harry answered by stretching the letter out to him mutely. In retrospect, he wondered if he should not have kept it to himself, or at least said something, giving Snape a warning before handing it over. Maybe then, it would not have triggered such a strong reaction and the outcome would have been less disastrous than it now proved to be. But Harry, too, was overwhelmed. It was impressive to read the words of a person, written the very day before that person died, and to have the recipient of that letter in front of you at the same time, realizing that the draft had probably never been realized into a letter and that the communication that had been intended long ago took place now, nearly twenty years later.

Snape must have received a shock the moment he glanced at the letter because he inhaled sharply. Where Harry was not a hundred percent sure of the handwriting, Snape must have recognised it instantly. The hand now holding the letter started to shake, and the tall wizard staggered a step backwards. Like so many times before, Harry watched Snape incline his head to let the long black hair conceal his face, but this time, it did not suffice to hide Snape’s distress. A plaintive sound was let out over his lips and Snape took a new sharp intake of breath as he let himself fall down in one of his armchairs. Harry unfroze, and eager to communicate and lessen the shock of his mentor, he started to ramble.

“It’s her, isn’t it? It’s from my mother… And look at the date – it’s dated the very day before she… Before Voldemort killed them…” Harry could not help his voice from sounding slightly high-pitched.

Snape had bent over, elbows on his knees, with the letter outstretched in front of him in both hands. When Harry mentioned the date, he glanced up at the piece of pergament as if verifying, and let out another stifled moan. Not only the hands, but both arms were trembling now. Headless of the alarming signals Harry went on.

“I recognise that symbol drawn at the bottom from somewhere. I’ve seen it before, I think. It’s beautiful, like initials intertwined or something, but I can’t make the letters out. Was that a secret symbol for you two? Do you realise - she wrote a letter to you the evening before she…”

The tissue of Snape’s robe was stretched over his back, and he was breathing quickly and deeply. A low growl was let out.

“I can’t… Harry, I can’t…”

“It’s only a draft, only a few sentences, but I think it means that she forgave you… I really think it does… Look!” It struck Harry now that Snape must not even have read the words on the paper, overwhelmed by the mere evidence that it came from Lily, and he wanted to comfort the ailing man before him. His words had the opposite effect, though.

“I can’t!” Snape almost wailed with increased agitation. ”It doesn’t work… I can’t… You must leave, Harry - I’m losing it! I’m losing control…” Snape hyperventilated and Harry stared puzzled at his former teacher. What did not work? Then it hit him – Snape was trying to impose Occlumency on himself. He was trying to stifle his reaction with Occlumency and it didn’t work. By Merlin! Of course it didn’t! Harry crouched by Snape’s side.

”It’s okay… It’s okay, you know, Sir. It’s a bit of a shock, I realize, but…”

“Get out! Leave me alone” Snape suddenly bellowed, turning away from Harry. He let the letter drop on the small table in front of him and put both hands over his face, starting to rock back and forth. Harry’s heart was beating fast. He was starting to grow afraid of Snape’s reaction. What had he done? What kind of repressed emotions had he unleashed by inadvertence? Snape’s pain seemed physical in a frightening way, and the reaction clearly threatened to slip out of control completely. Should he do a Relieving incantation on Snape? Harry wondered bewildered. It was probably not a good idea since he too was affected by that letter. It was his mother’s handwriting, sentences written only hours before she died…

”Please, Professor, let me help…” Harry pleaded, putting a tentative hand on Snape’s back.

The next moment Harry found himself propelled backwards, Snape’s contorted, mad face towering over him. When he met the hurt surprise and the pity in Harry’s eyes, Snape’s face crumpled once more, however, and he sunk down on his knees beside Harry. With a grimace of utmost pain, he put his left hand over Harry’s green eyes to shield himself from their gaze.

“Go… please… go…” he whispered hoarsely.

Harry scrambled to his feet with a fast beating heart and although his whole body resisted the movement toward the door and told him to stay and help the debilitated man, his reason told him he could do nothing. No comfort would be accepted. This was Snape’s private grief, huge and inconsolable.  Harry’s own presence only made it worse. He was a living reminder to Snape of what the man had lost.

Harry let the door close after him as he rushed down the spiral stairs, thoughts swirling through his head. Snape had not even read the letter properly. Harry had wanted to speak to him about it, analyse what it meant. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind of Snape’s strong feelings for Lily, but his mother’s feelings for her childhood friend were a mystery to him. He had so few facts to go on, and there was the fairy tale of James and Lily standing in the way. Harry was beginning to realise that the official love story of his parents’ did not account for the whole truth. His research in France last summer when he met some of his father’s relatives had taught him differently. But what had the letter actually said? There had only been a few sentences, really. So much had been crossed out. Lily must have been frustrated.

My dearest Severus, I hope that you will forgive me…

Dear Sev, I’m so sorry…

Dear Sev, I’ve been so angry…

Why did she think that Snape needed to forgive her? It was the other way around, wasn’t it? Harry was deep in thought as he rushed down the corridor from Snape’s office, heart still pounding. He almost ran into Professor McGonagall and muttered an excuse, surprising his former teacher by turning his head and hasting away. Then a thought hit him and he revolved to ask her:

“Are you on your way to Professor Snape?”

She nodded, frowning since she did not quite recognize the relaxed and balanced young man who had taught her class earlier that day.

“Er… You had better wait… He doesn’t want to… He didn’t feel well… Maybe you could… please… check on him in an hour? In a couple of hours, let’s say,” Harry stuttered. “Maybe only send him an owl and check that he’s okay later this evening? We… He didn’t want me to stay… He wanted to be left on his own…”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows at Harry’s incoherent rambling and advanced slowly towards him.

“Of course, I’ll check on Severus. But how are you, Harry? You seem upset…”

Harry escaped her concern with a few muffled words, turned and fled out of the castle. When he came home to Grimmauld Place, after having performed one of the shakiest Apparitions since he passed his licence, he heard soft voices and giggles from the living room. Ron and Hermione probably had a cuddle in the sofa in front of the fireplace. Harry hurried upstairs in the hope of finding Ginny. But their room was empty and a note on the mirror told him that Ginny had gone out and that she would be late, but that he could join her at the Xenophoria club if he wanted to. Harry stared at his own image in the mirror. He inclined his head to the side, swallowed, and tentatively lifted his left hand to prevent his own eyes from staring back at him.

Harry never told any of his friends about what had happened in Snape’s office. To Harry’s regret, but not unexpectedly, Snape withdrew after this event, retracting from the more friendly and supporting behavior between him and Harry that had prevailed since the start of term, and returning to an extremely reserved approach that had been customary for their relationship during long periods the previous year. They were bound to meet now and again, because Snape taught both at St Mungo’s med school in the evenings, and at the Auror program every now and then. But he avoided to speak to Harry out of class, and he no longer dropped by to pick Harry up for lunch to have an update on the young healer apprentice’s activities at St Mungo’s.

Harry experienced other misgivings as well. Ginny had accepted a transfer to the French Quidditch league as part of an international exchange program. In January she would move to Le Grand Eclat by the Mediterranean and spend the whole season in France. Harry was grieved, but bore it stoically, comforting himself that he would visit frequently.

December passed by in a flicker, and Christmas came by. On Christmas Eve, Ron and Hermione accompanied Harry to Godric’s Hollow to visit his parents’ graves. Harry tried to quell the disappointment that Ginny had not come with them. There was a nagging feeling that he constantly gave in and gave up on his own interests to satisfy her, but that he seldom got anything in return. But he loved her, he thought fiercely, and his patience would pay off in the end. He had once and for all decided not to antagonise Ginny and always let her have her way. He was determined not to let small disappointments and hurt feelings get in the way of the greater picture of love.

Christmas was celebrated at the Burrow with the Weasleys and their extended family which was now considerable, including Fleur, Bill’s wife, Hercules, George’s boyfriend, Percy’s new girlfriend and further Mrs Tonks and Teddy, whom all stayed at the Burrow, not to count various cousins, uncles and aunts who dropped by now and then during the holiday. 

On December 29th in the afternoon things were a little quieter and Harry was sitting in Ginny’s old room at the Burrow. She had told him that she wanted to talk, and he was glad, because they had in fact many things to sort out, and they never seemed to get down to it. Harry thought that every little bit of reflection on Ginny’s side must be beneficial, because she had a tendency to push things ahead of her, or simply ignore things out of impatience. When she started to talk to him, however, he did not understand at first what she was getting at.

She started with stating the obvious, namely that they would be apart for the next six months.

“I’ll visit,” said Harry. “Every so often, you’ll see.”

Ginny frowned and went on with how young and inexperienced they were. Harry squirmed a bit.

“We’ve been through a great deal,” he objected quietly.

“But in terms of relationships,” Ginny insisted. “I’m your first girlfriend, properly speaking. You can’t count that innocent little fling with Cho in fifth year, can you? Aren’t you curious, interested in exploring relationships on other levels?”

Harry looked nonplussed. No, he wasn’t. What did she mean? A little impatiently, Ginny went on explaining that she thought that they should take the opportunity now that they would be apart to convene on a freer form of relationship. Harry knitted his eyebrows.

“You want to sleep with other people, why?” he asked, more perplex than upset. Ginny blushed and looked down.

“I know that I’ll probably never find a more suitable partner when it comes to sex than you, Harry,” she mumbled quietly. “And I’ll never find someone who loves me deeper than you.”

No, precisely, that was Harry’s sentiment too. So what was the problem? They had something magical between them, uncontestably - Ginny herself acknowledged it. He inclined his head, still perplexed. Ginny looked uncomfortable and took a deep breath before launching into a lengthy and complicated explanation that Harry did not quite follow.

The bottom line of it turned out to be that she thought Harry was too serious about their relationship, too serious about pretty much everything.

“It anguishes me,” she said. “I only want to have some fun. Everything doesn’t need to be so dead serious all the time. It’s so intense with you!”

“I think that your anxiety comes from the traumas of Fred’s death and from the attack in Paris last year, which are repressed by that Obliviating treatment,” countered Harry, but Ginny immediately made an angry gesture to rise and leave, and Harry had to beg her to stay and finish the discussion. He had to promise not to bring the Obliviates up again.

“You and I are so different,” Ginny went on. “You’re dedicated to your studies and all those different projects of yours. You want to work, I want to play Quidditch and have fun. You want to stay at home, I want to go out. We’re simply not compatible right now, let’s face it.”

Harry thought it was unfair of her to say so, because he had tried all autumn to adjust to her ideas and tried to join in her outings. And it didn’t matter that they were different as long as they loved each other, did it?

Next, Ginny brought up security.

“I’m sick and tired of it,” she said. “Such a simple thing as bringing a friend to Grimmauld Place is so complicated because of the Fidelius. And I don’t like to be reminded of the fact that you might be attacked any time.”

“It’s been quiet in that area since Soundy was abducted and freed,” said Harry.

“Well, I don’t want to live in the middle of it,” said Ginny. “I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to have to think about security at all.”

Harry was confused. He understood it was a problem, but there was not much he could do about it. They had good support from Mrs Steadfast and the Aurors, he objected.

“We’re still too young to commit so seriously to each other,” exclaimed Ginny. “Look at my brother… Look at Ron and Hermione, I mean. He stopped going out the moment she breathed an objection…”

Harry opened his mouth to say that Ron had simply kept to the agreement that they had all reached, but Ginny forestalled him.

“They already behave like husband and wife. I wouldn’t be surprised if they get married and have children soon.”

Harry thought it was unlikely, because Hermione was as dedicated to her studies as he was, and Ron, well, Ron was a bit immature to have children of his own so soon, wasn’t he?

“I’m pretty sure you’d like me to stay at home and cuddle with you every single night. It’s so boring! It gives me the creeps! I can’t stand it – I need to go out!” Ginny burst out.

”I accept that you need a great amount of freedom, Ginny. When have I ever tried to restrain you?” pleaded Harry. “But being with other people… What does it mean? What do you want from me?”

“What I want to say…” Ginny was breathing quickly, “…is that you’re welcome to France to visit, but I don’t want to be tied by our relationship. I won’t abide by your visits only. I want to be free.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Harry’s voice trembled, incredulity showing in every feature.

Ginny stayed mute.

“Is it over?” insisted Harry. “Is that what you mean? Why?” he burst out when he imagined the least little nod from Ginny.

“I told you,” she said stubbornly. “It’s too intense.”

“But…!” Harry was bewildered.

“I only want a pause,” Ginny tried to explain, “and I want to be honest with you. There’s this guy who plays in a band - he plays the drums – and I found out that his band is playing in France the coming season. He’s got hold of an apartment already in Le Grand Eclat – that’s where he’ll be based - and since it’s not so easy to find an apartment we agreed to share, and… well… I’m being honest with you here, Harry…”

Harry’s features were beginning to crumple. He sat silent, staring at his hands for a long time. At last he lifted his head and gave Ginny a wounded gaze.

“You want to be with this guy?” he whispered. Ginny squirmed a bit.

“I want to have the choice. I want to be free,” she answered curtly.

“I’m too serious, too intense?” asked Harry in an even lower voice.

“Well, yes, for me, at this moment of life, you are, but…” Ginny rose, uncomfortable but with an expression of relief all the same on her face. “Just think about it for a while, Harry. It’s only another form of relationship, really. We can still be friends, and even lovers occasionally,” she said. “Don’t overreact now,” she added because Harry had started to tremble and shake all over. “I’ll leave you to calm down,” Ginny finished a bit lamely and sneaked out of the door.

Harry gasped and doubled up, emotions and thoughts in a chaotic whirl. In the middle of it all, something strange detached and grew stronger inside him, like a bubble rising from the depth, and it surprised and frightened Harry by the reverberations it was causing in his body. He stared around the room as if seeing it for the first time. It was Ginny’s room since she was a child: there was a small collection of Quidditch player figures on a shelf, and a painting she had done when she was thirteen on the wall. The quilt on the bed was one she had made together with her mother at fifteen, and high up on the bookcase lay a magically preserved red rose that Harry had once given her when they were together in sixth year at Hogwarts, before Dumbledore died.

The impulse that almost overwhelmed Harry was one to smash everything in the room to pieces. He already felt a buzz of magic in his chest, in his arms. Panicked, he fled out of the room. The impending rage lessened a bit once in the corridor on more neutral ground. Harry put out a hand to support himself against the wall, because he felt almost dizzy. But there it was again, the bubble of anger rising. He must get out of the house! He started to stumble down the corridor, supporting himself against the wall. Suddenly Mrs Tonks appeared before him, coming out of a door from the side. He must have looked terrible because she exclaimed “Harry!” in a shocked tone of voice. He stopped and looked mutely at her, barely seeing her because everything was a blur. Did he hyperventilate? Was that why he felt so faint? He tried to force himself to hold his breath and his sight cleared up a bit.

“Harry?” Mrs Tonks said again, alarmed. Harry looked at the old lady – Teddy’s grandmother, who had suffered so many losses, both her husband and her daughter.

“She broke up with me,” he whispered. “Ginny left me.”

“Dear Harry,” Mrs Tonks said, putting a gentle hand on his arm. But all of a sudden Harry’s face contorted and he jerked his arm away and fled out through the front door.

***

A little later Mrs Tonks stepped into the kitchen where the Weasleys were about to sit down for supper.

“Where’s Harry? Will you fetch him, please, Ginny?” Mrs Weasley said while putting a bowl of steaming potatoes on the table.

“Will you go, Hermione? He’s in my room. Please?” said Ginny. Hermione shot her a quick scrutinising glance but made for the door without comment. She stopped when Mrs Tonks said in an almost wondering tone of voice:

“He went out. Harry ran out of the house – he didn’t even take his cloak…”

Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to retort when the doorbell rang. Mr Weasley checked his security watch that he had recently been bestowed with.

“It’s someone we know because they made it passed the wards without alerting me,” he said and went to answer the door. Only a short while later he was back with a beaming Mrs Steadfast and a slightly sheepish looking Snape.

“We’re here to see Harry,” Mrs Steadfast said as soon as they entered the kitchen and scanned the room with her quick eyes. “Apparently the professor here has been considering to visit since Christmas Eve, but never got down to deciding himself to actually do it. When I heard about it today I told him it was ridiculous and that we should go straight ahead. A late Christmas gift is better than no gift at all.” Snape looked even more embarrassed. “So, where is our young hero?” urged Mrs Steadfast.

“Er… He seems to have gone missing,” answered Mr Weasley since no one said anything, still confused by Mrs Tonks announcement.

“Harry? Missing?” said Mrs Steadfast in a voice of steel, rising one eyebrow.

“Mrs Tonks?” said Mr Weasley. The old woman blinked, she seemed a little dazed.

“He ran out of the house,” she confirmed. “He looked terrible,” she added.

Ginny sighed a little impatiently and Mrs Tonks steered her eyes at the young witch.

“He said that you broke up with him, that you had left him,” she whispered.

Everyone stared at Ginny. When she did not attempt to deny what Mrs Tonks had just claimed, but stared back defiantly at her family, Mrs Weasley let out a little cry.

“Did you break up with Harry, Ginny? Whatever for? Little quarrels like that are so unnecessary! He’s usually so stable- I must say that he’s got a unicorn’s patience with you - but you must have gotten to him. He obviously thought that you meant it, or he wouldn’t have been so upset. He was upset, was he, Dora?”

“He looked… He looked… completely shattered…” the old lady said, her voice beginning to tremble.

Mrs Weasley glared at Ginny with reproach. Snape took what seemed to be an involuntary step forward, looking at Ginny.

“You broke up with him?” he asked again, a deep frown between his eyes. Ginny blushed.

“I can break up with my boy-friend if I want, no? Without rising a riot with everybody?” she answered a bit hoarsely. Snape said nothing, but Mrs Steadfast stepped up at his side.

“That… Of course, but… He’s missing. He went out on his own, that’s what worries me now,” she said, more firm as she went along. “How long ago?” she asked Mrs Tonks.

“Not long… You must have missed him by twenty minutes only,” the old woman provided.

Suddenly the kitchen started to buzz of voices. Where could Harry have gone? What was his state of mind? What were the risks of him being found and attacked by unfriendly wizards and witches? How long should they wait before sending out someone to search for him? At least the Aurors were already alerted thanks to Mrs Steadfast’s presence.

“Merlin,” muttered Ginny. “He’s only been missing for what – thirty minutes by now? What a fuss! Maybe he’s only having a walk and will return in no time at all. But this is so typical of Harry – everything is to be taken so seriously with him and it’s always so dramatic!”

“Now, you’re being unfair, Ginny,” said Mrs Weasley and was supported by Mrs Steadfast.

“There’s a reason why Mr Potter shouldn’t be out wandering on his own,” she said. “Now, please tell me, what did Harry and you say to each other? You did have a conversation earlier this evening, I gather?” Ginny blushed again.

“It was private,” she retorted haughtily, but when both her mother and Mrs Steadfast frowned hard at her, she rolled her eyes and went on. “We only talked of my going to France and of us being separated for a considerable length of time.”

“But Harry already knew that,” Hermione objected. “He wasn’t happy, but he had accepted it.”

“I pointed out that it would have repercussions on our relationship,” said Ginny.

“I know Harry prepared to visit often,” said Ron, not understanding his sister’s arguments. Snape riveted his eyes on Ginny and spoke sternly.

“What did you say, specifically, that made him realise it was definitely over? We need to know in order to assess his state of mind and the risks he’s susceptible to take if he’s desperate.”

“I told him - a bit bluntly perhaps - about our differences. I think he’s too serious for me,” said Ginny defiantly, but Snape frowned.

“It’s not definite enough…” he mumbled. “He was desperate, was he?” Snape turned to Mrs Tonks who suddenly started to sob and tremble as if something caught up with her. Concerned Mrs Weasley and Fleur helped her sit down.

“Why, Dora, I’ve never… Calm down, Dear…” said Mrs Weasley, worried for her friend.

“He was pale… like a ghost…” hacked Mrs Tonks lifting her head to look at Snape who seemed to be the one person who took this most seriously. “When he told me, he looked… lost… broken… Then he tore away from me, violently…” She sobbed with greater force. Obviously the old woman had been impressed and scared by what had happened. Snape’s features hardened and his eyes flew back at Ginny.

“I told him I’m going to share a flat in Le Grand Eclat with another guy, okay?” she said exasperated. “By Jupiter, you’re making a big thing out of this. At our age, people break up all the time!”

“You’ve already got another boyfriend?” Mrs Steadfast asked bluntly.

“No. Well, not exactly... We already know each other, but… I haven’t been unfaithful, or anything… Whatever that means…But I wanted to be honest with Harry,” said Ginny. Ron took a step towards her.

“I stood on your side all these months,” he said accusingly. “I’ve told Harry to have patience and to trust you, and now this?! Come on, it’s not fair!” Tears rose in Ginny’s eyes and she clenched her fists.

“You’re my family – you’re supposed to support me in this,” she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice glaring at Ron. “But look at you: you’re all in hysterics…” Her eyes darted from one person to another, landing at Mrs Tonks. Ginny clenched her jaws. “Because Harry’s so special, isn’t he?” she said bitterly. “He’s the Boy-who-lived, and all that… It’s always about life and death with him. Know what – I’m so sick of it! I’m not staying to watch you raise hell over this. I’m leaving right now. I’m going out with my real friends. This is precisely why I have to leave Harry. He’s a reminder of… he’s a reminder of…” she looked confused for a while “…too many bad things!” she finished with force and stormed out of the room.

“Oh, dear, what should we do? Arthur? Will you speak to her?” Mrs Weasley said nervously.

“I’ll have a try, dear, but I think we had better just let her go. She’ll calm down eventually. She knows we’re here for her,” Mr Weasley said and went after Ginny in an unhurried pace. Snape turned to Mrs Steadfast.

“We’d better try to locate Mr Potter, even if he’s not been gone long, to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid,” he said.

“You think he’s liable to do something?” said Mrs Steadfast.

“Yes, he might,” answered Snape, looking away.

“Let’s get down to it, then,” said Mrs Steadfast, not questioning Snape’s assessment further.

Everyone seemed to be a bit shocked by the news of Harry’s and Ginny’s separation, and the organization of the search for Harry was not the best. People started to serve themselves food and ate hurriedly, seated or standing, in order to be able to do something later to help. It was a bit unclear what should be done, however. Someone should wait at the Burrow, obviously, if Harry came back. Mrs Weasley and Mrs Tonks were not planning on going anywhere, while Ron and Hermione offered to Apparate to Grimmauld Place and check if Harry had returned there. George and Hercules wanted to check with their friends if Harry turned up at their places. Mr Weasley came back almost instantly from Ginny’s room, having been dismissed, and proposed to check St Mungo’s and the Auror Headquarters in case Harry might want to take refuge at a familiar although not personal place. Bill and Percy retreated to the living room in order to floo call a number of Harry’s old friends from Hogwarts and ask them to get in touch if Harry turned up. Mrs Steadfast returned to her office to alert her Auror colleagues who were on call during the night. Snape stuck to Mrs Steadfast since she would be the person gathering all the information.

Harry did not return to the Burrow that night, neither did he show up at Grimmauld Place. At midnight Mrs Steadfast sent out a selected group of Aurors to search discretely for him, since she did not want to awaken the interest of the press that always tried to monitor the movements of the Ministry. She knew the attention of the press could be just as damaging to Harry as a physical attack. Harry’s friends did not get much sleep that night, nor did Snape or Mrs Steadfast.

The search continued the next morning, but early afternoon Mrs Steadfast sent Snape back to Hogwarts. He was growing impatient and snappish, and was of no use to her in the office. She urged him to have some rest and get back to her later.

Snape Apparated at Hogsmeade and walked slowly towards the grounds of Hogwarts, deeply in thought. Instead of taking the path straight from the gate to the entrance, he made a detour aiming for the ground beneath the western tower. On his way, he passed by Hagrid’s cottage and the half giant called out to catch his attention.

“Afternoon, Sir,” said Hagrid urgently. “I ‘eard from Professor McGonagall just now that you were looking for ‘Arry.”

“Yes?” Snape stopped in front of his ground keeper.

“You missed’im, Professor, by ‘alf an hour or so. ‘Ee was in a state tonight when ‘ee turned up… I should’ve alerted you, but when I got ‘im to bed at last, I was too tired meeself, so I turned in as well…”

“Merlin,” Snape lifted a hand to his front. Why had he not thought to alert Hagrid? He was Harry’s oldest friend at Hogwarts after all. “Hold on, Hagrid, I need to send a message to Mrs Steadfast… She needs to hear this.”

“Already done, I think, Professor. Minerva took care of it when I told’er ‘Arry had been ‘ere. There she is, the steady lady. She’s a quick’un...” Snape lifted his head and spotted the lanky figure of Mrs Steadfast at the brow of the hill, approaching in long strides. Snape looked at her with reluctant admiration: She had been just as done in during the small hours of the night as he, and she had only had a few hours’ sleep in her office, but she had recovered remarkably, while he had barely been able to sleep at all.

“Professor,” she said as way of greeting and added with gentle sarcasm: “I don’t seem to be able to get you out of my way, can I?” Snape pulled a wry face, apologetically. “Dear Hagrid,” Mrs Steadfast went on, “please tell me everything. When did the young man turn up at your house?”

“I’m not sure, exactly,” Hagrid answered. “I more or less found ‘im on me doorstep in the middle of the night. Elves know if ‘ee was going to knock or not. It was the Kangabbits who woke me up, my magical watching creatures.”

“What was his state of mind?” Snape wanted to know.

 “‘Ee didn’t say a word, but looked a complete mess - scratches all over him, blood in his face. ‘Ee told me later that ‘ee had been ravaging the forest for hours, running, battling the branches, apparently.... ‘Ee was frozen to the bone - we’re in the middle of winter and ‘ee had no jacket, no cloak. ‘Ee had ‘is wand of course, and had been doing warming charms – when ‘ee remembered to, that is. But there’s a limit to magic, isn’t there? Merlin knows if ‘ee had made the night outside if I had not been waken up and brought ‘im in.”

Snape closed his eyes and shook his head. Mrs Steadfast muttered to herself. Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

“Young men,” she pronounced bitingly, “are so reckless.” Snape turned his eyes away.

“And sometimes prone to self-destructive behaviour,” he confirmed in a quiet voice. Mrs Steadfast sighed.

“What did he say, Hagrid?”

“I didn’t get much out of’im. ‘Ee was listless for a long while, like a Chimera who has lost ‘er baby, and agitated like a Manticore the next. ‘Ee was crying a lot… I didn’t know what to say to ‘im… Not so good at these things, old ‘Agrid is, but I gathered it had to do with Miss Ginny?” He looked at Mrs Steadfast who nodded her confirmation.

“So, what happened and why did he leave? When? And where was he going?” Mrs Steadfast spoke sternly and Hagrid reddened.

“I’m sorry Mrs Steady, I don’t know. ‘Ee didn’t fall to sleep until the sun had risen and ‘ee still woke me up several times, crying out. I rose at eleven – had things to do after all. Tried to let ‘im sleep in a little longer – ‘ee needed it, poor boy. But ‘ee woke with a start a couple o’ hours later. Stayed mute while I tried to get ‘im to eat some breakfast. No more tears, but ‘ee was restless and clammed up at the same time, if you know what I mean? Suddenly, ‘ee just told me ‘ee needed to be off, and thanked me for ‘aving ‘im stay. ‘Ee walked towards the forest. Said that ‘ee had found an Apparition spot in its outskirts. I suppose that’s ‘ow ‘ee arrived yesterday without your Aurors getting notice of it. I borrowed ‘im a cardigan, I did, to keep ‘im warm at least.”

Mrs Steadfast swore when she heard of Harry’s secret Apparition spot, because it meant that there was a flaw in her security arrangements around Hogwarts. She looked at Snape – what now? He made a grimace.

“At least we know that Harry’s alive and that he’s keeping out of people’s way. That makes it unlikely that he should stumble into a Death Eater or a Shifting member right now. The fiercest enemy is himself. We need to intercept him. Try to predict his next move,” said Snape.

***

Harry did not turn up until late the same evening when he knocked hesitantly at the door to Simmings’ apartment. The Auror opened and when he saw who it was, he drew a deep breath.

“Harry! Merlin, I’m glad to see you. Come in!”

Harry stared at Simmings as if the friendly spoken words were a foreign language to him. Simmings noticed that the young wizard’s arms were shaking. He frowned.

“How are you, Harry? You look like you’ve seen a spectre, or a gang of Inferis?”

Harry stared at him again, as if the words took long to sink in. A sudden emotion passed over his features and he made a grimace that Simmings was at a loss to interpret.

“I… I only managed to give myself a scare just now…” Harry responded with a little chuckle that got caught in his throat. He swallowed. “I… I need somewhere to stay the night. I… I’m scared of being alone, Simmings.”

“Please come on in then, Harry. You can’t imagine how glad I am that you turned up,” repeated Simmings.

Voices were heard from inside the apartment and Harry recoiled.

“You’re having a party?” he asked hesitantly. “I’ll come back another time.”

“Please, Harry. It’s just a few friends, you’ve met one or two of them already. Please, we’ll be happy to have you. We’ll take care of you. They’re good friends, you’ll see. You look so cold. Come in and warm up for a little while at least.” Simmings managed to cajole Harry into stepping inside the hall.

Harry did indeed look cold and miserable, and probably out of exhaustion he let Simmings fuss around him, take off his jacket and replace it with a thick blanket instead. Harry found himself ushered into Simmings’ living room where five or six young men between twenty and thirty five fell silent and rose to give place for Harry in the sofa. Simmings sat down beside Harry and put an arm around Harry’s back.

“Will someone get him something warm to drink?” he asked his friends.

“Oh, he’ll need something strong,” one of them said.

“Give him a Firewhiskey,” someone else said.

“A hot cocktail perhaps – I know just what to prepare. It’ll do wonders for you, darling,” said an effeminate boy in a kind voice and parted for the kitchen. A chorus of sympathetic voices ensued. Mumbled words of comfort and encouragement enveloped Harry and to his own surprise tears started to run down his cheeks. He bowed his head and wished his hair had been longer to cover his face.

“It’s okay, Harry,” mumbled Simmings with feeling. “It’s okay. We all know what happened. You don’t need to tell us if you don’t want to. You can just sit with us.” His friends had seated themselves again around Harry and Simmings. A fancy-clad man in his thirtieth spread his arms theatrically.

“Yeah, ask any of us – we’re all familiar with betrayed love. We all have broken hearts. Some of them mended and broken several times over, in fact.”

The young men started to take turns to tell Harry about their own shortcomings in love. There were naïve and ridiculous stories, sweet stories, dramatic and heart-breaking stories, and dark and brutal stories. Against his will Harry started to listen. The glass with warm spirits that someone placed in his hands helped a bit as well. The people who surrounded him were a bunch of sensitive and empathic young individuals who even made themselves cry from time to time. Harry started to give them a sympathising gaze now and then, even smiling when one of them expressed himself with amusing excess of feeling and drama. Simmings were about to rise and slip away, whispering to Harry that he was only going to send a message to Mrs Steadfast that Harry was okay.

“No!” Harry burst out, suddenly plunging into despair again. “No, please, Simmings, don’t tell them I’m here.” He bent his head down convulsively, hiding his face in his hands this time, and a new chorus of indignant and protesting voices arose.

“Now, look what you’ve done.”

“He was just beginning to calm down.”

“You’re so insensitive, Simmings, I can’t say how shocked I am!”

“Leave him be! Leave him with us. We’ll take care of him.”

“But my boss is looking for him. I only want to report…”

“Which is more important – your boss or your family?” one boy asked sternly.

“Please wait,” whispered Harry, strengthened by the support, looking Simmings pleadingly in the eyes. Simmings did not resist that look for long, but made a lame attempt to negotiate.

“Only to say that you’re safe…”

“No! They’ll come here, they’ll want to speak to me and bring me home and… and… And I don’t even know where home is these days…” Harry whispered and started to cry again. New exclamations followed from Simmings’ friends.

“Oh, poor thing.”

“Really, he’s so cut up!”

And Simmings’ last resistance evaporated.

“It’s okay, Harry, it’s okay, I promise not to call the office right now. We’ll wait. We’ll wait until you’re ready. What did you mean you don’t even know where home is?”

Simmings’ guests had been drinking wine until now. The napkin on the table bore traces of a finished meal: a couple of stains and crumples of bread. The boys were sensitive to Harry’s distress and now they claimed something stronger for them all. Someone opened a bottle of Firewhiskey and the golden beverage was distributed in the glasses.

Harry had calmed down at Simmings’ promise and fortified by the burning alcohol, he started to explain the situation to them as he saw it: It was hard to return to Grimmauld Place because Ginny might be there. They shared a room after all. And Ron who lived there too was her brother and he was always protective of his sister.

“I don’t think I’d hurt her,” Harry whispered. “I really don’t, but… I have these surges of anger… Something happened earlier tonight that… It scared the hell out of me… I don’t dare go back and risk meeting her right now all the same… And what is there to say? What is there to say when she… when she…” He could not go on, and the boys were quick to come to his defence and try to console him.

“She’s not worth it, mate.”

“If she puts you in this state, then she’s definitely not worth it!”

“Women are overrated, anyway, ask any of us.” Harry smiled through his tears - of course they would say that. He drew a deep breath and explained in a trembling voice about the Burrow, about Mr and Mrs Weasley and the other family members.

“It’s… It’s… the closest to a home that I’ve ever had, except Hogwarts, but now… now I’m afraid that is gone, too, because it’s her family, you see…? I know they like me very much, but it won’t be the same if Ginny and I… if we’re not together anymore.” Tears flooded over again.

“What about your original family?” someone asked.

“Don’t be so insensitive,” someone else snapped. “You know perfectly well what happened to his parents.”

“But I meant the family in which you were brought up after your parents died,” protested the first person.

“Oh… them… It’s… I… said goodbye to them two years ago… I’m not sure I’d be welcome back even if I wanted to.” Harry explained in a few unsentimental words about the Dursleys. To his surprise this seemed to rub off on his new friends more than his lamentations over Ginny had done. Several of the boys looked down and a few blew their noses discreetly. One of them cleared his throat.

“We… Many of us know what it means to be rejected by your family,” he said. “I was thrown out of my parents’ house at seventeen when I told them I was gay.”

One after the other the boys told their stories. These were not embellished or exaggerated like before, but told quietly, almost with an undertone of shame, and with much grief. Harry felt so sorry for them that new tears rose in his eyes and gushed down his cheeks from time to time. The others, too, wept – the party turned very mellow, but there was an allowing spirit of support for one another and a strong sense of stick togetherness.

“My parents are tolerably okay with it,” said the boy who seemed to be the youngest of the gang, save for Harry, “but in my family it’s my sister and her husband who detest me and who refuse to meet me. And my parents don’t want to antagonise my sister, because they’re afraid of not being able to visit their grandchildren if they side with me. Moreover, her husband is rich and influential, so they don’t want to antagonise him either. So I can’t visit at home. My parents sneak out to my place from time to time, but it always needs to be a secret – we can’t even have tea together in a tea house, because they’re afraid to be seen with me. And of course I never get invited to family gatherings… I miss my aunts and my cousins…”

Harry wept for the young boy. He felt much warmer now and comfortably dazed. The crying was less cramped than before, but more mellow. Maybe it was the alcohol helping, he thought and took another sip of Firewhiskey. He was not only crying for himself, but for someone else which seemed to level things out a bit, and do him good. He was starting to feel tired, though, and also a bit dizzy and queasy, so he closed his eyes and leaned his head against Simmings’ shoulder. The boys’ voices sounded distant and muffled, but the last thing he distinguished before he fell to sleep was a tender outburst of feeling from his new friends.

“Oh, look at him, he’s so sweet!”

“We’ll take care of you, Harry. You don’t have a home, just like us, but you can choose us as your family you know, you’ll always be welcome with us, no matter what!”

And Simmings mumbled, very close to his ear:

“I’ll take care of you Harry, don’t worry. No one’s going to harm you.”

***

When Harry awoke again, it was dark and silent. The room was obviously empty and he was lying on the sofa with a blanket neatly tucked around him. He was feeling sick and sat up in panic which only served to make his head spin. He realised that the risk of throwing up was impending, and he stood up with a confused idea to search for the bathroom. He knocked something down as he tumbled by the table and out of the room. By sheer luck, the first door he opened in the hall turned out to be a small guest toilet, and he made it just in time to sink down on the floor and empty himself in the right place. Waves of nausea travelled through him and his stomach convulsed several times.

Suddenly Simmings was there and helped him. He spoke soothingly, put one hand on Harry’s forehead and steadied him by the waist with his other hand. When at last Harry shrunk back, able to breathe again, but with still moist eyelids from the effort, Simmings helped him tidy up and filled a mug with water for him to rinse the bitter taste away. He helped Harry back to the sofa, and on the way they both realised just how unsteady Harry was on his legs.

