Erin left the bathroom in the hospital wing and approached her bed with a bundle of clothes in one hand and a plastic bag weighted down with the few toiletries she had purchased in the other. She had just had a shower and was now wearing the new jeans she had bought, along with a modest round-necked, long sleeved knit shirt in a mint-green colour and a new pair of trainers. All of the clothing had been pulled off racks and shelves in a discount department store in about twenty minutes flat and though everything fitted and was comfortable, nothing was very expensive, or very fancy.

She placed the bag and clothes on her bed and then joined Harry, her face breaking into a smile when she heard him laugh. Madam Pomfrey had found him sitting beside Erin’s bed earlier and she had sent him back to his own, saying it was Professor Snape’s orders that he remain in bed for a while longer. His enforced bed rest definitely rankled, but at the moment he was happy because he was playing with Pumpkin. The cat was sitting on her hind legs on Harry’s chest, pawing at the air, batting at a length of red ribbon that Harry was dangling from his fingers.

“You’ve really bonded,” said Erin, her smile widening at the sight of the black cat and the black haired boy. She sat down on the side of the bed and leaned forward to muss Harry’s hair. She ignored the fact that Harry’s cheeks reddened following her gesture. Pumpkin finally grasped the narrow length of ribbon between her front paws and she lowered herself onto her haunches, chewing her prize but finding it wanting; she discarded it and butted her head against Harry’s hand instead.

“She’s great,” said Harry, tickling the cat under her chin. “I love Hedwig and all, but you can’t really play around with an owl.”

“Talking about Hedwig, Harry. Has she turned up yet?”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, she turned up yesterday while you were in London. She had a letter from my friend Ron Weasley. I suppose after…after…” he stopped and swallowed past the lump that was suddenly blocking his throat. “After she got back from her hunting and found Privet Drive reduced to rubble, she went to the Burrow looking for me.”

Erin squeezed his hand where it lay on the cover. “The Burrow?”

“Yeah. That’s where the Weasleys live. It's the name of their house. It’s in Devon and I’ve stayed there before, so that’s why she would have gone there looking for me.” Harry was now twirling Pumpkins discarded ribbon between his fingers, keeping his eyes studiously away from Erin’s face.

“Where is she now?” asked Erin.

“In the owlery. She only stayed for five minutes, to give me Ron’s letter and make sure I was OK. It’s a long flight from Devon.”

“You think?” said Erin in an exaggeratedly sarcastic voice. She wanted the happy Harry back, even though she knew that that elevated frame of mind would probably be temporary. She felt pleased to see Harry grin. They talked together for about fifteen minutes while Pumpkin, fed up with trying to commandeer their whole attention, jumped lightly to the floor and started to explore the hospital wing.

Wanting to get Harry’s mind off of recent, horrific events, she asked him about Hogwarts: how big it was, how many students attended, how many teachers there were, and anything else she could think of. Harry volunteered the fact that there were four houses, what they were named and who the heads of house were. He also told her a potted history of the four brilliant wizards and witches from a thousand years ago, who actually built and founded Hogwarts. They had established the four houses…each named for one of the founders, and the students of each selected if they had the characteristics that each founder took particular pride in.

Erin thought the whole thing sounded pretty arbitrary, and would make for some rather intense interhouse rivalries. The witch with the strange name…Helga something or other, sounded like the only one of the four who had any concern at all for the healthy psyches of her students. She had not discriminated. She took anyone, regardless of their personality traits. When she pointed this out to Harry, he looked slightly offended, but nonetheless, he said he could see her reasoning but all the same, he was really glad that he was in Gryffindor because it was definitely the best house.

“If you really want to learn about Hogwarts, I can lend you ‘Hogwarts: A History’. It’s one of our text books.”

“That’d be great,” enthused Erin. Although she had grabbed a couple of paperback books in the department store, she couldn’t imagine anything that would be more interesting than learning about the history of this fascinating castle. No doubt it would be the same as reading a fantasy novel.

“It’s in my trunk there,” said Harry, pointing to the slightly battered trunk sitting at the end of his bed. It looked like a very old fashioned travelling trunk that might once have been used by passengers on an ocean cruise. When she opened the trunk, she was shocked at the state that the contents were in. It looked as though everything had been thrown in pell mell, and Harry, who was adhering to the strictures to stay in bed—or more specifically, on the bed—had crawled to the end, where he gazed down at the mess. He raised appalled eyes to Erin’s face, his own face becoming a deeper crimson by the second.

