Harry finished reading the last page of the copied introduction Snape had given him, and leaned back in his chair.

It had actually been quite an interesting read, he reflected, as he put the parchment down on the table with the rest, and then stared into the flames in the common room fireplace.

According to the information in the introduction, added to what Snape had taught him yesterday about wandless magic, Sensitives were able to sense the ambient magic directly, and could tap into and control it without the use of a wand; which explained Snape's statement of being able to do anything with wandless magic that they could do using a wand. The 'flow of magic' Snape had spoken of Tuesday, when he'd first told Harry about the Sensitive's gift, was simply the term used to describe the way in which the ambient magic moved - which it apparently did all the time.

The introduction had also clarified what Snape had meant about differences in the way the magic was sensed. From what it had said, Sensitives could sense magic as though they were using one or more of the five senses (though it had stated that no one ever had more than three). Apparently there was a chapter later on in the book Snape had copied this out of which gave instructions for determining your primary Sensitive sense, and any secondary ones you might have.

Based on how Harry had felt the effects of both the Cruciatus curse and the Levatio Potion, he suspected that his primary sense was most likely touch - though he wasn't certain; the introduction hadn't gone into any detail about the difference between primary and secondary senses, just stated that there was one.

For some reason, Harry found what he'd read vaguely reassuring. He hadn't really thought too much about it - or, at least, he'd tried not to - but when Snape had told him that he was a Sensitive, he'd felt almost as though he were back in second year again, learning that he was a Parselmouth, and the only one other than Voldemort. It had seemed like about the same sort of situation this time, the only difference being that instead of sharing the ability with Voldemort, he shared it with Snape - whom he'd always considered to be almost as bad, until the revelation of his status as a spy back in June.

Either way, the point was that both abilities were rare, and he shared each of them with someone he'd never considered 'good' - whether Snape was on the side of Light or not. It had simply been yet another difference, another thing that made him the 'Boy-Who-Lived', as opposed to just Harry.

However, the fact that there was a published book - more than one, according to some references in the introduction - about the Sensitive's gift made him better, less 'special'. Less separated from everyone else.

It also made him want to learn more.

Hermione would be proud, Harry reflected, amused at the thought of what his friends would say if they found out he actually wanted to study something. Ron would say I was mental, of course...

And he'd be even more convinced of it if he knew that I'm actually starting to enjoy my lessons with Snape. So would Sirius, I bet. Nonetheless, it was true. Harry still wasn't sure what had caused Snape's attitude to change, but - even on Wednesday and with his peculiar mood shifts yesterday - the Potions master had been surprisingly civil to him.

Sitting back up straight, Harry glanced at his watch and sighed. He'd started reading the introduction right after breakfast - having finished his re-read of chapter fourteen yesterday afternoon between the time Snape and Dumbledore had dismissed him and dinner - and it was only ten o'clock. He didn't really want to work on his summer homework at the moment - he had only Divination, Charms and Potions left - but he didn't know what else to do.

Standing up and wandering over to one of the windows, he looked outside - and his eyes fell on Hagrid's hut. Remembering that Hagrid had asked him to look in on Fang, Harry grinned - relieved that he had something to do - and hurried out of the tower.

Harry had been in Hagrid's hut for about fifteen minutes when the door opened and Dumbledore walked in. "Ah, there you are, Harry," the headmaster said, smiling at him.

"Professor," Harry started - and then he felt a sudden surge of alarm. Had something happened? "Is something wrong?"

"What?" Dumbledore blinked. "Oh, no, Harry, nothing's wrong. However," he added, "I'm afraid I must ask you to please return to the castle. It's not entirely safe out here."

Harry frowned in confusion - and rebellion. "But I'm still on school grounds," he protested. He didn't want to have to stay stuck in the castle all day!

"Yes, you are," Dumbledore agreed. "Nonetheless, this hut can be easily seen from the Forbidden Forest, and the Hogwarts Wards do not extend that far. It would be, I'm afraid, all too easy for someone in the Forest to notice you; and even if it wasn't a Death Eater, Voldemort would undoubtedly find out as soon as the Ministry did, which would be soon afterwards, I fear. No, Harry, I'm afraid I must insist that you return to the castle with me."

