"Very well," Severus intoned. "Go to the common room now, all of you. We will discuss this more later."

A chorus of, "Yes, sirs," and they were gone.

Teddy looked at Harry sidelong as the three of them went back down to their common room. "Why'd you tell him that?" he asked.

Harry bit his lip and shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"Why'd you lie to the Professor?" Millie asked. "He wouldn't have--"

"Wouldn't have what?" Harry interrupted. "Taken a million points off us? Given us all detention forever?"

Millicent sighed and tucked the end of a long strand of hair into her mouth to nibble at it. "Well, yeah, okay. He might have. But he's gonna be worse when he finds out what we really did."

Harry nodded. He knew that. "Don't worry. I'll take the heat for it."

Teddy rolled his eyes. "Oh no, you don't. We didn't tell him, either, and you're not going to take all the blame on your own."

"But it was my fault. If I hadn't--"

"Don't, Harry," Millie interrupted. "Don't blame yourself."

"Well, but it's true. You both should've been at the feast."

Teddy stopped them, putting a hand on Harry's arm. Harry held himself very still, even as Teddy said, "But we weren't. We were with you, because you're our friend, and we wanted to be supportive today. You know, and stuff."

Harry nodded slowly. "Okay. Yeah, all right." He shrugged, not accidentally dislodging Teddy's hand, but Teddy didn't seem to notice, or mind, if he did. "But I'll tell the Professor what happened. Later."

Millie shook her head with a sly smile. "No, you won't. 'Cause I have an idea."

With identical raised eyebrows, Teddy and Harry gave her the Look. But she refused to say any more, just kept that smug little smile all the way back to the dungeons.

---

The three of them huddled at a corner table in the Slytherin common room, sipping hot chocolate and talking in low voices but not actually whispering. Whispering tended to attract attention, according to Teddy.

"Okay, so all we have to do is stick with the plan," Millie said. She took a long drink of her cocoa and gave Harry a pointed look. "And that means you can't go and do anything heroic."

"What do you think I am, a Griffindork?"

Teddy snickered, pausing in the process of stacking pumpkin pasties in a lopsided pyramid across his end of the table. "Well, you did leap on the troll's back . . ."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ted-dy," he said in an almost whine, "you were there. You know I didn't."

"But you do have terribly Gryffindork tendencies," Millie put in. "Rescuing that other kid's Remembrall, chasing bludgers, you know, things like that."

"Maybe I'm only dorky when I'm on a broom?" Harry suggested hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe." She didn't look convinced.

"Great," Harry huffed dramatically, and put his head in his hands. "Even my friends think I've gone round the bend."

"No, no," Teddy said with mock concern, and patted fingers sticky with pasty on the sleeve of Harry's robe. "You're fine. Just a bit . . . lionish."

Millie laughed. "Hopefully he'll ask to see us all together again. It'll be easier that way."

"Easier to lie," Harry said and sighed. "To Snape. We're all mad."

"Don't worry about it," Millie insisted. "Nothing can go wrong."

---

The only thing that Harry could think when Snape called him into his office after class the next day was, How could Millie have been so wrong?

Snape glared at him from behind his desk, with Harry perched on the rather uncomfortable chair in front of it. "Explain."

Harry stared at his hands. Snape could see his thoughts and memories with just a look, he remembered from one of their earliest encounters, and he was not going to give the man that opportunity. "Explain what, sir?"

The professor's hand slapped the surface of his desk, making Harry jump off his seat. He eased back on slowly, trembling. "Do not play me for a fool, Potter! I know very well that your story about last night's events was more than half fabrication. I do not know why your friends find it necessary to lie for you as well, but I will not have it!"

"They didn't lie!" Harry's hands clenched into fists as he glared at the professor. "They didn't say any--"

"Lies of complicity, Mr. Potter, are just as despicable." The corners of Snape's lips curled up in a sneer. "Would you care to rectify the situation now, or would you rather all three of you face the consequences?"

Harry swallowed hard. With a silent apology to Teddy and Millie, for going against their wishes, he nodded. "I'll tell you. But please, it wasn't their fault."

Snape held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded sharply. "If I am satisfied with your rendition, I shall not pursue any punishment for your cohorts."

"Okay." Harry nodded. "We were in the common room during the feast. But then the Bloody Baron came in, looking for me, I think, and said we had to stay in there. I asked why, and he said there was something dangerous set loose in the school, but not what it was. He told me I would be safe in the common room."

"And you decided it would be in your best interests to disregard his warning?" Snape's voice had dropped to a whisper, a very dangerous whisper that Harry recognized at once as something he had no wish to prolong.

"Um . . . well . . ."

"Answer the question!" the professor snapped.

"Yes, all right?" Pain flared in Harry's palms, and he looked at his hands in curiosity, to see his nails had bitten into the flesh hard enough to draw blood. Frowning, he shook out his hands and said, "I disregarded him. I knew Hermione was in the bathroom; I'd heard someone at lunch say she was upset and crying in there and had been since morning. And so, I knew she wouldn't know about any danger."