Not a word of complaint came over Harry’s lips, but when he sat down on the sofa again, he was tense, shoulders drawn up to his ears, hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him. At first Simmings thought that he was merely fighting the nausea. And he probably was – Simmings could not recall ever having seen Harry drunk before, but last night he had obviously had too much, even if by Simmings’ standards the amount of ingurgitated Firewhiskey had not been excessive. After another round to the bathroom where it became evident that there was not much left in Harry’s stomach to get rid of, the young man ended up just as tense and clammed up as before, and Simmings started to realise that there was more going on in the head of his friend.

Simmings had hoped at first that Harry would go back to sleep once the nausea abated, but now he found himself forced to light up the room and try to address the anxiety that was obviously roaring inside the young wizard. Simmings was not a stranger to handling panic attacks, or soothing angst in his friends, but it turned out almost impossible to reach Harry. Simmings talked and cajoled but could not say if Harry heard him, or took anything in at all – it seemed to him that his friend blocked him out somehow, and that Harry might have an inner dialogue that filled his entire being. From time to time, Simmings thought he felt bouts of magic come and go, emanating from the young wizard.  

At last, after several hours of Harry’s mute tenseness, Simmings was getting exasperated. Finally he rose and said in a more determined and severe tone than he had used before:

“Harry, I’m going to call St Mungo’s to get you a healer. Or better perhaps, I’ll call Professor Snape. He’ll want to help, I’m sure.”

Suddenly Harry seemed to snap out of whatever vicious circle of dark thoughts he was caught in, and riveted his eyes on Simmings as if seeing him for the first time. Tears rapidly filled the eyes and brimmed over.

“No,” he whispered. “No, not Snape.” Simmings sighed and sat back down. At least Harry had snapped out of whatever state he had been locked in.

“Why?” Simmings asked carefully. “Professor Snape has been engaged in the search for you, he seems to worry about you, and he’s a healer.” Harry looked at him surprised.

“Oh,” he whispered dejectedly, “Snape probably doesn’t want me to come to harm, but… We had a sort of falling out, and he… he doesn’t want anything to do with me… not in a direct way, anyhow…” Harry started to cry again with his head bent down. “What should I do, Simmings?” he asked. “What should I do?”

Simmings chose to interpret the question literally.

“You should lie down and have some more sleep,” he said.

“If I do, you won’t call for someone else?” said Harry.

“No, I promise,” said Simmings and Harry laid down obediently. “I’d offer you a sleeping draught, but because of how you reacted to the alcohol, I think I had better not.”

“It’s okay,” said Harry. Simmings hesitated.

“I’ll bring my mattress and lie on the floor beside you,” he muttered.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” said Harry contrite. “I’m keeping you awake, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t think about it, Harry,” said Simmings suddenly with feeling. “I want to. I want to do it for you.” A shadow of understanding, of regret and sadness passed over Harry’s face.

“Thank you,” he mumbled very gently, and Simmings all of a sudden felt his own eyes burn.

“Er… I’ll be right back,” he muttered stiffly.

***

When Simmings woke up next, the living room was bright from broad daylight and Harry was sitting up on the sofa, the blanket neatly folded by his side. Simmings noticed that Harry winced slightly when turning his head to look at his host.

“Got a headache?” Simmings asked and grinned as he stretched his back. Harry made a grimace.

“Yeah,” he conceded. “I actually think this is my first hangover ever. I never drank very much when Voldemort was there and – well, I’ve always been careful with alcohol before.” He spoke almost absentmindedly, staring in front of him. Simmings shook his head and forced his eyes wide open, in an attempt to wake up properly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “If I had known, I’d have held you back a bit.”

Harry shrugged as if it was of no importance.

“I’ll get up and make you some breakfast, or lunch more like it,” said Simmings, but Harry advanced him by rising from the sofa.

“I’m sorry, but I need to leave,” he said. “I only waited for you to wake up. Didn’t want to walk out on you when you took so good care of me yesterday. I’m sorry I spoiled the gathering with your friends. Please make my excuses to them.” Harry spoke calmly and politely, but his gaze was distant and there was a restlessness to his body movements.

“Please, Harry…” Simmings started to say.

“You can alert Mrs Steadfast as soon as I’m out of here. Tell them I’m… not okay, but…” Harry pulled a wry face.

“That’s an understatement…” Simmings muttered.

“I’ll get in touch as soon as I have… as I have resolved… as soon as I’m in control… Tell them I’ll get in touch in time…” Harry started to walk towards the hall. Simmings disentangled from his sheets and rose precipitately.

“But Harry, tonight is New Year’s Eve… The Millennium crosses the earth… It already began you know. It’s big… We were going to…”

“Shit…” Harry exclaimed and paled. “Shit… the new Millennium…” Harry stayed silent for a long while and Simmings wondered if he was going to break down and start crying again, but eventually Harry only grimaced and spoke with a cynicism that was very unlike himself: “Well, if the world shuts down or blows up tonight, it’ll save me a lot of trouble…” Harry shut his eyes and breathed deeply. “A pity I don’t believe in those conspiracies…” he muttered and opened his eyes. “Bye, Simmings.”

And he was gone.

A few hours before Harry left Simmings’ apartment, Mrs Steadfast and Snape, who seemed to spend more time at the Auror Headquarters than at his own school, already received some news about Harry’s activities, although in an indirect way. It came in the form of a breathless Ron who suddenly stood in the opening to Mrs Steadfast’s office.

“Harry’s been to Grimmauld Place sometime between 10 pm and 10 am,” he panted. Mrs Steadfast riveted her eyes at him.

“None of you were there when Harry showed up?” she asked, frowning.

“We had to go back to the Burrow, last night. Preparations for the new millennium, you know.  We were having relatives over for breakfast this morning and my mother needed our help. The whole day is crammed with celebrations – I don’t know how we’re going to survive it all, and I’m not talking about the magical lock-down thing,” said Ron.

Everybody was fearing the magical lock-down. A version of the Gregorian arithmancy calendar stipulated, according to some scientists, that the new millennium would bring magical forces to cancel each other and suspend magic in a limbo. The Daily Prophet had been full of these theories the last weeks, and half the magical community actually believed or at least seriously feared that it would come true and that they would all become squids.

“The turn of the millennium,” Mrs Steadfast sighed. “Haven’t we heard enough of it? Only the Universe knows what lies in our futures, so we’ll worry about that later. Tell me about Harry. How are you sure that he stopped by Grimmauld Place?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron.

“You don’t know?” said Snape and raised an eye-brow.

“Hermione asked me to alert you. She said we should see it with our own eyes.”

“See what?” said Mrs Steadfast and frowned.

“I don’t know,” said Ron.

Snape sneered.

“Hermione left to check Grimmauld Place this morning while I took care of a bunch of cousins visiting the Burrow. She floo-called back and asked me to get you. She sounded convinced that Harry had been there,” Ron elaborated.

“Let’s go to Grimmauld Place then,” Mrs Steadfast decided. “Coming, Severus?”

“Of course. Can’t miss the opportunity to solve this mystery,” Snape said sarcastically.

***

Hermione opened the door for them as soon as she heard them Apparate on the doorstep.

“Hermione, wha…?” started Ron, but she only shuffled them a little further down the hall and pointed at the wall. Both Ron and Snape drew their breaths in shock. More puzzled than awed, Mrs Steadfast stared at a big hole in the wall, with bits of burnt wallpaper hanging down at the edges.

“There used to hang a piece of drapery at this specific spot, if I remember correctly,” she said. “What was behind it?”

“Then you never met her? You never heard her?” said Hermione.

“Met who?” said Mrs Steadfast, frowning. “Severus, what does this mean?” Snape was recovering from the first surprise and answered acidulously.

“It means, Audrey, that there has been a murder. Mrs Black is at long last gone.”

Ron stepped forward and examined the crater in the wall. There were no remains at all of the portrait of Mrs Black who used to wake up and yell insults at them all.

“Murder!” he sneered. “She certainly deserved what she got. She was no angel during her living, if what Sirius told us about her was anything to go by. It wasn’t fair that she should be immortalised like that.” Hermione frowned a bit disapprovingly at Ron but looked at Snape.

“I heard that… Mrs Weasley told me that Dumbledore himself tried to break that permanent sticking charm… Why, the whole order of the Phoenix tried to get rid of it. But how…? How did Harry do it?” she said. Snape did not answer her, but stepped closer to the wall and started to hum spells, drawing his wand slowly back and forth over the hole.

“Are you sure it’s Harry who did this? Why?” asked Mrs Steadfast. Ron shook his head.

“Who else?” he said. “Ginny? I think not.”

“I think Harry came here to change clothes,” said Hermione and handed Mrs Steadfast a piece of cloth. “I found Hagrid’s cardigan and I noticed that Harry’s spare jacket is gone. He left the other one at the Burrow when he left the day before yesterday. Heavens – he’s been gone nearly two days now…”

“Makes sense he came to change clothes,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Severus? What do you make of it? Dark Arts?” Her gaze was sharp. Snape confirmed by a curt nod.

“I can’t make out what was used specifically - it escapes me. But it was a powerful spell, no doubt.”

“What’s happening to Harry?” Hermione exclaimed shrilly. “And how can he achieve what Professor Dumbledore could not?” Snape cleared his throat.

“Oh, Albus was exceedingly talented and powerful, but… I don’t think he would have permitted himself to express the fury… the rage that it takes to destroy a piece of fixed and strong magic like that portrait…” he explained.

“We do need to lay our hands on that young man and make sure he doesn’t proceed to something worse,” Mrs Steadfast proclaimed sternly. Hermione’s face was crumpled up in worry, but Ron sneered again.

“If this is Dark Arts, then I say that it has some good uses!” he said.

Hermione looked even more aghast.

“She was horrible!” insisted Ron. “Come on, we’ve wanted to get rid of her for years. By Merlin, we were forced to sneak into our own house because of her! She pestered our lives! If Harry was angry, at least he made some real sensible use of his bout of Dark magic!”

Snape looked surprised and a little shrewdly at Ron.

“I agree that the Dark Arts should be assessed and judged in the context in which they’re used, and that the actual consequences should be weighed and considered before condemning the mode of magic in itself...” he started to mutter, but was interrupted by Mrs Steadfast.

“This is no time for sophistry on the ethics of the use of Dark Arts,” she said. “We need to find Harry, speak to him and assess his state of mind. Now, he obviously didn’t want to stay here after casting whatever Dark Arts spell on that portrait, with the result that we now see before us. Where did he go next? Think, please! He must have spent the night somewhere!”

They were going to get the answer only a few hours later, and Simmings was going to get a solid telling-off from his boss.

***

Late that night, with the rattling sound of fireworks and the chirruping of excited human voices still ringing in his ears, Harry Apparated at a dark and, compared to where he came from, relatively silent alley where only a few distant detonations were heard. Harry staggered, and for a short time he was completely disorientated; for a shocking second he was not even sure of his own boundaries because it felt like he was nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Then there was one sharp localised pain in his right leg, in his calf most likely. He must have a body then. Merlin, had he splinched himself when Disapparating so suddenly and so recklessly? He had needed to get out of there quick.

Harry whimpered and took a few staggering steps up to the concrete wall that lined the alley. He put one hand against it, doubled over and threw up with such force that the contents of his stomach ended up a good ten feet away from the toes of his shoes. He closed his eyes and panted, still supporting himself against the wall.

It had not been a good idea to wander about the streets of London on the night of the millennium shift. Subconsciously and with the unescapable force on a moon by its planet, Harry had been drawn to the Xenophoria club, where he knew Ginny was most likely to spend time on an evening like this. It was where Harry had indeed intended to have been, together with her, had they stuck to the plans from only a week ago… But in that short time, everything had changed… Harry had not entered the club, but had stayed outside, knowing that at one point people would start pouring out, heading for the scene of the big fireworks, wanting to celebrate as one enormous party on the embankments of the Thames.

Harry had spotted Ginny coming out of the club, and he had followed her quite closely, hidden in the dense mass of people behind her. The bells had rung, the millennium had turned, but Harry had only looked at Ginny. And he had seen her turn to a boy with long hair and kiss him on the mouth.

Harry retched again, tears rising, not from emotion, because he was still too shocked to cry, but from the physical exertion. He looked around - this place seemed familiar. He realised little by little that he was at Spinner’s End, in the blind alley where you Apparated at to avoid to be noticed by Muggle neighbours. He did not know how he had ended up here, because at the point of Disapparating, Harry had not had a determined destination in his conscious mind.

Harry started to limp towards the opening on the road. Surely Snape would not be at home on a night like this? Snape was an important personage in the magical community, so he would probably be at some reception or other, maybe with that lady from the Ministry, Madam Womberry, who had danced with him at the school ball last year, or perhaps with Mrs Steadfast if she had gotten her way, celebrating the crossing of the millennium over the Earth. Harry’s thoughts danced incoherently in his head.

Since Harry was part of the Fidelius charm that now protected Snape’s home, he immediately distinguished Snape’s house. To his surprise there was a light on in the one window beside the entrance. Hesitantly, Harry started to walk towards the house, but stopped in the middle of the road, eyes riveted on Snape’s door. Harry had started to shiver, and he felts bouts of magic streaming down his arms which jerked from time to time. Oh, no, not again! He was too exhausted to handle it. But he couldn’t force himself upon Snape like this, could he?  Not when the man so distinctly had signalled that he wanted to distance himself from Harry? Harry felt a trickle of liquid running down his calf, and a searing pain, which helped him make up his mind. Snape would not refuse to give some medical attendance, and maybe he would have some advice as to what to do with the rippling magic, as well.

When Snape opened the door and spotted Harry on the doorstep, his usually so impassive face showed so much genuine relief that Harry was assailed by a fit of sobs that risked to choke him. Snape did not say much, but hummed and ushered Harry inside and led him to an armchair in front of the fireplace. Harry continued to sob violently, bending his head down and avoiding to meet Snape’s gaze. Snape did not fuss like Simmings had done the previous night, nor was he prone to tenderness in the same natural way as the young Auror. After observing Harry silently for a while, Snape cleared his voice and asked:

“Harry, are you injured?”

Rational being, first things first, Harry thought. It was reassuring in a way, and his sobs calmed down a bit.

“I think I splinched myself,” he whispered. “Can you have a look please?” He started to fold the right leg of his trousers up. Snape kneeled down and helped him take his shoe off. The gesture caused Harry to have another fit of choking.

“It’s the same leg you injured in Paris last year,” said Snape examining Harry’s lower limb from all angles. “Stands to reason you might have slightly less control of it during an abrupt Apparition. Were you attacked? Did you need to leave precipitately?”

Harry shook his head while his face crumpled up.

“Have you been drinking?” Snape tried to sound noncommittal, but could not help himself from letting a slight reproach slip into his tone. Because his father had been a drunk, Snape was close to paranoid when it came to alcohol.

“No,” squealed Harry. “No, not even that… Not tonight…” Simmings had probably told Mrs Steadfast and Snape about last night.

“You were upset then,” stated Snape quickly, attempting to smooth over his previous accusation. “You should… wait… for your emotions to calm down before you Apparate. That’s Apparition basics, Harry. I understand, however, that the circumstances might…”

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry exclaimed.

Snape frowned and pressed his lips together, and Harry sighed with irritation. When would Snape stop guessing, and stop attributing Harry’s actions to blunders? At least the frustration with his former professor allowed him to retort.

“I Disapparated to prevent myself from attacking… from… from committing… from committing… a murder…” Harry’s face crumpled up again. He put his hands in front of his face and started to hyperventilate.

“I see…” said Snape drily after a short pause. “Then I must congratulate you. A splinched calf is much to prefer to a dead wizard.” Harry looked up at him in surprise and chuckled, crying in misery and laughing in a slight bout of hysterics at the same time. Snape remained calm and started to heal the wound in Harry’s calf with a spell and a summoned potion. Harry stilled and looked at Snape again.

“Only you can say something like that and actually mean it,” he challenged softly.

“As a reformed Death Eater, I do know the distinction between wishing to kill a person and the very act of killing a fellow human being. Did you actually prepare to kill this person?” asked Snape bluntly. Harry forced himself to consider the difference.

“I… I don’t know…” he whispered, clenching his fingers while examining his memory and his conscience. “I wanted to kill him that instant, I did…” he said, eyes riveted far away, mouth twisting. “And I’ve been having these bouts of magic surging through my body. Like involuntary bursts. Like it might explode out of me. I was afraid… I really think that I could’ve… If I hadn’t got out of there…” Suddenly Harry paled and stood up in panic.

“Easy!”

“I’m going to be sick again,” whimpered Harry. Snape conjured up and shoved a bucket in Harry’s arms and made him sit down again. While Harry retched with the bucket between his knees, Snape stood passively beside him, but took care of the bucket when it was over, and handed Harry a handkerchief to dab his lips. While the young man collected his wits, Snape left the room to fetch something in the kitchen and came back with a glass that Harry drank from.

“Pumpkin juice,” he stated. “Thank you. Tastes just like at Hogwarts.”

“It’s made at Hogwarts.” Snape sat down in the other armchair beside Harry. “If you’re ready – talk,” he said. “Talk as much as you can. About whatever you want. But first, only to confirm: the man you wished to kill on impulse, is it…?”

“Ginny’s new boy-friend,” answered Harry quickly. “Yes, it’s him. I saw her kiss him.”

“Hmm, do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him at the Xenophoria club. He plays the drums in a band that is frequently on stage and… I’ve said hello. Seems to be a decent kind of guy in fact… quite the reveler perhaps… He’ll suit Ginny in that way, because I could never live up to…” Harry was starting to choke on his words and Snape quickly changed the subject.

“These bursts of magic – is that what happened at Grimmauld Place, with the portrait of Mrs Black?”

“Yes,” Harry answered in a squeal. “I’m glad you know about that, because it scared the wits out of me… There was no one at home that night, just like I hoped. I was only going to change clothes, but then she woke up, Mrs Black I mean, and got started on her usual insults… Screaming her venom out… And I got so angry at her. I don’t really know what spell I used, but it resisted me at first, the permanent sticking charm did, and it made me even angrier, so I think… I’m afraid I threw in a word or two of Parsel and… and that really does the thing, you know… I already knew that because… because I used it in… in the forest… Parsel augments the magic… multiplies it somehow… A simple gouging spell will cause a big explosion… and so on… It scares the hell out of me, but I can’t help myself… I need to let it out, it simply grows inside me until it’s unbearable.”

“It’s very responsible of you, Harry, to make sure you’re well out of people’s reach when you feel like that. I understand you don’t want to hurt someone by mistake,” said Snape.

“You think so? But I’m not in control, not in control at all…” Harry squeaked.

“There might be some late effects here from your deficient childhood. In combination with an adversely affected adolescence due to the threat of Voldemort, added to the present tumultuous state of mind, of course.” Snape closed his eyes briefly.

Harry had no idea of what Snape was talking about and stared blankly at him.

“You only experienced a limited number of incidences of involuntary underage magic during your childhood, did you?” asked Snape.

“When I was younger? With the Dursleys?” Harry turned his head away. He did not like speaking of the Dursleys, and he was not sure what Snape was getting at anyway.

“If you were forced to reign your magic in as a child, you weren’t able to explore its boundaries,” explained Snape. “That’s the advantage of having experienced a lot of anger in your childhood – you try it all… although, in my case, no Parsel…”

“I know…” Harry squirmed from discomfort.

“It is an aggravating circumstance that you tend to mix that explosive ingredient into the mix, but it is as it is, and otherwise I’d say that it’s better late than never: let yourself explore those violent sides of yourself. You’re going to get to know what you’re dealing with, and it’ll prevent you from accidentally hurting other people if you take responsibility for it - like it seems to me you’re trying to do in the middle of all this. You’ll be in control eventually.” Snape spoke soothingly.

“You really think so?” Harry asked, squinting at Snape, not quite following the professor’s reasoning because there were so many thoughts buzzing in Harry’s brain, but picking up on the reassuring tone of voice and sensing more than grasping that Snape must have experienced something similar with his magic at a younger age.

Harry quieted and let his gaze sink into the dancing of the flames in the open fireplace in Snape’s living room. Pictures of fireworks, of the streets of London and of Ginny started to play before his unseeing eyes which filled with tears again. What did it matter whether he reigned his magic in or not when she had left him? He might just as well blow the whole world to pieces, or throw himself off a…

“Speak to me, Harry,” said Snape.

Harry turned his head and looked at Snape: confusion, anger and hurt playing on his face.

“Talk! Don’t clam up. You need to let it out somehow, or it will only build up and become unbearable inside you. It’s that, or fastening your attention and concentration on a specific task, distracting your mind from what preoccupies it – but you’ve not reached the stadium yet when distraction is even an option. You need to get through the first shock. Now, talk! Anything. What did she say?”

Harry was too exhausted to understand what Snape meant by distraction, or why he wanted him to talk, but he finally obeyed and allowed himself to launch into a torrent of lamentations. He jumped from one thing to another, from relating the conversation he had had with Ginny in her room at the Burrow to various events during the autumn, revolving to the incident in Paris last spring and the ensuing Oblivate treatment that Ginny had taken willingly but which had changed their relationship, and he even returned to the battle against Voldemort when the thought of getting back with Ginny had only been a distant hope in a corner of his mind. Harry rambled on, almost incoherently, laying bare his feelings of crushed hope mixed with shame, and displaying his grief in an almost physical way that was bound to affect an audience deeply. Snape closed his eyes from time to time, turned his head or let his long hair hide his face now and again, but every time Harry slowed down, Snape extorted “talk” - so Harry talked and lamented. Finally he returned to the scene of the present night.

“The new millennium,” he said hoarsely, because he had spoken for a long time now. “I’m not so impressed by the crossing of the millennium in itself, although obviously it’s a rare event, but basically it’s just time passing as usual and another new year, but… anyhow… I had had these deliberations… I wondered if Ginny would like us to… you know to get engaged on a night like this… She has a weak spot for grandeur after all, and… and… we did mention it in Paris last spring… She said then she wouldn’t say no…”

Harry swallowed.

“I even had a look at rings in a shop…” he whispered. “But then I thought that the time was not quite right… At least I didn’t ridicule myself to the point of…” A burst of sobs prevented him from talking for a while before he picked up his thread. “I was aware of our problems, acutely aware actually that we had things to sort out and that our lives turned in different directions… But she never wanted to talk about it, so I thought that I’d wait… I’d be patient… I thought that the time would come eventually… But I never thought that she would do this… I never thought that she would give up on - not me – because it’s not even really about me, if you know what I mean?”

Snape looked at him with what seemed to Harry like both compassion and sorrow.

“She gives up on our love… She betrays our love! I don’t understand how she can do that! It’s something bigger than her… bigger than me… Our love… is magic – for me it was sacred in a way… I thought that she felt the same way… Am I a ridiculous fool to have believed in it?”

Harry caught a glimpse of pain in Snape’s face before the stern wizard turned away. Harry sat up more rigidly in his chair, with a sudden and confused impulse to stand up and leave. There was something in Snape’s countenance that reminded him of the incident in Snape’s office before Christmas.

“We should make up a bed for you to have some rest,” said Snape who was still turned away from Harry. “Would you like me to prepare the room upstairs which you borrowed last time, or…?”

“I can sleep on the sofa…” Harry hastened to say. “If you’re sure I can stay? Maybe I should…?”

Snape turned around vividly.

“No, you must stay,” he said. “Come now, you need to rest, have some sleep if you can… You’re exhausted.”

Hesitantly, Harry complied, because he honestly did not have the strength to protest: he felt empty and incapable of rational thought. I’ll think about it tomorrow. The very thought slurred in his brain as he let himself drop heavily on the sofa.

***

Snape, who had dozed off in the armchair in front of the fire, woke up from a small clicking noise. A few seconds allowed him to realise that the sofa where Harry had eventually fallen to sleep only a few hours ago was empty and that the sound had come from a shutting door. Swearing, Snape reflexively grabbed his wand, stood up and barged for the door, which he tore open and propelled himself the few steps down the stairs before stopping.

“Harry!”

The young man had not yet reached the entrance to the Disapparating impasse, but turned around in the middle of the road in front of Snape’s house. A mere ten yards separated the two wizards.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, Professor,” said Harry. His hands were deep inside his pockets, shoulders drawn up to his ears. He looked frozen, pale and thin, although he wore a proper jacket. “I’m sorry I woke you up. You mustn’t have gotten much sleep. I’m sorry I bothered you last night. I’m not… I’m not at my best right now…”

“By Jupiter! It doesn’t matter at all. Come back inside now.”

“No, no… I’m leaving… I find myself… restless… And I… I thank you for your hospitality and all, last night, but I realise that you cannot possibly want to have anything to do with me right now, when I’m in this state. Why, I realised already that time before Christmas that you… that it’s difficult for you to tolerate me… I…”

“What are you talking about?” said Snape bewildered. “I want to help you, and so do your friends: Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys, Simmings and the others, they’re all worried. Mrs Steadfast has been looking for you for days now. We need to talk, to sort this out properly. Really, Harry, you can’t live on like this – it’ll end with a collapse.”

Harry hesitated. He was staring at Snape’s stockinged feet which were trampling up and down in the thin layer of snow that covered the ground. It must be cold. Harry felt his throat tighten – Snape really wanted him to stay, didn’t he? He felt his resistance melt away. Maybe it was time to go back and confront his friends? Try to sort up the mess?

But then to his confusion, Harry found himself to have taken two involuntary steps forward. In an instant he had his wand out, brandishing it at Snape.

“A mind-modifier?” he hissed furiously and with incredulity written on his face. “You’re resorting to mind-modifiers to make me go back?”

“I only wanted to nudge you… I got impatient. I’m sorry.”

“I hate it when you touch me with your magic!”

Harry turned to storm away towards the Disapparition alley. Snape followed a few steps. The regret was ringing in his words.

“Please, Harry. It was stupid of me. Stay, please!”

But all he heard was a faint pop of a Disapparition. Swearing, shivering and jumping on his cold feet, Snape got back to the house, preparing to give yet a disappointing report about Harry to a furious Mrs Steadfast.

When Ron and Hermione rose in the morning, twenty-four hours later, on the 2d of January, and came downstairs to prepare breakfast at Grimmauld Place, they found Harry in the kitchen with a cup of tea in front of him. Kreacher was rustling about his cauldrons, boiling eggs and cooking porridge.

“Merlin, Harry!” Ron exclaimed. “When did you get back? You’ve been missing four nights! We’ve been so worried…”

“Kreacher found Master in the Library this morning, he must have returned very late…” the house elf said importantly.

“I didn’t want to wake you up…” Harry muttered, avoiding to meet the eyes of his friends.

“Ron, why don’t you floo-call the Auror Office…” Hermione began to say when Harry interrupted her.

“Is Ginny here? Or is she coming by before leaving for France?”

 Hermione and Ron looked at each other.

“She spent the night at the Burrow. She’s coming by to pick up her things in a few hours. She hasn’t done much packing yet… We have the impression that she has been avoiding Grimmauld Place,” said Hermione carefully. Harry turned his head away.

“I… I don’t want to talk,” he said. “Could we just… have breakfast, please?” He gestured at Kreacher and at the table. Ron and Hermione obediently sat down, but Hermione stood up guiltily again and started to help Kreacher set the table.

Ron and Hermione made an effort to small-talk, but Harry did not say much except for convincing Ron to wait before contacting the Office. A few hours would make no difference to Mrs Steadfast, he argued. Harry barely touched the food, but stood up after they were finished and helped Kreacher clear the table. Then he sat down on the edge of a chair in the library and waited.

When Ginny arrived at Grimmauld Place a couple of hours later, Harry stood up and met her gaze through the open door of the library and down the long corridor of the entrance hall. Neither of them said anything, and Ginny turned briskly to walk up the stairs.

“Mum and Dad are coming to the station to wave me off. Departure is in a few hours only. I’ll get my things and be off,” she launched at Ron over the shoulder.

With hesitant, dragging footsteps, taking his time, Harry followed her upstairs. Mutely, he positioned himself at the doorpost and watched Ginny collect her things in a trunk with resolute and brisk efficiency. After only a minute of waiting silently, Harry turned and walked downstairs again, positioning himself at the same spot in the library as before. When Ginny returned to the hall with her trunk, Harry rose again, but did not advance towards her. Ginny took a hurried farewell of her brother and of Hermione, hugging them briefly. With a hand already on the handle of the door, she hesitated and turned around.

“I still love you, Harry,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “But this is for the best.” She tossed her head, turned around and was out of the house in one second, having shrunk her trunk in one swift wave of her wand.

Harry was staring at his own feet, body still, except for his chest which was heaving rapidly and silently, as if he willed himself not to move. When a sufficient amount of time for Ginny to have Disapparated had passed, Harry started to move with staggering steps towards the exit. Ron and Hermione tried to intercept him, tried to speak to him, but he waved them away.

“I’ll come back in the evening,” he said in a stifled voice. “I promise. You might alert Mrs Steadfast if you want, Ron. I’ll speak to her tonight, if she insists. But not Snape. I don’t want Snape to be there.”

And then, Harry, too, was gone.

***

A difficult time followed. Harry had his base at Grimmauld Place, but he often disappeared for a whole day, or part of the night, without Ron or Hermione knowing where he was. They started to get used to it, and were glad if they came across him to exchange a few words at least once every thirty-six hours.

When the programs at St Mungo’s and at the Auror Headquarters opened up after the holidays, it helped Harry to focus his mind on something. Especially at St Mungo’s, with the intriguing fates of sick and injured people, Harry could keep his own thoughts and suffering at bay for hours. He worked late in the evenings to keep himself occupied, and Healer Sheno often had to tell him, sternly, to go home and rest, or he would have stayed the whole night sometimes.

At the Auror program, they were now allowed on the big training premises and practiced battling techniques. Here Harry found an opportunity to give vent to his frustration by channelling his irritated magic into precise curses and powerful blockades. His entry on the training grounds was always a challenge for his opponents, and four weeks into the term, he was yet unbeaten, by both students and, spectacularly, by every single Auror trainer. Sometimes, though, Harry would arrive and watch his fellow students with a feverish and restless gaze. His arms would twitch and he would turn to Mrs Steadfast and say: “I need to train alone, today, Mrs Steady.” The head of the Aurors always respected his request. Snape had explained on a general level, without details, to her about Harry’s bouts of wild magic and about the security issue they posed and Mrs Steadfast had accepted it without questions. “Where are you going, Harry?” she would ask calmly. “The forest,” he would mumble, and leave.

Snape was reserved, but not repellent towards Harry. They would meet now and again when Snape gave a lecture in one of his areas of expertise at St Mungo’s. After class, Snape would try to catch Harry’s attention, but the young man always hurried out of the lecture hall without seeking contact. The same could be said when Snape turned up at the Auror Headquarters.

These days Harry was generally low and absentminded, retracting into his own thoughts and not always listening to what people said to him. He did not want to be rude, and he often apologised most politely for his inattention to his friends. With Snape it was different, however, as it seemed as if Harry had ceased to address his former professor altogether. Rather than actively antagonising him, it seemed as if Harry had given up on Snape, and expected nothing from him.

Impassive and controlled, Snape would have needed to reach out over-explicitly to the young wizard, but since he did not seem to know how to make his approach, their relationship remained on a very unsatisfactory, if not inexistent level. Mrs Steadfast who had witnessed Snape’s concern over Harry first-hand, and knew that the stern former Death Eater sincerely cared for the young man, in all well-meaning tried to compensate for their lack of communication by talking excessively herself with Harry while Snape stood mute by her side. Unfortunately, this only strengthened Harry’s conviction of Snape’s disapproval of him, and his lack of interest.

In the beginning of February, a letter arrived from Ginny, announcing without any doubt that she was now going out with her drummer and room-mate. The picture she drew of her new life in France with her new boy-friend Eric seemed to be an exciting one, although the proper season at Le Grand Eclat had not yet started. The letter plunged Harry into a new fit of despair, and for a few days he did not come home at night at Grimmauld Place. Eventually, however, it had the merit of him opening up a little bit to his closest friends, starting to talk about what he had only kept inside himself for the last month.

Ron encouraged him to let go of Ginny for a while and explore new options in life. It was more or less what Ginny herself had told Harry to do in her letter, advocating free love and the merits of exploring relationships. Harry had a vague suspicion that Ron had asked Ginny to write to him in a plea to help Harry move on, because there was not much personal content in the letter, but more of general information about her current life mixed with fleeting opinions.

Ron and Harry’s former friends at Hogwarts with Dean and Seamus in the lead, took upon themselves to distract Harry from his misgivings. Distraction for them meant attending Quidditch games and doing pub rounds. Confused by Ginny’s letter and tired of isolating himself, Harry let himself be dragged around, abandoning moreover his former cautious approach to the intake of alcohol. Hermione was not all too approving when Ron returned late at night supporting a reeling Harry who, moreover, still had a propensity for sickness and who easily threw up.

The relationship between Ron and Harry was thus reversed on more than one occasion. Ron who used to be the irresponsible one reverted to watching over Harry. Also, cautioned by the split up between his sister and friend, Ron did not want to risk the same fate, so he listened more carefully to Hermione’s views, and the young couple seemed to be in a harmonious phase of their relationship. Feeling for Harry because of his current violent crisis, they almost felt ashamed of their own happiness.

Harry obviously did not want to be the third wheel at Grimmauld Place when Ron and Hermione had their cuddles and private moments, but overall, there was no shortage of friends who wanted to take Harry out and comfort him. The problem was quite the opposite.

One Saturday morning at the end of February, the three friends were eating a late breakfast. Harry looked pale with dark shadows under the eyes, but his friends were used to it by now and did not attribute it to anything new. He had worked hard the whole week and crammed for an exam at St Mungo’s which had taken place on the Wednesday. He had been out with his classmates from St Mungo’s the same night and had gone out again on the Thursday with Dean and Seamus and their gang. On the Friday, he had turned up late at the Auror Headquarters, launching ferociously into combat training  all afternoon and then he had declined going out with Ron and Hermione, explaining in that feverish and clammed-up fashion which they had learnt to know by now that he needed to spend more energy in the forest. To Ron’s and Hermione’s knowledge, he had returned even later than themselves.

Ron who had started to read the week-end supplement of the Daily Prophet suddenly started choking on his tea.

“Blimey, Harry! When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us?” he exclaimed.

Hermione intercepted the paper as Ron was shuffling it over to Harry, and blushed while she shot Harry a shrewd look before she passed it on. Harry stared at the spread which showed two young witches, giggling and inclining their heads to the side at the photographer. He grabbed the paper convulsively to drag it towards him, so that he crumpled it along the sides. While reading, he reddened up to his hair-roots.

“Shit,” he muttered in a low voice and pushed the copy away from himself in disgust. “How could they go to the press like that?” he exclaimed indignantly and met Hermione’s scrutinizing gaze but turned his eyes away immediately.

“Two at the same time, Harry?” Ron who had recovered his paper asked incredulous and impressed. “Blimey, when you finally do something you’re sure to do it properly, aren’t you?”

Harry blushed even deeper and hid his face in his hands. He was not in the least amused and squirmed in embarrassment.

“Why?” he squeaked.

“Harry, you’re famous,” Hermione said drily. “This is what the whole community has been waiting for. You’ve been too smart until now, too proper, too controlled. And now, they’ve finally gotten something from your private life to write about.”

“But the girls…” Harry gestured helplessly at the spread. “What’s in it for them? Why would they possibly want to brag about…?” He hid his face in embarrassment again.

“They only want the attention,” Hermione said coolly.

“They’re good-looking, though,” Ron said appreciatively. “Who are they anyway?”

Harry only whimpered in answer.

“Tell us, Harry,” Hermione prodded. “It’s not the end of the world, you know. It’s only the Saturday supplement, there’s always a lot of nonsense in that part.” She paused and frowned. “Although, I don’t know why you must sound so impressed!” she added forcefully to Ron.

“What? No… I’m only… glad… for Harry’s sake, I mean,” Ron replied sheepishly.

“Glad!?” Harry exclaimed. “It was horrible! I don’t remember much of it anyway – I had had some Firewhiskey. It was on Thursday night, after I had been out with Dean and Seamus.”

“You picked two girls up on you way home?” Hermione asked sternly.

“No. No! I had met them the night before. They’re students our age. They’re training to become care-witches at St Mungo’s and I met them when I went out with my class on Wednesday. They were very nice, they said they lived together in an apartment nearby Grimmauld Place and invited me over, but I declined right then. The next night Dean tried to pair me up with various girls in the pub, and it was embarrassing to the least, because he got us a lot of attention. I got fed up with it at last, but thought on my way home, because it was still quite early, that I’d come by and say hello to these girls. They were having a party at their house and they were thrilled to let me join them.”

“Of course they were,” Hermione said drily.

“And…?” said Ron.

“And, there was a lot of booze…” Harry said self-consciously. Hermione clenched her jaws and looked at Ron who shrugged.

“Harry needs to let himself go a bit right now, Hermione. It’s not the moment to sermon him…”

“You really think it does him good? Look at him! Is this what he needs? And the attention of the press is awakened now. Everyone will know that he’s a bachelor – he’s a fair pray now.”