Harry sighed heavily as he gave Fang a farewell pat and stood up. "Is there really likely to be anyone else this close to Hogwarts, Professor?" he tried. Surely no Death Eaters would be in the area--

"I'm afraid there is a definite possibility, Harry," Dumbledore replied, opening the door and ushering him outside. "Professor Snape spotted three Death Eaters on the far side of the lake, just outside the wards, yesterday afternoon."

Harry's eyes widened at that. "Three Death Eaters?" he repeated, stunned. "What were they doing?" Is that what the 'latest report' Dumbledore mentioned involved?

For a moment, Dumbledore looked as though he was debating whether or not to answer. Then he met Harry's eyes. "It appears one of the caches Voldemort is after was located there, just on the other side of the wards," he replied slowly. "They Portkeyed out just after Professor Snape reached them."

"They didn't see Snape, did they?" Harry asked, suddenly worried.

Dumbledore gave him a stern look. "Professor Snape, Harry," he corrected firmly. Then his tone softened. "And no, they did not. He is quite skilled at remaining unnoticed, as I'm sure you are aware."

Remembering the number of times Snape had caught - or almost caught - him wandering around where he really wasn't supposed to be, Harry nodded in agreement.

"Speaking of Professor Snape," the headmaster continued, "how are the lessons going so far?"

Harry thought very carefully about how to answer this. Finally, as they reached the doors of the castle, he replied, "They're interesting. So far I've mainly been taking notes and answering questions; Sn-- Professor Snape says he's waiting until he knows that I'm fully recovered - which should be next week - before starting practical lessons."

"What have you done so far?" Dumbledore asked.

"We've talked about the definitions of Dark Arts and Dark Creatures, discussed how some of the spells we learn could be considered Dark Arts by my definition if used in certain ways, looked at various potions for defence, talked about characteristics of Dark Creatures based on their environment, and he's explained what wandless magic is and some of its limitations," Harry said. "The potions lesson didn't really go all that well, but the others did."

Dumbledore nodded. "It certainly sounds as though you've been quite busy," he said. "I'm glad you seem to be enjoying them. As for the potions lesson - I think you'll find that they will improve as you continue these sessions."

Harry sighed. "I hope so."

"I'm sure they will," the headmaster replied confidently. "Now, here we are," he added, and Harry blinked in surprise when he realized that the portrait of the Fat Lady was right in front of them.

"We will be having dinner at seven o'clock in the staff lounge," Dumbledore continued, and Harry blinked again. "I will have Dobby show you the way when it is time. Other than that, all I ask is that you please stay inside the castle."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, a bit reluctantly, then gave the Fat Lady the password and walked into the common room.

"I'm glad to see you decided to join us, Severus," Dumbledore said.

Snape ignored the hint of censure in his tone, concentrating on choosing what to have for lunch.

"I wished to inform all of you at the same time that Mr. Potter will be joining us for dinner from now on," the headmaster continued.

Snape froze for a moment, then met Dumbledore's eyes. They were twinkling brightly, making it clear that he was quite pleased with himself about something.

"You can't be serious, Headmaster!" Snape exclaimed out loud.

"Why not?" Dumbledore asked, his tone innocence itself. "There's no reason for him to have to eat alone when we're all here as well."

Snape glared at him, wondering - not for the first time, or even the tenth - if Dumbledore hadn't been in Slytherin when he was a student. Not that he truly believed that - some things the headmaster had done during his tenure, such as the end of the House Cup competition in Potter's first year, would never have been done by a Slytherin - but there were times...

It wasn't all that difficult to see what Dumbledore had in mind. Potter hates Filch - all the students do - and he can't stand Trelawney. Snape had overheard enough conversations between Potter and Weasley about their Divination class to know that. In fact, I'm surprised he hasn't dropped the subject...

Either way, I have no doubt he will be unwilling to sit next to them - which leaves only myself and Dumbledore. He threw another glare in the headmaster's direction. I'll tutor him, and teach him to use his gift, Albus, but I have no intentions of doing anything more. If you want a mentor - or, Merlin save us, a parental figure - for the boy, talk to Minerva. I'm sure she'll be delighted to take on the role. I don't like the brat, remember?

"I expect all three of you to be here by seven," Dumbledore was continuing.

"A student in here?" Filch demanded, sounding horrified.