He had forgotten what a mess it was. Uncle Vernon had thrown it straight into the cupboard under the stairs and Harry had not even been able to retrieve his clothes to wash. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’d forgotten what a mess it is.”

All of Harry’s clothes—his school robes, and uniform, underwear and socks, Dudley’s old, ill- fitting cast offs and revolting worn trainers, and his own properly fitting black leather lace-ups were an untidy, hotchpotch. His school bag had just been thrown on top of the mess of fabric and detritus, the flap open so that most of the contents had spilled into the trunk. Quills, broken and whole, bottles of ink which, thankfully had remained sealed, several rolls of parchment, his copies of ‘The standard Book of Spells, Grade 5’ and ‘One Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi’, rested mostly on top of the mess.

The contents had a musty, pungent aroma, reminiscent of a cess pit that a teenage boy might live in. The trunk had obviously not been open for a long time. All of the clothes needed laundering. Erin leaned over the trunk and picked up a fine, tapered length of beautifully carved wood. Around the thick end—the handle end—the carvings depicted dancing flames and the tapering length was etched with what looked like a long feather.

Erin looked at Harry. “This is your wand?” she asked softly. Harry nodded and Erin passed him the beautiful work of art. Harry took it in a slightly shaky hand. He stared at it like a man dying of thirst would look at a long, cool glass of water. Erin saw a look of relief pass over his face. His features seemed to relax by degrees as he turned the wand in his fingers. Erin jumped a little when a shower of red sparks shot out of the end with a sound like a sparkler.

“Sorry.” Harry loosened his grip a little. “That always happens when I haven’t had my wand for a while. My magic needs an outlet.

This was the first proof that Erin had seen that Harry was indeed a wizard. It just seemed so incredible to her that the teenage boy she had first seen in his relative’s front garden working like a navvy, badly sunburned and with a bruised face could do similar things to the adults she had met in this universe. It made her fleetingly wonder if she might perhaps have met other wizards or witches during her lifetime and not known it.

“It’s beautiful,” said Erin, inclining her head towards the wand. Harry nodded again. He looked down at the mess inside his trunk. He pointed is wand and said, “Accio ‘Hogwarts: A history’.” And to Erin’s shock, a book that had been out of sight under the surface layer of clothes, shot upwards and Harry caught it deftly.

He passed it to Erin. “Much easier than delving amongst that lot,” he said. “Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to use magic outside of school. If I was at Privet Drive, the Ministry would know and I’d get a warning.” He scooted back against his pillows and carefully put his wand on the bedside cabinet. “Actually,” he said softly, his eyes remaining fixed on his wand, and h “God knows what they would try and do to me this time. ‘Hogwarts: A History’ is hardly a couple of Dementors, is it? And I think they would have chucked me in Azkaban last year if they could have.

“Fred and George told me that if you live where there are adult witches and wizards and you do magic, the Ministry can’t tell who’s performed the magic. They rely on the adults to keep their kids under control.” He looked at Erin. “All the same, I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell anyone I summoned the book. I just needed to use my wand. It’s been a while since I even held it and I figured there’s enough magic going on here all the time to disguise my Accio.”

Most of that little speech had been unintelligible to Erin, so it was easy to put Harry at his ease. “I won’t tell,” she assured him, watching as he slipped under the covers. He suddenly looked pale and tired. When he stifled a yawn, she decided to make herself scarce.

“I think you need some rest, Harry. It looks like Professor Snape was right to insist that you stay in bed for a while.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Professor Snape will tell you he’s always right,” he mumbled and Erin bit her bottom lip to try and stop herself grinning.

“Well, this time, he is right,” she said in a reasonable tone as Harry slid down the bed and got himself comfortable.

‘I’ll see you later, then.” Said Harry. Erin turned towards her bed and caught sight of her bundle of clothes. She turned back to Harry. “Before I go though, can you tell me where the laundry is?”

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, a frown on his face. He shook his head. “I have no idea. But I know someone who would.” He grinned and sat up straight again. “You’d better sit down,” he said, indicating the chair beside his bed. “Has anyone told you about house elves?”

Erin frowned. “Professor Dumbledore spoke of house elves yesterday. Tonks did as well. They prepare the meals and keep the rooms within the castle clean. I think they brought my freshly laundered clothes yesterday morning.”