“The girls, at least, seem very happy and contented,” said Ron and looked down. There was a streak of envy in his voice. Harry did not seem to hear them.

“I woke up at dawn at their place, in their bed,” Harry whispered looking with empty eyes in the air. “I realised that I had made love to two girls who I knew almost nothing about. It was so awkward. I was out of there as soon as I possibly could.” He lowered his head.

“Next time, take it easier with the Firewhiskey,” Hermione restricted herself to saying.

***

Next time was a couple of weeks later. Ron had opened the door to his and Hermione’s bedroom but closed it gently again, leaving only a chink, hushing at Hermione who was behind him. Hermione opened her mouth to protest when she, too, heard the voices from further down the corridor.

“Yeah, I know, this is a spooky old house.” They heard Harry’s voice and a brighter voice, a woman’s voice, answering.

“I inherited it from my uncle,” they heard Harry explain. “Are you sure you must be leaving? Might I offer you some breakfast before you go?”

A polite declining followed. The voices were approaching.

“I work most week-ends in a shop,” the girl explained. “And I need to go by my place first to change clothes. Which is the nearest tube station did you say?”

Ron turned to Hermione with wide eyes.

“A Muggle!” he exclaimed in an excited whisper. “Harry has brought a Muggle to Grimmauld Place!”

The voices passed their door. Harry and his date were moving down the stairs.

“I didn’t expect not to come home last night,” the woman said merrily. “Since I would be working today I mean…”

Ron and Hermione suddenly heard a little squeal.

“Oh, that quite startled me! There’s a weird statue over there. It’s as if it’s staring at me. I’m almost certain that I saw it move.”

“It’s because of the dusk,” said Harry quickly. “The place’s not well lit, I’m sorry. My uncle’s family was… a creepy old gang,” he added vaguely. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, I went with you quite willingly,” the girl laughed throatily. “But you’re blushing! That’s so sweet,” she added teasingly. “We both had a bit too much to drink,” she said in a tone which now sounded quite sober, “but don’t worry, I don’t regret anything.”

Harry and the girl must have reached the bottom landing and were probably standing in front of the door. Ron and Hermione had to struggle to catch the words.

“You’re on the rebound, aren’t you?” they heard the girl say. Harry muttered something quietly in reply. “I heard you say something in your sleep,” the girl went on. “Don’t look so abashed,” she added. “I understand, I’ve been there too. You’re a nice guy, and we had a good time. I’d had liked to see you again, but I don’t expect anything. I can see that you need some more time to get over her… your previous girl-friend. When you do, don’t hesitate to call me, even if it takes some time.”

After a few mumbled words of Harry’s, Ron and Hermione heard the door close. They looked at each other and sneaked out of their room. They found Harry sitting at the lowest step of the staircase with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard them.

“Er… That’s a different approach,” said Ron, trying to sound non-committal. “Muggle girl?” he added.

“Come have some breakfast while you tell us Harry,” said Hermione gently, because Harry looked miserable.

Ron and Hermione busied themselves with breakfast because Kreacher was nowhere to be seen. Harry was staring emptily ahead of himself.

“Will you accompany us to the Burrow today, Harry?” asked Ron. “Mum and Dad really want to see you. You’ve only come by twice since Christmas.”

“Hum…” Harry said absentmindedly. “I’m working extra at St Mungo’s today. But I’ll be glad to come by later, especially if Mrs Tonks and Teddy are there. They usually are on Sundays, aren’t they?” Harry continued after a pause: “I have nothing against your parents, Ron. They know they’re kind of like surrogate parents for me, don’t they?” Harry’s voice broke and he looked anxiously at Ron.

“We know, Harry. Don’t worry, they understand why visiting the Burrow is hard for you right now. They’ll be glad if you come, though,” Ron hastened to comfort his friend. “A bit complicated, wouldn’t it be?” he added. “With a Muggle girl-friend, I mean?”

“I’m not… I’m not getting a Muggle girl-friend, Ron,” Harry muttered in a stifled voice. “It was just… only a one night thing… I… I… needed to try it… with someone who wouldn’t run to the Daily Prophet, I mean… This is what she wants me to do, is it?” Harry sounded slightly aggressive and not a little desperate.

“Who…?” said Ron, but Hermione laid a hand on his arm to stop him. Harry had risen at the table and stared at his hands which were twitching slightly. He tried to clench and unclench them, closing his eyes and pulling his shoulders up to his ears before relaxing them in an apparent attempt to calm himself.

“Harry, you don’t have to do what you think Ginny wants you to do,” Hermione said quietly. “Take your time. Ron’s right – a Muggle at Grimmauld Place is really complicated. We heard her startle at the sight of one of the decorations! Imagine what would have happened if she had come across Kreacher…”

Harry stared at her.

“That was Kreacher!” he said blandly, taking a step backwards, turning his chair over. “I had to petrify him behind her back. Shit, I need to go and release him. Merlin, now even Kreacher is falling victim to my stupid stunts…”

Ron and Hermione heard him mutter reproaches and accusations at himself as he hurried out of the kitchen.

The only time when Harry seemed to briefly forget about Ginny – because mostly something in his eyes would betray his constant grief – was when he was playing with Teddy, or when he visited Josepha and Luna and their new-born child. Especially when they let him hold their little girl and he walked about with her in his arms, talking nonsense or singing in a low voice to calm her, did he seem truly relaxed and happy.

The baby was nine weeks old already, and was called Sophie. She was at that age when she would fixate her gaze upon any face looming over her and, if she found it benevolent enough, she would be generous with bestowing the person with her quick and sunny smile. Harry could not get enough of that rewarding baby expression and he visited often, but briefly because, naturally, the baby still preferred her mothers to strangers and needed constant feeding, to the point of Josepha being almost exhausted. The young healer mother had experienced numerous and demanding night shifts at St Mungo’s which, one would think, should have prepared her for motherhood when it came to sleep deprivation, but Sophie still proved to be a challenge.

In the middle of March, Snape sent Harry an owl asking how his studies of Ancient Magic advanced, and did he want to visit Hogwarts to discuss the subject? Harry was slightly surprised by the question since he was still convinced that Snape did not want to have anything to do with him, and could not imagine why the professor was attempting to get in contact. Harry had been too restless for the kind of advanced studies that Ancient Magic required, however, and he resolved on replying briefly by owl that he regretted not having anything new to present to Snape.

Harry worked on other subjects, however, and he had even written three short papers together with Healer Sheno on diagnostic spells. Harry had a special sense for diagnostics, and easily discovered ways of improving or simplifying already existing spells. He did it intuitively, and writing the papers was a trifle and a pass-time that was welcome.

Harry was starting to get a reputation at St Mungo’s of becoming something of a superior healer. The turmoil which breaking up with Ginny had thrown him into had somehow removed some of his cautiousness. It was not that he had become careless, but more that he had less qualms to launch into challenges. Of course, Harry had always relied on his instincts, but now he used them very consciously to feel his way to the solution of a diagnostic dilemma, or to modulate his treatment in just the right way. And he turned out to be amazingly successful. He had a score of not losing one single patient by Renervation at the Emergency.

Harry was moreover very generous with his Grief-Swallowers abilities and never refused to do a Relieving incantation which of course were so much more effective than working by the Swallowscope, or by handing out potions, which the rest of the healers were reduced to doing. It would be difficult to prove that Harry was actively seeking the approbation and acclaim of his fellow co-workers at St Mungo’s, but it was not improbable that Ginny’s rejection had left him with a wounded self-esteem, and that him endeavouring to work so hard at St Mungo’s was a kind of compensation for that fact.

So on a superficial level, Harry was not doing poorly at all: he was winning training combats against experienced Aurors, he was saving lives at St Mungo’s, inventing healing spells and publishing papers, but the reverse of the medal was dark and disturbing: His bouts of wild magic had not disappeared, and only Snape knew that they were connected with Parsel magic. In the evenings Harry still had attacks of anguish, and his restlessness had not abated. The months of March and April saw an increase in reckless behaviour which Ron and Hermione witnessed first-hand, but still did perhaps not know the full extent of. A few haphazard events during the spring enabled them to get some glimpses of Harry’s despair, however.

*

One night, Ron and Harry were very close to seriously incapacitating each other, inadvertently. It happened so that Ron and Hermione woke up in the middle of the night from faint thuds and strange sounds from the entrance floor which they by now associated with Harry having been out and coming home drunk.

“Please, go down and help him,” murmured Hermione. Ron only ground.

“Ron, wake up. You need to go down and help Harry to bed.”

“He usually manages, Hermione. It’s the middle of the night,” Ron slurred, still half asleep.

“He needs us, Ron. We must show him we’re here for him. I can’t believe you’re being so callous. I’m going myself.” Hermione sounded completely awake and irritated, so Ron quickly threw his cover to the side and sat up.

“No, no, I’m going, I’m going,” he said, forcing his eyes open.

 When Ron got downstairs, he localised the sounds coming from the library.

“Harry?” he called out advancing towards the door. “Come on, mate, let’s go to bed.”

But when he entered the library, the person inside turned towards him, and it was not Harry. A complete stranger was standing in the middle of the library at Grimmauld Place, looking moreover like a Muggle.

Ron actually screamed. A frightened, roaring battle-cry escaped him as he lifted his wand to strike.

“Incarcerous!”

“Expelliarmus!”

To Ron’s horror the stranger had somehow managed to draw his wand, and Ron found himself disarmed. Apparently this was not a Muggle. Terror-stricken, Ron stumbled backwards, shouting a warning at Hermione who could be heard walking down the stairs.

“It’s me, Ron. It’s only me,” said the stranger. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” He sounded desolate and advanced towards Ron on unsteady legs and with spread arms.

“Harry?” Hermione had arrived at the door, pointing her wand at a fair-haired, bearded man who looked to be in his thirties.

The man started to ramble excuses incoherently. Ron and Hermione picked up on the word Polyjuice and they heard enough to gather that this must indeed be Harry, without having to ask control questions.

“Let’s sit down and sort this out,” said Hermione.

In the kitchen, with cups of tea in their hands, Ron and Hermione learnt from the now transforming Harry that he had brewed a batch of Polyjuice over the last month.

“You did? Whatever for?” asked Ron.

Harry explained to them that he had gotten the idea after the press had started to write about his nocturnal adventures.

“It’s none of their business!” Harry muttered darkly. “I’m so tired of being stalked by the press. Whatever I happen to do, Ginny will be able to learn about it in a news-paper. There’s no privacy. Why, she was right that being the Boy-who-lived is a hopeless undertaking.”

“But why?” insisted Ron. “I can’t see Dean and Seamus and the gang accompanying you to a Muggle pub when you look like that.”

Harry did not answer and looked away.

“You went out to drink on your own, did you?” Hermione asked sternly. “Why in the world…? Don’t you see how destructive that is? You’re getting me worried here, Harry!” Harry who had by now regained his own figure and form looked abashed.

“I only… I only wanted to be left in peace,” he whispered. “I wanted to have people around me, but not to be recognised, not being paid attention to. I just sat there, listening in on others, trying to avoid my own thoughts…”

“Please, Harry, consider what you’re doing. This manner of drinking alone…”

“It’s not as if I drink every night,” Harry was quick to defend himself.

“No, it’s not,” acknowledged Hermione. “But when you do drink, you do it so recklessly. You never used to behave like this before… You’re a responsible person as a whole, but this… this…”

“You scared the shit out of me, Harry,” said Ron bluntly.

“I’m so sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean to wake either of you up.” Harry turned to Hermione. “I need to… I need to escape from myself once in a while,” he whispered, shame and regret resounding in his voice.

*

Only a fortnight later, Hermione found out something else about Harry that added to her worries. That particular Saturday, during the day, Harry had written a quiz and passed a practical exam concerning resuscitation skills at St Mungo’s. In the evening, he and his friends had visited Luna and Josepha together with Neville and they had cooked together at Luna’s and Josepha’s flat, fawned over baby Sophie and returned home early. Hermione had noticed a growing restlessness in Harry and pleaded with him.

“Please, Harry, don’t go out. Stay at home and get some sleep – you need it!” Harry hesitated before answering her.

“You’re probably right, Hermione. Haven’t got much sleep this week. I think I’ll take a sleeping draught and go to bed.”

“Okay, if it’s necessary,” said Hermione. “It’s better than having you run about the forest or whatever you’re doing when you stay out.”

Only fifteen minutes later, Hermione remembered something she needed to ask Harry and went up to knock on his door and, getting no answer, she opened it an inch and called Harry’s name. When he still did not answer, she went inside but stopped abruptly: Harry was already asleep, on the bed, but still dressed. On the floor, there was a bottle of something that Harry had brewed himself – Hermione knew he had access to the hospital’s laboratory at the adjoining apothecary - probably the sleeping draught he had been talking of. Hermione sighed, covered Harry with a blanket and tip-toed out of the room, content with having her friend in bed so early.

The next morning, Harry did not come down for breakfast. When it grew near noon, Ron and Hermione prepared to leave for the Burrow in order to have Sunday dinner with Ron’s parents. Ron went to ask Harry if he was joining them but returned alone and contented himself with saying to Hermione:

“Harry’s not coming.”

When they came back to Grimmauld Place, it was early evening, but there was still no sign of Harry.

“He must be awake by now, at least,” said Ron. “I wonder if he’s gone out.”

“You mean he was asleep at noon?” Hermione frowned. “I thought you offered him to come with us?”

“I couldn’t, could I, since he was sleeping?” said Ron. “Thought it might do him good.”

Hermione said nothing but turned and walked up the stairs to Harry’s room. She knocked on the door with some force, waited a few seconds, then entered the room with determination. Harry was stirring slightly in the bed. Hermione advanced.

“Wake up, Harry,” she said curtly, picking the potion bottle up from the floor, uncorking it and sniffing its contents suspiciously. “Smells like an ordinary sleeping draught,” she said. “What have you done with it? Did you change it? Curse your clever inventions! Come on, Harry, wake up!” She raised her voice and shook Harry by both shoulders. He stirred again, but it took Hermione several minutes before he opened his eyes, sat up in bed and looked at her groggily.

“What?” he croaked.

“What in Merlin’s name are you playing at?” Hermione whipped at him. “Did you modify this draught to make you sleep for twenty hours? Why would you like a draught with such long duration? I don’t like it at all that you’ve started brewing again and manipulating those recipes.” She shook the bottle in front of Harry’s nose.

“I… I didn’t change the recipe,” answered Harry, recoiling slightly from her. “And I brew for school. We’re studying healing potions.”

“The sleeping draught was for you,” Hermione pointed out.

“I told you I would take the draught. I don’t intend to use it often, only once in a while. Please Hermione…” Harry moved a little bit further away from his friend who leaned in threateningly on him.

“Explain to me then how come you’ve slept deeply for more than twenty hours on this draught?” Hermione craved to know.

“Why, I was tired, and I took the potion a bit late. It happens you know. What time is it? Twenty hours you say?” Hermione sighed and looked with sharp eyes at Harry.

“I know that you took the draught early, Harry,” she said evenly but with a crease between her eye-brows. “I saw you asleep already at ten o’clock in the evening. You should have been well-rested in the morning, if not by noon when we wanted you to come with us to the Burrow.”

Harry blushed and mumbled something.

“What?” Hermione asked sharply. “Did you mean to say that you took a second dose of the draught?”

Harry nodded and looked away, abashed.

“Explain to me, Harry.” Hermione’s voice wavered the least little bit. “Why on earth would you take a second dose of a sleeping draught when you woke up in the morning?”

Harry said nothing at first, but Hermione waited, looking at him sternly, but at the same time biting her lower lip as if preventing herself from starting to cry. At last Harry answered in a low voice, explaining that he had woken up at eight in the morning, remembering that it was Sunday and felt depressed. His body felt heavy, probably from the effect of the sleeping draught itself, so he did not feel like launching into physical exercise which usually helped when he felt low. He had studied hard the past week, and really did not feel like getting started on an intellectual challenge either.

“I didn’t know what to do,” said Harry quietly. “Everything felt so meaningless. And then I remembered having promised Mrs Weasley to come to the Burrow and I… I… I couldn’t. Not without her…” Harry‘s voice broke.

“So you took a second dose of the draught only to sleep through the day?” Hermione filled in, a note of incredulity in her voice.

Harry nodded. After a short silence, Hermione added:

“And what now? What about the night to come? What do you plan on doing?”

Harry squirmed and passed a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I’ll get up and… find something to do,” he said, casting his blanket aside and standing up as if to prove to her that he was taking command over himself again. “I have school tomorrow and I wouldn’t dream of skipping training opportunities at St Mungo’s. I’ll be there on time. Please Hermione, I promise it won’t happen again, okay? It was stupid of me to take a double dose like that, it really was.”

Hermione stayed seated on the bed, looking at him with doubt and worry in her eyes.

“Hermione, er… Will you please step out of the room? I’m going to change clothes and…” Harry blushed. Hermione lifted an eye-brow. Harry and she had been camping together for months and Harry did not use to be shy in front of her, but she obeyed him and rose reluctantly.

“See you downstairs with Ron?” she asked.

“Right, I’ll be with you in a moment. You’ll give me news from the Burrow,” Harry said in a voice that wanted to be brisk but failed. Hermione took a sudden few steps up to him and grabbed his hand.

“We love you, Harry. We’re here for you,” she said in a thick voice. Harry stood completely still for a short while, then he quickly patted her on the arm with one hand, while delicately disengaging the other one from hers. She opened her mouth to say something again, but closed it, turned and went out of the room.

Harry waited until he heard her steps down the stairs, then sunk down on the bed with his head between his hands, exhaling slowly to prevent anxiety from getting an upper hand. What in the whole world was he doing? And what was he playing at getting embarrassed in front of Hermione? She was like a sister, had always been. Something felt different about her, though, what was it? He was in a flagrant loss after Ginny left him, but that did not mean he was going to start getting attracted by his best friend aka his other best friend’s girl-friend, was it? Harry sighed with exasperation, berating himself vehemently for always complicating things. Intense and complicated - that was him, Ginny was right.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to examine his feelings, which was very hard these days, because they were so overwhelming, so shifting and unpredictable all the time, but in the end, to his relief, he concluded that he felt no sexual desire for Hermione, and that it was something else that was different about her. As for the subject itself which had rendered Hermione so upset on his behalf, Harry regretted that she had uncovered his manoeuvre with the sleeping draught more than he regretted the act in itself, even if he realised that it was not entirely wise, nor healthy, to do what he had done. Maybe he was losing his grip on things a little bit from time to time, but did it really matter, he thought, whether he lost his grip or not? He was struggling in his own way to get by, didn’t he? How could anyone possibly understand what he was going through? But he needed to be more careful not to get his friends worried, he concluded.

***

At the beginning of May, no one knew very well what Harry did in his spare time. He would leave his friends with vague explanations that he was on his way to Simmings, or that he was seeing someone from St Mungo’s, and when being at Simmings, he would leave with an excuse that he was seeing his old friends from Hogwarts. Sometimes this was true, but sometimes it wasn’t, and no one had the whole picture except Harry, of course, who had become increasingly secretive, but who at the same time endeavoured not to appear dismissing or rude, and took pains not to upset his friends.

There was no fault to be found in the way he conducted his studies, neither at St Mungo’s, nor with the Aurors, so Mrs Steadfast found herself without ground for approaching Harry with questions or warnings. Snape was still on to her with concerns over Harry's behaviour and over Harry’s health. He was the only one who was not dupe at all, while the others were more vacillating: they could see with their own eyes that Harry still looked a bit thin and hollow in the face, but since he smiled at them and had regained much of his unobtrusive and gentle ways, they chose to hope that he was actually on his way to recover from his loss and was starting to do better.

And since Snape still had not found a way to address Harry without getting self-conscious and sounding incredibly stiff, which in turn caused Harry to politely dismiss Snape and retreat into himself, Snape had stopped trying. He still made regular appearances at the Auror Office, however, where he stood in a corner, riveting Harry with his dark and disapproving gaze, or whispering his concerns to Mrs Steadfast who bore with him with uncommon patience, but who could do nothing. And thus the circle went on, and in the middle was Harry, completely alone with his despair.

And so it continued on until one early morning towards the end of May when Harry came storming into the Auror Office with three prisoners that he had caught single-handedly, whereof one Death Eater.

Mrs Steadfast was leaning over her desk and staring at Harry with a deep crease between her eyebrows. Harry’s hair was shuffled and he wore Muggle clothes which were not his own. At least Mrs Steadfast did not recall ever having seen him in those before, and yet they were old and dirty as if often worn. It was Saturday morning, and she had been called in early by the attending Auror who reported that Mr Potter had apprehended three suspects.

“But he’s a student,” she had argued over the floo, not yet quite alert, having been torn from her sleep. “He has no right to arrest people.”

“I don’t think he has arrested them, strictly speaking, Mrs Steady,” the Auror said. “He only brought them in. He’s depending on us to do the rest.”

“But he brought them in by force?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. They seem perfectly terrified of him,” said the Auror.

“They do, do they? What has he done to them? This doesn’t sound good at all, Freddy,” said Mrs Steadfast.

“Well, they’re here,” said Auror Freddy Savage. “We haven’t apprehended a Shifting member or a Death Eater for months. Do you want to interrogate them? I’ve got the impression that Mr Potter has already done some interrogation of his own.”

“Spinning Saturnus! He’s in no position to… I’m coming in to interrogate Mr Potter, first and for all! Alert Professor Snape at Hogwarts and ask him to join me in my office.”

So, here she was, a little bit more awake than before, but still puzzled. Severus should be there any moment. She opened her mouth to address Harry, when the door swung open and Snape entered the room. He stopped and examined Harry from top to toe.

“Been sleeping rough?” Snape asked curtly.

Harry who had not said much hitherto, but who had shown some defiance in front of Mrs Steadfast’s apparent disapprobation, blushed.

“Are you in disguise?” added Snape in disbelief. “If you’ve sent him on some kind of mission without my knowledge, Audrey…”

“I haven’t! Gracious! Who do you take me for? He’s a student! A half-time, first-year student! And he’s going to account for having arrested three suspects without my authorization.” She glared at Harry. Snape closed the door behind him. The three of them were alone in the office because the prisoners were being guarded by Auror Savage in an adjacent interrogation booth.

“You don’t have much faith in me, do you? Either of you?” muttered Harry, glaring back at Mrs Steadfast.

“Well?” she said.

“I was attacked!” exclaimed Harry. “I was attacked and I defended myself! I have a right to defend myself, don’t I?” Mrs Steadfast sighed.

“Let’s sit down,” she said in a calmer tone. She seated herself behind the desk and Snape who had become mute as soon as he realised that Harry was in an agitated temper, leant lightly against the edge of the table at one corner. Harry remained standing, tense and with a feverish glow in his eyes.

“These people know something,” he said. “They know something about that cave hosting Voldemort’s Pleasure Temple. Not so much the younger Shifting member, but the older Death Eater does. He’s the one I concentrated on. He admitted having been to the cave several times, but claimed it was always dark and that he couldn’t give a proper description. We should…”

“Start from the beginning, please, Harry,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Where did you encounter these people and what happened before you… started to interrogate them?” Harry made an impatient gesture.

“It’s not important! What matters is finding the Pleasure Temple. I’ve an idea how we might find out…”

“Answer Mrs Steadfast’s question, Mr Potter.” Snape nailed Harry with his dark gaze. The severe teacher’s tone still seemed to have an effect on Harry who fidgeted, but sighed, frowned and then started to explain in quick, hurried words, while pacing the office in front of Mrs Steadfast’s desk.

“I had been out late and… and I had had some drinks…” Harry shot a quick glance towards Snape. “I didn’t want to disturb my friends by coming home so late, so I decided to sleep at this other place where I’ve gone a couple of times in similar situations.”

“Where was that?” Mrs Steadfast intervened.

“A shed… North parts of London, nearby Finsbury Park.” Harry spoke quickly. Both Mrs Steadfast and Snape furrowed their eyebrows.

“A shed!” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast with incredulity. “You’ve been sleeping in a shed?”

“Only once in a while,” Harry answered defensively. “Although the word might have spread among the underworld people and that’s how the Shiftings were probably able to find me. I mean, even if I was disguised by Polyjuice most of the time when arriving at the spot, I would leave as myself, wouldn’t I? They must’ve ended up checking it out with regular intervals knowing there was a chance I would make an appearance. I should have changed location, I realise that. Lesson learnt, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay!” thundered Snape all of a sudden, standing up. “You should not sleep at insecure places. You should not even visit places alone that have not been secured by the Aurors. What were you thinking of, Potter? And why did you use Polyjuice in the first place?” Snape was red in the face. Harry stared at him.

“Why do you even care?” he said, more puzzled than upset and shaking his head. “Anyway, the important thing now is to find out about…”

“They attacked you, you say? When?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“A couple of hours ago,” Harry answered. “I had not slept for very long. I woke up by the sound from my ward breaking. Because I did set up wards, you know - I’m not completely ignorant and unsuspicious.” Harry glared at Snape who had resumed his previous position. “I was able to disarm them all before they got a chance to hurt me. Well, only a scratch.” Harry made a movement with his left hand. Snape half rose to examine the injury but sat down again as it was clear even from a distance that it was nothing but a small bruise.

“Harry, why are you dressed in those Muggle rags?” asked Mrs Steadfast. Harry flared up.

“It’s not important!” he said between his teeth. “Do you want to find the last Pleasure Temple or not?”

Mrs Steadfast hesitated, eyeing Harry suspiciously.

“Otherwise I can just leave right now and let you handle the rest. It’s not as if you can arrest me or anything, is there?” threatened Harry. When Snape and Mrs Steadfast continued to stare at Harry, he sighed with exasperation. “Listen, if I didn’t think that this was important, do you think I would have bothered to bring them in? I would have fended them off and returned home as if nothing had happened, right? Not risking your disapprobation - not to speak of that of Professor Snape’s.” Snape frowned and lowered his head.

“Now, Harry, we’re only worried about you.” Mrs Steadfast had softened a little bit. “What makes you think these people can lead us to the cave? None of them is the Secret Keeper, are they?”

“No,” sighed Harry. “I realise it’s a long shot, but there is a tiny bit of a chance that the information they have – that the oldest Death Eater is in possession of that is - that it might lead us to the cave. I’ll explain…”

“How did you make him confess?” asked Snape. Harry bit his lip.

“I… I believe I frightened him a bit…” he answered.

Snape lifted one eyebrow.

“First I used Legilimency on him…” Harry turned his head away. “Then I… I used the Strangling Incantation, okay? Among other things…” he muttered.

“I’ll be forced to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Mrs Steadfast. “Do you think he’ll be ready to repeat what he told you, here, at a proper interrogation?”

“I think so. He already spilled the piece, didn’t he? And he’s in fact rather peripheral in all this, but he was able to give me this one piece of information that might, just might, help us move on with this terrible business of the Pleasure Temple. We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?” Mrs Steadfast nodded slowly.

“Soundy will kill me if I don’t take the opportunity to solve this once and for all, regardless of the legality of the situation. He’s so frustrated with us not making progress. Okay, tell us, Harry,” she said.

Harry finally sat down at the opposite side of Mrs Steadfast’s desk and leant in towards his boss and Snape. His right hand was pressed flat on top of a heap of Mrs Steadfast’s reports, and his face was screwed up in concentration.

“I pressured the old Death Eater, I pressured him rather hard like I said… I admit I was frustrated and I took it out on him…” Harry’s voice faltered.

“He’s still in one piece, since you brought him here, isn’t he?” Snape asked dryly. Harry nodded with what almost seemed to be a grateful glance at his former professor.

“When he told me he’d only visited the Pleasure Temple by night, I realised that we needed to find someone who had been at the place during daytime,” Harry continued. “Such a person, even if they’re not the Secret Keeper, might be able to describe the surroundings enough for us to put up a surveillance of the place and catch the Secret Keeper when arriving at the place. He or she – might be Mr Hatch or his daughter, or Mr Burgess – they must go there now and again, right, if the place is still running?” Mrs Steadfast nodded.

“We’ve already thought about that, and we know the general area where the cave should be located, but it’s too big for us to cover,” she said.

“What did you learn?” Snape asked Harry.

“I pressed him hard to make him reveal every single person he knew of, or had heard of, who had visited the cave in daytime. I pushed him to think back in time, long ago. This is an elderly Death Eater, Vermoth – have you heard of him?” Harry looked at Snape.

“Of course, but he was never a very prominent Death Eater. A man in the periphery, but dedicated. He always used to be a criminal, I think, from a young age, and joined together with a gang of wizards from London, who had never attended Hogwarts.” Harry nodded.

“He could only think of one occasion when the cave was used in daytime.” Harry started to breathe quicker and looked expectantly at Snape and Mrs Steadfast.

“And?” Mrs Steadfast said impatiently.

“When the Longbottoms were brought in to be tortured by the Lestranges and their gang,” said Harry. Snape and Mrs Steadfast stared at Harry. Snape’s shoulders slumped and Mrs Steadfast sighed.

“All those present at that time are dead, Harry,” she said in a low voice. “Bellatrix Lestrange was the last to go at the battle at Hogwarts almost two years ago.”

“Not Frank and Alice Longbottom,” Harry answered, riveting his intense green eyes at hers.

“But Harry, they’re…”

Harry rose in one swift movement and started to pace the room again.

“The Longbottoms have been hospitalised at St Mungo’s ever since that horrible Crucio session, I know,” he said. “They’ve been subjected to various treatments, among them many Obliviatings. Now, I happen to know that their son has argued for months with their doctors to undo those Obliviate spells. They’ve gone through several stages of preparations, but they’re hesitant to perform the last step. I know this because I have it as first-hand information from Neville Longbottom himself. He has persuaded his grandmother that this is the right way to go, and together they’re fighting the management of St Mungo’s to be given the authorization to perform the last Desobliviating spell.”

“This appears to be a sensitive business, Harry. If it’s stuck with the administration it might take a long time,” Mrs Steadfast objected.

“Well, not if you advance our arguments from the Auror side,” Harry insisted. “This might help us save people in that cave, don’t you realise?”

“We’ve been looking for it for so long. I must admit, Harry, that I’ve almost lost hope. I’m almost afraid to think about it - why, it might be better for those prisoners if they perished long ago…” Mrs Steadfast grimaced.

“But what if they are still alive? You wouldn’t say that if they had been kidnapped yesterday, would you? Then you would do everything to save them. Well, you should reason in the same way now. We should go directly to St Mungo’s and insist that they try the treatment on Mr and Mrs Longbottom. It might mean the difference between life and death for someone in that cave.”

“It might mean the death of the Longbottoms, have you considered that?” asked Snape. Harry turned and looked at him.

“Neville has thought so much about this, for so long. It’s really up to him and his grandmother to decide whether the risk is worth taking,” said Harry in a low voice. “The kind of life the Longbottoms lead… There can’t be much to lose from their perspective… I’ve seen them myself… Have you?” Harry added and looked at Snape who shook his head.

“Let’s go then,” said Mrs Steadfast. “You’ve convinced me of at least having a try. I’ll speak to Soundy to interrogate the prisoners and charge them with the assault of you, Harry.”

“Ask him to gather a team and have it ready in case we learn something from the Longbottoms and want to act on it,” said Harry and stared hard at Mrs Steadfast. She hesitated.

“He’s right, Audrey. However slim, this might be our best chance for eighteen months since we discovered the first cave. We mustn’t lose time once we’ve got the information,” said Snape.

“If we get the information…” Mrs Steadfast shook her head. “More than eighteen years ago… eighteen years of insanity… Do you really think they’ll remember?”

Harry said nothing but stared defiantly at her. She sighed, nodded and moved toward the fireplace in the Auror common room.

***

Both Snape and Mrs Steadfast could be very forceful and persuading when they decided to. In front of the hospital management and highest administration, they made a clear case of the necessity to undo the Obliviatings of the Longbottoms because they were witnesses in an ongoing investigation. This naturally craved some explications. But Healer Solomon who was Chief Healer had always been extremely conscious of Harry’s position in wizard society and was liable to side with the Boy-who-lived-and-conquered-Voldemort. The hospital lawyer started to give in when she realised that Mrs Steadfast was ready to take responsibility for any legal repercussions of the case. It sickened Harry a bit to realise that these people did not have the best of the Longbottoms as their primary goal, but were only interested in protecting the reputation of the hospital.

The one person who was hardest to persuade, however, was the Professor of mind healing who was also the Chief of the Department. He was in his seventies and had worked at St Mungo’s for fifty years. He was, in fact, responsible for all the Obliviating treatments given at his ward during decades. He believed in the good of Obliviatings and felt personally insulted by the fact that they were now being disputed.

On their side, Harry, Snape and Mrs Steadfast had Healer Frankiss. Mr and Mrs Longbottom were his patients and he was sensible to the objections against Obliviatings in general and had long ago yielded to the arguments of his patients’ relatives. But his chief persisted stubbornly in refusing to give his permission to perform the final spells. At last Healer Frankiss turned to Healer Solomon and said:

“I take full responsibility for what happens, if you give the authorisation to bypass this prohibition.”

Healer Solomon looked from the Head of Department to Healer Frankiss, to Harry and hesitated.

“The Longbottoms do not have much to lose, believe me. And their son will not press charges if we fail,” said Healer Frankiss.

“There are even more lives at stake here,” said Harry. Healer Solomon nodded.

“You have my authorisation to proceed,” he said.

When hurrying back to the ward, Harry overheard Snape mumbling to Healer Frankiss:

“You’re a courageous man and you have my deepest respect. For last year of course, but also for today.”

Healer Frankiss had given testimony last year at the inquiry in Snape’s favour. As a consequence, he had been abducted and tortured by Mr Bellamy Burgess and the Shiftings. Harry understood that Snape felt indebted to Healer Frankiss, and he agreed with Snape that it was true that the man showed uncommon rectitude and moral integrity.

Neville and his grandmother were already alerted and present at the ward. Alberta Longbottom was sitting by her son’s side, a little pale and uncharacteristically silent while Neville rose from a chair close to his mother’s bed when they all entered the room.

“Thank you, Harry,” Neville whispered, watching the squad of people pouring in: Healer Frankiss, another healer, Solomon, the lawyer, four care witches, Snape and Mrs Steadfast.

“Is it okay that we stay during the procedure?” Harry asked.

Neville nodded.

“All of us?” asked Harry.

Neville glanced toward Professor Snape and nodded again.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re all with the Aurors. I understand you’re hoping my parents might remember something that might help you save other people?”

It was Harry’s turn to nod.

“That would be great,” Neville said in a stifled voice and returned by his mother. Snape advanced towards Harry.

“Should I wait outside?” he asked. Harry was surprised that Snape showed such explicit insight that Neville might not want him in the room.

“No, he says it’s okay…” replied Harry, clenching his jaws and opening his mouth again. “I can’t believe you treated him like you did in school!” Harry hissed in a surge of indignity on his friend’s behalf. Snape looked warningly at him.

“This is not the time, Mr Potter, nor the place,” he said drily and retreated further back in the room.

Harry shook his head. He felt shaky, in an anxious and apprehensive sort of way, the adrenaline from the attack in the morning still coursing through his body. What had he launched into? This was his doing, wasn’t it? What if Neville’s parents died from the treatment? With a mix of terror and rapt attention, Harry watched the preparations.

When everything was ready, Healer Frankiss sat down on a chair between the two beds, so that he could face both Neville, his grandmother and the two patients at the same time. The latter were propped up by cushions under their heads and were staring emptily in front of themselves. Healer Frankiss cleared his throat.

“We’ve spoken of this many times over the past six months,” he said. “But given the circumstances and the precarious situation with your relatives, I’d like to ask you one last time, in front of these witnesses, if you’re both aware of the risks that this treatment comprehends?”

“We are,” Neville answered quickly. Healer Frankiss nodded.

“Mrs Longbottom?” he asked.

“My grandson has explained everything to me,” she replied at bit haughtily. “He conquered Voldemort you know.” She looked proudly around the room.

“Grandmother,” Neville exclaimed, embarrassed. “It was Harry who…”

“Without your killing Nagini, he’d still be here,” Harry responded quickly. “Please, go on, Mrs Longbottom. We’re all aware of Neville’s invaluable contribution.” Mrs Longbottom nodded slowly to herself in satisfaction, then her eyes fastened on her son and her face darkened.

“I was against it at first, but then I tried to put myself in their situation.” She made a pause. “I don’t think that my son, nor my daughter-in-law would want to go on in this way for much longer. I deemed it important while Neville grew up to show him that his parents were alive and that he could visit them and meet them in flesh and blood.” Neville turned his head away. “And we… I still had hope at the time that we should see an improvement of their condition.”

“Of course,” said Healer Frankiss. “And now, how do you feel?” Mrs Longbottom riveted her eyes on the grey-haired healer.