"Yes, Argus, in here." Dumbledore's tone was firm; he wasn't going to change his mind. Then again, Snape had known that the minute the headmaster had said what he intended. It was very rare that anyone could convince Dumbledore to change his mind about anything having to do with the Potter boy. Merlin knew he'd tried when he'd found out about that blasted Invisibility Cloak...

Both Filch and Trelawney also recognized that tone of voice, and Snape watched with a certain amount of sympathetic amusement as the caretaker slumped in his chair for a moment, obviously disappointed, before getting up and leaving. Trelawney drifted out after him a minute later, murmuring something about 'the poor boy' and her Inner Eye.

"It utterly escapes me why you continue to put up with that fraud," Snape muttered, lifting up a spoonful of soup as he glared after Trelawney.

"Now, Severus." Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. "You know very well she has had two very powerful and accurate predictions."

"Two," Snape repeated. "In the fifteen years she has been here. Doesn't that strike you as somewhat... inefficient?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "She seems to have a certain... affinity... for predictions involving Voldemort. We need that; it could be of great help to us.

"Now," he continued, "Arthur Weasley requested that I relay a message. He said that the ward alarms went directly to the Ministry; they were unable to redirect them."

Snape nodded. "That's what I suspected," he declared. When Dumbledore looked at him questioningly, he explained, "I couldn't find any way that the wards could have been tampered with or taken down without setting off the alarms, and neither Polyjuice nor someone under Imperius would have fooled them. It occurred to me yesterday that perhaps the reason we didn't know the wards had gone down was because the alarms were tampered with, and so didn't go off. None of Mr. Weasley's people would have done that; which means that it would have to have been someone in the Ministry. That theory would only work if the alarms went through the Ministry, however."

"And it seems they do." Dumbledore sighed. "Which means, in turn, that we have a mole in the Ministry; one high enough to be able to tamper with or shut down the alarms without attracting attention. I'll have to ask Arthur if some of his people could start poking around, see what they can find out.

"What about that other research project?"

Remembering the books he'd been reading in the Restricted Section, Snape only just managed to suppress a shudder. "I've looked through every book I can find - both in my collection and in the library - that mentions Dementors, and there's nothing," he reported. "Not one reference to Dementor's skin, and none of the few referencing Dementor's blood match up with enough items on the list."

Dumbledore sighed again. "I don't like having to wait and see," he muttered. "You end up with the most unpleasant surprises that way."

"Unfortunately, I can't find what isn't there," Snape said, shrugging. Not that he didn't mind giving up the search - the taint from some of those books had been making him nauseous again, which was one of the reasons he'd been late to lunch - but he agreed with Dumbledore about unpleasant surprises. It was always far better to be prepared than to be surprised.

Dumbledore nodded, his expression telling Snape that he understood the Potions master's feelings - as much as a non-Sensitive could, that was. "At least we have a likely explanation for the failure of the wards. I had best go tell Arthur," he added, standing up. "What do you have planned for this afternoon?"

Snape leaned back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm still trying to get that protection potion worked out. I'll be working in the Potions classroom."

"Very well." Dumbledore headed for the door. Just before exiting, he turned back to give the Potions master a grin. "Oh, and Severus - don't be late for dinner!"

Snape groaned. One day you're going to go too far, Albus - and then I really will hex you.

"Of course he can't; I'm Sirius," Sirius Black muttered... but it was a reflex reaction, and he wasn't surprised by the fact that nobody laughed. Certainly he didn't feel like laughing...

"I'm completely serious," Mad-Eye Moody growled, glaring at him for a minute. "At the moment, we have no idea why You-Know-Who wanted it, but whatever the reason, he's got it now. Have you found any other caches since yesterday?"

"Two more," Sirius managed to say after a moment. He was still in partial shock. What could Voldemort want with Dementor's skin? The blood was bad enough...

Firmly pushing the question away to puzzle over later, he picked up the map of Metropolitan London and pointed out two spots that were glowing sullen black. "There, by Grosvenor Square in Muggle London... and that one, in Diagon Alley, right by Gringotts."

"Gringotts?!" Remus repeated. He'd been downstairs getting lunch ready when Sirius and Gus had found that one, and had only just come up with Moody.