“That’d be right,” said Harry. “They’re like servants. Hogwarts house elves are enslaved to the current headmaster, but that’s the way they like it. Well, most of them anyway. Dobby’s different. He’s happy to be free.”

Harry seemed to be babbling nonsense again but Erin suspected that it was more the fact that she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. It all probably made sense to anyone magical.

“Now, don’t scream,” Harry was saying. “Dobby!”

Harry had not raised his voice at all but immediately he said ‘Dobby’, there was a loud, sharp crack, that made Erin jump with fright despite Harry’s warning.

The strangest little creature had just appeared out of thin air next to her chair. It was so ugly, it was somehow cute, with its gigantic green eyes and its very long needle nose and big bat ears. It was wearing layer upon layer of clothes…so many socks, its feet looked like boats and so many jumpers, it looked like a little round ball. But the strangest aspect of its garb was the tower of knitted hats it had on it's head. It was nearly as tall as the elf was itself. Erin couldn’t stop herself staring, almost with morbid fascination.

“Harry Potter is calling for Dobby, sir?” squeaked the little elf, almost beside himself with excitement. “What can Dobby do for the great Harry Potter, friend of all magical creatures.” Harry went crimson at this effusion but the delighted grin on Dobby’s face flickered and disappeared when he realised that his hero was not alone. His large ears drooped and he started to wring his little hands together whilst taking a couple of steps back. Harry dived into the breach of the suddenly uncomfortable silence.

“Dobby, this is Miss Hanson. She’s a friend of mine and she’s a guest here at the castle.”

Dobby, still looking grave, gave a ludicrously deep bow in Erin’s direction. “Dobby is pleased to be meeting another friend of Harry Potter’s,” he said in a more subdued squeak.

“Umm…it’s lovely to meet you Dobby.” Erin hoped that her shock was not evident in her voice. The little creature (was it a male? She thought it might be) was still looking very wary, but at Erin’s greeting, his great green eyes filled with tears and he looked at Harry with even more reverence than he had before. Erin wondered what had inspired so much devotion for Harry in the little creature. It was obvious that he worshipped the young boy.

“Miss Hanson is also a kind person, just like your Wheezy and Miss Mione, sir. Harry Potter would only have kind friends, sir.” Erin was totally bemused. Dobby shot a quick, concerned look at Erin and then he stepped closer to the bed and beckoned Harry to lean down to his level. He seemed to be very tense if the wringing of his hands was anything to go by. Harry shot an apologetic look at Erin, but he did lean down. “Does Harry Potter know that his friend is a Muggle, sir?” whispered Dobby.

Harry sat up straight again and tried not to laugh. He didn’t want to hurt Dobby’s feelings. Err, yes, Dobby. I do know that Miss Hanson is a Muggle. But that’s OK. Professor Dumbledore knows she’s a Muggle too.” Harry’s brow furrowed as he thought of something.

“But how did you know?” he asked, surprised.

“Miss Hanson has no magic, sir” squeaked Dobby, and he looked apologetically at Erin. “House elves can read a person’s magic, sir. Harry Potter has lots and lots of powerful magic, but Miss Hanson has none, sir.” The bat-like ears drooped even further.

“Don’t worry Dobby,” said Erin in a kind voice. “I came to terms with not having any magic a long time ago,” she lied. It was the right thing to do because Dobby smiled tremulously at her. Then he turned back to Harry, businesslike all of a sudden.

“Did Harry Potter want something of Dobby, sir?”

“Oh, yeah!” said Harry. “Umm Dobby, Miss Hanson wants to know where she can wash some of her clothes. Can you show her where the laundry is?”

Dobby looked scandalised. “Miss Hanson cannot be doing her own laundry, sir. Dobby will be taking her clothes and he will personally be doing it for her, sir. Dobby always washes Harry Potter’s clothes.” The little elf looked towards the still open trunk at the foot of the bed and wrinkled his nose. “Dobby will also take Harry Potter’s clothes and wash them now, if sir wishes.”

“Dobby,” said Erin, “I can’t let you do my washing. There isn’t very much to do. It’s really just a pair of jeans. I can hand wash the rest in my bathroom. Honestly, I just need a washing machine…” she tailed off. The little elf had crossed his arms and was looking quite determined. Though how he could cross his arms was beyond Erin. Dobby’s arms must be as skinny as his bony little legs were, but there were so many layers of clothing on his upper body, he looked like a little Michelin man.