“Young man, you see an old woman in front of you,” she said matter-of-factly, but with a dramatic touch. Healer Frankiss made a gesture. “Oh, spare me the flattery…” said Alberta Longbottom with a dismissing gesture. “I’ve clearly seen my best days, but I hang on, because I’m reluctant to leave Neville alone in the world. I’d like him to have… someone. And I would so much like to say good-bye to my son in a proper way before I move on, with him looking me in the eyes, sane and conscious of my presence.” Her voice wavered a little. “I believe this is my one chance of that happening.”

Healer Frankiss did not say anything, but put a hand on her arm and kept it there for a short while. Then he moved his chair even closer in between the two beds and started to explain the proceeding to the patients. Harry was impressed. This was a flagrant example of two patients who probably did not have the mental faculty of understanding an ounce of what was happening to them, and still Healer Frankiss took pains to speak to them gently and in detail.

Harry had seen several examples of impatient healers who simply cast their healing spells on unsuspicious patients, unpleasantly surprising them and scaring them. He had noticed that those kind of healers either loathed their patients, reasoning that this was quicker and that patients did not understand healing procedures anyway, or they were extremely stressed out healers who believed themselves not to have time to enter into explanations. Harry had observed that the cutting of corners often proved counterproductive since the healer in question had to take care of the reaction to the spell in retrospect instead, and that the effect of the healing treatment often seemed to be diminished when the patient was unprepared.

In the case of Frank and Alice Longbottom there might, moreover, be the unknown element of lock-in. One or both of Neville’s parents might in fact be able to hear and comprehend everything that Healer Frankiss was saying, despite being unable to show any response, because they looked completely blank when he was speaking. Harry shuddered and felt himself tense even further.

When the healers started singing their incantations, Harry was probably, next to Neville, the most affected among the audience.

When the powerful magical words echoed out of the room, the first thing heard was a pained growl from Frank Longbottom. Harry hastened up to his side. The man was in obvious pain, writhing on the bed, opening and closing his eyes while emitting little gasps. He managed to lift his shaky hands to his head and grip it. Eyes were almost bulging out of their bulbs, but he fastened them on Mrs Longbottom who was leaning in from her chair, trying to hold and embrace her son.

“Mother,” said Frank Longbottom. The stern Alberta Longbottom broke into tears.

“You recognise me?” she said. “But you’re suffering… Oh, please, what have we done? Can you help him? Help him, please!”

Healer Frankiss and his mind-healer colleague were at Frank Longbottom’s side, assessing their patient.

“I can… we must do a Relieving on him,” said Harry and sorted his wand. A Relieving was the only option for such a frail person as Mr Longbottom senior. Suddenly, Harry felt himself pushed to the side, not all too gently, by Snape, who gripped Harry’s wrist and forced him to lower his wand.

“Let me do the Relieving,” he said, nailing Harry with his dark eyes once more.

Harry opened his mouth to protest.

“I know that you have some experience of the Crucio, but not to the same extent as I do. Both from the casting and from the receiving ends – believe me. I have a better chance of understanding this kind of pain and of containing it. It’s a special case, don’t you see? It’s not just any Relieving,” said Snape quickly.

Harry realised that this was not the moment to enter into an argument with Snape. Frank Longbottom needed his treatment. Harry took one step back, leaving room for Snape to make an attempt to lift the pain away from Neville’s father.

“You go in second, if one Relieving is not enough, okay?” Snape turned to look at Harry who started to feel ashamed over the fact that he had been so quick to take offence. What mattered here was the patient, not his petty personal feelings. He nodded his assent to Snape, who started on his incantation.

The transfer was immediate and plainly visible at the end of the singing, as Snape went rigid, then actually tumbled a few steps backward before gripping the edge of a table with a shaking hand and a gasp, and crouching beside it, bending his head down so that his long hair hid his face. Healer Frankiss cast a look at him over his shoulder before turning back to his patient, and Mrs Steadfast hurried up to Snape, squatting beside him with a worried look on her face.

“Don’t touch him,” said Harry. “He needs to process the transfer in his body before it abates. Professor Snape’ll be okay, but it was a strong transfer no doubt.”

Mrs Steadfast pulled back the hand she had stretched out to put on Snape’s shoulder.

“It was a thorough Relieving, Professor,” continued Harry, peaking over Healer Frankiss’ shoulder at the patient. “Mr Longbottom seems to be less in pain. I don’t think I need to do a second treatment, not right now, anyhow.”

Snape lifted a shaky hand in signal that he had heard Harry’s communication and thanked him for the information, but he still kept his head lowered. Healer Frankiss turned towards them again.

“The patient is free from pain, but is extremely weak,” he said. “The inner organs are revolting and failing as in a delayed reaction from previous damage. It’s what we feared might happen. We’re not sure he’ll make it, but he’s lucid. If you want to ask him something, you’d better do it right now.”

Mrs Steadfast rose and advanced towards the bed. Harry followed. The cave! Now was the moment of truth, he thought. Would Frank Longbottom be able to help them with the location of the cave?

The former Auror’s recollection of the fatal day when he and his wife were captured by Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband, together with Barty Crouch Jr and other ruthless young Death Eaters, proved to be both vivid and detailed. There was a farm nearby the site where the torture took place, and Frank Longbottom had guessed the location of the farm from the sight of two small villages in the far distance by recognising one of the church towers. There was a small mixed forest next to the farm; there was a brook and a bridge and a cliff covered in ferns – there was the entrance to the cave.

“It’s enough to go on,” said Mrs Steadfast. Harry felt the excitement rise within him. They had a chance of finding the last Pleasure Temple and rescuing the possible victims who were still prisoners within. “You don’t need to describe the interior of the cave,” added Mrs Steadfast. Frank Longbottom closed his eyes.

“I want Alice,” he said. “And I want to see my son. They’re fine, you said?”

“I’m here, Frank,” a soft voice was heard. Healers and care-witches rose, backed off and made way for the emaciated woman who had risen from her bed and who, supported by her son, advanced towards her husband. Alberta Longbottom rose from her chair to embrace her daughter-in-law under tears and make her sit down at her place. A care-witch brought another chair for the old lady who rounded the bed and sat down by her son’s other side. Both women leaned in on him and talked softly. An expression of bliss and serenity spread over Frank Longbottom’s face.

Neville stood close by his mother, with red spots on his cheeks and a glow in his eyes unlike anything Harry had ever seen in his friend. Harry felt a stab of something in his breast and forced himself to stand completely still.

“She was locked in,” said Neville, looking at the staff around the bed. “She has been unable to communicate or express anything, but she has been aware of us all this time. She told me she remembered every visit of mine. All those times when I spoke to her, she really listened…” Neville’s voice broke. “She’s been there all along,” he whispered in a tone of wondrous gratitude.

At this time, a roaring sensation inside his body overpowered Harry to the extent that he started to shake. He managed to stifle the gasps that wanted to make their way out of his mouth and he backed off all the way against the farthest wall to escape drawing attention to himself. He tried to grind his knuckles against the rough wall behind him in order to contend the chaos of feelings. He watched Alice Longbottom turn toward Neville and gently draw him down, and he watched Neville embrace his father.

Harry could not stand it any longer and rushed out of the room. He made it halfway down the corridor before he forced himself to stop. What was happening to him? What was he thinking of? He could not flee to the woods like he used to do when anxiety gripped him. He needed to keep close to Mrs Steadfast. It was imperative that she allowed him to be part of the search of the hidden cave. In his confusion he could not really account for the reason why it was so important, but it was. He stopped in front of a window in the corridor and leaned against the sill, pressing his front against the cold glass and trying to subdue the roaring animal in his chest.

He was unable to say for how long he stood there, but gradually he became aware of his surroundings again, noticing that the view from the window where he was standing was a very unremarkable one, with ugly roofs, rusty drainpipes and part of a façade in disrepair in front of him. He felt his eyes suddenly sting, as if the ugliness itself of what lay before them humiliated him on a personal level.

Only when he turned half away from the window did Harry become aware of a figure standing a few feet away. It was Snape. Harry made an attempt to rearrange his features because he had the feeling that his distress could be read in them as easily as in a book. He realised that he probably did not quite succeed, and he turned back to look out of the window again. Snape did not say anything at first, but advanced and positioned himself beside Harry so that they were now both facing out at the uneven parts of the roofs of St Mungo’s.

“It’s perhaps not surprising, given your own history… that you should react to the Longbottoms’ reunion,” said Snape in a slow, slightly hesitant voice. “It’s perfectly understandable in fact and…”

Harry gasped. The roar inside him had risen again to almost the initial level, and Harry was furious with Snape for bringing it on. What was he talking about anyway? He was fine with the Longbottoms’ reunion, why wouldn’t he be? It was only this cursed anxiety that assailed him, and now Snape had awakened it again. Harry clenched his jaws.

“Did Neville thank you for doing a Relieving on his father?” he asked in a stifled, aggressive voice.

“Er, yes. As a matter of fact he did,” said Snape. “But you…”

“Do you imagine that you can atone for your behaviour towards Neville all those years at school in Potions class by Relieving his father of his pain?” Harry burst out with vehemence. Snape drew a short breath and it was his turn to clench his jaws. Harry thought that he was going to get a sharp retort in answer, but he did not.

“Maybe,” Snape said curtly. The answer disconcerted and disarmed Harry.

“Yeah, why not?” Harry muttered and continued to stare out of the window. Snape stayed beside him with a deep crease between the eye-brows, looking like he wanted to say something more, but abstained from doing it.

They heard quick footsteps coming down the corridor and turned their heads. Mrs Steadfast was closing up on them.

“Frank Longbottom has passed away,” she said.

Harry felt his chest tighten.

“Already?” mumbled Snape. “I’m sorry, especially for the old lady.”

“She was grateful for the chance of a proper good-bye,” said Mrs Steadfast. “They had a fine moment together, the whole family. Frank was so happy to be able to see his grown-up son, and to hear of the victory over Voldemort, and young Longbottom’s part in it. Unlike his wife, Frank has been completely unaware of his surroundings - the insanity had a vicious grip on him.” Mrs Steadfast drew a shuddering breath. “Oh, by Mercury, I used to know him,” she exclaimed. “We trained together to become Aurors, Frank and I did. I was abroad when it all happened to him, but oh, how those news got to me when they reached me! This is such a dreadful and sad business.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief she already held in her hand.

Snape mumbled something inaudible.

“But we can’t be standing here doing nothing!” Mrs Steadfast concluded with determination and blew her nose. “Frank made one last contribution as an Auror.” She lifted a small vial containing a silvery swirling mist. “He gave me his memory of arriving at that cave. It’s our duty to make the most of it. Soundy is ready with the troops at Headquarters. We need to go!”

Harry felt a sense of purpose fill his body.

“Yes, let’s go!” he said. “Let’s find the cave!” There was a vibrating intensity in his voice and he turned to walk toward the Apparition spot in the hall at St Mungo’s and never noticed Snape’s doubting gaze resting upon him.

The Auror Headquarters were filled with people - Harry had never seen so many Aurors in service at once. They took turns over the Pensieve to watch Frank Longbottom’s memories, so that the images of the farm, of the forest and of the cliff where the cave was located were now etched on the retinas of each and every one.

Mrs Steadfast brought some of her closest collaborators, including Soundy and Snape, with her to the Ministry’s Geowlmap visualization room where the entirety of the British Isles could be studied three dimensionally, in relief and in exquisite detail.

“Five thousand owls contributed to the survey,” Mrs Steadfast explained to Harry who had been allowed to join her, after having argued that it was he who had gotten the operation started in the first place by capturing his assailers in the morning. This time he did not miss Snape’s disapproving gaze when Mrs Steadfast gave in. Sure, thought Harry, first year students normally didn’t join in real operations, but exceptions could be made! Especially if someone was already involved! Harry tried to ignore Snape.

“Let’s see if we can identify the farm,” said Mrs Steadfast. “If we’re lucky there’s an owl who has flown right over it.”

They were able not only to identify the farm on the map, but to study the disposition of its different buildings and of the surrounding area. They returned to the Auror Office, at which point Mrs Steadfast let all the Auror students attend the meeting, as a lesson in strategy and planning.

The aim was to find the cave and liberate the potential prisoners. It was still considered necessary to catch the Secret keeper, or they would not be able to open up the cave. The strong protective magic might in fact make them pass right in front of it without seeing it. Therefore Mrs Steadfast’s plan was to attack the farm and detain every single inhabitant in the hope of revealing the Secret keeper.

“This might well be where Mr Hatch and the leading Shiftings have been lurking all the time. Our intelligence says a farm has been mentioned by captured Shifting members,” said Soundy who was full of revenge fuelled energy, yet calm and focused on the task.

The strategy was taking form. They would surround the farm with several small groups of Aurors, approach while casting anti-apparition spells to prevent anyone from escaping, and then attack.

“Where do I go?” Harry wanted to know.

Soundy looked at Mrs Steadfast who opened her mouth when Snape stepped up to her and started to whisper in her ear. Harry frowned.

“Harry come over here, please,” said Mrs Steadfast.

Harry obeyed with a suspicious side glance at Snape.

“Now, I want you to hear reason and stay at Headquarters during this operation, Harry,” said Mrs Steadfast. Harry’s expression immediately darkened.

“But why?” he lashed out.

“You’ve obviously had very little sleep, followed by a rough awakening. That in itself is reason enough to pass on this one. Add to it the unsettling experience of witnessing the Desobliviating of the Longbottoms,” she explained patiently.

Harry clenched his jaws and looked at her in disbelief.

“I caught that Death Eater and made him talk. It was I who proposed to interrogate the Longbottoms. I’m part of this. You can’t ask me to quit now,” he said with force.

“I’m only taking a few first-years along this operation for practice, and I want them to be perfectly fit and balanced,” retorted Mrs Steadfast. “And today you’re not one of them, Harry, I’m sorry.”

“Is that because he says I’m not fit and balanced?” Harry hissed, his face turning white with anger, pointing at Snape. “I want to fight! I want to help find that cave!” Snape took a step forward, clearing his voice.

“It’s my opinion, yes, that you should be prevented from fighting. It might be dangerous considering the state of your emotions,” he said.

“The state of my emotions – what do you know about them?” Harry huffed aggressively.

“Please, Harry,” said Ron who had come up to them. But neither Harry nor Snape paid him deed.

“I saw with my own eyes what happened to you at St Mungo’s when you witnessed the awakening of the Longbottoms. Now you only want to escape your own turmoil by launching into a fight. That kind of motivation is a clear risk.” Snape endeavoured to sound reasonable, but it had no effect on Harry.

“You have no idea of my motivation,” the young wizard shrieked. “I want to help the people in the cave! It’s finally time to do something, and you want to stop me from having a part in the action!?”

“You might make fatal mistakes because you’re not in balance. It might be dangerous for you and for others,” Snape insisted.

“This is so unfair! You’ve no idea. I’m in perfect control when battling. I’ve the best battling score of my group. I’ve beaten several of Mrs Steadfast’s Aurors.”

“Undeniably,” muttered Mrs Steadfast. “But I, too, can see that you’re not exactly at peace, Harry.”

“It’s only because he winds me up,” retorted Harry heatedly. “I’m fine!”

“It’s out of the question. I won’t allow it,” said Snape curtly. For a moment Harry saw red.

“It’s out of the question, you say? And who are you to decide?” he hissed, furious. “It’s not as if you’re my father or something, is it?”

Snape flinched, while Ron and Mrs Steadfast looked at Harry in startled surprise. Snape’s face immediately darkened as he turned on his heel.

“I’m out of this,” he snapped. “I’m not staying one moment longer.” Snape was making for the door.

“No! Wait!” Mrs Steadfast hurried after him grabbing him by the arm. “Please Severus, please stay, I need you. We need you to fight with us. Don’t let Harry throw you off your own balance. I agree with you, it’s Harry who’s the liability here, but it’s hard to deny him…”

Snape breathed hard through his nose, avoiding Mrs Steadfast’s eyes.

“Listen, Severus, I’ll put him under Soundy’s supervision while you’ll be with me. Soundy is instructed to act as back-up in case something happens to me. And of course nothing’ll happen. Moreover, Soundy will be charged with doing recognition for the cave. If Harry sticks with him, he’ll be kept out of the fight.” Snape pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. He seemed to have quenched his impulse of leaving without delay.

“You’re right. I’m coming with you, Audrey, of course I am. Sorry, Mr Potter managed to…” Snape made a vague gesture and coloured slightly.

”I understand you were provoked by his behaviour, Severus, but as you say, Harry’s probably not well. We must make allowances for all he’s gone through this winter…” said Mrs Steadfast. Snape shook his head.

“I’ll keep my distance. I clearly only bring out the worst in him,” he said curtly, but with much regret.

They both glanced over at the corner where Ron had taken Harry, and was talking to him persuasively. Harry seemed somewhat self-conscious over the words he had let escape and thereby seemed to have sobered up somewhat from his fit of anger. After speaking to Soundy, Mrs Steadfast stepped over to Harry and explained the conditions under which he was going to be allowed to participate in the operation. Harry did not look all too satisfied but knew better than to object, and stomped over to Soundy. At least he was going to be if not in the middle of the action, at least close to it. Mrs Steadfast turned to Ron and said in a low voice that he could come too, joining one of the flank groups.

“You appear to be a fortress of stability in comparison to your friend right now,” she muttered sarcastically. “And it’ll be good to have you at hand if Harry snaps again,” she added with a meaning look at Ron who nodded his understanding and assent.

***

Soundy and his group, including Harry, supervised the attack on the farm from a safe distance, hiding in the border of the small adjoining forest.

“They seem to be doing fine,” said Soundy after some suspense. “I’ve seen no one escape so far. It’ll take them some time to secure the place, however. In the meantime, let’s try to localise the cave if possible. We should be pretty close. The trees look different from eighteen years ago, naturally, and we have spring instead of autumn, but the field next to the forest is the same, and I recognise that large stone over there. There’s where they entered the forest. Let’s go!”

It was true that contrary to Frank Longbottom’s memories, it was an exceptionally fine and warm day, with chirping birds and several summer flowers already blooming in the field, but all this was lost on Harry who had stood rooted on one spot and stared at the Aurors circling the farm. Robbed of taking part in the fight, Harry launched into the search for the cave with all the more determination. They had been standing in full sunlight for a long time and Harry felt his shirt stick to his back so it was a blessing to step into the shadow and enter the forest.

At the same time, the atmosphere changed into something darker and more mysterious. Whereas the farm and its surroundings had given a very unremarkable impression, almost to the point of Harry wondering if it was not run by ordinary Muggles, the forest proved to be an island of untouched woods in the agricultural landscape. Only a yard or two into the forest, the trees already seemed tall and ancient, and it was clear that no farmer had done any foresting to this part for centuries. There was one narrow path made by men, however, which they followed.

The Aurors had fallen silent, and Soundy guided them towards the sound of running waters because they wanted to find the brook which was supposed to be near the cave. The path was ascending and steep at places and it became apparent that the forest did in fact cover a not so small mountain. It did not take long before they reached a bridge over the brook which danced over sharp stones between two steep cliffs.

It was wilder and higher than Harry had imagined from seeing Frank Longbottom’s memories and he had a quick surge of giddiness when traversing the bridge. There was an abundance of ferns, all over the cliffs. Soundy led them on. Ledges, cliffs – they all looked the same. Harry heard one Auror mutter something about finding the Secret Keeper. Harry frowned and stopped.

“Wait,” he said. “I think we’ve already passed it.” The others stopped.

“It’s quite possible,” said Soundy. “It all looks the same. But remember - we’re only recognising and making ourselves acquainted with the forest. You know the cave is protected and invisible to us.”

“We need to scan for magical traces,” said Harry, frowning. “Wait, let me return, I think I felt something earlier.” The conviction that there was something behind him grew stronger and irresistible.

Without listening to Soundy’s objections, Harry turned and hurried back, panting slightly. Here! Yes, there was something. They were quite close to the brook, just as they should be, considering Neville’s father’s testimony. Harry deviated from the path and took a few zig-sacking steps up the steep mountain. He reached a ledge and stared at a rounded stone wall covered in ivies and tufts of ferns. He held his hands out, approaching, backing off, going left, going right, feeling and muttering bits of incantations. Soundy had caught up and joined him, while the others stayed on the path below.

“It’s here,” said Harry. Soundy frowned.

“You can’t be certain…” he began. “You are certain,” he affirmed, widening his eyes. “How come?”

Harry liked this side of Soundy. The sturdy and impassive wizard allowed himself to display a curiosity which was unpretentious and which made him more open and less prone to confrontations than Snape for example.

“Well, detecting hidden magic is a bit like a diagnostic test,” said Harry. “And I’m good at diagnostics,” he added proudly. “At least that’s what they say at St Mungo’s. I think I can feel some traces of Parsel magic, which makes sense if the Pleasure Temple was created by Voldemort in his time. I’d be more sensible than most to that kind of magic.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” said Soundy and added with vibrant impatience: “What a nuisance we’ll have to wait for the Secret keeper to open it up. It’s probably right under our noses, right here!”

Harry reminded himself that Soundy had been looking for this cave for more than a year. His own frustration was easily awakened and he felt a prickling sense of excitement and determination.

“I can try something,” he said eagerly. “I’ll try to bring the protective magic down by magic. Parsel magic.”

Soundy looked doubtingly at him, but Harry held his gaze defiantly, showing that he meant what he said. The temptation became too strong for Soundy who nodded his consent.

“Er… you’ll have to step back… For safety…” said Harry. Soundy frowned but joined his Aurors by jumping and sliding back the steep cliff. For being so sturdy he was surprisingly lithe. “Er… the other side of the brook would be best, please,” Harry called down to them.

The other Aurors started to mutter, but Soundy herded them over the bridge from where they could just perceive Harry up on the ledge, between strands of beard lichen hanging down the branches of some majestic fir trees, and his lower body bathing in a sea of ferns. They watched him lift both arms, wand clutched in his right hand, fingers on the left stretched and spread, and palm directed at the mountain.

Harry took a short moment to concentrate before he let it all loose. He was far from sure that he would succeed, but he would sure give his most to bring the Fidelius down! He knew that he should not hold back, because that was how this kind of magic worked: It needed crude force, and it was best fuelled with anger. He needed to do something similar to what he had done to the portrait of Mrs Black at Grimmauld Place. He’d have to improvise.

Harry closed his eyes and welcomed the opportunity to let all the frustration from the night, the morning and from what had happened at St Mungo’s earlier during the day mount in him. He egged his frustration on with desperate determination, defying that chill of fear in his stomach. The ground started to shake like an earthquake while Harry let go and launched all his frustration into the magic, muttering furiously with hissing sounds.

The Aurors on the other side of the bridge were squatting in order to watch, touching the trembling ground with their hands in surprise. Soundy’s lips were pressed tightly together. Would Mrs Steadfast sanction this in retrospect? He was bound to find out later. Big stones were rustling down the mountain and landed on the path where the Aurors had been standing before they crossed the bridge.

“Merlin’s beard!” someone muttered.

Harry had been keeping his arms and hands outstretched and still, but when there was still no sign of an opening, he increased his efforts into what seemed like a tantrum of Parsel magic, and at a climax of earth trembling, he made a quick tearing movement downwards with both arms. Instantly there was a large thunder - a sound as if the lightning had struck right beside them – and smoke which hid Harry from the Aurors’ view. The wizards and witches cowered instinctively and protected their heads. A few stones flew by, but no one was hit.

“By all battling Goblins…” Soundy exclaimed and rose. Everything had gone quiet. “Mr Potter? Harry?” he shouted. “Those two will kill me if he’s come to harm…” muttered Soundy to himself as he ran over the bridge, wand in hand. The smoke was drifting away and revealed the young wizard standing at the exact same spot from where he had performed his magic, seemingly unscathed. With a ripple of excitement Soundy realised that in front of Harry there was now a large, slit-formed opening into the mountain – the entrance to the cave. In a few large strides up the steep side, Soundy joined the young Auror trainee who blinked at him, visibly shocked by his own deed.

“It worked!” Harry whispered hoarsely.

*

Soundy and Harry stepped into what could be described as some kind of antechamber because it was obvious that the cave spread deeper into the mountain than this small hollow showed. A drapery that once had been luxurious, but which was now heavy with dirt concealed the real entry. The rest of the group had joined Harry and Soundy and the Aurors filled up the room, stooping slightly not to hit their heads. Before drawing the drapery to the side, Soundy turned to his colleagues.

“Freddy, Miss Swan, you stand guard outside,” he said.

The drapery was magically removed and, taking a deep breath, they proceeded into the proper cave. The first thing that hit Harry when he entered, was that the roof seemed to disappear altogether. There was a sense of chill and emptiness over his head that made him feel dizzy. Moreover he could not make out the farther end of the cave. The space seemed enormous, like a doom. Cautiously, Soundy proceeded a few steps, sending a light off in the air from his wand to illuminate the belly of the doom. A curious scene met their eyes, and they proceeded a little further to try to make out what they were actually looking at.

There was a big table with benches along its sides, which was dressed as if ready to accommodate a feast any time. Not far from the table there were three enormous king size beds with canopies, as if the decorator of the room had not felt bothered at all by combining dining and sleeping on the same space. It was a bit like a set stage on a scene. It looked ordinary and strange at the same time. Harry noticed that the beds were empty and felt a sting of disappointment and dejection. Where were the prisoners?

Harry felt increasingly cold, to the point of his fingers gripping his wand feeling numb. There was something… not right in the atmosphere, he had time to think, before Soundy gave away an exclamation. He had sent off another light in another direction which revealed a strange set of instruments. Several of the Aurors drew their breaths, but Harry stared at the benches, the chains and the cog-wheals without understanding what he was looking at.

“Instruments of torture,” one Auror whispered in a stifled tone to him.

Harry shivered and felt his stomach make a turn. But he was hearing faint, very faint sounds by now. He felt the hair on his arms rise and a shiver run down his back. What was it? Where did it come from? Soundy, whose shoulders were slumped and whose back was rounded, lifted his arm with what seemed to be an immense effort and sent out another light even further away into the cave, where Harry thought the back wall stood. The small light danced away and revealed a sort of corridor penetrating even deeper into the mountain. And there on the floor, the sight that they had all expected, but dreaded: people! Or rather, heaps of dirty pieces of cloth on the very floor, which were stirring slightly and emitting muffled sounds, and which had the forms of human beings.

This was the moment when they should all precipitate themselves forward and liberate the poor sods who obviously had been held prisoners and had been treated like animals, made to sleep on the floor even though there were empty beds at hand. But none of them took more than a few hesitant steps forward. The Aurors all looked drained, their eyes empty as if not seeing what was surrounding them, as if they were preoccupied by some sort of painful introspection of sorts. Harry stared at his colleagues - even Soundy seemed incapacitated, and sighed heavily.

Something strange was acting on them, Harry thought. He himself had started to hear a far off, distant sound ringing in his ears which did not come from the outside but which… sounded like screaming… exactly like… Harry drew a sudden breath. He recognised his symptoms! There must be - there must be! – Dementors around.

With an immense effort, Harry rose his head, and his arm, and fired a light upwards, toward the ceiling of the cave. At first Harry did not understand what he was looking at. Those could not be real Dementors, could they? They would have come down on them and attacked by now? What was going on? Soundy had lifted his head towards the ceiling as well.

“Merlin!” he muttered. “Well spotted, Mr Potter. Help me out, will you? Your Patronus!”

But Harry was beyond conjuring a Patronus. His head was turning, the screams grew louder, his fingers were about to release their grip on his wand. Several of the Aurors had sunk down on their knees and were pressing their heads between their hands.

Soundy could be relied on, however. Having been made aware of the problem by Harry’s discovery, the Auror managed to produce a bear Patronus which had an instant effect. Another Auror stood up and made her own Patronus patrol another section of the roof and soon the entire cave was secured against the effect of the Dementors. Harry’s head was clearing up. He threw an appalled glance at Soundy which told the older Auror how close it had been.

“The Dementors must be stuck to the ceiling,” explained Soundy. “A permanent sticking charm, probably,” he added. Harry gaped and shook his head.

“A tapestry of Dementors! Voldemort must’ve had his day when creating that!” he muttered sarcastically. Soundy looked at Harry with a weird expression on his face.

There was no time to lose - Harry turned away from Soundy and strode up to the nearest prisoner. They must start assessing the need of medical attention and get the sick and wounded to St Mungo’s. Someone managed to light a circle of torches in the doom of the cave, but the gallery where the prisoners were held lay still in dusk. The light from the Patronuses flying over their heads helped the situation out a bit, but it was not a pretty sight.

Some of the Aurors shed instinctively in front of the smelling heaps of blankets and bodies. Every inch of cloth was heavily incrusted with dirt and infestations, as was the hair of the prisoners. The toughest smell came from two dead bodies which had been left to rot among the living ones. Harry was stunned by the screaming lack of regard for human dignity, and realised that they must have come in the nick of time, because disease would spread from those dead bodies like fire if they were not removed – it might already be a fact. It also spoke of the state of the prisoners who were still alive: none of them had had the force to rise and drag the corpses of their dead comrades away.

Contrary to his colleagues, Harry did not seem apprehensive, but only eager and solicitous when he approached the bodies on the floor, and gently drew the blankets aside to examine them, one after the other. It did not mean that Harry was not appalled by what met his eyes. He did not need to examine more than one or two bodies before it dawned on him that they needed more healing competence in place. He would not be able to sort this out alone with his fellow Aurors who only mastered a few basic healing spells.

“Please send for healers, care-witches and care-wizards from St Mungo’s,” he asked. “Preferably a Grief Swallower, or at least a Swallowscope,” he launched after the Auror who prepared to send his Patronus away. “Most of these people are not able to sustain a transport without being Relieved first.”

Then Harry set to work. His aim was to stabilise the sick and wounded enough for the Aurors to lift them onto a stretcher and have them removed at first from the corridor to the doom where there was more space and where the light was better, and secondly, after a new assessment, out of the cave and to St Mungo’s. Harry worked doggedly, trying to prioritise his spells in the order he had been taught to do. There were about twenty victims, and nearly everyone needed a Relieving from him – they were all in pain. There were traces of torture on the bodies, with secondary infections.

On more than one occasion, Harry actually had to start with Renervating a person before undertaking the proper healing because they were so close to death. They were a mix of Muggles, witches, and one or two wizards as well, although initially it was hard for Harry to tell who was who, because the magical cores had burnt down to almost undetectable levels.

A pair of care-wizards and a healer with a Swallowscope arrived from St Mungo’s and sped up the work which was, however, threatening to become overwhelming. Only shortly after having arrived the healer sent another Patronus for reinforcements, since the Swallowscope did not work very well on the brittle minds of the prisoners, and Harry was forced to perform Relieving after Relieving. They got very little coherent words out of the prisoners, and Harry dreaded they had another outbreak of insanity caused by torture in front of their eyes.

At one moment when all the prisoners had received at least one round of treatment and were all transported to the doom of the cave, Soundy fetched Harry to lead him down the gallery to a small dungeon at the end of a siding tunnel where yet another body lay.

“It’s a witch,” whispered Soundy. “And she’s pregnant. I’m afraid she’s dying. Who did this to her?”

Harry drew a deep breath. The witch was very young, he realised when he leaned over her. She actually had a mattress to lie on and her blanket was a tiny bit less filthy than the others had been. He saw no signs of torture on her body when he carefully lifted the pieces of cloth that covered her skin. Yet she was extremely pale and almost unconscious. Harry drew his wand and started to examine her. She was difficult to diagnose because Harry got conflicting results – he supposed it might have to do with her bearing a child. He had not yet studied pregnancies nor children healing medicine, so this was beyond his competence. He started by giving her some basic supporting healing spells, while asking Soundy to fetch the healer who was working in the great hall of the cave.

Together they managed to stabilise the young witch somewhat, but the more experienced healer was as at a loss to diagnose the primary source of her disease.

“She doesn’t seem as starved as the others,” she said, frowning. “There are only minor visible bruises, no internal bleedings, no shortness of breath which cannot be accounted for by her being in pain, and her tension is quite normal for her age and condition.”

“Is she affected by some dark curse?” asked Harry. “Because I sensed some traces, some kind of magical vibrations… but I can’t tell what it is.”

“That’s more than I got out of my diagnostic spells. Something’s interfering with them,” the healer said when they were interrupted by Auror Swan.

“Come quick! A heart arrest in the hall. We’ve Renervated the body but he relapses all the time – I think we’re losing him,” she said. The healer rose precipitately.

“Coming. Just keep stabilising her,” she said to Harry. “Get her in a condition to be removed to St Mungo’s and we’ll let the specialists on Dark Arts have a look. Where by all Goblins are the reinforcements?” And she was out of the dungeon.

The young witch had awoken by their attentions. She seemed to understand that rescue had come. Harry asked her questions about what had been done to her and she answered eagerly, raspingly but with much emotion in her voice, and so incoherently that Harry had to ask his questions again and again to make sense of her answers. He picked up on her name being Meleonora. He felt so sorry for her when her big dark brown eyes clung to his in desperate hope. He tried to press her hand reassuringly while trying anew to detect what was the matter with her, because after a brief surge of improvement she seemed to deteriorate again.

“Will you… Will you please send for Professor Snape?” Harry asked in a stifled voice of Soundy who was still in the room. “I think… I think he needs to see her. Please?” Harry got more and more convinced as he spoke that Snape needed to come, and when he riveted his eyes on Soundy to enforce his demand, he felt a strong conviction that Snape was the only healer who could help. The professor knew everything there was to know about the Dark Arts.

Perhaps he should have sent for Snape in the first place when they discovered the Temple, Harry thought, because Snape could have helped out with the Relievings as well. As it was, a million strange sensations were coursing his own body from all the Relievings he had performed. How many, already? He must have Relieved them all, had he not? He pushed the thought away to concentrate on Meleonora again.

“I’ll see what I can do. I need to report to Mrs Steadfast anyway. How long have we been in here? I wonder if they’re still at the farm?” said Soundy, but before he had time to turn around, the young witch let out a long plaintive sound and went still.

“Shit, her heart stopped!” Harry jumped up and started to Renervate the still body. He was successful, but he only got a very shallow breathing and a quick weak pulse. He had never lost a patient by Renervation at St Mungo’s, he reminded himself, but she was so fragile! What if he lost this young witch? He was only a student after all. He fastened his frightened eyes on Soundy.

“Please! Get Snape!”

“I’m on my way.”

Soundy hurried out of the dungeon, because he, too, was affected by the fate of the young witch, who was younger than his own daughter. The situation in the great hall of the cave was as chaotic as before, but a few stretches had been brought out on the ledge outside the entrance, and people from St Mungo’s were meeting up to take them away. Soundy squinted in the bright light, but it was a relief to get the stealth of the cave out of the lungs and breathe fresh air, although the serenity of the forest struck Soundy almost like an insult because of its indifference to what had taken place in that cave.

The anti-Apparition shield put up during the operation had waned and not been replaced, so Soundy Apparated the short distance to the farm. A bunch of his colleagues were moving about calmly, searching the grounds inch by inch. It was the tedious cleaning-up after a battle. There were no traces of any inhabitants, nor of Mrs Steadfast or Snape.

“They’ve gone back to the Office. They’re trying to identify the Secret Keeper among the prisoners,” Simmings, who was gathering some sort of evidence in a coffin, answered Soundy’s hurried request, scrutinising his older colleague’s haunted appearance.

Soundy did a new Disapparition in the middle of a step, Apparating not in the entrance hall of the Ministry, but at a secret spot inside the Ministry, only available to Aurors. Without delay, he strode down the corridor towards the Headquarters, entered and proceeded without hesitation into Mrs Steadfast’s office, knocking on the door while opening it wide. His eyes caught Snape’s instantly. The dark clad wizard was leaning against Mrs Steadfast’s desk, both palms flat on the surface and features set in an annoyed expression.

“As long as we don’t have Mr Hatch, we…” Snape interrupted himself at the sight of Soundy.

“You’re needed, Professor,” said Soundy. “Without delay. I’m afraid it might already be too late.”

Snape stretched his back and nodded without asking any questions. The Auror was panting slightly and the urgency of the situation could be plainly read in Soundy’s usually controlled features.

“What do you want him for? Where? Why?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“This is not the time to argue, Mrs Steady!” snapped Soundy, but added in a more controlled voice: “His medical expertise. A severe case of damage by Dark Arts. A young witch in the cave. Harry asked me to get him. He wants you there – now!” Soundy’s gaze bore through Snape. “The boy’s at his wit’s end and she’s dying from him.” They charged through the door and back down the corridor, with Mrs Steadfast on their heels.

“Did you find the cave? Why didn’t you report to me? How on earth did you discover it despite the Fidelius, and how did you enter it?” spluttered Mrs Steadfast. “Mr Hatch is the Secret keeper – we’ve got confirmation of our suspicions, at least. But he got away in the last minute, as did his daughter, the slim Miss Henna. Ripped a hole in the shield, they did, after hiding out in the house’s cellar during our operation. Severus almost got them when they emerged.”