"Not in Gringotts, but close enough to it that the bank's wards were interfering with our search," Gus put in. "Both caches contain Fire Crab shells."

Sirius sneered; he couldn't believe Arthur had asked Snape, of all people, for help. Then again, of course the greasy git would know what went in Dark Potions...

Moody gave a sharp nod of understanding, ignoring Sirius's reaction. "All right - we'll send people out to get them right now. Keep looking."

"After lunch," Remus put in firmly. "Will you join us, Alastor?"

"No thanks, Lupin - got to get those teams organized. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, the ex-Auror turned and stumped out of the room, heading for the one fireplace in the cottage that was hooked up to the Floo.

"You two, sit down and eat," Remus ordered then, pointing at Sirius and Gus.

"Yes, sir!" Sirius replied, giving the werewolf an elaborate salute-and-bow.

Remus just shook his head in fond exasperation and joined them at the table.

Harry stared up at the ceiling of the Gryffindor common room, feeling uncommonly irritated. He was absolutely, utterly, completely bored!

He didn't want to finish his summer homework just yet - especially if he was going to end up bored every weekend until the start of school. He was going to have to save something for then.

He'd finished both assignments from Snape, and wasn't really in the mood to do any re-reading.

He wasn't in the mood to explore Hogwarts.

What he would have liked to do was fly, but Snape had said he wasn't allowed yet, and he'd effectively promised Dumbledore he wouldn't go outside anyway.

He could always visit the Owlery, Harry supposed - but he was well aware of the fact that he wasn't in a good mood, and he didn't want to irritate Hedwig.

Bored, bored, bored.

He wasn't used to having nothing to do. The closest he'd ever come to that was the summer before his third year, which had been miserable until he'd left; but even then, he'd been occupied with his summer homework and thoughts about how much fun he'd be able to have once he got to the Burrow - which, of course, wasn't an option this year. Other than that, he'd only come this close to boredom during Christmas at Hogwarts; except then there'd always been Ron, and most times Hermione, and they'd generally been in the middle of something. During the rest of the school year, there was always work, and Quidditch, and his friends - not to mention Fred and George's pranks. Over the summers - except for the one before third year - the Dursleys generally kept him too busy doing chores to be bored.

With a heavy sigh, Harry pushed himself up. He might as well risk irritating Hedwig; maybe he would get lucky and spending some time with her would cheer him up.

Standing up, he headed out of the tower and down the stairs.

After five minutes of walking, Harry came to an abrupt stop.

He'd intended to go see Hedwig. He'd meant to go to the Owlery. He'd been heading in the direction of the Owlery.

So why was he standing in the corridor just outside the Potions classroom and Snape's office?

Abruptly he heard the sound of a muffled explosion, and a moment later the classroom door opened and Snape stalked out, frowning. Behind him, Harry could see bright red smoke billowing out from a large cauldron to fill the classroom.

It took Snape a moment to notice him, but once he did, a scowl crossed his face. "You do realize that it is not Monday, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, feeling an additional flicker of irritation at Snape's patronizing tone.

"Then why are you down here?" the Potions master snapped.

Harry knew full well that 'I'm bored' would not be a good answer. It would make him sound as though he were whining, and would only irritate Snape even more. On the other hand, he couldn't even imagine any other reason for him to have come down here when he didn't need to.

"Potter..."

Maybe there's another way to put it, one that won't sound as though I'm looking for sympathy, he thought suddenly, his mind racing. He wasn't sure where the idea had come from, but it was certainly worth a try. "I've finished the assignments you gave me yesterday, sir, and Professor Dumbledore doesn't want me going outside the castle. I was looking for something to do."

The expression that crossed Snape's face at that looked almost... speculative; but it was gone so quickly Harry didn't have a chance to be sure, replaced by the irritated scowl. "In other words, you are bored and looking for trouble," Snape said curtly.

Harry tensed indignantly at that, but before he could protest - the 'looking for trouble' part, anyway - Snape's glare silenced him. "Since you are effectively my responsibility for the rest of the summer, and I would much prefer to avoid having you wreak havoc on the castle, I suggest you follow me," he snapped, and stalked toward his office. Harry followed, doing his best to rein in his own irritation.