“Dobby will be doing Miss Hanson’s laundry, miss. It is one of Dobby’s jobs and Dobby enjoys work, miss.”

“But…”

“Leave it,” said Harry warningly and Erin was a little surprised at the seriousness of his tone. She heeded him however and Dobby looked happier when Erin stopped insisting on doing her own laundry. Erin walked over to her bed and picked up her little pile of clothes. When she handed the bundle to Dobby, he took them from her with a toothy grin, as if there was nothing he would enjoy more in the world than to wash Erin’s dirty clothes.

Seeing Dobby with the clothes in his arms made Harry think of something. “Dobby, you can take the clothes because you’re a free elf. But you can’t do all the laundry at Hogwarts and you’ve only been here for two years anyway, so how do the other elves go about not touching clothes when they do the washing?”

Erin looked between Harry and Dobby. The conversation had descended into the realms of fantasy again. How many times now had a conversation started where she had absolutely no idea what anyone was talking about?

‘Oh, no Harry Potter, sir. Elves can be touching the clothes of anyone who is not their master, sir. The headmaster is the only one who cannot hand his clothes to the elves here at Hogwarts, sir. The headmaster used to send his robes to Hogsmeade to be cleaned.” The little elf gave a skip of pure joy. “But now that Dobby is here, sir, Dobby is doing the headmaster’s laundry. Dobby is very happy to be doing Professor Dumbledore’s laundry, sir, and he says that he has never had his robes looking so nice, sir.” His grin was toothier that ever.

“That’s great Dobby,” said Harry. “But if the other elves can touch any clothes within the castle, how come none of them would clean Gryffindor tower throughout the year when Hermione was leaving the hats out?”

Dobby’s ears drooped a little again. “They was insulted, sir. Miss Mione would not listen when she was told by the elves that they did not want to be free, sir.”

Harry nodded and pursed his lips. He was thinking that perhaps he should have told Hermione that her efforts in knitting the hats were wasted because she couldn’t set any elves free anyway, even if any of them had been so inclined. Still, Dobby seemed happy with his haul. He must have dozens more hats than were actually on his head at the moment, because Hermione seemed to have knitted hundreds.

Suddenly, Harry yawned and ran his hand through his untidy hair, mussing it even more. Erin realised that she had meant to leave the hospital wing and let Harry sleep fifteen minutes ago. The Prince wouldn’t thank her for not letting his patient rest.

“Umm, Dobby? Can I ask something else of you?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Would you be able to be my guide so that I don’t get lost on the way to my room. I’ve only been there once and I would hate to get lost. I know it’s on the sixth floor, not far from a painting of a rural scene of two horses grazing.”

Dobby gave a little skip of joy. “Dobby know where that painting is, miss. I can be taking you there now.”

“Thank you, Dobby.” She turned to Harry, who was now lying back looking quite bleary eyed. “I'm going to go now Harry and let you get some rest. Madam Pomfrey will be wanting to kick me out anyway.” And sure enough, at that very moment, the very precise matron came out of her office carrying a small tray with several phials resting on it. If she was surprised to see Dobby there, she gave no indication. She ignored him completely in fact, and Dobby quietly stepped away from Harry’s bed, suddenly seeming to blend in with the scenery.

“I’m sorry, Miss Hanson, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Mr Potter needs to have a rest before lunch.,” Poppy said briskly.

“Of course,” said Erin. “I was just going.” She crossed the aisle to collect her toiletries and another bag containing the rest of the new clothes she had bought yesterday and when she turned back, it was to see that Pumpkin had jumped back onto Harry’s bed and plonked herself down on his chest where she was grooming herself industriously. Harry just lay there with his hands behind his head, grinning at her antics and her lack of seemly modesty. The cat had obviously decided that she had discovered everything there was to discover in the hospital wing and that it was time for a wash, and Harry’s chest was just the place to perform her ablutions.

Poppy placed her tray on Harry’s bedside cabinet and when her hands were free, she scooped Pumpkin into her arms, ignoring the fact that she was clearly busy and ignoring her pathetic mewl that said she was not pleased to be disturbed. Erin was a little worried that the matron would voice her displeasure about the fact that her pet was on one of the hospital beds. But no. Poppy lifted Pumpkin to face level and stared into her pretty face, tickling her under her chin and talking nonsense to her. Finally, smiling, she tipped the cat into Erin’s waiting arms. “She’s a little darling,” said Poppy. “And she’s certainly made herself at home in a hurry.”