“Not now, Mrs Steady…” Soundy answered his boss’ tirade in a strained voice. “I’ll report to you as soon as I can. Dispatching the sick and wounded to St Mungo’s is our priority.”

“Of course, Soundy. That’s why I trust you, because you’ve always got your priorities sorted. I’m coming with you, though. Want to see this for myself,” said Mrs Steadfast with determination.

*

While Soundy was gone – and it was longer than he intended, and felt longer still for Harry – the young witch started to have small localised seizures, in an arm, in a leg, jerking her head for a few seconds. Harry concentrated on seizure management, but it was confusing, since the parts of the body convulsing varied. At the same time, she seemed to start experiencing more pain mixed with anxiety and psychotic visions. Harry worked hard with her, demanded advice from his older colleague again, but she had nothing more to propose, and in the end, because the young delirious witch was only getting worse, Harry resolved on doing a Relieving.

The transfer was added to the strange mix of abominations that his body had already received, and Harry was not sure that he actually managed to process it. A tornado of strange feelings were coursing his body, but he did not have time to think about it.

Meleonora calmed down and for a short while she actually blossomed out: she got a little colour in her face and her gaze cleared. Harry, too, got a short respite and merely sat exhausted by her side, letting her talk to him, holding her hand in his. But then, all of a sudden an expression of complete terror filled Meleonora’s eyes and her body rose in an arch, despite her heavy belly, and she was seized by violent convulsions.

Harry actually screamed – it happened so suddenly. It was an epileptic seizure of grand impact. He called for help, but the convulsions only went on for minutes, until suddenly they abated and left a lifeless body.

They started on resuscitation - of course they did. They were two healers and two care-wizards. Harry channelled his most powerful and most precise Renervation spells at the young witch, those which always worked in the Emergency hall at St Mungo’s, but which suddenly seemed to have no effect here in the dungeon. Again and again – heart beating spells and Renervates in turn. Harry worked fiercely, more and more desperately.

People were speaking to him, tugging at his arm. What did they want? Harry got the impression that they were trying to interfere. Could they not see that he was in the middle of a resuscitation? He was not giving up! But there, at last, was Snape. Someone reliable, someone competent at last!

*

When Snape entered the dungeon, he stepped into an atmosphere of chaos which he immediately recognised as that when a patient is on the way of being lost. Half the people present had already given up, while others were still fighting on their toes. It was inevitable: some people will sense at an early stage - sometimes too early - that there is no hope left and they will lie down arms, while others will refuse to give up and continue - sometimes way beyond what was reasonable.

A healer Snape recognised from St Mungo’s was trying to convince Harry to halt his attempts, but Harry and a young care-wizard who was assisting him worked fervently and could not be reached. Snape had been made ill at ease already when he crossed the major hall of the cave where a handful of prisoners were still waiting to be transported away to St Mungo’s. He had gotten a glimpse of the instruments of torture and had shuddered. It was a long time since he had seen anything of the kind.

When he glanced at the witch who was subject to the resuscitation, he pressed his lips together. He took a step forward as Harry spoke to him.

“Professor, you came! Please, please help us out. She’s not responding!” It was the first time in many months that Harry addressed Snape so directly and simply, and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I’m afraid she’s beyond our help, Harry,” answered Snape gently. The care-wizard who was performing heart beating spells looked up at him with tears in his eyes, but acceptance seemed to dawn on him and he backed off from the body. Soundy sighed and made a grimace. Everybody in the dungeon had stilled, except Harry who was still agitated and performed a new Renervate with desperation written on every feature.

“We must help her, don’t you see? I know you can do it. I can’t today, it doesn’t work for me, I don’t know why… but I know that you can. Please!” pleaded Harry.

“I cannot bring people back from the dead, Harry.”

“No, no, she’s not… It’s not too late… Please have a try! Is it because of what I said to you before? You’re angry with me, aren’t you? I’m so sorry!” Snape frowned and shook his head slightly.

“It’s not that. I would help her if I could, but look at her. She’s gone!”

“No, no, she’s not. She was alive only a while ago, then she had this big seizure and… and… I couldn’t do a diagnostic on her, because there was Dark Arts interfering, but if you only remove the curse, it’ll work. Please! Please just have a try!” Harry stretched out his own wand towards Snape in a desperate attempt to convince him.

“We should treat her dead body with respect, and not throw any more useless spells at her.” Snape had sharpened his tone of voice.

“No…” wailed Harry, but his protests were getting weaker. Snape crouched beside the witch, holding his left hand over her chest, and Harry fell to his knees on the other side of her body and did the same.

“Her core is gone, her heart has stopped. She’s dead, Harry,” said Snape gently. Harry drew several shuddering breaths. He did not cry, but he clenched and unclenched his fists in helplessness. Exhaustion seemed to have overpowered his frustration for the moment being.

People were starting to move out of the dungeon. Someone conjured a stretcher to remove the body, when Soundy exclaimed:

“The baby’s alive!”

Snape jerked his head up and Harry looked confused.

“But how can the baby survive if the mother’s dead?” he stammered.

Snape was examining the bulging belly, and Harry, too, thought that he saw a movement under the skin.

“It’s the baby!” exclaimed Snape. “The child’s cursed. It’s the baby who killed its mother!”

Several sharp intakes of breaths were heard among those who stood around the body. Harry gaped at Snape.

“Quick, it needs to be delivered,” barked Snape. “Get a child healer specialist out here from St Mungo’s right away. And conjure up a set of towels.” Then Snape raised his wand so that its tip pointed at the belly. Shocked little gasps and exclamations were heard as several people tumbled out of the dungeons, more eager to comply with Snape’s command to summon reinforcements from St Mungo’s than stay and watch the macabre delivery.

Harry had pulled himself together, however, when he realised that there was still a life to save, and he assisted Snape while the professor operated magically on the dead witch. The movements from within the belly seemed to become stronger and more visible. It was as if the baby fought to get out, and was only getting stronger with time.

Snape worked quickly, and his hands were as soon flooded with amniotic fluid gushing out of the wound in the belly that he had himself inflicted and which did not bleed very much because naturally the witch’s circulation had stilled. Snape brought the two edges apart and Harry got a glimpse of a small thigh. The baby was positioned upside down in the womb, which was natural for a child who started to reach term. Snape caught the child by the hips and manoeuvred the child’s lower body out of the open wound. The size of it confirmed that it must be nearly full term, and it wriggled with animal force – so strange, Harry had time to think. Snape let his hands glide down the child’s spine to its neck. One hand circled the body and Snape tugged gently with fingers on the upper part of the child’s chest and on its collar-bones, while the other hand supported the neck, and he was able to begin to retrieve the baby.

The body was slippery, and still wriggling, so Snape more or less tossed the baby onto a bed of towels that a care-wizard had spread out next to the mother’s body. Another assistant stood prepared with a towel in her hands to dry the baby up and prevent it from cooling in the chilly air, but instead she let out a stifled cry and dropped the towel onto the baby. Harry, too, had got a glimpse of the child’s face and thought that he understood what the care witch had reacted to.

“What in Merlin’s name…” Snape who had only seen the back of the child exclaimed.

Harry slowly gripped a corner of the towel between his thumb and first finger and pulled back the cloth.

“Shit!” he exclaimed in a low voice and dropped the piece of cloth he was holding. The child’s face remained uncovered, however, so that everyone could see for themselves the strange features of the child, which included a flattened, almost inexistent nose with slits for nostrils. It looked more like a monster than a baby, and there was clearly an echo of Voldemort’s face.

The child continued to wriggle. It had not cried properly yet, but gave away low shrieking and hissing sounds. Snape lost no time and started to wave his wand over the strange creature.

“Harry, envelop the child in a shielding and protective incantation – it will facilitate my examining the curse properly and prevent it from spreading or jumping on to someone else. Unfinished Dark Magic is unstable. We need to contain it before we decide what to do,” said Snape.

They started their work, but after only a short while a child healer from St Mungo’s stepped inside the dungeon and in a corner of his eyes - because he was occupied with reciting an incantation - Harry saw that Josepha was with him. She had started to work part time while Luna was at home taking care of Sophie.

The senior child healer nodded at Snape to go on and finish his diagnostic spells. The child was now enveloped in layers of protective and containing magic which would keep the curse in check. Snape finished his work, pearls of sweat appearing on his upper lip, and lifted his head towards his colleague.

“An extensive curse of Dark Arts,” explained Snape. “The entire child is affected. The curse has nurtured the child – it has drained and drawn the forces from the mother to the child and accelerated its growing and given it strength. The child looks fully developed, but I suspect that it is in reality pre-term.” The other healer made a quick diagnostic spell for himself to confirm what Snape said – it was quicker now that all the containing magic was in place.

“We’ll need to remove the curse at all costs. We have no choice,” he said. “But I can’t say exactly how underdeveloped the child is in reality. We’ll have to treat and see.”

Snape nodded. Harry and Josepha looked at each other. The two senior healers did not sound very hopeful.

“Do you have an idea of how to break the curse?” the healer asked Snape. “You’re more qualified than me in that area. I’ll do the supporting spells for the child, if you do the rest.” Snape nodded.

“I have an idea how to do it,” he said resolutely. The senior child healer glanced at Josepha.

“Look and learn,” he said. “This is advanced counter-spelling.”

Harry and Josepha watched the two healers at work. Harry was so concentrated on taking in Snape’s curse-breaking spells that he almost forgot to breathe. His head did not feel very clear, and he perceived a strange flutter of his own heart, but he pushed those sensations away and took the magic in by listening with his whole body and letting Snape’s spell words ring in his head. For a few seconds he got an almost unreal and euphoric sensation from watching the healers: magic was so powerful! If this did not work…

But Josepha frowned and pointed at the baby, and Harry noticed, too, that it wriggled less and less, that it seemed to shrink in size and that it’s breathing seemed to get quicker and more laboured. Slowly, the strange features of the child altered and were replaced by normal but very delicate ones. Moreover Harry noticed how skinny the baby seemed to be.

“It’s a sign of prematurity,” Josepha whispered to Harry. “There’s not an ounce of fat under the skin of that child. He’s too young…” The child had stilled altogether. Snape seemed to have finished, but the other healer put a few more spells in place before he, too, lowered his wand. He made a grimace.

“Twenty-three weeks, at most,” he announced. “Just as I suspected. It is only breathing because of the supportive spells I’ve set in place.”

The small child gave a little jerk, and the healer and Josepha leaned over it with worried faces. The child’s own features were set in an expression of pain with small wrinkles on its tiny forehead. Snape and Harry had taken a step backwards to give place for the child-healers to do their job. They worked intensely for a while but the child continued to jerk and emit tiny sounds of pain from time to time.

“It’s suffering,” the child-healer said. “It’s extremely premature and damaged on top of it by that Dark curse. It’s beyond salvage. It will only suffer until a sure death. Josepha, you know what we need to do, don’t you?”

Josepha nodded. Snape paled, and Harry looked confused.

“Should we do a Relieving on the child?” he asked in an uncertain voice and took an unsteady step forwards. His head was foggy and he honestly did not know if he could manage another Relieving, but if that was what it took…

“By Merlin, no!” exclaimed Snape and held Harry back. “Leave this for the child healers to handle.”

The senior healer and Josepha looked at each other and lifted their wands over the child who was looking weaker and weaker and more and more plagued.

“Avada Kedavra!” The child stilled completely at once.

Harry stared in shock at his two colleagues, before he doubled over, turned and rushed out of the dungeon. Snape followed him.

*

Harry was gripping the rail on the bridge over the brook outside the cave so hard that his knuckles whitened. The remains of his vomits were being washed away beneath the bridge, by the water which danced happily over the stones. Snape was standing beside him and Mrs Steadfast was approaching. She had not been with them in the dungeon but had been taking stock of the general situation in the great hall of the cave.

“You two look terrible,” she said. “What happened? Harry, you look just like you did last year when you had killed that wizard in Paris. You haven’t killed anyone now, have you?”

When Harry heard this, he turned over the rail and threw up again.

“You have the timing of a troll and absolutely no sense of sensibility at all, Audrey,” said Snape reproachfully in a stifled tone. “We only just watched our colleagues from St Mungo’s do a mercy killing on new-born child by Avada Kedavra.” When he finished his sentence, Snape as well turned around and gagged. Mrs Steadfast lifted an eye-brow.

“You too, Severus? You surprise me. Former Death Eater, used to killings and all…” she said. Snape was panting slightly, getting his breathing under control and drying the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief.

“It was a baby, Audrey. I know that they had to do it to spare it the suffering. But torturing the innocent, and killing children – I was never able to stand it,” Snape replied. “Why should I?” he added aggressively. “Are we done here? The prisoners seems to have been all taken care of?”

“The last one’s being sent off to St Mungo’s right now,” Mrs Steadfast confirmed. “It’s time for a gathering and a summing up in the Headquarters.

*

Harry was sitting beside Ron at a table in the lecture hall of the Auror Headquarters. The entire squad, students included, were gathered for the briefing. Ron explained to Harry in a whisper that he had not taken part in the battle itself, but that he had gone in when the place had been secured to gather technical evidence together with an experienced Auror named Savage.

“It was brilliant! Moreover I was there when Mr Hatch and Henna Hatch emerged from the cellar and made their break-out. You have to give them that they’re both clever and skilled,” said Ron.

Harry nodded distractedly, saying nothing, and they turned their attention to Mrs Steadfast who told her crew that they had apprehended eight people at the farm: a woman and seven men. One of the men was in his fifties and was the owner of the farm and married to the only woman, but according to Mrs Steadfast he was a wreck, looking at least a decade older than his age, and drunk in the middle of the day. Four of the men constituted the couple’s sons, aged between seventeen and thirty. Other than that, there were two hired farmhands. All of the young people gave a rather sluggish and slow impression - no Shifting material exactly, according to Mrs Steadfast - but wizards all of them, or possibly squids. The farm itself was rather ill kept.

Suddenly, Ron gave away an exclamation and started to shake Harry, who had slumped forward over the table, by his shoulders. Mrs Steadfast stopped talking and the others turned to look at Ron and Harry.

“He’s probably only fallen to sleep. He didn’t get much of that last night,” said Mrs Steadfast.

But when Harry slid down from his chair and landed on his back on the floor, even Mrs Steadfast drew her breath at the sight of his ashen-grey face.

“He’s dying! Do something!” Ron shouted in pure panic. Snape who had been leaning against a door post rushed up to Harry’s side and started to Renervate him.

“We need some Firewhiskey!” he shouted. “By all hot Goblin swords, how many Relievings did he do this afternoon?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Soundy who was staring appalled down at Harry’s lifeless body. “He requested help from St Mungo’s, but they didn’t send another Grief Swallower. I think that he Relieved them all – they needed it in order to be transportable.” Snape shook his head furiously.

“He knew…” he said. “Harry knew perfectly well what happens when you do too many Relievings. He witnessed my collapse last year. I warned him. How could he be so reckless, so disregarding of his own wellbeing? Renervate! Damn it! Respond! Pour the Firewhiskey in his mouth.” Snape shouted the last words at Simmings who had finally got hold of a bottle.

“Please, Harry!” stuttered Ron who stood frozen by his friend’s side.

Simmings parted Harry’s lips with his fingers and poured the Firewhiskey between the teeth – the strong spirits was the only antidote to a Grief Swallower having done too many Relievings. Snape had to Renervate Harry many times around before he finally gave faint signs of life. Snape dropped to his knees, took the bottle from Simmings, conjured up a cup and made Harry drink a large gulp until Harry started to choke and cough. He was still not completely conscious, turned his head from side to side and moaned.

“Help me get him into Mrs Steadfast’s office,” said Snape. “You don’t mind, do you, Audrey?”

Mrs Steadfast who had watched the whole resuscitation scene with horror written on her face shook her head and motioned for Ron and Soundy to lift Harry up and carry him into her office.

When Harry came to his senses, he transited from unconsciousness to extreme agitation in only a few seconds. He looked at Ron, at Snape and at Mrs Steadfast with widened eyes, pupils dilated to the point of almost hiding the green of his iris, his gaze flickering from side to side.

”I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I know I shouldn’t’ve done that last Relieving on the pregnant witch. But she was in so much pain, in such agony, and she was going to die! She died such a horrible death!” he gasped.

“You did a Relieving on the pregnant witch?” barked Snape. “But young, inexperienced Grief-swallowers must never do that, never - do you hear? You should know by now that you must be able to understand the kind of suffering you lift away. The witch in the cave was subjected to advanced Dark Magic, and on top of it she was pregnant – how do you suppose to understand that?”  

“I’m sorry… Forgive me… She spoke to me and I thought I sort of understood her… I felt so much for her, and I was desperate when she threatened to… to die! And there had been so many tortured people before her… I…”

Harry’s pupils suddenly contracted and went very small, at the same time as he lost the little colour in the face that he had gained and collapsed. Snape jumped up and started spelling Renervates again while Ron poured Firewhiskey in Harry’s mouth from the bottle itself. Harry woke up again, coughing and spitting.

“Tastes awful!” he muttered. “But I guess I need it,” he continued, took the bottle from Ron’s hand and started to swig the Firewhiskey.

“Go easy on that bottle!” Snape snapped and snatched it from Harry. “It’s medicine. You’ll take it in small controlled dosages, repeatedly!”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry looked abashed and recoiled.

“He needs to go to St Mungo’s,” stated Mrs Steadfast. Harry looked horrified at her.

“No, no, please, let me stay! I only need to take the Firewhiskey at regular intervals and it’ll pass, won’t it, Professor? Please!” He fastened his pleading wide eyes at Snape.

“I don’t know. You’re extremely unstable… Your nervous system is in a chaos from overuse… The regulation of basic functions like breathing and blood pressure modulation is severely impaired…“ Snape knitted his eyebrows.

“Not St Mungo’s, please! They’ll recognise me. Some of them know who I am, and it’ll leak to the press. It’ll be all over the Daily Prophet. Please… I did it for you last year, Professor,” Harry pleaded. He was referring to an episode at Hogwarts the previous year when Snape had experienced a similar collapse after having done too many Relievings. Snape deliberated with himself and looked contritely at Harry.

“I don’t like it, but… I’ll watch over you here to start with. You seem to react differently from what I did last year, however. Other than the large amount of Relievings, you’ve done a transfer of unknown magic, of unfamiliar feelings to yourself – I don’t know where it will lead. If you deteriorate, I’ll have to take you to St Mungo’s.” Mrs Steadfast nodded her consent to Snape and went out to finish the briefing with the Aurors.

Although thankful for the respite, Harry continued to be extremely restless and instable: agitated one moment, only to collapse lifeless the next. He wriggled on the stretcher, sitting up and lying down in turns, gripping Ron’s and Snape’s arms while talking. When rambling incoherently about what had happened in the cave, he breathed quickly and irregularly with widened eyes. Several times he was on his way to stand up, before Ron and Snape managed to make him lie down again, and all while Harry talked incessantly.

Harry blamed himself mercilessly for the death of the pregnant witch, in great despair from not having been able to help her and convinced that he had done something wrong.

“I’ve become arrogant, too sure of myself,” he lamented. “At St Mungo’s they use to say that ‘Healer Evans never loses a patient’. It got to my head. But they were wrong. I didn’t think I could fail a Renervation, but now I did, and… and… I should’ve done something else, I should’ve done more... I wasn’t up to it. She died and she died because of me. I should have called someone else at an earlier stage. Someone experienced. Oh, why did nobody come and save her?”

“No one could have saved her, Harry.” Snape tried to explain. “The person who had hurt her with Dark Magic did this to her, not you. She was only a vessel to carry the transformed child. She would have died after the delivery at any rate. That’s how she was conditioned – she was doomed by the dark curse.”

“No, something could have been done. Someone could have helped her. You could, Professor… if you had arrived in time. It was because I made you angry when I spoke to you earlier, wasn’t it? It’s all my fault... since you didn’t want to come because you were angry with me.” Harry fastened his almost black, feverish and anguished eyes on Snape.

“I didn’t even know you had found the cave, Harry. I didn’t refuse to come. And I wasn’t angry at you – I was worried.”

“You got upset when I said… when I said that thing about you not being my father… I’m so sorry, it was out of line. I shouldn’t have said it, I didn’t mean to…” Harry was on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay, don’t mention it…” muttered Snape glancing at Ron with embarrassment written on his face.

Harry continued to apologise, however, again and again until he collapsed anew. When he woke up after yet another Renervation, he was weaker and did not try to rise, but went on in the same anguished tone of voice, stumbling over his words and confessing with ruthless honesty to Snape:

”I’m so sorry I shouted at you! I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it like that at all. It was very rude of me. I do realize you were right. I wasn’t fit to go on the mission. I felt so ashamed…” Harry swallowed and spoke even quieter, but clearly. “You know, I couldn’t stop myself from being jealous when Neville had his mother back… So nasty a feeling it was… I just wanted to get away from it… To flee from myself… Can you imagine: to begrudge him that happy moment! Not being able to rejoice for him… So selfish of me…. I was so ashamed… so ashamed indeed! And his father died, too. What kind of person am I?” Harry’s eyes filled with tears.

Ron looked at him, unsure how to respond, and embarrassed, whereas Snape hummed something not quite distinguishable, but which boiled down to something reassuring. It was clear that he had already understood Harry’s feelings at the awakening of Neville’s parents. Harry looked at Snape for a few seconds with mute gratefulness, before he launched ahead again, unable to stop the torrent of words that wanted to translate the tempest of thoughts in his head and the chaos of feelings cursing his body.

“I really am sorry for what I said to you, Sev… I mean Professor Snape… Sometimes you understand certain things about me better than myself. You hated my father so much and I defended him and thought you were so wrong all those years. But… But… You’re probably a much better person than my father was, anyway… because I… I don’t know him at all, do I?”

Snape lifted his eyebrows high and tried to say something, but Harry rambled on.

“Let me tell you, because I can’t figure him out – James, I mean… I visited some relatives of his… of mine too that is… this summer… You know, Ron, at Le Grand Eclat… Because they reside in France, most of James’ relatives do… They’re quite distant relatives because apparently my grandmother and her sisters were cursed and couldn’t have children of their own and James was the only exception so he didn’t have any siblings, obviously, nor cousins. So the lady I visited was a cousin of James’ mother and some of her children and grand-children who happened to be there when I called, which means they’re second cousins to my father… So quite distant but… but…”

Harry paused to breathe and Snape gestured for Ron to give him a sip of Firewhiskey from the cup, but seemed otherwise resigned to let Harry continue rambling after taking his medicine. The young man seemed unstoppable in his agitation, and maybe there was a glint of curiosity, despite all, in Snape’s eyes.

“I spoke to this guy called Pascal who was a second cousin to my father. I think he wanted to console me because it didn’t go so well with the old lady seeing that she basically threw me out…” Harry went on. Ron lifted his eye-brows.

“Threw you out? A long lost relative?” he said indignantly. Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

“It was probably my own fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have attempted to barge into their lives after so long a silence from their side. I did write to them in advance - at least I did - so that they knew I was in town, and I told them which day I planned to come by. They hadn’t answered my letter, however, but I was so impatient that I decided to take my chances and call by the house anyway -which is probably not done in those circles of wealthy witches and wizards…” Harry drew a deep breath. “Pascal’s mother lives in an enormous residence,” he confided in Ron.  “The thing is that James stayed with them every single summer, so they must have known him pretty well, and liked him.”

“How come she threw you out?” Ron wanted to know. Harry shook his head

“She let me in at first. I got the impression she was curious to see what I looked like for real. It was kind of humiliating, someone not caring to get to know you, but treating you as an exhibit or something. She sort of scrutinized me very haughtily from head to toe, and then she said something about there being no likeness at all, upon which one of her daughters pleaded with her not to ‘bring that story about the will up again’.” Harry shook his head. “What do you make of that, eh?”

Ron wrinkled his nose and shrugged, puzzled. Harry continued.

“At this, the old lady flashed her eyes at me and said ‘out he goes then’, and I found myself escorted out of the room by a servant without even having opened my mouth. I had so many questions I wanted to ask. I know so little of my parents… I only wanted…” Harry’s voice broke, but he straightened up again, driven at this stage by his agitation which took precedence over all other emotions.

“But I was saying about James… This fellow, Pascal, caught up with me in the garden of the residence and proposed to have a talk. He was my father’s age, Pascal, and it turned out that they were always together during the summers. Them and Sirius, apparently, because James started to bring him along already after their first year at Hogwarts, and that tallies with what Sirius himself told me about his close relationship with the Potters. And Pascal told me that James used to be a favourite with the old lady in the house and that everyone agreed that James was the most charming, talented and spirited young man at the time, until…”

“Until…?” prompted Ron.

“Until Pascal made a girl pregnant which caused a scandal in the family, and his mother blamed James for it. It happened the summer before I was born.”

“But…” said Ron.

“They had been partying like wild, that summer, James and Sirius had, leading the way in… in a Baccha… Bacchanalian fashion – that’s the word Pascal used. According to Pascal, he was a lamb in comparison to my father. James and Sirius used to share the ladies between them and made a game of going through as many as they could in one summer, and Pascal only took what was left over – that was his own expression.” Harry pulled a wry face. “I’m not sure I liked Pascal very much – he was all too casual about this, as if not taking it seriously at all, and obviously not wanting to take responsibility for his own actions.”

“I thought James and Sirius were in the Order by that time,” Ron objected, frowning. “They were fighting Voldemort, right? In 1979, that’s when it started to get really bad in Britain, according to what my dad told me.”

“Yeah, I know!” Harry said with emphasis. “Exactly what I thought, too. Going on a vacation to France, partying on the Riviera, doesn’t tally at all with the tale of the courageous and responsible ‘James the Auror’ that I’ve been told about. Moreover… Moreover…” Harry’s voice broke again before he pulled himself together once more and launched, almost aggressively: “James was together with my mother that summer, he must have been, and so he was cheating on her, wasn’t he?”

Ron looked embarrassed. Snape did not look at Harry at all, but had bent his head down. Harry drew a deep breath; his eyes had started to flicker with increasing restlessness.

“I asked Pascal about Lily, but he just mumbled something, said times were different by then, in the seventies, regarding relationships. Said he’d only met my mother once, and that he couldn’t remember whether it was that same summer or the summer before that in which James had invited her to visit them. Said that Lily was a nice girl, nice and tidy, that’s all he said, in an evasive kind of way. Why did James want to be with others, when he had my mother? I don’t understand him at all!” Harry shook his head in high-strung irritation. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this in the summer, Ron, but I think I was really too ashamed of my father, and confused… I didn’t know what to think. He cheated in a big way on my mother… What a git!”

Harry spoke with great emphasis and only paused to draw a shuddering breath before he continued with increasing emotion and agitation.

“And me… me… When Ginny did what she did to me this winter and left me in order to go and live with that… drummer… and literally pushed me to go away and be with others… We were too young to commit ourselves and all that… and I was too serious and complicated, and whatever… So when I tried… because I assure you I’ve done my very best these months to understand what it is she wants from me…” Harry spoke furiously now. “So I tried very hard, but the only thing I managed to achieve so far - the only thing that’s come out from my efforts until now - is to feel a complete fool, and experience anguish beyond anything when I woke up beside someone that I don’t love. I mean, what’s the point?! My father slept with dozens of girls during one single summer while I only slept with two, no three, and then with Simmings, of course…”

“You slept with Simmings!” Ron stared wide-eyed at Harry who was starting to look very pale again, but did not seem in any way inclined to slow down his torrent of confessions.

“Yeah, well, once. So what? I was supposed to try things out, okay? And at least there were real feelings behind it that time – it was certainly the best of those attempts of mine, and yet of course I couldn’t go on seeing him in that way, because I don’t love him like he loves me and I’ll hurt him… Moreover, I guess I do feel more comfortable with women, physically speaking, I mean… although it wasn’t an unpleasant experience, I assure you, Ron...”

“You don’t have to go into detail, Harry, please,” Ron said quickly.

“Well my point is that while my father just passed from one woman to another completely unperturbed - and yet he did have the woman he was supposed to love at hand – while he behaved like that, I’m perfectly incapable of anything remotely similar. It’s incomprehensible to me. Why did he do it? What’s the point? What was he trying to prove? I’ve already after these piteous attempts of mine reached the conclusion that there is no point in trying to be with someone you don’t love, and I’m done with trying, I’m telling you, I’m done with it! I‘ll just have to wait for Ginny to come back to me, whether it takes her one, or two, or twenty years, but I can’t, I just can’t be with someone else. I miss her so much… I’m so miserable without her…” Harry wailed, and suddenly he crumpled up unconscious again.

Snape had bent his head deep down towards the end of this speech, leaning his elbows on his knees, and Ron had to shake him by his shoulder for him to realize that Harry had passed out again and needed to be Renervated.

When recovered, Harry was dizzy and silent for a while. After swallowing some Firewhiskey he was able to lay back with closed eyes, his face grey and drawn. Ron whispered bewildered to Snape:

“What’s happening to him? Why does he talk so much?”

“It’s because of the anxiety – it’s a side effect of the Relievings. They don’t wear off like they should. Although the fact that he has been having a hard time since Christmas contributes to the themes of the anxiety, of course,” Snape muttered back.

“We’ve been trying to speak to him, Hermione and me, but he hasn’t wanted to discuss anything in depth, only pushed us away, silent and dejected. I’ve pretty much guessed how he feels, but it’s kind of crude and overwhelming to hear it gush out of him all at once like this. Can’t we do anything for him? A calming draught?”

“No, he’s too circulatory unstable to tolerate one of those potions right now, and they would be insufficient anyway. We just have to put up with it until it’s over, Mr Weasley, it’s the only thing we can do,” said Snape.

Ron swallowed and turned to Harry who looked back gravely at him.

”You slept with Simmings,” repeated Ron.

”You shouldn’t despise that kind of love, you know Ron,” said Harry, “especially not since George loves Hercules so much - it’ll hurt your brother. I won’t sleep with Simmings again, but in a way, I love him. He’s such a feeling and sensitive person - even more than me, I guess. I’m cynical and ridiculously sensitive at the same time,” Harry said disgusted. ”But Simmings is sort of untarnished and innocent… That’s why I like him so much - he’s a truly kind, caring person. There’s no darkness in him. He’s not like me… I was marked from the beginning, befouled…”

”Don’t say that, Harry!” Ron exclaimed. Harry looked intensely at him.

”But it’s true, Ron. Ginny’s right. Do you really think that I could’ve lived through everything I have done without damage? I’ve been assaulted by Voldemort, I’ve had a piece of him attached to my soul. He marked me…” Harry touched the scar on his forehead. ”I can feel the depths of despair from what I have lived inside me. And there are these bursts of anger, or if they are bursts of evil even, or something close to that, I don’t know. It’s there, though. I’m fighting to keep on the surface, but I know that if I let myself go, I’ll plunge… I don’t know how deep… It’s scary… I don’t dare to let go because I don’t know who I’d become… You’re so naive, Ron… That’s partly why I love you too… Despite everything you’ve been through together with me and Hermione, despite all our adventures and struggles, you’re just this ordinary guy, pure and innocent, clueless even sometimes. You’re really good for me that way you know…” Ron stared at him.

”There’s nothing evil in you, Harry… Don’t let on there is. I know you - you’re my friend. You’re an ordinary guy, you are…” whispered Ron, insisting. Harry turned his head away.

”I don’t know, Ron,” Harry answered in a whisper too. ”The anger and hatred frighten me so much. I fight it - I fight it so hard, but I get so tired - so very, very tired. And if the booze softens these feelings and makes me forget to start with, it makes me meaner and fiercer when I sober up… and disgusted with myself… so disgusted… But it’s so strong, the hatred is… If you only knew… I’ve made stonewalls explode with uncontrolled magic, I’ve made trees fall around me like in a storm at night…”

Harry went on, confessing to Ron and Snape how he had been experimenting with Parsel Magic during the spring.

“It’s Dark Arts, obviously,” said Harry, ruthlessly honest. “But since I know the language, I have defended myself with the argument that it’s only logical for me to explore the power of that language. You know – to look at it just to know what I’m dealing with. There’s such power in the language, you see – it’s amazing how it adds to the magic. That’s what made Voldemort so strong - I’m sure he used it to a maximum. Maybe I’m wrong to explore it, and I’ve had such bad conscience for going along with it. I’ve been scared, too. The strength of the magic frightens me. But… it’s about the only thing that I can do when I feel in a certain way… When the anger gets hold of me… I need to go to the forest and… What am I supposed to do, Ron? The anger won’t go away unless… unless I channel it into the magic. Parsel magic requires those kind of strong feelings. One actually needs them to make it work. But… but I defend myself with thinking that it’s what the magic is used for – what you make of it – that should determine if it’s condemnable or not. The magic shouldn’t be despised on its own, what do you think?”

Ron nodded slowly – he understood roughly what Harry meant and agreed with him, and it seemed to him that Snape did, too – of course he did, with his own history of obsession with the Dark Arts.

“If you use it to achieve important things, it’s acceptable, isn’t it?” Harry went on anxiously. “Like when I tore down the Fidelius charm today: it enabled us to enter the cave more promptly and save those people. Although not Meleonora… Not her… I couldn’t save her…”

Harry paused and gulped. 

“Parsel doesn’t work with healing spells,” he stated regretfully and shook his head. “Maybe I should have tried Ancient Magic on her instead? Ancient Magic, too, is a strong branch of magic which I – which no one – knows very much about. It has occurred to me that we know so little about magic in fact! There is so much to learn! But it’s been impossible for me during the last months to study Ancient Magic - because Ancient Magic is all about protection and love, and all I wanted to do was to destroy and hate… Of course I turned to Parsel Magic instead! But I promise that I’m trying to control it. I haven’t hurt anyone. I only test it to get control over it. I blast it at dead things, I promise…”

Harry looked pleadingly at Ron who did not know how to respond and glanced at Snape instead.

“Do you think I’m turning into a Dark Wizard, Professor?” Harry whispered. Snape had been listening to Harry’s long confession half turned way. Now he jerked his head up and looked at the anguished young wizard.

“You’re not a Dark Wizard, Mr Potter!” he said with emphasis. Both Ron and Harry startled but looked at Snape with relief and doubt at the same time. “It’s what we choose to struggle for that defines us,” Snape muttered, as if trying to convince himself as much as the two young wizards.

After only a few seconds’ respite, Harry started to wail again with heightened anxiety, and to accuse himself of having treated his friends abominably, apologizing for having caused Ron and Hermione to worry about him, for being a bad friend, for being reckless and for drinking too much. He complained about the Daily Prophet and about the press in general putting him under surveillance, about feeling trapped.

“Every step I take is monitored. I can’t do anything without being judged,” Harry said bitterly. “I always need to be careful, never can let myself go. That’s why I used Polyjuice. But it’s a creepy way of going out among people, of getting drunk – in another person’s body…”

Ron lifted his eyebrows and made a grimace.

“It’s such a ridiculous way of buying oneself anonymity, I realise that – but what could I do? I couldn’t stand the attention any more. I couldn’t stand myself any longer…” Harry drew a deep shuddering breath. ”Listen to me,” he went on with a grimace of disgust. “I’m so full of self-pity… I’m sick of myself. People break up all the time, don’t they? They go on with their lives – why can’t I deal with it like normal people do? What’s wrong with me? Taking everything so seriously. Ginny’s right - I’m such a sad, ridiculous figure. I’m so tired of myself, tired of all my strange feelings, of my own anxiety - but I can’t help myself.” Harry reverted to muttering to himself and Ron heard bribes of sentences and single words “…stupid… ridiculous…” until Harry lifted his head and looked him in the eyes, his own shining with remorse: “What should I do with myself? I only plague you, Ron. I’m of no use to any of my friends. Hermione, too. Not to speak of Professor Snape! I’m perfectly loathsome!”

*

Several hours went by before Mrs Steadfast came back and found Snape and Ron exhausted at Harry’s side.

“Ron, you’d better go and get some sleep, I think,” she said.

“I want to stay with him,” Ron replied promptly. “If anyone must see him like this, it should be me.”

“I need to talk to you about your work at the farmhouse” Mrs Steadfast objected calmly. “Savage has written a report and you need to confirm it. After that I order you to go and have some rest- it’s starting to get late. Professor Snape and I will take turns to watch over Harry. We’ll ask Simmings to relay us for the late night shift. Come on now Ron, he’ll be okay.” Mrs Steadfast led Ron out of the room.

When Mrs Steadfast came back the next time, she found Harry asleep on the stretcher, and Snape leaning back in an armchair next to him with closed eyes. As soon as he perceived that someone was in the room, however, Snape jumped up smoothly and came towards her, hushing at her.

“He only went to sleep an instant ago. Don’t wake him up. I gave him a larger dose of Firewhiskey to calm him down. I couldn’t take it anymore! He’s been talking non-stop for five hours now, except for the short interruptions when he threaten to collapse and die. I cannot relax for a second. We really should have taken him to St Mungo’s. I’ve already regretted ten times over not doing so from start. An instable patient like this I would normally have at least two care wizards or care witches by his side and a healer nearby,” said Snape.