"Sit down," Snape ordered as they entered, pointing to the chairs in front of his desk, and then walked over to one of the bookcases as Harry obeyed. He came back with a slim book that - to Harry's surprise - appeared to be a Muggle book, which he put down on his desk in front of Harry. Then he went behind the desk, opened one of the drawers, and pulled out some blank sheets of parchment, a quill and ink.

"Read through this, then copy it," Snape ordered, putting them down next to the book.

"What is it?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"The guide to physical defence that How to Defend Yourself Without a Wand didn't include," Snape said, his tone still curt. "I suggest you pay very close attention; I expect your copy to be word-perfect. If you have any questions, I shall be in the classroom." With that, he swept out.

Copy the entire book? Harry thought in shock. How does he expect me to get that finished?!

Knowing better than to ask Snape that question, Harry sighed, picked up the book, and turned to the first page. Read through first, then copy, Snape had said.

With any luck, it would at least be an interesting book.

Then he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, as he remembered both yesterday's shocking revelation, and what had happened this afternoon.

He'd been checking the volatility of certain ingredients necessary for the potion, and three of them, when combined, had proved to be explosive. He'd come out into the corridor to get away from the smoke until it cleared, and had almost tripped over Potter, who'd been standing just outside the classroom door with a confused expression on his face.

The boy's answer to the question of why he was down here had been intriguing, more because of how he'd chosen to say it than what he'd said - although the latter had been interesting as well. But the 'how' had given Snape the distinct impression that perhaps Potter's Slytherin traits weren't buried that deeply after all.

When Potter had said that he was looking for something to do, it had only taken Snape a moment to make his decision. As he'd told the boy yesterday, he planned to start a physical training routine this coming week. Setting Potter to copying out the book would give the boy some basic information about the physical training he was going to be doing; it would also serve the purpose of getting Potter accustomed to doing copy-work. Snape didn't want to give him any of the books on the Sensitive's gift to copy until they'd had their first lessons - there was too much of a chance Potter might decide to try something without proper preparation otherwise - so this had been a good compromise.

Besides, it would keep Potter occupied for more than just today - which would be all to the good. 'Potter' and 'boredom' were not a good combination.

Putting the cauldron away on the shelf behind his desk, he walked through the connecting door from the classroom into his office.

Potter was still sitting in the chair where Snape had left him, copying onto a piece of parchment with apparent care. He leaned forward to re-ink his quill; then stopped, and turned around to face Snape.

"Yes, I see we will definitely have to work on your awareness and reflexes, Potter," Snape said, walking over. "Luckily, some of the exercises described in here should be of assistance." And penmanship, he thought to himself, taking in the messy scrawl that covered the sheets of parchment, familiar from four years of reading Potter's essays. Yes, penmanship lessons would definitely help - if only myself and the rest of the faculty.

"Which ones?" Potter asked, leaning forward in a display of interest.

"You will find out once we begin," Snape replied. "Now, it is almost seven o'clock, and the headmaster expects us both for dinner. I suggest you take your copying," he gestured dismissively at the almost illegible sheets, "back up to your dormitory beforehand. I presume you were told where the staff lounge is located?"

Potter looked somewhat startled at that. "Um... Professor Dumbledore said he would send Dobby to bring me," he replied. He hesitated for a moment, and then plunged forward and added, "'Us', sir?"

Gryffindor impatience, Snape thought with a certain amount of disapproval, particularly when he already knows he will discover the answer shortly...

"Yes, Potter, 'us'," he confirmed. "I would hurry if I were you; the headmaster will expect you to be prompt."

Potter looked somewhat irritated by the fact that Snape hadn't answered his implied question, but gathered up his copied sheets and headed for the door.

"Potter!"

Yes, that was unmistakably irritation Snape saw in the boy's eyes. He really was too easy to read, and Snape reminded himself to add correcting that to the training schedule. "Have you finished your copying?"

"No, sir," Potter said curtly. "I'm on chapter three."

A fairly reasonable place to be, considering that he'd been copying for over four - almost five - hours. "Very well. Should you find yourself... 'looking for something to do' tomorrow, I will expect you down here to finish." He then looked pointedly at his office time-clock. "You have less than fifteen minutes, Potter."

The boy's mouth tightened, but he didn't say anything in response - just walked out.