"You should have sent word to a teacher--"

"I asked the Bloody Baron to go warn her, and he wouldn't! He said he had to keep an eye on me." Harry drew a deep breath and looked down again. His confession came out in a whisper. "So I figured he could keep an eye on me while I went to find Hermione."

Snape was silent so long this time that Harry almost thought he had not heard what Harry had said. When he finally looked up again, it was to find Snape staring at him, looking not angry per se, but very disappointed. His heart clenched. Angry he could deal with, he was well used to making people angry. But he did not want to disappoint his Head of House.

"Sir?"

Snape slowly shook his head. "I cannot believe, after all we have done to try and keep you safe this year, that you would put the Baron in such a position. That you would so endanger other members of your House, as well, with no regard for their safety or well being."

Feeling his face grow hot, Harry dropped his head again. Shame washed over him in a heavy wave. He hadn't been thinking of it that way, only that he had to rescue Hermione. Save her, like his own mother had saved his life, ten years before. But Teddy and Millie could have gotten killed, because of him and his stupid heroics. Maybe Millie was right. Maybe he was too much of a Gryffindork.

"I'm sorry, sir," he whispered.

"I should hope so," Snape said, his voice still soft and disappointed sounding. Harry flinched. "But sorry is just not enough."

"No, sir," Harry agreed. He steeled himself and looked up at the professor, needing to face his punishment head on.

Snape stared at him, his dark eyes unreadable. One long finger traced his lower lip as he stared, and Harry was sure he was going to get detention for the rest of his life. But then the professor sighed. "You will write another essay, this one on the topic of why you deem your life so worthless you would throw it away without thinking about the consequences."

"I'm not worthless!"

A spark of something ignited in the professor's eyes. "No. You are not. Which is why we shall explore why you seem to not care if you live or die."

Confused, Harry could do nothing but glare at the man, but Snape seemed not to care, or notice. "How long?" he asked at last.

"At least three feet. Due Monday evening."

Bastard. That would take him the whole weekend to write. And he didn't even know what to say.

"Tomorrow," Snape said, in a more normal tone of voice, "you and I will take a little trip." He rose from his desk and turned away, fiddling with a jar of something on one of the shelves of potion ingredients.

Harry squinted at him. "What? Where?"

"There is a place I believe you need to see. Be here, in my office, at 8 am sharp. Dress warmly." A moment's pause, then, "You are dismissed."

Startled at the abruptness, as well as the command to be ready to go on a trip the next day, Harry jerked up out of his chair and was half way to the door before he even realized what he was doing. Snape seemed to be paying no attention to him now, and Harry was grateful. He didn't know how he was going to make up for his latest mess, but he figured the essay would be a start. He just wished he had some idea of what to write. He wasn't worthless. And he wasn't trying to throw his life away on stupid things. Was he?

As he went down the corridor toward the common room, where he would meet his friends before dinner, the Bloody Baron floated up next to him.

"I did not tell him, young Harry Potter," the ghost said at his elbow.

Harry nodded. "I know. He just seems to know things."

"He is very concerned about you. He would be very upset were anything to befall you an he could prevent it."

Great, guilt and shame. "I know," Harry said miserably. "Do you know where he's taking me tomorrow?"

"I do not." The Baron floated along in silence until they were just outside the portrait to the common room. "I would suggest you tell him the rest of what happened, Harry Potter."

"Before he finds out on his own, you mean."

The Baron regarded him, head titled a little to the side. "Not at all. I believe he thinks he has the whole of the story now and will not search for more details. But it is my opinion that he needs to know the kinds of magic of which you are now capable."

"That spell? But I don't even know where I learned it."

"Because you did not learn it, not in the normal sense of the word." The Baron paused, and looked away as if uncomfortable. "The spell is one we used when we fought together."

Harry gaped at him. "I didn't . . . I don't . . . How?"

"That is a very good question, and one I hope you will ask your Professor Severus Snape."

With a sigh of resignation, Harry nodded. "All right. Tomorrow though, okay? I don't think . . ." He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Snape's office. "I don't think he wants to see me just now."

"Tomorrow will do, Harry Potter." The Bloody Baron gave him the smallest of smiles and a slight bow. "I shall see you anon."

Harry nodded in return and went into his common room. He did not look forward to telling Teddy and Millie how he had ground their plan into dust. Nor was he looking forward to writing an essay on why he thought his life was worthless. Stupid, sodding bastard.

---

The next morning was Saturday. The Bloody Baron accompanied Harry to Snape's office, and left him there. Though he often wanted the Baron to leave him alone, mostly because he felt like he so little time to himself, Harry almost wished the ghost would stay with him this time. But he wasn't afraid. Of course not. Not of Snape.

Of course not.

Still, it took him a minute to gather his courage to knock on the office door. He hadn't had such a hard time of it since one of his early detentions. And the barked, "Enter!" Harry eased the door open and slid inside.