“You look done in, Severus. I’ll take your place for a while so that you can have some rest. Has he been hard on you?” Mrs Steadfast looked at Snape with sympathy.

“Oh, worse than that - he’s so repentant, so full of apologies, all driven by his anxiety. He has confessed to everything, confided his innermost secrets and regrets, begged me for forgiveness for what he said this afternoon – ten times as least. Dreadful!” exclaimed Snape, making a wry face.

“My poor friend!” Mrs Steadfast smiled at him. Behind them Harry stirred and started to moan again.

“Oh, no, here he goes again,” whispered Snape. “I thought he’d sleep for a while.”

“I’ll sit with him. I’ll call you if he gets worse. Should I give him more Firewhiskey?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“No, wait a bit,” retorted Snape. “He just had a large dose, it should keep him stable for at least an hour.”

Harry started to speak confusedly and try to sit up on his stretcher. Mrs Steadfast hurried up to him. Snape conjured up another armchair, not unlike the one at Spinner’s End, in a far corner of the room, and slumped down, closing his eyes.

When he spotted Mrs Steadfast, Harry immediately started to apologise to her as well, for his behaviour in the afternoon and for his failure in the cave.

”You were right. I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours the night before. And I had had too much to drink,” he confessed.

“Tell me how you caught those Death Eaters again, Harry,” said Mrs Steadfast and Harry complied at once without objections.

“I don’t think they followed me from the pub where I had spent the evening. I had taken Polyjuice potion - I already told Ron and Snape. I left when I felt the effect wearing off after the third dosage, and when I started to transform back to myself again.” Harry paused to take a breath. “I felt tight, and a bit nauseous, so I started to walk about. For hours I walked in the night. I was thinking… about Ginny… and I was miserable… miserable…. I passed over so many bridges… All the bridges along the Thames… And each time I stopped to look down into the black water, I was afraid of myself… I sort of longed to… So I Disapparated away, out of fear I’d do something stupid, and then I realized I was in Destersbridge… There’s where my mother grew up, you know, and where Professor Snape lives.”

Harry looked at Mrs Steadfast.

“Where is he? Did he leave? He and Ron were here before. Professor Snape can’t stand me, you know. I remind him too much of my mother … and of my father come to that… “

Mrs Steadfast opened her mouth to protest, but Harry went on without paying attention to her, as if he had merely stated a fact.

“Have you been to Professor Snape’s house in Destersbridge? Of course you have, we secured the place this autumn with the Fidelius… I’m sorry… Anyway, I passed by his house last night, and there was actually some lights on, so I guess he must’ve been home. I hesitated to knock on the door, but I realized I still smelled of alcohol and I didn’t dare to… I knew he wouldn’t approve… He’s very sensitive about drinking you know… And of course he’s right, you should be careful… Snape’s kind of always right and that’s why he’s so annoying… Still, could I have some more Firewhiskey now, do you think? I believe I need some more to reverse the effects of all those Relievings… I feel very strange, very strange indeed. My insides are churning…”

“You must wait with the Firewhiskey, Harry. Severus said you’d had enough for a while. You didn’t knock on his door then?” asked Mrs Steadfast.

“No, I didn’t. I realized it wasn’t a good idea. I remembered that Snape can’t bear the sight of me. When we first met at Hogwarts I reminded Snape of my father - you knew my father didn’t you, Mrs Steadfast? From the Aurors, when you were younger? Snape hated James so much that he hated me too, although I was only eleven when I met him the first time. But now I suspect that I remind Snape too much of my mother. He still grieves her – I suppose you read about those rumours that he loved my mother? Well, it’s true, I know that much, although I know almost nothing. I know so very little in fact, because Snape doesn’t want to talk to me about her. Anyway, I’m kind of a trigger for that grief, so Snape can’t be near me, especially when I’m like this, all desperate and uncontrolled. It must remind him of when my mother left him. They went out together the summer before sixth year at Hogwarts. Don’t tell him I told you, because I’m not allowed to talk about it.” Harry swallowed. “I only plague people in my vicinity,” he went on sadly, “I really do, especially Professor Snape.”

Mrs Steadfast shot a quick glance over at the other end of the room where Snape sat in his chair. He was absolutely still but had put a hand over his eyes as if shielding them from too strong a light, although he was in the dusk. 

“So I passed Professor Snape’s house and walked about at random, but there’s a river near his house too, and I was drawn to that black water again, and I was afraid… I’m so afraid I’ll do something, you know, Mrs Steadfast… In daytime it’s not that bad. But in the evenings, especially after drinking… First you have that pleasant effect of relaxation, the dizziness and the carelessness, but then when it wears off, the anxiety mounts even stronger, and what’s possible to control during the days become much darker and so much harder to master in the night.” Harry gasped a little. “I’m afraid of being taken by surprise by myself, you know?” He looked Mrs Steadfast in the eyes. “It all becomes so dead serious at night when you sober up. I’m afraid I’ll do something almost by accident… There’s something inside me who longs to put an end to all this… It would be such a relief… But I cannot, can I? It would be perfidy – because of my mother who died for me. I’m not allowed to disregard that. She wanted me to live on and to struggle - but it’s hard, so hard now since Ginny left. I don’t know who I am anymore, or why I must go on… “

Harry wriggled on the stretcher. One moment he riveted his eyes on Mrs Steadfast, the other he turned his gaze away in shame.

“And I saw myself on the bottom of that river and I was so afraid I’d let myself slide into the black water - like unintentionally - and just let go… Let go…” Harry drew a deep breath. “So I Apparated away from there, once again, and I found myself in the play yard where Seve… where my mother played with her sister when they were children… so I sat on a swing… I don’t know what I was thinking about, and I don’t know for how long I sat there… At last I realized it was near dawn and that I needed to get some sleep. I didn’t want to wake Ron and Hermione up, nor Simmings, so I went to this deserted shed in the outskirts of London. And, I told you this morning, that’s how they found me, but I was on my guard and I caught them… Could I have some Firewhiskey, please?”

“Not yet.” Mrs Steadfast had tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I never realized just how terrible you felt. Well, of course we all knew after Christmas that you were upset, but lately… You behaved well in class, didn’t you? You do well on the training sessions - a bit overzealous, maybe. But this… I had no idea…”

“I need to keep my thoughts occupied…” Harry trailed off before picking up another thread. “I’m so pathetic, you know. When I’m battling, I fantasize about my own death… or his death, the drummer who I don’t even know… And I’m just being pathetic because I fancy a really violent death this time… It’s very unlike the last time, when I prepared the Draught of Permanent Peace… “

“Last time, Harry?”

Harry ignored Mrs Steadfast question.

“And that’s why Professor Snape was right of course - I shouldn’t take part in the battle against the Shiftings, and you were right to put me with Soundy in the background. I’d have gone into it far too brutally. I’d love to be blown to pieces, you know… or I don’t, I’m not sure. I just want to escape from everything. Last time, I didn’t really want to die, I was only in so much pain… And now, now I don’t know if I really want to die or not – I’d like to die by accident, if you understand what I mean? Without having to take responsibility for my actions. So cowardly. I’m simply so angry… I’m so angry at her… Why, why can’t she feel we belong together? But then I think that I’m being presumptuous… Only because I feel that way doesn’t mean that she does, right? I might be completely wrong… The worst is that I do think that Obliviating treatment she took last year has something to do with it. It gives her attacks of anxiety sometimes. She thinks that I’ll die and she gets all wrought up – that means that she loves me, doesn’t it? But she can’t stand to live with a boyfriend who she thinks is going to die all the time. And it happens especially when we are really close, when we make love… When she loses control of herself… I’m sorry if I embarrass you, Mrs Steadfast. I seem to speak far too much…”

Harry widened his eyes and breathed quickly.

“I don’t know what happens to me - it’s like a black animal inside me. It’s eating me, and my blood goes really fast, and I’m full of regret because I want to love that child but it eats me up and how am I to survive?”

Harry gasped.

“It’s the Relieving – it doesn’t wear off as it should. That poor girl had been so abused. I think the reason I feel like this is because I don’t really understand her feelings… And I don’t understand Ginny, either. You know, she asked me… frankly, I’m embarrassed, but Ginny asked me this autumn – and this made me realise how bad it was, but I couldn’t tell anyone at the time because I didn’t know what to make of it – she asked me to stop making love to her, in exchange for just having some light, ordinary, quick sex - that’s what she called it. She thinks that I’m far too serious, too thorough, too complicated also when it comes to sex, but I’m not! I only want to take the time it takes. I do want it to be fun, but I don’t want to rush it. She used to be proud… she used to boast about it, although it embarrassed me when I realised she did… But it had come to a point where she was desperate to avoid… where she didn’t want to awaken the anxiety that the climax brought on, you see. What’s in it for her now, then, I just wonder? What’s the point if you don’t take your time to… to have fun and enjoy the pleasure?” Harry turned his head away. “Sorry, Mrs Steadfast…” he whispered.

“No, no, don’t you worry,” said Mrs Steadfast, only slightly embarrassed. “You’re being a tad too private, Harry, but that’s your condition affecting you right now. I’m not very shy about these things, and I happen to agree with you - sex should be playful, and you should take your time. But you can’t give up, Harry. Ginny’s so young! She obviously has some issues she needs to sort out, but she’ll come back to you before you know it… I think she’s in love with you deep down…”

“You think so? Then why, why is she doing this to me? I let her have her freedom, I never tried to restrain her… I didn’t want to force her to commit herself or anything…” Harry looked pleadingly at Mrs Steadfast.

Suddenly his eyes widened and he gasped with pain and started to talk again:

“And that witch, she was at a point where she didn’t care at all. She simply gave her body up, her mind left her body, sort of, so that she didn’t feel it at all when they abused her… So sad…. So monstrous… But when she became pregnant, she couldn’t stay indifferent any longer, so she began to hope, to long, and then they destroyed the baby for her… So cruel… My sufferings are nothing in comparison, nothing! And locked up in that cave, with Dementors tapestried on the walls, and no one to care for her.” Tears had started to run down Harry’s cheeks. “I thought I was going insane sometimes when I was shut up for too long periods of time in my cupboard under the stairs at my aunt’s, but it was nothing, nothing to Meleonora’s sufferings… All alone – her companions too afflicted even to speak to her… Although, there was someone who was kind to her… in secret… She told me about it, and I can feel it… but so unreliably, it almost made it worse… One of the perpetrators, I think… When good transforms to evil… What horror… What to think?” Harry sank back on the stretcher with closed eyes. ”Now, Mrs Steadfast, I think that you must call for Professor Snape and ask him to give me some more Firewhiskey, because I can feel my heart is slowing down…. and I’m losing pressure… I’m all dizzy now and…”

“Severus!” Mrs Steadfast shouted as she jumped up and stared appalled at Harry’s lifeless body. Snape was at her side in no time at all. She noticed that his hand shook almost imperceptibly and his voice trembled ever so slightly as he Renervated Harry and forced Firewhiskey between his lips.

When Harry woke up, he transited once again immediately from unconsciousness to agitation. He sat up, drew a shuddering breath and started to wave his arms around. Eventually his gaze cleared up somewhat and he fastened it on Snape.

”Sev… Snape… Professor…” he panted. ”I’m seeing things. Can you give me something to take away the visions? They frighten me and Voldemort is coming, I know he’s coming.” Harry practically whimpered. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear his hissing voice… Please remove them… remove these visions.” Harry was gripping Snape’s arm with shaking hands so hard his knuckles whitened.

”I need to go to St Mungo’s and fetch a potion,” said Snape in a strained voice, looking from Harry to Mrs Steadfast.

”No, Severus! I don’t want to be left alone with him. I don’t trust myself to Renervate him on my own,” exclaimed Mrs Steadfast. ”Let me Apparate to St Mungo’s instead. I’ll get what you need, just write it down for me.” Snape pulled a face, but did not protest, and scribbled on a piece of parchment which he conjured up.

”Tell them I sent you and that you want a fresh potion. Don’t accept any of those stale potions they have in stock sometimes,” he told her sternly. Mrs Steadfast nodded and was on her way.

In the meantime, Harry had jumped down from his stretcher and stood on the floor, a bit reeling, and with his wand drawn.

”Give me that,” said Snape. ”There’s only you and me in this room, Harry. You’re safe, I promise.”

”No, no, Voldemort is coming,” Harry was breathing harshly and sweating profusely, his autonomic system still unstable and overreacting. ”Inferi!” he suddenly exclaimed and pointed wide-eyed towards a corner of the room. ”What if they attack?” Every muscle in Harry’s body was taught, and he lifted his wand to be prepared to strike at the invisible creatures. ”They’re waiting. They’re waiting for him!” he panted, and added for Snape’s benefit: ”Be prepared, Sever… Professor. Be prepared. They’re afraid of the light. Dumbledore frightened them off with a sharp, blinding light. In the cave… That other cave we went to just before he… just before you...” Harry grimaced as if in pain. “Voldemort liked caves, didn’t he? Will you help me with the Inferi, Professor?”

“I don’t need to, Harry, because there are no Inferi. It’s a false vision, just like you said yourself just now.” Snape sounded very rational but it had no effect on Harry.

”You must help me, please, I can’t do it on my own. Stop being angry at me, please…. Please…” Harry almost sobbed.

”I’m not angry at you. I want to help you, but there are no Inferi. I’ll give you a potion for the visions, any time now. Please listen to me! Harry! Look at me!” There was something about those imperative words that took Harry off his guard for a moment and Snape managed to remove Harry’s wand from his hand. Harry jumped a little when he realized what had been done, but did not say anything, as if trusting Snape after all. He still seemed to see things in the room, panted and let out stifled plaints. After a while he reverted to trying to hide, crouching and making himself small. He was clearly plagued by his visions. Snape crouched next to him.

“I’m losing it, I’m losing grip of reality, like that time in my cupboard… ” Harry whispered horrified in an instance of relative lucidity. When Snape tried to calm him down, Harry gripped and clenched the fabric of Snape’s arms so hard that his thumbs whitened.

”I’m here, Harry,” said Snape. ”Nothing will happen, I promise. We’re in Mrs Steadfast’s office at the Ministry. Those are only hallucinations created by your overused brain. Look into my eyes. Feel my hands on your arms – that’s what’s real, nothing else.” Snape rubbed Harry’s arms vigorously. Harry mumbled to himself and tried to keep his gaze at Snape who continued to mutter comforting things to him. 

When Mrs Steadfast returned, Snape had to struggle for a while to make Harry understand that he should open his mouth and swallow his potion. Eventually he succeeded and Harry’s mind seemed to clear up from the effect of the draught, although he was still anguished and strung. He got dizzy, probably from a fall in blood pressure, and lied down on Snape’s entreaty. Then, suddenly, his body jerked briefly, in a single convulsion, and he started to speak in a monotonous, gasping voice, as if reciting a premonition:

”The Dark Lord will come back a second time, together with his son. Two must fight them. Two and two must conquer him.” Then Harry collapsed.

When he became conscious after having been Renervated yet again, Harry turned towards Snape and spoke in a weak, panting voice.

“He’s coming back. You must help me fight him when he does. Two – we must be two this time. I need to do it, I can’t get away from it – it’s my destiny to face Voldemort. But I know I’ll need your help. Our powers are well-balanced, you know. We can do the Knight’s move very swiftly because our magic match so well - Soundy told me that’s why. It must be us. You and I have the strongest incentive of all people to fight him, because we’re not as afraid of him as everyone else, and we want to avenge Lily – isn’t that so? Isn’t it? Will you help me, please?”

Affected by Harry’s words, Snape grimaced uneasily and promised again and again that he would help if it was needed, but he did not think it would come to that, but he would help if he could, he promised.

”Voldemort’ll come back… Voldemort’ll come back….” Harry repeated over and over.

“Severus, how long will this go on? Will he make it? Should we go to St Mungo’s?” Mrs Steadfast whispered till Snape.

“Not St Mungo’s!” pleaded Harry, but he had turned paler and had started to look as if in physical pain. He gripped Snape’s arms again, features twisting, and Snape tried to support him. ”Sev… Sever… Professor!” he stuttered. ”I’m sorry… It’s because she calls you Severus all the time, I…. I mean no disrespect, Sir, I’m sorry… Will you help me?”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry - you can call me Severus, I don’t care - should have dropped titles with you long ago - just stupid stiffness on my part… Hang on now, we don’t want to lose you, Harry… Hang on, I promise to help.” Snape actually sounded quite desperate, but Harry collapsed again.

When he regained his senses, he was weak and shivering. Lying with closed eyes, he muttered nonsensically at first, then more and more coherently.

”I lost it once, in the cupboard…” he murmured. ”I lost the sense of reality… It was so scary… Dudley had taken my toy, the only toy that was mine, my tin figure… It wasn’t a tin soldier, but more like an adventurer, or a mountain man… I used to call him the Mountain man… and pretend that he lived inside a volcano… and that he could fly… Dudley had hidden it really well that time… I used to always find it, but this time Dudley had actually given it to one of his friends to hide at their house… I was seven, I think, and when I didn’t find it before bedtime, I panicked and I attacked Dudley… Such a foolish thing to do… Vernon got mad of course and hit me and they locked me up in the cupboard… And I was so scared without my Mountain man! He always kept me company… I talked to him… He made me feel better… But this time… The night was so long… And they didn’t let me out the next day… At one point I started to yell at them and bang at the door and at the walls, but they only went out of the house I think… I don’t know for how long they left me in there… It felt like several days… And I was so lonely… And I lost it… I saw things that didn’t exist… I didn’t know where I was, who I was… When my aunt finally let me out, she couldn’t make me eat or drink… I wouldn’t open my mouth… I had given up, I think… To her vexation, she had to bribe Dudley to bring Mountain man back to me… She put it in my hand, and after a while I woke up from my apathy… I remember the feeling of breathing freely, as if someone had cut some strings restraining my chest, and my mind cleared up strangely… To think of it, I should’ve reaped terrible consequences after that fit, but all of a sudden I was restored… And quite determined never to lose it again… It was my toy which healed me, I’m sure… It had happened several times… It glowed… I’m sure my mother had magicked it in some way to keep me company… It was what happened that summer after Sirius died, as well, I didn’t want to tell you last term, but that’s the last time the toy had to save me.” Snape was looking at Harry intently, nodding slowly, his mouth twitching.

”When you were seven, and the summer after your fifth year, you say?” he asked softly.

”Yes… Both times were in the summer… The summers were always worse… There was no school… They would get irritated by my presence more easily…” 

“I’m sorry. Thank you for telling me.” Snape sounded genuinely compassionate, but looked inscrutable, except that he seemed to ponder upon something. Harry was assailed by aches and restlessness and flung himself back and around on the stretcher.

“What if I’m dying?” he suddenly asked. ”I feel so very strange, as if I can’t rest, as if I will never be able to rest, unless I die. I opened Voldemort’s book last year. It was intended for his son, but I tricked it into opening for me, because I was able to say that I shared the same blood as Voldemort. And I speak Parsel. So the enchantment of the book was probably tricked into believing that I was the son. And the book said that if the son didn’t follow its instructions to make Voldemort resurrect, then a curse would hit him. What if I was cursed that instant I read the book? What if Voldemort cursed me anew?”

Mrs Steadfast looked at him with knitted eyebrows and Snape bent towards Harry to answer him.

”No, Harry, it doesn’t make sense. First, you’re not his son, and second, if I remember correctly from what you told us last spring, the book stipulated a year between the opening and the potential death of this son - whom I personally doubt even exists, because I never heard of it when I was near Voldemort - and it has not yet been a year. My guess - if the case really is that Voldemort had a son, is that he preconditioned his child so that the curse would activate when hearing the voice of the book’s echo. But you had not been preconditioned by any such magic. Voldemort never intended you to read that book. So listen to me: you won’t die now. This is the Relieving acting upon you – the Relieving of the poor witch who was captured, tortured, abused and who carried a cursed child in her belly. You’re having a hard time accepting and understanding the transfer, that’s all.”

Harry’s eyes shone up with gratefulness and relief, but his face was contorted with discomfort.

”If only I could understand her thoughts and feelings,” he said. ”What did she think, what did she feel when she understood something was wrong with the baby? She must have sensed it, right? And it might even have been the father, he who abused her, who did it – that’s the impression I got. It was he who cursed the child, wasn’t it? Because it wasn’t Voldemort himself, he’s been gone too long to actually be the father of this child… It would have tortured Meleonora more than anything to know her baby damaged. Did she start hating it? Imagine having something growing inside you which is evil and which is draining your forces, consuming you… Do you continue to love that child no matter what?”

”If I may, Harry?” Mrs Steadfast broke in and Harry riveted his feverish gaze at her. “If Severus is right, and you need to understand this girl, I might be able to contribute…” She started to tell him about her own pregnancies and the mysteries of a mother’s feelings for her children.

“I’m not easily shaken, you know I’m not, Harry. I’m not called Mrs Steady for nothing,” she said. “But I remember being pregnant… And I was quite young too, not yet twenty… Well, how to explain? You don’t actually see the baby, do you? You only feel it inside your body – those feelings are hard to interpret and mysterious. They easily trigger your fantasies and might scare you. I remember imagining the most ridiculous things… Not to speak of the dreams! Your brain seems to get such a myriad of impressions from your body that it needs to run high speed to process them all, and during the night you have no control whatsoever what it makes of them and it comes up with amazing, and often quite terrifying things!”

Harry focused all his attention on Mrs Steadfast, asked questions and tried to translate his new knowledge into an understanding of those feelings - which were Meleonora’s feelings - that were still cursing through his own body. He could relate to being a prisoner, he could relate to being tortured, but the missing piece of the equation was to understand the young witch’s feelings about being abused and about the child she carried. Harry wanted to know everything about being pregnant; he wanted to understand, and as a result put so many precise and intrusive questions to Mrs Steadfast that she became quite affected. Thinking of her children reminded her of the present state of their halting relationship and she could not help expressing her sadness and regret over their falling out.

“I’m waiting for them to change their minds and to forgive me,” she said. “If they don’t, and things don’t get easier, I need to move back to the US and make a real effort to reach out to them.” Snape looked thoughtfully at her. “My dilemma is Granny. Before she’s gone, it’s difficult for me to leave this island.” Mrs Steadfast drew a heavy breath. “I need to see my children more often,” she said stubbornly. ”I’ll do anything. Not all parents love their children, Harry, don’t imagine that they do automatically, but once the strings of love are there, nothing can remove them. And if you’re the one carrying them in your womb, those strings often start to form already at that early point. I suspect that was the case with Meleonora. She was probably already attached to her child – poor girl, merely a child herself...”

Mrs Steadfast snivelled a little and Harry was immediately alarmed.

“I’m so sorry I upset you,” he said and bolted upright on his stretcher. “I didn’t mean to – I only wanted to understand Meleonora, but I see now that I triggered some difficult feelings of yours, too. I’m so sorry!”

“Merlin, Harry, it’s not your fault! Indeed, you have nothing to do with the problems I have with my children,” Mrs Steadfast replied forcefully. “If anything, it comforts me to have you at hand – you remind me of them in a positive way.”

“But I made you tell me about them. I caused you to stir up memories. It was really thoughtless of me – I only plague people around me. I so blame myself for this!” Harry wrinkled his face with contriteness.

“Really, Harry – I can handle this. I volunteered to speak about my children, in order to make you understand. Stop feeling so guilty all the time!” Mrs Steadfast sounded almost annoyed.

Harry relaxed a little and fell to sleep out of pure exhaustion. Snape and Mrs Steadfast slumbered in their armchairs for a short while until Harry woke them up with speaking in his sleep. The words came out terrified and pleading, devastated.

”No… no… Please! Cederic! Please… don’t, Wormtail, please… My fault… My fault… Sirius… Sirius! No! No… no… It’s all my fault… I lured you there… So reckless… So thoughtless… My fault… It was my fault! Don’t fall, Sirius… Don’t fall… Please!” Harry shouted in his sleep and tossed about. Snape and Mrs Steadfast watched him apprehensively.

”Should we wake him up?” Mrs Steadfast whispered.

”Wait a little, he calms down again, he could use some sleep…” Snape ventured. But only a minute later Harry was moaning again.

”Always my fault… My parents… I’m so sorry… I didn’t want… My fault… Cederic…. Sirius… Snape… Snape!” His agitation mounted. Snape looked at him frowningly. ”Nagini… Get away! Get away! No! Professor! Watch out! Nagini… No… My fault… Snape! The Avada… Through the chest… It’s my fault… Don’t die… Don’t die!” Harry was almost screaming in his sleep now, anguish etched in his face. Snape rose and started to shake him awake.

”I’m here, Harry… I didn’t die, remember? I’m still here… Wake up…” Harry snapped his eyes open and stared at him. A surge of relief reached his face and he gripped the cloth over Snape’s arms with spastic fingers.

”You’re here!” Then the recalling of his nightmare made him sob. ”So many deaths… all my responsibility… my fault…”

”Harry!” Snape growled exasperated. ”You’re not responsible for any of those deaths!”

”My parents… If it wasn’t for me, they would be alive now… It’s true, though… Cederic… If I hadn’t asked him to take the golden cup with me… If I hadn’t been lured away to the Ministry of Magic to retrieve the Prophesy… If I hadn’t been so convinced of the truth of the vision Voldemort was inflicting on me…”

”Stop it Harry, you didn’t kill any of those people… Others did… and you’re not responsible for the circumstances that led to it.” Snape spoke sternly and Harry looked at him with a feverish gaze, body tense.

”Voldemort… and Machiavato… Those killings were mine… No getting away there…” he said in a low strained voice.

”Dark wizards, both of them…” retorted Snape hotly. “They inflicted immense sufferings on people around them… You saved hundreds of people form torture and death by killing them, by Merlin! Get a grip on your oversized conscience, Harry!” Snape’s anger seemed to sober Harry up, and he squinted at Snape and at Mrs Steadfast in a dazed manner.

”I am feeling unduly guilty, am I not?” he said slowly and frowned. ”Or is it her? The witch?” Harry grew livelier and started to gesticulate. ”Am I mixing her guilt with my own? But why should she feel guilty? She was the victim. She was the one being used and abused. She had nothing to feel guilty about? Why’s that? What do you make of it?”

Snape looked nonplussed, but Mrs Steadfast tried to explain to Harry that a victim might very well experience feelings of guilt, even if it’s not rational at all for him or her to do so.

”I can understand feeling guilt for believing you get someone else hurt or killed,” replied Harry. “That’s how I feel about my parents, about Sirius, Fred and all those who died in the battle… Is that what you mean? But Meleonora didn’t get anyone killed, like I have…”

”You didn’t get anyone killed Harry, except Machivato which was perfectly justified…” Snape intervened angrily again, but Harry continued his line of thought without listening.

”Meleonora was herself the explicit victim here. She would be devastated, broken… but why would she feel guilt?” he wondered. Mrs Steadfast sighed.

”It’s a thing about physical abuse… especially sexual abuse…” she said slowly. ”I’ll try to explain to you. I don’t pretend to compare things… What I experienced was just a trifle compared to what the witches in the cave lived, but maybe you’ll understand better if I tell you about my own experience…”

Harry looked at her wide-eyed, but nodded. He really wanted to understand. He needed to understand.

“It was my last year at Hogwarts,” Mrs Steadfast began. “I was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, I was quite good-looking and didn’t lack self-confidence and yet what happened managed to really push me off balance… Most people laughed at it…” Mrs Steadfast swallowed. “It was a boy in Slytherin, a couple of years younger than me, which made it all the more humiliating... I didn’t even know him… He put a hex on me… surprised me in the Great Hall one day, after the teachers left. We were surrounded by only a couple of other students. A hex of invisible hands… prodding, you know… my private sensitive parts… I was unpleasantly surprised, almost panicked when I felt them, couldn’t get away, let out a cry… He laughed… They all laughed… It was all the more funny, I guess, since I already had the reputation of ”steady” and ”steel” at that time. I was bold - I shrank from nothing on the Quidditch pitch.” Mrs Steadfast sounded a bit strung.

“What happened?” asked Harry in a low, compassionate voice.

”I got away eventually, huffed and angry, but I didn’t retaliate… more sort of fled, with a scowl that I wanted to be fierce but that probably only revealed my fear. One evening a few days later, when I was on my way back to the Gryffindor tower from the library on my own, he did it again. I didn’t see him, only felt the invisible hands that prodded and squeezed my body. I was petrified, couldn’t get away. I felt so helpless. I struggled in silence, didn’t even yell for help, it was too embarrassing… At last he let me go.” Harry looked intently at her and listened to every word she said.

”And you felt guilt after that?” he asked slowly as if he was beginning to understand.

”Yes, I did. I know it’s irrational. But I felt really bad. Lost my self-confidence, didn’t eat properly, and was afraid to move on my own. Felt shame and didn’t tell anyone,” Mrs Steadfast confided. Harry shook his head.

”Why?”

”Because you want to understand!” Mrs Steadfast said with emphasis. ”I didn’t know this boy. Had hardly ever spoken to him before. There was no rational reason why he should assault me. And that, Harry, is more frightening than anything. Your brain seeks a reason for what happens to you, and even if finding a reason means putting the blame on yourself, it’s better than to believe you have been subject to a random evil. You want to find a chain of logic, to be able to say to yourself that if only I had not done this or if only I had looked like that, or said this or that instead, this would not have happened. It’s a way of making yourself believe you can prevent it from happening again. Because if there was no reason for it to happen, if it was just random, it can happen again anywhere, anytime and anyhow, right? Random’s much more frightening! Makes you believe that even worse things could happen. Makes you insecure, terrified even.” Mrs Steadfast had tears in her eyes again. Snape looked at her with a curious expression on his face through his draping hair.

”I’m sorry Mrs Steadfast. I did it again. Plague you. Make you remember awful things…” mumbled Harry in a low voice.

”It’s okay Harry,” Mrs Steadfast said firmly. ”If it helps you understand why Meleonora felt guilt… She simply tried to find a logic to what happened to her. Guilt is better than random evil… Although it eats you.”

”What happened to you at school?” Harry asked hesitantly.

”Oh, I was quite out of it for a couple of weeks, endeavouring, I think, to behave in an unprovocative way to prevent it from happening again, until I witnessed him do the same thing to another girl in fifth year. Then I was furious, and I stepped forward to her defence and I hexed him there and then. In my anger I’m afraid that I used the same spell on him that he had used on us and that I twisted his… well you get my meaning…” Mrs Steadfast looked grim.

”Good for you!” Harry said forcefully.

”Yeah, and I’ve never let myself be abused after that, only a bit tortured and Crucioed at times, it’s inevitable, it comes with the job… But I’m quite good at defending myself.”

”Good, so you’re okay then?” Harry asked anxiously.

Mrs Steadfast nodded reassuringly. A new wave of physical symptoms seemed to sweep over Harry and he wriggled.

”Yes,” he whispered. “Meleonora felt guilty as she tried to understand… and she wanted to love that baby but he didn’t let her. She was so sad over it, she knew there was something wrong with it… Maybe she knew she was going to die… Thank you for explaining things to me – I’m starting to get the whole picture now…” Harry spoke to Mrs Steadfast because Snape had taken a few steps back.

”I’m sorry I ask all these questions…” Harry sounded calmer, but regretful. “I need to understand, you see, but I guess I’m too intense… so Ginny says anyway… And she’s right, it’s all about life or death with me… Mostly about death, though… And right here, right now, I realise that I plague you and Professor Snape with these cravings of mine to go to the bottom of everything… Maybe it’s better to leave some things be, but I seem to be unable to do so… I’m so sorry… Because I don’t want to hurt either of you - I like you very much, both of you, and I… I miss the work on Ancient Magic with Sev… with Professor Snape. I haven’t been able to concentrate on that kind of work this spring, and he’s been avoiding me, anyhow… But I miss working with him… I don’t mean to be so difficult… I really miss those parts of my life from before Ginny left me… I wish we could go back to how it was before…” Snape stepped forward from behind Mrs Steadfast, taking the opportunity to reply.

“So do I, Harry… so do I… And you’re wrong in assuming that I can’t stand you… On the contrary, I want to spend time with you. I, too, want to work with you… and I haven’t been avoiding you… Maybe I did before Christmas, and I’m sorry about that… But ever since, I’ve tried to reach out to you, all winter, all spring, all these months…” the eagerness was clearly noticeable in Snape’s controlled voice.

“You have?” said Harry.

“Yes, I have,” said Snape firmly. “I’ve tried to speak to you after class at St Mungo’s but you only ran away… I’ve sent owls to you and asked you about the work on Incantations - messages which you only dismissed… I don’t pretend I’m very good at it… Maybe I should’ve gone about it in a completely different way to make you understand… or maybe you’ve been too wrapped up in your unhappiness.” Snape drew a deep breath as if to steel himself. “I recognise those symptoms…” he admitted in a strained voice. “…and it’s painful to see you live through the terrible rage, the sorrow and the confusion when someone you love leaves you…  But …whatever you’ve done in your anguish, Harry… Whatever you’ve done, you can always rest assured that I’ve done worse in comparison, because… you haven’t joined the Death Eaters in your despair have you? So please, Harry, next time don’t hesitate to knock on my door. Regardless the state you’re in, I will help you, I can promise you that much. And I will never use a nudging mind-modifier, or any kind of altering mind magic on you again. I want to help you and I will… It’s a promise, a pledge – do you understand?” Snape sounded very determined. Harry stared at him.

”You’re really set on helping me, you are… I don’t understand, but thank you so much, Se…. Professor!” he stuttered, betraying both wonder and relief.

Sequent to this, Harry calmed down considerably. He asked to have some Firewhiskey in order to try to sleep and Snape accommodated him. At 3 am, Simmings turned up to relay Snape and Mrs Steadfast.

“He seems to have stabilised somewhat,” sighed Snape in a hushed voice. “The reaction is finally abating. But I’ll sleep in this room, in the armchair over there. Don’t hesitate to wake me up if he deteriorates. Monitor his heart rate. If it slows down to under thirty-five when he’s asleep, call me. When he’s awake, it should be between sixty and a hundred beats per minute, but if he gets agitated it might well go up to two hundred. If it slows down to below fifty although he’s awake and active, you should wake me up, too. You go home and have some sleep, Audrey. That way, at least one of us will be restored tomorrow. You have amazing capacities of recuperation, I’ve seen it before. We’ll alert you on the security watch if we need you.”

Simmings settled next to Harry who was sleeping quite peacefully. Gently, he stroke a strand of hair from Harry’s forehead. Mrs Steadfast looked at him, a little concerned.

“Is everything all right, Emile?” she asked.

“I’m fine. I’ll take care of Harry,” answered Simmings in a muffled voice. ”He’s been suffering for a long time. This is the final crisis, hopefully. I trust it’ll turn to the better after this, for his sake.”

”Try to get some sleep, Severus,” Mrs Steadfast said as she picked up the floo powder and made to leave. Snape who had followed her to the fireplace looked intently at her.

”It was Mulciber, wasn’t it, who did that to you?” he asked in a low voice. Mrs Steadfast drew her breath.

”Yes, it was… Were you…?”

”I never did anything like it,” Snape hastened to say. ”But I knew about it… and I didn’t condemn it… Played it down in front of Lily… who was incensed, naturally… But I sort of defended him by saying it was just a prank…” He stared down at the floor.

”Well, a lot of people did, including some of the teachers, I believe,” Mrs Steadfast said drily.

”I’m very sorry. I didn’t realise what it did to the girls who were subject to his stunts…”

”Are you apologising on his behalf?” said Mrs Steadfast, incredulous. Snape shrank from her a little.

”No, I can’t, obviously. He became a Death Eater later on and did far worse things. I’m apologising for myself… for having socialised with those kind of persons… For having legitimised such behaviour at one time…” Mrs Steadfast shook her head.

”Apparently there’s not only Harry who’s dealing with guilt… You don’t need to apologise, Severus - you have done nothing to me,” she muttered and turned to throw the floo-powder in the fireplace.

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.

Approximately one week after Farrow’s capture, there was a lecture at St Mungo’s about basic organ supporting potions. While speaking to the class, Professor Snape’s gaze seemed to linger on Harry several times. On his way out, Harry hesitated whether to walk up to Snape or not. In hindsight, he had become increasingly self-conscious about what had happened after his collapse that night in Mrs Steadfast’s office, and he did not quite know how to behave in Snape’s presence. Finally, he opted for trying to sneak by and away, but was called back by Snape’s stern voice. 

”Mr Evans! A word please.” Harry obeyed, steeled himself and stepped up to the professor. He shot Snape a quick glance and looked away almost immediately.

“How are you?” Snape had covered them with a Muffliato spell.

“Fine. I’m okay, really,” answered Harry. Snape remained silent. Harry drew a deep breath. “I’m… I’m pretty embarrassed over everything that happened that night after the cave and the Relievings. Everything I said and…” Snape made an exculpating gesture.