Yes, definitely impatient, Snape reflected thoughtfully, as he put the book back on its shelf and began to neaten his desk. That is one Gryffindor trait that Potter could well do without, especially when he combines it with his courage and gets reckless. Perhaps developing what Slytherin cunning he has will help temper it, before that recklessness gets someone killed.

Snape was fairly sure Potter had at least some cunning; looking back on the past four years, he could now recognize that the boy's successes were not entirely due to Granger's assistance, Dumbledore's covert support, and pure dumb luck; nor was only Gryffindor courage involved. In fact, he suspected that the 'creative thinking' he'd been so pleased about was actually a manifestation of that cunning - which was all to the good. Creative thinking could help solve problems before they became too serious; cunning, properly applied, could prevent those problems from occurring in the first place.

However, based on their tutorial sessions over the last week, it was obvious Potter didn't use that cunning instinctively, or even naturally, but only when he was forced into it. Snape had realized that Tuesday, when he'd still thought it was simply the ability to think creatively. And just as he'd planned to bring that out more, now he had to figure out how to develop Potter's cunning - and his instinctive reliance on that cunning.

I need something to challenge him; to force him to rely on his wits and cunning, as opposed to letting him use his courage, luck, and power, Snape thought, as he started toward the faculty lounge. Something that will force him to rise to the challenge, while continuing to teach him Defence...

The idea that suddenly struck him made him smile. This Muggle saying I definitely know: "killing two birds with one stone"... - and he was still smiling when he reached the lounge.

"Right on time, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully. "I'm glad to see you're looking forward to dinner."

His smile had undoubtedly been what prompted the comment; and a glance at the table explained why the headmaster had said it, causing the smile to vanish.

Dumbledore was seated at the head of the table, as always, with Trelawney on his left and Filch next to her. The only other places available - since the table shrank or grew as the headmaster needed - were the two on Dumbledore's right. Snape had been rather neatly trapped; he now had no choice but to sit next to Potter, one way or the other...

I should have just left my desk alone, Snape grumbled to himself as he walked in, glaring daggers at the headmaster.

A whisper of sound from behind him caught his attention, and he turned to see Potter follow the house-elf Dobby into the room.

Potter looked around, displaying a great deal of interest - and then his eyes fell on the table, Snape, and the smiling Dumbledore.

Snape could tell the instant the boy realized what Dumbledore had done, and he smiled again - rather grimly, this time. "Are you just going to stand there, Potter?" he demanded, moving forward and claiming the seat opposite Filch.

Potter said something to the house-elf - who promptly disappeared - and then walked forward slowly, reluctance clear in every movement.

"Yes, do come and sit down, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore encouraged him, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.

"Thank you, sir," Potter said quietly, taking the seat.

"Now, shall we see what the house-elves have prepared for dinner tonight?" Dumbledore clapped his hands once, and the centre of the table filled with food.

It was a rather quiet dinner, all told, and Snape was very much aware of the unease felt by the boy next to him. Potter was silent - except when Dumbledore asked him direct questions, generally about what he'd been doing during his free time - and rather fidgety. In an effort to avoid that awareness as much as he could, Snape focused on Filch's usual complaints about Peeves, sparing a glare or two in Dumbledore's direction every time Potter's fidgeting became too obvious to ignore.

Harry spent the entire dinner feeling horridly uncomfortable: trying to make sure he ate enough, while at the same time ignoring Trelawney's mutterings - and when had she arrived back at Hogwarts? - Filch's complaints, and Snape's presence.

He'd been hoping, when Dumbledore had said 'we', that it would mean only himself and the headmaster. When Snape had mentioned it, Harry had then thought it would only be the three of them, and they might talk about his lessons, or the visions.

He'd been disabused of that idea almost the minute he stepped inside the staff lounge.

Dumbledore, Trelawney and Filch had already been seated, and it had been obvious that Snape had only just arrived. Equally obvious had been the look of irritation on Snape's face, directed - Harry thought - at Dumbledore. He figured it was probably because Snape had been given no choice but to sit next to him.

Harry really wished Dumbledore hadn't requested this; despite the fact that the headmaster was talking to him, the general atmosphere reminded him far too much of meals at the Dursleys'. He would have much preferred to just eat his dinner up in the common room, as he'd been doing since Monday. It certainly would have been a lot less awkward, and, he thought, probably would have irritated Snape less as well.