The Professor, wearing a black, heavy looking cloak and dark gloves, looking him up and down. Harry glanced down himself at his attire. He'd worn wool trousers and his new winter cloak and boots, as well as gloves, his green and silver Slytherin scarf, and a knit hat that covered his ears, as well as his scar. "Acceptable," Snape said. "Do you have your wand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and pulled it out of the inner pocket of his cloak.

"Good. Keep it ready." Snape held out a small, half-crushed matchbox.

Harry stared. "What's that, sir?"

Snape shook the box impatiently, as if he wanted Harry to take it. "Portkey."

"Er . . . what's a portkey?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, then his mouth twisted with a sigh. "I forget sometimes," he said in an undertone, "that--"

"I was raised by Muggles." Harry scowled. "I get that a lot."

Snape lifted one eyebrow. "I imagine you would, in Slytherin." He twisted his hand sharply to indicate the matchbox, and when he spoke again it was in his lecturing voice. "A portkey is a Wizarding method of travel, moving people and sometimes objects quickly from one place to another, without the danger of splinching or the need for a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. They are thus heavily regulated by the ministry." Harry didn't bother asking what a Floo was, figuring he'd find out eventually. "It can be a bit disorienting for novices, but I will be with you, so you should not have any trouble at the other end."

"Er, thank you, sir." He wondered if this portkey was regulation, but decided not to ask. If it was, he would look like a fool who thought his teacher would do something illegal, and if it wasn't, he'd be in on the illegal something. The situation was a no win, for him, unless he kept his gob shut.

"Now, take hold of the box, Potter, and don't let go."

"Yes, sir." Harry reached for the matchbox, curling thumb and index finger around his end. He looked up into the fathomless eyes of his professor, who had drawn his wand and had his own fingers wrapped tight on the other end of the box.

"Portus," Snape said, and there was a sudden lurch in Harry's gut, strong enough he was glad he had skipped breakfast, and felt as if a giant hook had snagged him right behind his navel and jerked him backwards through his own spine. Wind whooshed in his ears, louder than when he was on a broom, but unlike when he was flying, he could not tell up from down or left from right, but kept falling, falling . . . sideways?

The sensation continued for some time, which felt almost like forever, but could only have been a minute or two, and then he was definitely falling down and toward the ground, which rushed up to meet him. Harry braced himself for impact with the ground, but instead of smashing to his death, he just felt a rather soft bump. The feel was like going downstairs and thinking there was one more step, only to find you had already reached the bottom. Jarring. That was it. Harry stumbled from the non-step, and fell to one knee. His stomach lurched again, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight to keep from spewing.

"Easy there, Potter," Snape said, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Harry flinched violently, and the hand went away quick enough he didn't have to shove it off his shoulder. Feeling his face redden with shame, even in the sudden cold of outdoors, Harry forced himself to his feet. "Sorry," he mumbled and opened his eyes. "I'm all right, though."

The professor's eyes were unreadable, and his expression was that careful blank that Harry hated to see. But then Snape just nodded, and turned to start walking along a path in front of them. Harry could see they were in a dense copse of woods, thoroughly overgrown but for the narrow footpath . . . which might have even been merely a game trail. The air was very cold, despite the autumn sunlight that managed to creep through the canopy, and Harry's breath escaped his mouth in white clouds as they walked.

"Where are we, sir?" he ventured after a few minutes.

Snape didn't answer, but led him around another bend in the path to where it opened up into a clearing of sorts, with a small building off to one side that looked like a church. Snape moved to the right so Harry could join him, and gestured again, this time to what was all around them.

Gravestones. Hundreds of them.

"A cemetery?" Harry asked. "Why did you bring me here?"

"You have never been here before." It was not quite a question, but Harry answered it anyway.

"No. Should I have?"

Snape's dark gaze took on an irritated cast. "I would have hoped so. But . . . no matter. You are here now. This way." Once more he led the way, this time across several rows of plain white markers, and then some taller, marble affairs, one with an angel with outspread wings, and then a wide obelisk with a star on top.

Finally, the professor stopped, in front of some marble headstones that seemed at first glance like many of the others. His face went unnaturally still as he stared at the marker.

Harry followed his gaze to see what he had never imagined to see on an outing with his Head of House: His parents' gravestone. It had their names, and the date they died, and an inscription on the bottom that read:

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

His parents lay beneath this cold and unforgiving ground. His parents, whom he could not even remember, except in dreams or nightmares. He had never been here before, and could not understand why he was here now. "Why . . ." Harry swallowed thickly. "Why'd you bring me here?"

Snape's voice was very low as he said, "I thought you might want to see where they were laid to rest."

Harry could not meet his gaze. "You've been here before?"

"Only once. For their funeral. To say good bye."

"To my parents?" He frowned and glanced over at Snape. "I thought you hated them."

"No, Harry," the professor said quietly. There was an edge to his voice that had not been there before, but Harry could not figure what it could mean. "I did not get along with you father, it is true. But I did not hate your mother." The tall man shook his head and turned away from the gravestone and his dark eyes were bright, almost shiny. "Far from it, in fact."

Harry drew in a sharp breath. "You were friends? With my Mum?"

Snape nodded again, and Harry, hardly daring to hope, could feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest. "I was."