“It was part of the disease, part of the side effects. Don’t hassle yourself…”

“Was it now?” Harry sighed, but continued in all honesty: “Anyhow, I’ve decided to take a grip on myself. And surprisingly – or maybe it’s not so surprising – my level of anxiety has sunk after that night. The discovery of Voldemort’s son has given me something else to think about, too. And if only I keep busy with work or with friends, I’m exhausted at night and I sleep better. Ginny doesn’t pop up in my head all the time. I might forget about her for several hours in a row sometimes… “ Harry blinked and swallowed.

Snape turned his head away, but forced himself almost immediately to look back at Harry.

“Everyone’s being very supportive,” Harry went on. “Ron and Hermione, Simmings and his friends… Tonight I’m going to Luna and Josepha’s place. Tomorrow I’m going with Ron and Dean to watch Quidditch – no booze afterwards, I promise. I’ve lost taste for it anyhow. It disgusts me. I must have drunk – what? - three quarters of a bottle that night when I had my attacks? Gross!” he exclaimed with disgust.

“You needed it,” said Snape promptly. “It’s not as if… But it’s wise of you to opt for taking it easy with the liquor. Drinking is a risky habit in general and a treacherous friend particularly in terms of soothing anxiety, because of the angst which will always come back to bite you afterwards,” said Snape.

“Why, yes, I’ve learnt the lesson,” muttered Harry. Silence fell between them again. It was Harry who broke it first. “I’m plucking up the courage to go and visit Neville to tell him that I’m glad for his sake that he got his mother back. I heard she was discharged from St Mungo’s. I really am happy for his sake and I’ll probably call on them this week-end.”

“Good… Good… You’re being brave. I suppose that with everything that’s going on you’ve not had time nor the peace of mind to concentrate on Ancient Magic, have you?” asked Snape tentatively. Harry looked away again.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had time what with needing to prepare in order to visit Farrow at Azcaban. I hate going to that place, having to dodge the Dementors all the time. I’m completely wrought out when I come back,” he confessed in a low voice. Snape frowned.

“Is it really a good idea for you to visit Azcaban? It seems to me you take too much work upon yourself!” Snape looked sternly at Harry. “Because on top of interrogating prisoners at far-off prison islands, you’ve started to do ordinary hours at the Emergency too - that’s what I heard from my colleagues here at St Mungo’s - working night shifts as well?” he said, failing to hide his disapprobation.

“Healer Sheno thought I was ready and cleared it with Healer Solomon,” Harry answered defensively.

“They didn’t observe you having your attack only a week ago. They’ve no idea what you’ve been through!” Snape burst out.

Harry shot him a dark look under his fringe, pressing his lips together.

“Yeah! I know - you don’t have to remind me again - I’m not your…” Snape snapped with darkened face, but checked himself in time. “Look, I’m not trying to interfere. I’m just concerned about your well-being,” he added stiffly in a more checked tone of voice.

“Well, I told you, I’m okay.” Harry tried to dampen his irritation. “And it’s important that I talk to Farrow, don’t you see?” he added.

Snape shrugged but managed to look disapproving all the same.

“I’ll let you know when I get anywhere with the work on Ancient Magic,” said Harry, conciliatory.

“Good,” said Snape, but he didn’t look altogether satisfied as he followed Harry with the eyes as he exited the lecture room.

***

Only a few days later, Harry visited Azcaban for the third time, in order to speak to Farrow. Compared to his initial visit to the prison, he now knew better what to expect, but it was still an ordeal to go through with it. Because of the Dementors, any visiting wizard or witch had their wand out at all times during their stay, having a Patronus conjured up, walking along their side. This wasn’t enough, however, as Harry had learnt during his first visit: Depending on how the Dementors were posted and grouped together, you needed to strengthen the magical energy going into the Patronus at certain intervals, otherwise you risked to have it dissolve and to be approached by the menacing cloaked figures. Any visit to Azcaban was made at your own risk; it was always brief and hurried, and totally unpleasant. Only trained Aurors and Ministry employees with a documented ability of conjuring Patronuses were generally allowed on the premises, even if students at both the Auror trainee program and at the Magical Law program were let in under the supervision of their teachers to practice interrogation techniques. Mrs Steadfast always made sure Harry had company when he scheduled his visits to Farrow. This time, Simmings was with him.

It struck Harry as he made  his way through the edifice, meandering first along the rampart, then along the long corridors of the prison, that Dementors were uncommonly patient creatures. Surprisingly, since nothing was so cold and so lonely as a Dementor, they seemed to prefer to be posted in groups, as if they somehow, regardless of how unsociable they were, needed each other’s company. Hanging very still and patiently in the air, evenly spaced from one another, waves of cold and discomfort emanated from them. Although they made shivers run along his spine, Harry found himself feeling sorry for them, sensing more than understanding that a Dementor represented a huge void - a powerful negative force which was in a way equal to the deepest, most sorrowful and out-of-all-proportions avid longing of a soul.

To his great surprise when Harry reached the entrance of the section where Farrow was kept, he came across Hermione in company with judge Tempatino.

“Mr Potter!” Judge Tempatino greeted Harry with a handshake. The small judge, who had been close to extradite Harry to France last year after his mortal duel with the older Burgess brother in a club in Paris, had gained Harry’s confidence during Snape’s trial late last spring, where the judge had made a complete turn and in the end defended the former Death Eater against almost the entire Wizengamot with his personal career at stake.

“We’ve interrogated Farrow Riddle,” said Hermione to Harry. “Mr Tempatino’s preparing his trial.”

“A difficult and extremely interesting case,” murmured the judge. “The young man didn’t answer in a single word to my questions.”

“Maybe he’s in a bad mood,” Harry muttered. “He usually says a little bit more to me.”

“Why don’t I go back inside with Harry, Mr Tempatino?” proposed Hermione. “I can observe and take notes and report to you should something useful turn up.” The judge shrugged but nodded his assent.

“I don’t see why not. We have extremely little to go on at present, so all information is welcome,” he said. Harry hesitated and glanced at Simmings who shrugged.

“I guess it’s okay,” Harry said slowly. “But we might end up speaking Parsel, you know.”

“It doesn’t matter - I’ll observe his manners. You don’t only speak Parsel with him, do you?”

“No, we go between the languages without really noticing. Well, I notice nowadays. I didn’t use to, before I got rid of… you know…” Because of Judge Tempatino’s and Simmings’ presence, Harry could not talk freely to Hermione about his old curse scar, since Harry and his friends had convened not to make Voldemort’s Horcruxes common knowledge. At the Ministry, only Prime Minster Shacklebolt and Mrs Steadfast knew of their existence, or former existence, because Harry and his friends had destroyed them all in the end, including the one attached to Harry’s soul. The removal of the Horcrux had had many beneficial effects on Harry, one of them being that his eye-sight was restored to normal, another that his concentration on intellectual tasks had ameliorated. It also meant, however, that Parsel was no longer a natural language to him; it was more like a foreign language that he had once learnt and could make use of.

“What has he told you so far?” Judge Tempatino wanted to know.

“Not much…” Harry confessed. ”I do most of the talking. Often he only sits there, as if unaware I’m even in the room. Obviously, he knows that I killed his father – well, I made Voldemort kill himself, strictly speaking… No one can have missed that Harry Potter is considered the conqueror of Voldemort, right?” Harry spoke with irony. “Everyone surrounding Farrow, everyone in his family, have been obsessed with Voldemort for years and they must have spoken of me with hatred. So, he can’t have missed it! Every time I step inside that room, I say my name. Yet, he hasn’t mentioned with a single word the fact that I killed his father. He was so upset about Meleonora’s death, but about Voldemort – nothing. So I don’t know what his thoughts are on the subject.” Judge Tempatino shook his head.

“Be careful young man,” he said. “You never know what’s going on in the head of someone like Farrow Riddle.”

“Well, that’s what I want to try to find out,” Harry answered with determination. “Last time, I told him I knew his father, and told him a bit about my earliest interactions with Voldemort. That seemed to catch his interest. He even responded in a few monosyllables. It turns out Voldemort was harsh with Farrow when they first met. He was only a young teen-ager then and Voldemort in his resurrected form… well… It must have been frightening, don’t you think? I can barely imagine… Anyway, I get the feeling Farrow respects me for having stood up to Voldemort.”

“That might be so… That might be so…” said Judge Tempatino. “But which is his own part in all this, I wonder? What has he done of his own accord that I can charge him with? That’s what I need to find out.”

“It’s a bit risky, Harry, isn’t it – you telling him about yourself? You don’t know what use he’ll make of it,” said Hermione. Simmings nodded emphatically. He had already lectured Harry about caution. Harry looked at Hermione.

“In a matter of fact, it’s risky going inside that cell at all. Are you sure you want to join me?” There was some kind of instinct telling Harry that he did not want Hermione near Farrow. But his reluctance only heightened her curiosity, and he recognized that defiant and determined look of hers from school when she had set her mind on something. Naturally, in contrast with her everyday studies, this was the real thing, and Voldemort’s son no less – of course she was eager to assess him herself. Sighing inwardly and trying not to let his worry show, Harry said farewell to Judge Tempatino and together with Hermione he went through the security procedures to enter the cell.

Farrow seemed duller and more morose than ever. He was slow in his movements and a trickle of drool run down his chin. Absentmindedly the young man removed it with the back of his hand. Harry introduced Hermione, and Farrow looked at her once without saying anything before sitting down, twisting his body so that he almost turned away from Harry, slouching over the side of his chair. Harry reverted to Parsel almost immediately, but nevertheless did not manage to draw one single word from the young wizard.

Harry was speaking of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, mentioning names in the hope that Farrow would betray some recognition as a proof that they had visited the farm and the Pleasure Temple at some time, but Harry seemed unable to provoke any reaction whatsoever.

Hermione who was seated a bit further away changed position on her chair and looked at Harry questioningly. Harry shook his head – he doubted they would get anywhere at all today with Farrow. It might be better to come back another time. He made a last attempt of reaching Farrow by talking about snakes, telling him about Voldemort’s Nagini and asking him if Farrow had met her. It seemed to him that the young boy stirred slightly at the mention of Nagini. Hermione also wriggled a little uneasily on her chair, but had her notebook out and was dutifully scribbling on it while it seemed as if Farrow was glancing at her under his fringe.

Thinking that Farrow might respond if he managed to provoke him, Harry told Farrow about the battle at Hogwarts and about how Nagini had been killed, and… Harry slowed down because Farrow seemed to be muttering something to himself, but the words were indistinguishable. Harry halted altogether and frowned; something was different about Farrow. Harry leant towards Hermione who was sitting to his left and bent forward in order to catch Farrow’s eye.

Suddenly, Harry drew a quick breath and rose with a hammering heart. He stared bewildered between Farrow and Hermione who looked at him with a questioning frown. Without Harry noticing, Farrow had transformed his appearance to his smarter self, and this subtle transfiguration sufficed to make Harry’s blood freeze, partly because of the resemblance to a young Tom Riddle, partly because that was precisely what Farrow had done just before attacking Snape the other day.

“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed horrified. ”Are you okay…? We must get out of here!”

Hermione looked confused and a little scared as she hesitantly rose from her chair.

“Harry, why…?”

“Get out! Now!” Harry barked while he unceremoniously Langlocked Farrow who in turn rose with fury in his eyes.

Simmings who had been standing guard by the other side of the door, noticed the commotion, and opened the door for them. Harry practically pushed Hermione in front of him out of the room.

“Harry, what in Merlin’s name…?” said Simmings.

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione, annoyed and ready to launch into one of her telling-offs, but Harry gripped her by the shoulders and shook her gently, nailing her with his eyes.

“Hermione! He did something to you,” he exclaimed. “He was cursing you – did you feel anything?”

Hermione only shook her head, puzzled and a bit awed by Harry’s behaviour. Harry drew a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, bit his lip, looked away and then back at Hermione. He needed to get his suspicion confirmed.

“Hermione, are you pregnant?” he asked hesitantly.

Hermione gaped a little and stared at him, before she started to colour, a deep red all the way to the hair-line.

“But Harry, how do you know?” she said in a whisper. “It’s so early. Ron and I were going to wait at least another fortnight before we were going to tell. Ron’s been a bit taken by surprise by this – and me too, but… we have adjusted to the thought and…”

“You must have an examination, Hermione – he might have done something to your baby. Some kind of dark magic. We must call for Sever… Professor Snape, at once. Let’s go back to the Auror Office and get hold of Ron. Don’t you realize? You should never have entered that room. If only I had known. Didn’t Ron tell you what he did to that other baby? Didn’t Tempatino and you read up on it before visiting Azcaban?” Hermione lost all her colour in her face and stared at him.

“No,” she whispered apprehensively. “I know that Farrow Riddle was one of two secret keepers of that cave where the torture and the abuse took place, but Judge Tempatino didn’t give me enough time to read up on the entire file before the interrogation. I mean, I was mainly there to learn observation of body language. What has he done? Please Harry, what do you mean? Is our baby in danger? Did he do something? Why didn’t I feel anything then?” Hermione spoke with increasing panic in her voice.

“I don’t know, Hermione. Maybe I’m just overreacting, but let’s have you examined just in case, okay?” Harry tried to check the dread he felt, endeavouring not to scare Hermione even more.

“Tell me Harry, what did he do to that other baby?”

“Not now, Hermione, let’s go back.”

They hurried through the corridors towards the exit of the prison, nearly running into a group of Dementors which made Harry’s and Hermione’s Patronuses extinguish. Simmings saved them by egging his own Patronus on, leaving time for his friends to conjure up new protection. When they reached the court and the Apparition spot outside the entrance, they all felt drained and shaky.

“Are you allowed to Apparate when you’re pregnant?” Harry mumbled concerned.

“Don’t be daft, Harry – how do you think I got here? I’ve read up on these kind of things – I’m not a complete fool.” Hermione had regained some of her countenance. “I just didn’t think… I didn’t think…” Her voice bristled. “I didn’t want the pregnancy to interfere with my studies. I never had a second thought about going to Azcaban. It’s what we do when we study interrogation techniques and…”

“Later, Hermione, later. Let’s go.”

At the Auror Office, they stirred up a bit of a hullaballoo, before they got hold of Ron and of Mrs Steadfast who, however, was fast to catch on. She promptly sent one of her younger Auror colleagues to Hogwarts to fetch Professor Snape as quickly as possible.

“Tell him it has to do with a pregnant witch, and that Mr Potter needs his help,” she sternly instructed the young Auror who obeyed without questioning. “Not that I think you should worry too much,” Mrs Steadfast tried to console Ron who had his arm around Hermione and wore a frozen expression on his face.

Ron seemed both surprised and embarrassed by suddenly being the centre of attention, and genuinely worried about his girl-friend. Ron had not seen Meleonora or the cursed baby with his own eyes, but he had heard Harry talk about it when he suffered the anxiety attack after the events at the cave. Hermione knew even less, but Harry’s strong reaction had frightened her and the general commotion adding to it, she had actually started to cry.

Mrs Steadfast endeavoured to comfort her, all while asking her about the sequence of events at Azcaban, and the possible aggression which Hermione was not even sure had happened. Mrs Steadfast started to shoot Harry doubting glances when, suddenly, they heard Snape’s rumbling voice outside the office.

”Is it too much to ask when you come bursting into my class like that and demand my immediate assistance that you can give a reasonable explanation as to why I am wanted? All you’ve been able to tell me is that it has to do with Potter and some pregnant witch. Why on earth should I be mixed up with such matters? If Potter has got some girl pregnant, he’s old enough to sort it out on his own, isn’t he? You don’t have to go after me every single time there is something going on with Potter. I’m not his father for Heaven’s sake!” Snape slammed the door to Mrs Steadfast’s Office open. “Will someone tell me what all this is about?” he roared.

Snape stopped in the middle of the room and looked impatiently at the persons before him: Mrs Steadfast pulling a wry face, shaking her head, Ron staring frowningly at him, with his arm around a hunching Hermione with red rimmed eyes, and Harry glaring at him with fury. The young Auror who had fetched him at Hogwarts caught up with Snape and shut the door behind them, red in his face.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t know what information to give Professor Snape. I just told him what you said, Mrs Steady.”

“Severus, I don’t think that…” Mrs Steadfast started to say.

“I’ll remind you what it’s about,” Harry interrupted as he walked toward Snape and lifted his wand. Using the reverse Legilimency spell that Snape had taught him in the autumn, he forced the images of the tortured Meleonora upon Snape who, taken by surprise, took a sharp breath and vacillated backwards. But Harry held on, bringing forward the memories of the dead witch’s bulging belly and of the deformed, wriggling, evil-looking baby who sorted from it. Snape’s breathing accelerated, and his features grimaced in shock and disgust at the memory.

Mrs Steadfast tried to intervene by pulling Harry by the arm, but not until Hermione shouted: “Stop it, Harry, you’re hurting him!” did Harry withdraw his spell.

Harry looked terrible himself: angry and nauseated over the memories that he had forced himself to relive while Snape looked as if he was swallowing some bile. Hermione’s face was screwed up in anger as she launched herself at Harry.

“What are you doing, Harry? What are you doing to Professor Snape? You wanted him to help me.”

“He wanted to know what it was all about, didn’t he?” Harry breathed hard. “As usual, he made up his mind beforehand that I had done something rush and foolish and that we called for him without a proper cause. Never – never! - does he grant me the shadow of a doubt. Never does he trust my judgement!” Harry’s voice shook. Snape who had recovered started to defend himself.

“I wanted an explanation… I was torn away from my duty…”

“Well, now you’ve got your explanation!”

“Please, Harry, stop quarrelling. I want him to help Hermione,” Ron said in a hoarse voice. Harry looked at his friend.

“I’m sorry Ron. I’m sorry Hermione.” Harry forced himself to calm down. Without looking at Snape he continued: “Hermione and I were interrogating Farrow today, at Azcaban, and he started to curse her, in Parsel. He transformed to his other Metamorphmagus self, like he did before he attacked you in the arrest, and he whispered things. I didn’t hear him clearly, but I’m sure he was cursing her. Hermione says she didn’t feel anything, though. I didn’t know she was pregnant. It only dawned on me while it was happing… I have felt the last weeks that there was something different about her, I just didn’t know what it was. I took her out of there as soon as possible, but I don’t know what he did to her, if Farrow had time to finish it… if her baby is hurt… It’s very early in the pregnancy - what, Hermione, ten weeks, twelve?”

“Eleven weeks counted from my last period,” Hermione answered in a small voice.

“My apologies, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley. I was… preoccupied when I entered this room…” said Snape, arranging his features into his customary non-committal expression. “Er… First of all congratulations to you both!”

Ron and Hermione looked surprised but acknowledged Snape’s act of politeness with a slight blush.

“Of course I’ll try to help out, offering my expertise on Dark Arts curses, but I must say from the beginning that it might be difficult to produce a conclusive answer in this case. What will guide us mostly is how you feel, Miss Granger, and how the pregnancy evolves. My suggestion is that we go to St Mungo’s Hospital and that I examine you jointly with a specialist in Magical Issues of Pregnancies. Have you had your first pregnancy check-up yet?”

Hermione shook her head.

“You might have an appointment any day now, I suspect?” Snape said briskly, at which Hermione nodded mutely. “Well, do you agree to come with me? I suppose Mr Potter had better accompany us as well, since he’s the specialist in Parsel Magic.”

“That’s not true, I know very little,” Harry objected.

“The rest of us know even less, and at least you have some personal experience from this form of magic, so I’d appreciate it if you’d shoulder the role of expert and do your best without waiting to be pressed,” Snape said a bit waspishly without looking at Harry who recoiled and acquiesced with a nod of his head. He realised that what Snape said made sense in a way.

***

A couple of hours later, Harry, Snape and Mrs Steadfast returned to the Office. Ron and Hermione had left for the Burrow to tell Mr and Mrs Weasley about their expected baby and were confident to receive some comfort there. At St Mungo’s the healers had done their best to dampen the young couple’s apprehensions. The specialist in Magical Issues of Pregnancies had said that everything looked fine from the point of view of the mother’s health and that the baby was alive without visible deformities. To Harry’s fascination, an examining incantation very much like the one Harry had learnt to use last year in order to examine hearts, permitted the healer to visualize a copy of the small foetus outside the mother’s body and to inspect and diagnose it.

Harry had shown Snape - more gently this time - his memory of what happened at the cell in Azcaban as Farrow transformed, and Snape agreed that Farrow did indeed seem to be directing his attention to Hermione, and possibly be trying to curse her. When Snape examined Hermione, however, he moderated his misgivings and said that yes, maybe he felt a faint trace of Dark Magic having been used, but he could not say whether it had produced any damage. He stressed the point that it was a weak trace, but then the baby was very small. They would have to follow the baby up as it grew and see if the trace grew stronger. Harry played along and apologized to Hermione for giving her a fright, corroborating the fact that he felt something but that is was very faint. It was clear to him that even if the pregnancy was nothing that Hermione and Ron had planned, they very much wished for it to come to term, and they had already started to prepare themselves for future parenthood and even longed for it.

“Was I wrong to alert you and to alarm Hermione like that?” Harry went straight to the point, addressing Snape as soon as Mrs Steadfast had closed the door to the office after them. Snape frowned.

“No, you were right to react and to get her out of that room. He was obviously doing something to her and as we have seen the result of what he is capable of doing to unborn babies, I understand that you were frightened for her. The Auror might have waited until I had finished my class, but that’s a detail in the context and I’m sorry I flared up. I don’t like not being informed.”

“I take responsibility for that, Severus, I should have given more precise instructions,” said Mrs Steadfast.  

“It might be nothing!” Harry exclaimed with remorse. “I mean, I might have scared the wits out of Hermione and Ron for no reason at all! And we weren’t even able to say anything helpful to them. I realised you tried to calm Hermione down, Professor.”

“Regretfully we know very little, as you say, and my view is that they will only suffer more if they go about and worry for another six months. That’s why I tried to soften the medical implications… The future will show…” said Snape.

“I felt something,” Harry added miserable. “I felt something faint but clear all the same. There’s something.”

“Maybe you feel it more distinctly than me,” Snape said slowly. “Personally, I’m not so sure. Something has been sent at her, but was it finished, did it take effect? The boy tried to do something, but you interrupted him, didn’t you?” Harry shook his head in frustration and turned around and started to walk impatiently back and fro in the office.

“I know so little about Parsel Magic!” he exclaimed. “I have looked for books – but they’re literally non-existent! Do you know of any Parsel mouth wizard who is on our side, who is not evil?” Harry stopped and looked inquiringly at Snape and Mrs Steadfast.

“He stands in front of me.” Snape smiled faintly. Harry shook his head with a serious expression on his face.

“Another one, an experienced one that I could ask questions, who could teach me the principles. All I know, I have discovered on my own. I need some guidance, and for once you’re not able to give it to me…” Snape’s and Harry’s gazes met again. Snape hesitated before he spoke.

“It’s Dark Magic, Harry. It might be hypocritical of me, considering the amount of time I have myself devoted to studies of the Dark Arts in my days… but maybe you should leave it be?” Snape managed not to sound criticising.

“I don’t intend to use it for dodgy purposes!” Harry exclaimed. “You know that, right?” he added more calmly and Snape nodded. “But there’s Farrow and he practices Parsel magic,“ Harry continued. “Who else but me can check him, understand him? Stop him? What if he escapes Azcaban and starts going about cursing pregnant witches, transforming their babies to what we saw in that cave?”

Mrs Steadfast cleared her voice.

“I give you the assignment, as an Auror - as a trainee Auror on a special mission - to find out as much as you can about Farrow Riddle and about the magic he practices. And I’m the right one to tell you, I’m your boss. I take the responsibility upon myself,” she said.

Harry looked at her gratefully, and Snape eyed her with respect before making a small grimace.

“There is a wizard who lives in the south of France,” he said. “A Parsel mouth, who allegedly declined to collaborate with Voldemort during his first reign. But he did not fight him either. The Death Eaters spoke about it when I was young. I heard Voldemort refer to him with disdain on one occasion, calling him a coward. That wizard lives as an eremite in the Camargue area and I’m not sure that his turning Voldemort down necessarily means that he’s on the good side. He seems to have chosen to stand on neutral ground, or on his own ground, simply.”

“Let me do some research on him before you go and find him, Harry,” said Mrs Steadfast. She paused and they were all quiet for a while.

“Do you mind? I need a word with Soundy before he leaves the office for today? Wait for me, please,” said Mrs Steadfast. Harry nodded and fiddled absent-mindedly with a quill on the desk in the office. He looked troubled, devoid of his usual candour and youthfulness.

“I need to go back and see Hermione at the Burrow,” he said distractedly. “Strange thing as a healer to examine a friend…” he added.

“Something you should avoid as a rule, unless for minor trifling complaints, and in case it’s inevitable always make sure to do jointly with another colleague. Although, sometimes you have no choice,” Snape commented. A short silence followed before he cleared his voice again.

“Harry, we…” he started to say but at the same time Harry lifted his gaze towards Snape and interrupted him.

“What happened between Mr Hatch and you when you were young?” he asked. “We need to know everything about the persons involved around Farrrow and you haven’t told us everything about Hades Hatch - I know you haven’t. And Henna’s father strikes me as a very nasty figure. What did you do to him to make him hate you?” Snape stirred uneasily.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be forthcoming,” Snape said in a tight voice. “I truly don’t know why Hades Hatch hates me.” Harry frowned sceptically. “But whatever I did,” Snape continued reluctantly, “he got his own back. He got his revenge – for whatever he thought I had done- when he came back from France when I was in seventh year at Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned. Mrs Steadfast had told him that the research on Mr Hatch had only given a meagre result. It had shown that he was a pupil at Hogwarts for five years, three years ahead of Snape, one year behind Mrs Steadfast, and that he had left for France with his family to complete his education at the French school for witches and wizards, Beauxbatons. It was the same school his two sons, Marcus and Bellamy, by a pure-blood witch from a wealthy French family, Geneviève Burgess, would later attend.

“What did he do to you when he came back from France?” Harry asked cautiously. Snape hesitated. Harry held his gaze steadily, mutely urging Snape on.

“He turned up at Hogsmeade,” Snape said hoarsely. “I don’t have any proof, but his turning up coincided with certain rumours about me starting to spread… I’m sure it was he who initiated them. The rumours said that I had done things…” Snape’s voice faltered the least little bit, “… terrible things to women…” he tried to specify. “They eventually spread to the school and suddenly, it was all over Hogwarts. It was at the beginning of term when Lily and I were still going out, but when the rumours started to circle at school, not only I, but Lily, too, was questioned.” Harry looked appalled.

“She didn’t believe the rumours?” he said incredulously.

“No, I don’t think she did, really, but we couldn’t agree on how to deal with them. During sixth year we had kept our relationship a secret for the most part… which was problematic in itself. I was in Slytherin, she was in Gryffindor – the fact speaks for itself. She was a Muggleborn and was despised by my friends, whereas I was an odd figure fascinated by the Dark Arts and despised by hers. It suited me to keep our love concealed, but she hated the lying.” Snape drew a deep breath. He seldom talked much about Lily and Harry knew he had to be careful not to interrupt the moment of confidence.

“But those rumours broke you apart?” he asked without looking at Snape.

“I… I don’t know what happened,” Snape said falteringly. “I found myself unable to deal with them. I was angry but paralyzed. Ashamed by the mere accusation in a strange way. I just wanted to hide until it had all blown over. She wanted me to defend myself and she didn’t understand why I wouldn’t. At the same time, I suspect that James worked on her at the Gryffindor tower. I’m afraid to say that he was one of the students who passed the rumours about me on most fervently.”

Harry shook his head desolately and looked away again.

“Lily had always been drawn to James even if she pretended to be annoyed by him. The popular, charming guy who attracted all the girls, the bragging Quidditch player – that spoilt boy who had everything, but who was never satiated…” Snape spoke with vehemence, but managed to dampen himself. “James had his mind set on conquering Lily and she had resisted him for a long time, but when things became difficult between us…” Snape sighed and gestured with agitation. “I’m afraid I behaved irrationally. Lily took the ill opportunity to argue the point of throwing away my books of Dark Arts in order to show everyone that I wasn’t all bad – as if it would have helped remotely to do such a thing with those rumours going about - it would on the contrary only have served to confirm them I think – and I got even more frustrated with her. At the same time my friends taunted me for being bullied around by a Mudblood… All these instances of irritation mixed up catastrophically with my jealousy of James, which I was lousy at handling, I must add... She couldn’t stand it in the end and I do understand her. But we broke apart…” Snape looked miserable yet Harry could not help himself from pressing on.

“If Hades Hatch took pains to destroy your reputation like that, what had you done to him? He must have thought that you had done something to him?” he insisted. Snape took a deep breath.

“I don’t know!” he burst out. “It’s true! I don’t know.” Harry looked severely at him.

“What did you think it had to do with then? You must have wondered, you must have guessed something?” Snape’s breathing quickened.

“All those rumours about abuse and torture…” he said. “Naturally, they reached the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. He couldn’t accept to have a student at Hogwarts who might have committed such deeds without investigating the facts and without deliberating to expel such a student, so I was called up to his Office and interrogated by the headmaster, together with an Auror from the Ministry.”

“And…?” Harry prompted him.

“And I couldn’t give them an explanation, as little as I can give one to you today,” Snape exclaimed. “Hades Hatch lived at Spinner’s End and was three years ahead of me at school. I used to play with him when we were younger. He was the only wizard kid in my neighbourhood that I knew except Lily. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that something happened the summer I turned thirteen, but I don’t remember any details at all – it’s a blank in my memory.  At one point in Dumbledore’s office, the Auror lost his temper and Legilimencied me. I hadn’t yet perfected my Occlumency skills, and I didn’t resist him.”

Harry looked searchingly at Snape who had started to look rather paler than usual, with small pearls of sweat on his upper lip. Harry had seldom seen him like this: Snape was usually cool and detached except for the occasional outbreak of rage - mostly directed at Harry - but this was something else, as if the professor was physically plagued by dwelling on the past events.

“The Auror said…” Snape grimaced and removed a strand of hair that had stuck to his clammy front. “He made Dumbledore understand between the lines, but I got it too, that he thought that someone had erased part of my memory – that’s to say I had been Obliviated. Well, they left it at that. They didn’t press on and I wasn’t expelled, but Dumbledore gave me a warning not to continue my studies of the Dark Arts.”

“You had been Obliviated!” Harry exclaimed. “But why was that? When you were only thirteen… Who did it? It must’ve been a grown-up wizard or witch who did it to you. Have you not tried to find out? Why have you not let yourself be Desobliviated?”

“Because…” Snape’s words came out with difficulty. “Because, I don’t want to know what it was all about!”

“You’re afraid you’ll find out you really did something bad?” Harry guessed. “But you were thirteen! Whatever you might have done, you cannot really be held responsible, and you cannot have possessed magic advanced enough at that age to do something really serious, can you?” Harry objected. Snape answered in a whisper, clenching his jaws.

“He… Hades taught me things. We did nasty things, playing with animals… I’m afraid we might have done something worse… I don’t know… I was so angry at times…” Snape’s voice trailed off. Harry saw before him the dark haired, dark-eyed boy with odd-looking, bad-fitting clothes, unhappy and neglected at home because of constantly quarrelling parents. He looked wonderingly and pityingly at Snape.

“You should try to have that Obliviating spell lifted from your mind or have it reversed in some way. Whatever it was, it’s better to know, isn’t it? And it happened more than twenty five years ago.” Snape shook his head vehemently and looked anguished.

“What if it was true?” he said hoarsely, not able to meet Harry’s gaze. “What if what Hades Hatch said about me was true? If we had done something together? Some act of…? I’ve never been able to watch tortured women without being extremely affected. Lucius always thought I was ridiculous about it. Especially if there was sexual abuse involved, I couldn’t stand it… It might be that I did something all that time ago…”

“Or you witnessed something… You were only thirteen,” Harry tried to remind Snape who had turned his back to Harry, unable to take in the arguments.

At this very moment, Mrs Steadfast came back, and although Snape quickly tried to turn away from her, she caught a glimpse of his anguished face. She turned with force on Harry.

“Haven’t you done enough for today, Harry Potter? What’s the matter with you? Severus is one of the toughest persons I’ve ever met, cool and imperturbable, does not back away from whatever dangerous commission, resists even Kingsley’s attempts of persuasion stone faced. Except for some impatience and fits of fury at times, no one – I repeat, no one – can put him in a state, except you. I think it happens a little too often for your own good. Why are you at him like that? I know he means to be your friend. Why do you plague him?” She spoke indignantly on Snape’s behalf and Harry looked miserable all of a sudden.

“My mere presence upsets him, so I might just as well put him some awkward questions…” he muttered bitterly. Snape had composed himself quickly and turned to Mrs Steadfast.

“Harry hasn’t done anything wrong, Audrey. It was the subject that upset me, not him,” he tried to defend Harry.

“He was mean to you beyond measure before…” Mrs Steadfast retorted, still frowning at Harry.

“I’m sorry I was so brutal with you before, Sever… Professor - I got angry. I was wrong to force those images on you, especially with regard to what you’ve just told me,” Harry said repentantly in a small voice.

“Never mind, Harry. I shouldn’t have presumed… I was wrong, too, to speak like I did. But what Audrey says is correct. You see, I’m quite determined that I would like to support you, and be a friend. Unlike what you said, your mere presence does not upset me.” Snape spoke with determination, and Harry looked at him with suddenly stinging eyes. It felt as if the events of the day were catching up with him, and he realised how much he wanted to believe Snape. But what about…?

“Forget about what I just told you, forget about my past for the moment,” entreated Snape. “Please,” he added as he read the wariness in Harry’s eyes. “Please, Harry, leave it be, and let’s actually try to do something about our mistrustful relationship instead. It doesn’t have to be like this.” Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

“How?” he asked.

“My suggestion is for us to resume our work on Ancient Magic. It seems important to me that you don’t abandon this work, especially because you have been forced to let Parsel magic assume such a large proportion of your attention. Would you not come to see me in my office like we did during the autumn, for us to resume our discussions? Please?”

Harry had not been to the Headmaster’s Office at Hogwarts since before Christmas when he witnessed Snape’s break-down at reading Lily’s note. The doubt and resignation showed in his face, and Snape sighed and averted his gaze but tried again.

“Do you want to come to Spinner’s End then, or do you want me to visit at Grimmauld Place?” he insisted.

“I… I could come to your place,” Harry said uncertainly and continued “Sunday if it suits you? On Saturday I have an appointment with Neville and his mother.”

Snape acquiesced. Mrs Steadfast kept quiet, but she seemed content with the outcome of Harry and Snape speaking composedly together, making a friendly appointment.

Harry’s visit to the Burrow was the most congenial for a long time. Although taking everybody by surprise, it was as if the news of Ron and Hermione having a baby finally dampened the ominous consciousness of Ginny’s and Harry’s separation that had loomed over every visit at the Burrow since it transpired so dramatically that day last December. The family rejoiced in having something else to focus on, and it was not difficult to understand, from Mrs Weasley’s fussing over Hermione, that the matron of the family longed for a grandchild of her own. It had been pretty transparent that she had harboured high hopes for Bill and Fleur ever since their marriage nearly three years ago now, but that her expectations had been disappointed by the young couples’ high ambitions and choices of careers. She had of course in the meantime consoled herself with helping out with Teddy, but from her rosy cheeks and shining eyes when she looked lovingly at Ron, it was obvious that welcoming her first grandchild was going to be one of the peaks of Mrs Weasley’s life.

The visit to Neville and Alice Longbottom at Alberta Longbottom’s house also took place without mishap. Once Harry had acknowledged and articulated his initial impulse of jealousy at the reunion of his friend with his long absent mother, Harry had been able to process his feelings of shame and had indeed come to the conclusion that his reaction had more to do with his own traumas than actually begrudging his friend the peace of mind and happiness he deserved. Relying on these processed feelings, Harry was able to genuinely attend and congratulate the reunited family, and relish in the quiet but intense atmosphere of gratitude and bliss that reigned in Alberta Longbottom’s house.

When coming home the same evening to the lonely room he had once shared with Ginny at Grimmauld Place, instead of brooding and wallowing over his own fate and that of his parents, Harry dutifully set to work to prepare the next day’s visit to Snape’s. He reread his notes from the autumn on Ancient Magic and tried to pick up the thread again. The understanding, the visualisation and the protection of human emotions – that was what Ancient Magic was all about.

Harry could not entirely explain to himself why he preferred to visit Snape at Spinner’s End. Maybe it was the plain muggleness of the area which reminded him of his own upbringing in Little Whinging that Harry found familiar, only Spinner’s End looked older, dirtier and duller. Maybe it made Snape a little more human to Harry, reminding him of the fact that even if Snape was an authority, in charge of Hogwarts and a superior wizard, Snape had, just like Harry, a troubled past. Or maybe it was because Lily had lived in the neighbourhood once, and Harry liked to think of his mother having played in the play-grounds and wandered the streets he was now visiting.