Once dinner had finished, Trelawney and Filch both left, leaving Harry alone with Snape and Dumbledore.

"A very pleasant dinner, don't you agree?" Dumbledore commented, leaning back in his chair and smiling in satisfaction.

Harry blinked, utterly confused as to how Dumbledore could have considered that 'pleasant' - unless, of course, he was referring to the food. Not that Harry could really remember what he'd eaten, since he'd been too uncomfortable, but the house-elves always made delicious meals.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Snape didn't look to be any more in agreement with Dumbledore than Harry felt.

"Now," the headmaster continued, "Severus, I need to speak with you concerning some paperwork. Harry, please remember not to leave the castle, and I will see you here tomorrow night at seven for dinner."

"Couldn't I just eat in my common room, sir?" Harry asked - trying his best to convey that he really would prefer that, without actually pleading.

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, then sighed. "For the rest of the summer, I would prefer you to have dinner here on the weekends," the headmaster said firmly. "During the week, however, you may do as you like."

Recognizing he wasn't going to change Dumbledore's mind about this, Harry nodded, stood up, and headed out.

Rather than going back to Gryffindor Tower, however, he started walking toward the Owlery. He really had meant to go see Hedwig this afternoon; and since he now felt better than he had - despite the uncomfortable dinner - she would hopefully be pleased to see him.

"Very good, Malfoy," he said. "You are certain that you were not seen?"

"Yes, My Lord," Malfoy replied. "Dumbledore was not there, and we did not cross the wards."

"Very good," Voldemort repeated. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out what looked almost like an ordinary piece of dark grey leather, save for the fact that it repelled the eye. "With this, the blood, and what Avery will bring, the first phase of my plans will be complete."

He beckoned, and Wormtail - his silver hand gleaming in the moonlight - scurried forward. "Place these with the rest," Voldemort ordered, handing him the bag.

"Y-yes, Master," Wormtail stammered, trembling, and then hurried out of sight.

"Tell me, Lucius," Voldemort continued, returning his attention to Malfoy, "has Karkaroff been located yet?"

Malfoy hesitated for just a moment, and then answered, "No, Dark Lord."

"No?" It wasn't really a question, and Malfoy flinched as Voldemort's wand was aimed at him. "Crucio."

It was over a minute before he stopped, and it took Malfoy another few minutes to recover. Once he had done so, he continued his report as though nothing had happened - aside from a faint trembling in his hands. "He has not returned to Durmstrang, or to his family estate. No one has seen him since he fled from Hogwarts at your Summons."

Voldemort looked rather displeased. "He must be found, Lucius. You will make that your first priority," he ordered, as Wormtail returned.

Malfoy bowed low, and was about to take his leave when four figures appeared in the centre of the circle of Death Eaters. One held a large bag - much like the one Wormtail had taken away - and two others held the fourth between them.

"My Lord," the one with the bag said, in Avery's voice, holding it out, "here are the items you required."

Voldemort gave a sharp nod, gesturing for Wormtail to take this bag as well, and then his red, slit-eyed gaze slid over to the fourth, limp figure. "What is this?" the Dark Lord demanded, pointing a skeletal finger.

"We were in the process of removing the contents of the cache when a Ministry team Apparated in," Nott - who was holding the figure's right arm - said.

"The others are dead," came Crabbe's voice from the left, "but Avery thought you might like this one." Together, he and Nott tossed the figure at Voldemort's feet.

The blue hood fell off as the figure landed, revealing the face of an elderly woman. Voldemort smiled - the pleased smile - again. "Very good, Avery," he said. Pointing his wand, he murmured, "Enervate," and watched as the woman's eyes opened and she moaned.

"Well, well, well. Arabella Figg," Voldemort said, his tone gloating. "Quite a pleasure, I'd say."

The woman's wide eyes stared at him for a moment, and then she tried to scramble backward, only to be stopped by Nott and Crabbe.

"It's been such a long time," the Dark Lord continued, his smile widening. "Aren't you pleased to see me? I happen to be very pleased to see you."

"Go to hell," the woman spat at him.

"Now, now, that wasn't at all well-mannered," Voldemort scolded. "I expected better. Crucio!"