A bit wary of each other, but both eager for their meeting to take place without incidents, Harry and Snape set to work promptly as soon as Harry entered the house that he had fled so suddenly on the first morning of the new millennium. Working was safe with both wizards: reading books, referencing and discussing theories were safe, because in this field they could appreciate one another without fear of misunderstandings. Harry was pleased to find that he could concentrate on the task and that the anger that had been boiling under the surface for so long did not emerge to interfere with understanding the processes of Ancient Magic.

At one moment, after having worked harmoniously for a long while, Snape disappeared into the kitchen to make tea, and Harry rose to stretch his legs. He ended up in front of Snape’s massive bookcases, reading the titles on the backs of the books. He picked one out, opened it and started to turn the pages as if looking for something specific. A short while later, when Snape entered with a tray, he found Harry reading with a deep furrow between the eyes. Snape glanced at the title of the book and pressed his lips together just as Harry looked up and started at the professor’s expression, although Snape tried to rearrange his features into something neutral at once.

“I just… wanted to check something,” Harry said rapidly. “I know, it’s not a nice book – Dark Arts and everything, but…” Harry fidgeted when Snape didn’t say anything. “Listen,” Harry said exasperated, “I don’t know why I’d have to explain myself to you, but it has to do with a patient we had at the ward.”

Snape put his tray down and made a show of spreading his hands in an innocent gesture.

“I have reproached you nothing,” he said calmly. Harry eyed him suspiciously but ended up giving away a short reluctant, snorting laugh, since Snape managed to look back at him with so studied inscrutability that it was comical. Snape smiled faintly and sat down. “Do you want to tell me?” he asked benevolently.

“Ok.” Harry sat down and lay the book carefully on the table at a safe distance from the mugs filled with tea. “It was this middle aged wizard who came to the emergency after having had a vicious fit of seizures at his work at the Ministry. It turned out that he had experienced similar fits of increasing intensity over the past week, always at his work place. This time it got so bad that he hit his head. When he stayed at home, however, he never had a single fit. It made us suspect that he was cursed, maybe by a fellow colleague who didn’t want him there.”

Snape nodded, interested.

“He was admitted to our ward at St Mungo’s, and his head injury was treated, but the healers couldn’t crack the curse. Instead it continued to progress. He started to have fits every time he came out to have his meals with the other patients, then a few days later they came upon him whenever he went to the bathroom. He ended up being bedridden, despite loads of anticonvulsant potions. I was surprised that the senior healers didn’t try to target the curse itself. The head of the department only said that we should wait for the Aurors to catch the culprit responsible for casting the curse, because they had started investigating all the employees at the victim’s office. I hadn’t quite heard of a progressing curse like that and it annoyed me that we were unable to crack it.”

“It’s an interesting, particularly vicious entity of magic,” Snape responded. “I see that you found the right passage.” Snape nodded towards the book. “Have you made out how to counter it?”

“Well, let’s see,” said Harry. He had not had much time to translate his new knowledge of the curse – the book he had been reading contained a detailed description of how to cast it – into deducing how to undo it, but it seemed to him that there was one crucial element. ”There’s a mind-modifier spell at accelerating repeat involved,” he said.

“Indeed, there often is with curses that affect the functions of the human body, particularly the brain, and which are designed to progress and deteriorate,” said Snape, looking encouragingly at Harry. “You’re on the right track.”

“Someone really wanted to plague this guy,” Harry shuddered at the evilness behind the curse and cast a look at the book again, which was full from one cover to the other of such curses. He sighed and pulled himself together. “Right, the cure…” He grimaced, looking under his fringe at Snape. “It’s a matter of knowing in which order to undo that modifier,” he said, “because it takes several steps – let’s see: a time breaking incantation, followed by a spell detaching, or spell separating one…?”

“Both,” said Snape. “They have slightly different effects and are both needed.” Harry nodded.

“Elements of Reducio all along the way, of course,” Harry continued, with eyes half closed, concentrating, “mind-strengthening incantations and membrane stabilizing ones for the neurons and… and the counter of intent?” Harry looked inquisitively at Snape.

“Indeed,” Snape confirmed, “the counter of intent is crucial. You, as a healer, need to introduce the benevolence apt to counter the original spite which fuelled the curse. It appears to me that the counter of intent incantation has many elements similar to these envelopment spells we’re reading about in Ancient Magic, don’t you think? Where you need to find a way to package and condition a human feeling into a spell, so to speak. Interesting!”

Harry found the idea of identifying possible traces of Ancient Magic in modern healing incantations fascinating and they discussed it for a long while.

“Did I get the cure right?” Harry finally returned to the case at St Mungo’s again.

“You got all the elements needed right, but you’d have needed to start with the mind-strengthening incantation before the time-breaking one in this case, otherwise you’d have no chance of breaking the curse,” said Snape. Harry shook his head.

“How is one supposed to make that out?” he said a bit exasperated. “Because of the many elements, there’re so many possible combinations regarding the order in which they’re supposed to be cast!”

“Experience,” Snape said calmly. “I had a lot of that when I served as a healer among my fellow Death Eaters.” Harry raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“I thought you would know,” he answered. “Very few healers have that kind of experience, though. At the time the patient we’re discussing was at the ward – it was some time ago, before we found the Pleasure Temple and all that – I actually suggested to the other healers that we should ask for you to come. I knew you could have helped. But they were reluctant. Said it was only a question of days before the Aurors would catch the culprit and they would be able to break the curse from that end. But in the meantime they let the patient deteriorate, drugging him with strong, yet not very efficient, potions.”

Snape shrugged.

“Of course,” Harry went on, “now that I’ve seen your reaction to when we disturbed you in class when Hermione was cursed – maybe cursed - I do understand my fellow-colleagues are a bit reluctant to call you in…” The professor made a wry face.

“I guess I’ve not made myself very popular among some of the other healers at St Mungo’s...” said Snape. “Or it might be the fact that I was a Death Eater for all those years – it does not precisely inspire confidence, does it?” he added lightly.

“But you never hurt a patient,” Harry stated, but in a slightly interrogative and suddenly anguished tone. Snape raised his eye-brows but was quick to reassure Harry:

“I never hurt a patient at St Mungo’s.” After a short pause Snape continued: “But all those years between the Dark Lord’s first fall and his rebirth thirteen years later, I didn’t put people straight as to my loyalties on purpose. You know why and you know first-hand how few, if any, there were who believed me to be on the side of the good at that time. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that not all the colleagues at St Mungo’s trust me, regardless of my temper.”

Harry sighed and hummed: of course he knew all too well the complexity of Snape’s character and reputation, being one of those persons convinced during all those years that Snape was evil. But that was history now, they had put all that behind them last year. Which did not mean they still did not have issues to deal with, because the old issues of Snape’s loyalty had been replaced by more personal issues which Harry knew even less how to approach. He sighed again. It had been a nice little chat, and productive work with Snape, but it had not exactly been personal, had it? Well, it was time to leave anyway. Reluctantly Harry rose and started to collect his things. Snape was silent but looked as if he wanted to say something more. Harry glanced at him several times, waiting for something to come, but the wizard did not utter a word. More resigned than disappointed Harry drew back towards the door.

”It was nice to work with you, Sever… Professor,” he said politely, but stopped and shook his head angrily at himself.

Snape looked a bit embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, I really mean no disrespect when I use your first name,” stuttered Harry. “I don’t understand why I… It just keeps popping up in my head.” He made a pause before he launched on. “Actually, I do know why - It’s that note that my mother wrote to you... It was so personal… I’ve read it over and over in my head so many times, trying to figure out what it all means.”

Snape started, and opened his mouth to reply, but Harry silenced him with a destitute gesture.

“I’m so sorry, Professor. I know that you cannot speak of it. I already plagued you by pressuring you about Hades Hatch and your childhood the other day, and I know that I shouldn’t mention Lily’s note again, and still I cannot leave it. Maybe it’s no use us seeing each other… I’m bound to upset you. I’m a living reminder to you of things you’d rather bury deep down…” Snape interrupted him in a muffled but determined voice.

“Please Harry, that’s not true, you mustn’t think so. I made that clear in Mrs Steadfast’s office the other day, didn’t I? I want to keep in touch and I want work with you. I want to be your friend - I’ll keep repeating it.”

“But I remind you of Lily in such a painful way! When I was in your Office before Christmas, you couldn’t even meet my gaze. It made you suffer so much!” Harry’s voice went up in distress. Snape drew a quick breath and continued in a pained, slightly stuttering, although still determined voice:

“The grief over Lily… overwhelms me at times… You must understand… I loved her and lost her… I realise that the fact that the grief… engulfs me… to such a point… must seem… aberrant to you. It frightened you to see me like that, I realise that… but it has nothing to do with you… I assure you… I’ve been having attacks of despair… ever since she disappeared… An abyss of Grief suddenly opens in front of me… And I fall into it… Only, I’ve made sure before to be alone when it happens… It was that note… Her hand addressing me… It took me by surprise… I’m sorry that I cannot speak about it… I appreciate your need to understand… And I’m truly sorry I cannot speak more to you about your mother… It all happened before you were born, and I don’t understand the sequence of events very well myself. I’ve been over it so many times, and it’s just an infinite loop of… of doubts, and guilt and… and of lost love…” Snape spoke hoarsely towards the end, almost whispering. Harry averted his eyes and stayed silent a long while before answering Snape in a stubborn, small voice.

“That note was written when I was more than one year old. Please, what did she mean by asking your forgiveness? Why did she write to you like that?” Snape squirmed. His breath was starting to heave.

“I… I guess she might have had a moment of sentimentality… We had been friends… and more…” Snape breathed, and half turned his back to Harry. “I think that she meant to give me some kind of explanation… to say that she was sorry… Because, at one point… at one point we made a promise to each other to reunite… I promised I would leave Voldemort, quit as a Death Eater and she promised me she would leave James… But it did not happen that way… She changed her mind… She married him and they had you… And she never gave me an explanation…”

“When?” Harry insisted in a croaky voice. “When did you make this promise to one another?”

“In the summer,” Snape confessed in a whisper. “The same summer you told us about when James and Sirius were partying by the Riviera. Lily told me James and she had split up. But then, suddenly, a few months later only, they were back together… I… I had an accident that autumn and I was… absent for a while… so I… I never understood her sudden change of mind…”

While talking, Snape had taken a few steps away from Harry and was supporting himself with a hand against the wall. He looked as if he had a hard time keeping himself together. Harry realised that Snape was at the limit of what he could bear to share. Lily’s betrayal, although so distant in time, was still an open wound, and the grief over her death was still crude and unprocessed after all the years.

“I’m so sorry, Sev… Professor,” Harry mumbled. His chest felt tight. “You have such cause to be angry with me. Rightfully angry for intruding once again on your personal life… It’s only that… that it overlaps with mine… And that I, too… I… Since Ginny left, I’ve become more preoccupied with understanding who I am, really… and with understanding my past… And you seem to be there, somehow, in my past, to a much greater extent than I thought initially… But I realise you have such true cause to grieve - you don’t know how much I appreciate that, because… because my mother is gone… completely gone, unlike Ginny… who I still hope… where I cannot help myself from hoping that… I mean, I couldn’t even imagine what I would feel if Ginny was truly gone… and… and I apologise for pressuring you, Sir. I realise you cannot possibly want me around, Professor.” Harry finished abruptly, sounding subdued and withdrawing towards the door, ready to leave Snape alone. Snape drew a rattling breath, let go of the wall, and turned determinedly to Harry.

“Severus… I’ve already told you to call me Severus… I mean it, I would be glad! It’s not your fault, Harry. It’s true, I’ve been angry in the past… because of James… And it’s true that your eyes remind me of your mother’s, inevitably they do, I won’t deny it – they always will… but most of all… most of all… this spring… you do remind me very much – not of James, not of Lily, but of myself at the same age… It pains me more than anything to see what you’ve been going through with Miss Ginny, but I’d like to help you, and if possible spare you making the same mistakes that I did…”

Harry looked down on the floor. His eyes were stinging.

“I’m not very good at relationships of any kind, Harry…” continued Snape, speaking more composedly and matter-of-factly now. “You’re already a much braver and better person than I ever was from the start, so I’m not sure I have much to come with, but I’d like to try…” - Harry looked doubtingly at him - “…if you’ll only let me…” Snape’s gaze bored into Harry’s. “We work well together you and me, and don’t you see, for us to continue with this work on Ancient Magic that Lily made use of is a way of honouring her without speaking of her directly, because I cannot always do that. I cannot…” Snape still held Harry’s gaze. “And contrary to what you seem to think, I am quite clear nowadays over the fact that I want you around. The ambiguity about you is quite gone after this spring. Even if I have to struggle when you confront me, I think that you are good for me, Harry.”

Harry looked at him and shook his head disbelievingly.

“I really do,” Snape insisted. “You… you wake me up from someplace very sombre… You keep me alert… Give me something to… give me a healthy challenge… So, don’t read anything personal into my reluctance to speak of your mother. And don’t flee from me. Come back next week and work with me again, please.” Harry looked at the black-clad, stern and often so difficult-to-read wizard before him, who right now seemed so utterly sincere. Could it be true that Snape actually meant what he said and wanted Harry around? He inclined his head to one side tentatively.

“I’ll be happy to come back and work with you, Professor,” he said slowly.

“Severus,” Snape corrected him firmly. Harry blinked.

“Severus,” he said, and his face broke up in a smile that finally reached his eyes. After a short pause he added in a happier, more boyish tone of voice: “Will you stay after classes and do some training with me one evening this week? It’s been so long since we practiced the Double Knight’s Move?”

“Sure,” said Snape. “I could use some exercise. Been far too lazy lately.” And he gave Harry one of his rare smiles in return.

There were only a few weeks left before the end of term, but these weeks ended up being considerably more harmonic than the previous part of the year, where Harry and Snape were concerned. To Harry, in retrospect, it seemed like a Lethifold had ridden on his back the major part of his first year outside Hogwarts, and that he had only recently shaken it off. The long months of winter and spring were but a blur to him. If the events by the cave and his ensuing illness had worked as a purgatory on Harry, rough but necessary, the reconciliation with Snape functioned as dittany on a wound. When they did the Double Knight’s Move together on the Auror training premises, docking their magic into one another and swirling about in the air, it was as if it fuelled Harry’s confidence in himself, but also showed him that there were people - or at least someone – who could cope with his sometimes overwhelming magical impulses without shying from them, who even seemed to appreciate them, and whom Harry could in a literal magical way lean on.

Harry’s relationship with Ron and Hermione also benefited from the change of focus away from Harry’s misery, over to the unavoidable excitements of a first pregnancy in a young couple, clouded at times, unfortunately, by the worry over the curse possibly cast by Farrow Riddle. Harry made his best, however, to distract his friends from these worries, and doubled his attentions to them. He also renewed his interest in his youngest friends, Teddy Tonks Lupin and baby Sophie Starmed Lovegood: where they had been a great solace to him during his dark period, he was now able to repay their unconscious help with more active and happier participation in their lives.

Harry continued to keep up with all his friends, but was definitely more moderate, not to say restrictive, when it came to the booze. Yet, his friends found him more relaxed, even if the more sensitive among them detected veils of sadness passing over his face from time to time, and the less sensitive still found him a bit absent-minded. As a whole, he seemed to be doing much better, though.

Professor McGonagall had set Harry a new, secret, task, which caused him to call on her frequently in her office at Hogwarts, every time he was there visiting Snape or Hagrid. Harry and Snape had both overcome the chief part of their awkwardness over Snape’s breakdown six months earlier and Harry was able to enter the headmaster’s office without being overly conscious about the scene which had once taken place there. Of course, he was henceforth tactful enough never to mention the episode with Lily’s letter, which was not to say that he did not think about Lily and Snape sometimes and wonder.

*

The Saturday after the end of term at Hogwarts, Harry paid Snape a visit at Spinner’s End and unexpectedly ran into some relatives of Snape’s. Harry apologised profusely for interrupting the family reunion, although it was Harry who actually had an appointment with Snape whose relatives must have called unannounced just before his arrival. Snape looked sour, anyhow, and the atmosphere was a little tense when he introduced Harry to the three guests who were seated with cups of tea in front of them and a small plate with a meagre display of shortbreads on the low-slung table beside the coach, which was the main furniture in the middle of Snape’s small living room.

A man who was considerably older than Snape with a pleasant face which Harry recognised from somewhere rose first and shook hands with Harry. He proved to have an impressing square, tall figure and yet somehow a soft countenance.

“You’re a healer,” Harry said, remembering where he had seen the wizard.

“Quite right, I’m healer Poundher – I do bones, mostly,” he said in a deep voice.

“Of course,” Harry said eagerly. “I’ve seen you down at the Emergency once or twice, when we’ve had these really serious trauma cases – that wizard last month for example who was crushed under a stone wall, which had crumpled because of an attack from their pet Graphorn. I’m so impressed you managed to restore those multiple fractures without resorting to Skelegrow.”

“I make the occasional appearance at Emergency,” the healer said, amused by Harry’s enthusiasm. ”Crushed bones are my speciality.”

“So, you are…?” Harry gestured from the healer over to Snape.

“I’m a cousin of Severus’ mother, on her maternal side, but Severus always called me ‘uncle’. Poor Eileen was an only child, and not a very attaching one at that, I might add, but I kind of liked her. These are my niece and nephew.” The healer gestured at the two younger guests: a smartly dressed girl who looked to be only a bit older than Harry, and a younger boy who was probably seventeen or eighteen. They, too, rose and shook hands with Harry. The girl who introduced herself as Stella Poundher, scrutinised Harry with rapt, almost impertinent interest. It was the boy, called Rudrik, who spoke first, however:

”I, too, am going into healing next year. That’s why I wanted to come along and meet uncle Snape when uncle Poundher said he was coming here.” The boy spoke with a slight accent that Harry could not place. “Uncle Poundher is my real uncle, or half uncle anyway, since my father is a younger half-brother of his. But we’ve actually never met uncle Snape before.” There was a generous use of the word ’uncle’ Harry reflected, raised his eyebrows and looked at Snape.

“Mr Evans is a healer apprentice as well, so you two will be seeing each other at St Mungo’s next term,” Snape said, choosing not to comment on the family connections.

“My uncle calls you Evans, but you’re really Harry Potter, aren’t you?” the girl Stella said shrewdly, smiling insipidly. “I recognised you from the papers,” she added when Harry winced and stared at her. People usually did not recognise him any longer because he hadn’t made more than a handful of appearances in the press, with photo, since the end of the war two years ago, and had always made sure to have his photograph taken when he wore his glasses. Harry looked wonderingly at Stella. Did she colour the slightest, or was he imagining things? He felt uncomfortable, and started to regret that he had entered Snape’s house that evening – he had to remind himself that he was actually on a mission, one that Snape did not know anything about, so he had no choice but to stay put, did he? Harry ended up giving a curt nod as confirmation of Stella Poundher’s statement.

“I had no idea, no idea at all,” Healer Poundher said, looking from Harry to Snape in earnest surprise. “But then I always seem to miss out on rumours at St Mungo’s.” Snape cleared his throat.

“Why don’t we all sit down,” he proposed and his guests obeyed. Harry brought forth a pin chair which stood against the wall and sat down as well. “I’d appreciate if you kept young healer apprentice Evans’ identity to yourself - it’s…” Snape started to say, when they were all startled by the floo calling in the fireplace. Professor McGonagall’s stern voice rang in the room:

“Severus, you are needed at the school as soon as possible, please.” And as an afterthought, she said: “Sorry to disturb you on a Saturday evening.”

“I have guests, Minerva – is it urgent? Students left the castle yesterday – what could possibly…”

“You’re needed – I’ll explain when you get here.” Professor McGonagall interrupted.

A deep crease had appeared between Snape’s eyebrows, and he sought Harry’s eyes out. What was this about, his gaze seemed to inquire, but for once the young wizard’s face was the more inscrutable of the two.

“If that’s Harry Potter with you, bring him along as well,” Professor McGonagall promptly called out. ”I want him here too.” Snape raised his eyebrows. If his young relative had not already spotted Harry’s identity they would have learnt about it now.

“Oh, well, we’ll come through,” Snape said curtly.

“Don’t come by the floo! Go by Apparition and I’ll meet you at the entrance. Goodbye!” And the professor was gone from the fireplace which was promptly extinct from flames.

There was a bustle in the room, since Snape’s guests realised that the family reunion had ended almost before it got started, and that they had no choice but to retreat. Stella was the one who seemed the most disappointed. Snape’s uncle Poundher said:

“Well, we really mostly wanted to wish you a happy birthday, a week in advance, Severus. These youngsters insisted on accompanying me when they heard where I was heading. I hear you’re planning on spending the big day on Iceland?”

“I’m doing my best to escape any excessive silliness because of a mere date,” Snape murmured as he ushered his relatives towards the door. “I will probably be spending the day herding sheep on a mountain, just to prove the pointlessness of it all.”

“It’s your fortieth birthday, my boy, it calls for celebration, doesn’t it?” the uncle said, winking at Harry.

“Of course it does,” said Harry with a slightly mischievous smile, which he wiped off as soon as he saw Snape’s suspicious gaze upon him. “But now, we should leave for Hogwarts,” Harry added gravely, “Professor McGonagall really sounded quite anxious for us to come.”

*

They Apparated straight to the gates and let themselves inside on the grounds. Striding up towards the castle, with a setting sun to their right over the forbidden forest, Snape mumbled to himself and to Harry:

“I don’t like the feeling of this. It might be a trap.” Snape was slowing down, listening to his instincts. “I’m sure it’s a set trap. We should alert Mrs Steadfast straight away.” Snape stopped altogether and started to fiddle with his security watch.

“Severus,” said Harry. Snape looked up, unused as yet to Harry using his first name, which Harry mostly did when they were alone, seldom in front of others. The young wizard drew a deep breath. “I told them you’re not going to like it, and that you’d be hard to fool, but they predicted this, too,” he said, shaking his head, “Mrs Steadfast is going to reply that she’s waiting for you at the castle, you see, and then they will have lured you in anyway.”

“Mrs Steadfast is in on this?” Snape said, frowningly.

“I’m going to tell you everything now, okay? Just so that you’re a bit more prepared when you enter the castle. Knowing you, I think it’s better, definitely better. But they wanted to surprise you. Professor McGonagall’s behind it all – she’s been planning it for months. It’s a birthday party.” Harry smiled tentatively at Snape, spreading his hands - he managed to look very innocent. Snape lifted his palm to his front.

“A birthda… what? You mean the closest staff and Mrs Steadfast?” he said.

“Hmm… A bit grander than that, I’m afraid,” Harry responded and bit his lip. ”More like… a hundred guests… or two…”

“Two hundred?!”

“Let’s say a hundred and fifty. I really tried to keep it down.”

“Because you’re in on it as well, naturally? By all white hot Goblins’ swords, Harry, I don’t want a party!” Snape barked.

“I know, I know,” Harry said soothingly, impressed all the same that Snape had not reverted to Potter-ing him since he was so angry. ”But you’re, you know, quite the celebrity nowadays.” Harry could not help himself from stressing the word slightly. “And I think that you just need to accept it and live up to it. The Ministry was on about doing something in your honour, too, so it would have happened in one way or other – with this you’ll be done with it, kill two birds… and all that.” Harry trailed off and looked a little pityingly at his professor.

”Ministry people!” Snape spat disdainfully. ”To think that I was grateful when there wasn’t such a turn out at the Hogwarts school ball this year. That’s because they counted on coming now, I gather - those social predators at the Ministry!” Harry raised his eyebrows and acquiesced. Snape suddenly looked more rattled than angry.

“Look at me, I’m in no shape to host a party. I’m not dressed for the part, for once,” he muttered irritably.

“Let me,” said Harry. “Just a few spells. And professor McGonagall has got you a new cape. They want to celebrate you, you know, not humiliate you – it’ll be fine.”

Snape let Harry help him spell his outfit smarter, while glancing nervously up at the castle where a suspicious amount of windows had been lit. He seemed to begin to accept his fate this evening and asked:

“Entire staff, then, and Ministry people, who more?”

“Members of the Order, former members, I mean. No one from St Mungo’s though, I managed to put a stop to that. Otherwise I guess your uncle Poundher would have been invited,” said Harry. Snape puffed his cheeks.

“Only good that came out of this is that I got away from that awkward meeting with my relatives! I don’t mind old Poundher, but I’ve no idea why those youngsters turned up,” Snape said sourly, and then, as if a thought hit him, he bored his eyes into Harry’s.

“I hope, by Merlin, and for your sake, there’s no press!”

“No press,” Harry reassured him. “Shall we go?” Snape squirmed and muttered, but started to walk with heavy steps, as if heading towards his execution.

“What was your task in all this, anyway?” he asked irritably. “Tie me up with misty ropes and bring me in at all costs?”

“More… like… appease you… or something” Harry answered reluctantly. “Mrs Steadfast thinks you and me have made such progress in our difficult relationship lately,” he added with irony. “She wants to encourage us.” Snape sniggered in response. “I did rob Professor McGonagall and Mrs Steadfast of their surprise effect by telling you in advance just now,” Harry added, fishing for Snape’s forgiveness.

“Serves them right!” Snape said grimly. He straightened his back. ”Here we go then.”

*

The birthday feast did not turn out remotely as horrible as Snape must have pictured in his mind. Harry even suspected Snape of enjoying himself from time to time. There were awkward moments, of course, and a few speeches too many. The instance when Snape seemed the most affected was when Professor McGonagall addressed him, with surprising honesty and tenderness. All that loyalty that Professor McGonagall had held for Dumbledore during all those years had now been transferred, Harry was sure, to Snape. She offered the headmaster a beautiful gift as well, one that had actually been Harry’s idea, and which he helped her deliver. It was an unusual species of a phoenix bird, of a Siberian breed, with colours in metallic green and silver. Harry could tell that Snape was moved when he accepted it, because he bowed his head deep down, in order for his hair to curtain his features. When he straightened up again, the headmaster was just about composed enough to give a short thank you speech which, however, received an overwhelming thunder of an applause.

True to magical customs, the guests expected to dance after the feast, and tables were pushed aside to make room for swirling couples. Narcissa Malfoy was a guest, although Harry did not see how she was connected with the Ministry, nor of course, to the former Order of the Phoenix. Harry had not spotted her son, Draco Malfoy, who had been involved in the Shiftings’ criminal activities last year and Harry had heard Mrs Steadfast say that she suspected Draco Malfoy had gone into hiding in the US. Meanwhile, Narcissa Malfoy seemed to be doing fine. She had started to approach Snape with allusions and insipid questions, making herself frequent errands up on the podium where Snape stood in conversation with the Minster of magic, Kingsley, the Weasleys and some other former Order members, as well as Professor McGonagall, Harry and Mrs Steadfast. Harry also spotted Madam Womberry, who was another of Snape’s female acquaintances, and who contrary to Narcissa Malfoy, remained seated at a distance, keeping a superior and confident eye on Snape. Mrs Steadfast slung both ladies suspicious glances and seemed to sink into a somewhat sombre mood as the dancing was about to start. Ron and Hermione was already on the floor, eager to be one of the first couples out.

“So where did you find that magnificent bird?” Kingsley wanted to know.

“It was Harry’s idea,” said Professor McGonagall. Harry coloured a little.

“I always thought there was something missing in Professor Snape’s office, it always felt a bit bare compared to Dumbledore’s,” he said. “I realised that a magical creature like this would give it more life, and I suggested this bird specifically. I hope it will be good company for you, Sir.” Harry looked timidly at Snape.

“I’m sure it will,” the professor said. “I’m glad that this species doesn’t burn very often, though - only once a decade according to our groundkeeper. Minerva, you must remember all the trouble Dumbledore had with Fawkes every quartile after he was reborn and needed beak-feeding for almost a week.” Snape and Professor McGonagall shared a quick gaze of tender recollection.

“I remember,” she said softly.

 “This one was reborn only two years ago, so Hagrid told me,” Snape went on. “Our ground keeper has bestowed me with a large amount of advice on how to care for it. I suspect Hagrid will be a frequent visitor to my office now.”

“But how did it get to Scotland?” Kingsley wanted to know.

“Well,” Harry started to explain. “My friend Hermione Granger put me in contact with a person she knew from Durmstrang and who lives in Siberia, Victor Krum, the Quidditch player, you know? He found the bird, and Mrs Steadfast cleared the paperwork at the Ministry so we would be bringing it in legally and all. Krum organised the transport and Hagrid and I…” Harry stopped in the middle of the sentence and stiffened. His eyes widened. “Ginny…” he said.

“What? Oh…” said Mrs Weasley nervously. “Yes, Ginny might be coming tonight. She’s home from France for the summer. We didn’t want to tell you because she wasn’t certain she’d join us tonight. If she was coming she would be late, she said, didn’t want to attend the feast, only the dancing, and…”

Harry did not seem to listen to her. He had turned around and was heading down the podium, making his way purposefully through the crowd.

“What on earth…?” said Mr Weasley.

“By Jupiter!” said Mrs Steadfast.

They watched Harry move even farther away almost to the opposite end of the room, and there, finally, the stunned audience caught sight of what Harry must have seen or felt all the time – a ginger head on a mannequin figure dressed in a slim white dress.

“How… How did Harry know Ginny was here?” Mrs Weasley wanted to know in a faint but shrill voice. “He had his back turned on that crowd! And it’s impossible to distinguish one voice from another over all this racket!”

Mr Weasley’s eyebrows almost hit the hairline. Mrs Steadfast shook her head, puzzled. Snape muttered something about magical signatures, but frowned deeply and went quiet quickly.

“By Venus’ lost moons, I hope this doesn’t abolish the recovery that he has made the last month,” Mrs Steadfast said, giving voice to the preoccupation that everyone felt at that moment. Mrs Weasley rose on her toes to have a better view over the crowd of Harry and her daughter.

“He has… Yes, I think he has asked her to dance… They’re holding hands… Now, they’re dancing…” she exclaimed. “Oh, Arthur, this is wonderful! They’re so beautiful together! Look at them!”

“Yes, dear,” Mr Weasley said, smiling at his wife. “Let’s hope for the best, shall we?” Mr Weasley did not sound entirely convinced but was obviously prepared not to linger on that feeling. “Do you want to follow their example and dance with me, Molly?” The small group descended from the podium and split up.

Several dances later, there was a pause in the music. Snape who had been dancing with professor McGonagall had managed to manoeuver themselves to stop right next to Ginny and Harry, who had been dancing together unswervingly since they met up. Harry had red spots on his cheeks and had his gaze fastened upon Ginny with glowing eyes as if he were spellbound. Professor McGonagall, however, paid no deed to his obvious fixation on his partner. After having exchanged a few polite words with Ginny, the professor reminded Harry that he had promised her a dance.

“You’re so nimble on your feet, and with your magic, Harry,” she said matter-of-factly. ”I remember from last year’s school ball. You cannot deny me the pleasure.” Harry looked rather dazed as he tore his eyes from Ginny and reluctantly stretched a hand out to Professor McGonagall.

”Will you do me the honor Miss Weasley?” asked Snape, and Ginny nodded in surprise. ”I will return her safely to you right after this dance,” Snape said politely to Harry who gave a mute nod as the music started again, and he sailed away with Professor McGonagall.

Trying to make conversation to her former student proved to be hard, however. Harry was inattentive, almost appeared confused. Finally Professor McGonagall gave up.

”You haven’t seen Ginny for a long time have you?” she said and Harry shook his head, turning it from left to right in order to try to fix his eyes on Snape and Ginny.

”You have returned from France?” Snape asked Ginny politely in another part of the Great Hall, while dancing.

“For a few weeks only. The Quidditch season will start again in six weeks, when the tourists will come and watch us play,” she answered. Snape was silent for a short while.

”May I ask what are your intentions concerning Harry?” he proceeded, not able to prevent a stern ring to his voice.

”May I reply that it is none of your business, Professor?” Ginny said lightly. Snape’s mouth twitched slightly.

”I, and others, have been forced to take care of the shattered pieces that your ruthless behaviour left Harry in this Christmas, Miss Weasley. It took the greater part of this term for him only to pull himself together… It was rather going downhills for a substantial space of time, and he’s still…”

”Are you cautioning me?” Ginny said haughtily. ”Harry is strong and can make his own choices, Professor.”

”I agree with you to a point - Harry is strong - and vulnerable - at the same time. It’s remarkable how unharmed his core is with the childhood he’s had and the ordeals he’s been through, but…” Ginny interrupted angrily:

”And I remember a time when you yourself contributed to Harry’s sufferings in a not inconsiderable way, Professor.”

”Spare me Miss Weasley,” Snape’s eyes bore into hers. “I was merely a bad-tempered teacher whom you all loathed. It does the pupils good to have at least one of that kind of teacher, to let out their pent-up frustrations on. I might have gone too far with Harry, though, which I am sorry for now and trying to make up for. But you leaving him really broke him… He has been abandoned too many times, Miss Weasley, in his life. Regardless of his strength, such experiences leave their marks. He even let up his life at one point to benefit the greater good of the wizarding world. He has made sacrifices no one can ask for of someone his age and…”

”And you believe it’s my place… my duty… to stand by his side, do you?” Ginny spat. ”To take care of The Chosen One? He might deserve a loyal, faithful and never swerving tender girlfriend or wife… but what says it has to be me? Who says I must shoulder that part, invest my feelings and take care of the hero of the wizarding world and who, I might add, still is in mortal danger from Merlin knows what criminal lunatics, and who just might be attacked and blown to pieces any moment? Like you implied, death has played an important part in Harry’s life, but maybe I don’t want a role in the same play. Where is my say in this? I am my own person and make my own choices.”

”Of course you do, Miss Weasley. You know I supported your right to make irrational choices once… which I might live to regret, because Harry thinks you suffer from adverse side effects from that Obliviating.” Ginny opened her mouth to retort angrily again when Snape continued to speak with steal in his voice. ”You don’t have to be with Harry, Miss Weasley. If you don’t love him, leave him alone. And I don’t question your right to break up a relationship, but I question the way in which it was done - the humiliation of being swapped for another without forewarning, the suddenness and the careless pretence of according it no importance…” Snape spoke with feeling. A shadow of sadness and desperation flew over Ginny’s face, and Snape narrowed his eyes and locked them with Ginny’s in a spontaneous bout of Legilimency.

He saw her flying at breakneck velocity around a Quidditch pitch on the top of a white cliff with the turquoise sea underneath her, and carelessly almost collide with one of the posts, receiving cheers and hues from the stands… He saw her dancing in a maddening tight crowd with blinking lights… But in middle of the blinking, brief images of her dead brother, Fred, on the floor in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, were insinuated… He saw her drain a glass with a greenish liquor and look up with dazed eyes… He saw her sitting hunched up with a blanket in an armchair in the corner of an untidy room staring at the sleeping figure of a fair-haired man draped in sheets on the bed… He saw her lift a pale and eerie face towards her own reflection in the mirror in a small bathroom – brief images of herself as an eleven-year-old tracing letters with a blooded finger on a wall at Hogwarts flickering before her eyes - and he saw her eighteen-year-old face in the mirror crumple with pain and anguish… Then he saw her again at her broom almost crashing against the ground as she pulled out of a dive…

Snape drew a breath as he pulled out from her mind.

”You… you are not well, Miss Weasley,” he said, frowning with concern. ”Harry is probably right - that Obliviating treatment has only put a lock on your traumas, but they are still roaring underneath. They are clearly plaguing you… You must see to it that you have an anti-treatment as soon as…” Ginny gasped and pulled away from Snape, white in the face with rage.

”How dare you…?” she hissed. ”Leave me alone, Professor. It’s none of your business! I’m just fine!”

The dance was over and Harry and Professor McGonagall were on their way over to them.

“At least be honest with him, and please consider the anti-Obliviate treatment - it’s an accepted procedure in most hospitals nowadays, thanks to the successful campaign of your brother’s girlfriend and others,” Snape whispered hurriedly to Ginny.

”I’m always honest with Harry! At least I’m always honest.” Ginny looked defiantly at Snape, ignoring the second part of his plea. Harry had reached up with them and, sensing the tension, looked worriedly from one to the other. Ginny turned resolutely to him. “Harry, I’m only here for part of the summer. After that I will return to France under the same conditions as I went this Christmas. Just so you know.” A shadow passed over Harry’s face, but he stepped forward and took her hand in his again.

“Let’s hope for a long summer then,” he said in a muffled voice, glancing apologetically at Snape.  “Let’s dance, Ginny.” He led her away, touching her gently, almost reverently.

Meanwhile, the head of the Aurors had turned up at Professor McGonagall’s and Snape’s side.

“Will you dance with me, Severus?” Mrs Steadfast asked, but Snape didn’t answer. He followed Harry and Ginny with a troubled gaze, shaking his head.

“Er?” he said absentmindedly to Mrs Steadfast who had to repeat her question. Snape looked so stern and disapproving when he led her out on the floor that Mrs Steadfast stiffened, and they didn’t dance very elegantly at all.