Arabella Figg screamed as the Cruciatus curse hit. Voldemort held it on her for over two minutes, laughing as the pain-filled screams rang through the air. He removed it and waited a minute or so for her to realize it had stopped as the pain disappeared. Then, once the screaming stopped, he gestured again. "Infligo!"

A bleeding gash appeared across her chest, and she whimpered. Voldemort's smile widened further; the Cruciatus curse had weakened her resistance to less potent - but occasionally more amusing - curses.

"Bracchium Torqueo!" he added, pointing first at one arm, then the other - and his Death Eaters snickered in amusement as Figg's arms twisted in their sockets, dislocating her shoulders and breaking both upper arms.

"Yes, I am very, very pleased to see you. I owe you a great deal, Arabella Figg," the Dark Lord declared. "A great deal of pain, and torment - and screams. Scream for me again, my dear... Crucio!"

Finally, after fifteen minutes of alternating the Cruciatus curse with more... physically damaging ones, her screams began to die - because of damage to her throat, not because the pain was any less. Voldemort frowned, the expression on his barely-human face one of disappointment. "Only fifteen minutes..." He shook his head. "They just don't make Aurors like they used to - and those they did make appear to have gotten much weaker. A pity - I was actually looking forward to a bit of a challenge.

"Ah, well... I suppose we can't always have what we want." Pointing his wand at her, the Dark Lord smiled again. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry woke up to the sound of his own screams.

Gasping for breath, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and groped for his glasses. He felt shaky and chilled to the bone - except for his scar, which was burning - but he knew it wasn't entirely due to the effects of Cruciatus. He had felt the same way after... Cedric...

A large part of it was the curse, however, and as he managed to slip his glasses onto his face, he picked up his wand and whispered, "Lumos," before digging in his bedside table drawer for the phials of Levatio. Selecting one, he opened it and quickly drank the contents.

The chill eased somewhat, but not completely; and as Harry looked down at himself, he realized his hands were trembling. Voldemort had cursed Lucius Malfoy, and then he'd repeatedly cursed Mrs. Figg for some time before...

Oh, Merlin... Mrs. Figg is... He couldn't say it, couldn't even think it. It was impossible. Mrs. Figg was Aunt Petunia's neighbour, with the house that smelled of cats and cabbage; she was the woman who babysat him when the Dursleys went on trips... she couldn't be--

But Snape had said she was a witch - though Harry had never seen her do any magic, not even after he'd started at Hogwarts... And Nott and Crabbe had said she was with the Ministry team sent to retrieve the caches - which meant that she was one of Mr. Weasley's people... And Voldemort had recognized her, said she was an Auror...

He had to get hold of himself.

Taking a deep breath, Harry let it out slowly, then took another one. Getting hysterical wouldn't help, couldn't change anything - what he'd seen had already happened. Now he had to decide what to do about it.

His hands were shaking too badly to write properly, and he didn't dare take another dose of Levatio without checking with someone - he vaguely remembered both Dumbledore and Snape saying something about multiple doses being dangerous... And... and... someone should be told. Dumbledore needed to know that... that... Mrs. Figg was...

Without having consciously made a decision, Harry found himself pulling on his dressing robe and shoes, and slipping out past the Fat Lady. He hesitated for a moment, then started toward the dungeons. He wasn't sure why he was going to Snape, rather than directly to Dumbledore... It just felt right.

And I need to know if I should take another dose of Levatio, he thought numbly, as he passed the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, Harry realized once he'd reached the dungeons, while he knew where the Potions classroom and Snape's office were - as well as the entrance to the Slytherin dorms - he had no idea where the Potions master's rooms were. He couldn't just go roaming around the dungeons, looking for rooms labeled 'Professor Snape'; it didn't work that way - and anyway, the dungeons were cold, and he was still feeling the chills from the Cruciatus curses, and...

"Potter! What are you doing down here at this hour?!"

Harry had never been so glad to hear Snape's voice before in his entire life. Turning to face the Potions master, he blurted out, "Voldemort killed her!"

Snape grabbed his hands, and Harry blinked at him. "Calm down, Potter. What happened?"

"Vision," Harry said. He was aware that he sounded rather strange, almost incoherent, but the chill and the shaking were getting stronger. "Voldemort... he... h-he killed... M-Mrs. F-Figg!"