“I’m sorry that she’s in here,” said Erin. “But Professor Snape bought her in this morning. He had only just found her for me.”

“I realise that, my dear. And don’t worry. There are a lot of cats around the castle during the school year and a lot of them make their way in here. It is not something I encourage, but nor do I fight the inevitable. And sometimes someone’s pet is just the ticket to cheer that person up if they are in bed ill. Your little girl seems to have cheered Mr Potter up no end.”

Erin smiled at Harry. “Yes, Pumpkin has taken to Harry and he to her. I’ll know if I can’t find her for an extended period that she’ll probably be with him.”

Poppy leaned forwards on the pretext of tickling Pumpkin under the chin. The cat had settled happily in the safe, comfortable haven of Erin’s arms and was purring loudly, her eye half closed. “Just between you and me, I am glad something can bring the poor boy out of his fugue.”

Erin nodded her agreement. “So am I Madam Pomfrey. So am I.

Poppy became all brisk and businesslike again and turned back to her task. “Please, call me Poppy. We staff are pretty informal around here. Makes for a much friendlier atmosphere.” She had wrested the cork out of one of the small phials and handed it to Harry.

“Drink up Mr Potter,” she ordered briskly. “The quicker you take these, the quicker you can be resting.

Harry eyed the little purple bottle with distaste. “I was hoping I could leave this afternoon,” he grumbled. “I'm fine now.”

“Do many of your friends need to take naps midmorning, Mr Potter,” asked Poppy in her strictest voice.

Harry scowled. “I do not need a nap,” he denied hotly, even though it was obvious that he could hardly keep his eyes open. Madam Pomfrey raised a sceptical eyebrow. Harry wondered if the staff at Hogwarts had to take a course to learn the fine art of raising the intimidating eyebrow. There were some true exponents here, after all.

Poppy held out one phial of potion after another and grimacing past the different tastes, Harry swallowed them all down. He knew it would have been useless arguing because like Snape, she would only spell them straight into his stomach.

When Harry had finished, he threw himself back against his pillows again. God, he was so sick of everyone having more say about his life than he did himself. In three weeks time, he would be sixteen years old. Why did everyone insist on treating him like he was six.

Poppy’s face softened as she looked at the sullen teen in front of her. She started straightening his covers. “I am sure you will be allowed to leave here tomorrow, Harry. I will consult with Professor Snape this afternoon.”

If anything, this made Harry look even more miserable. “He’ll probably keep me in here until term starts, just to spite me,” he muttered.

“Now, Mr Potter…” Poppy had reverted to her usual brisk and no nonsense self after her lapse into compassion. “That will be enough of that sort of talk, young man.” She picked up her tray and prepared to return to her office.

“No doubt I will see you later, Miss Hanson,” she said as she swept past Erin.

“Yes,” said Erin. “And please Poppy, call me Erin.”

Poppy smiled in reply and disappeared into her office. Erin noted that she left her door open. There was no doubt that she was a conscientious carer who took her patient’s welfare seriously. Even if Harry was asleep, she would be able to hear him if he started dreaming.

Erin now brushed Harry’s hair back from his forehead. He was so used to her tactile attentions by now, he did not even mind that she had exposed his scar. “I’ll see you later, OK Harry.”

Harry nodded and Dobby, who had reappeared after Poppy’s departure, placed Erin’s small bundle of laundry on top of Harry’s soiled clothes and then with a wave of his hand, the whole lot disappeared, leaving nothing but the jumble of books, quills, ink, parchment, rubbish and shoes inside Harry’s trunk. Harry’s Firebolt was also there, wrapped in a couple of Hogwart’s towels to keep it safe.

Dobby then turned to Harry and bowed deeply to him before he followed Erin from the hospital wing. Harry sighed and removed his glasses. He rolled onto his side and was asleep within seconds.

8888

Severus was looking less than happy as he added a handful of finely shredded nettles to the quietly simmering cauldron before him. He then spelled the protective charm off his hand before picking up his stirring rod. While he stirred, he reached into a small glass dish and took up a very precise pinch of powdered moonstone which he then proceeded to sprinkle finely over the surface of the simmering, khaki coloured brew.

Albus sat quietly on a conjured stool and watched with admiration, the precision with which this amazingly talented potioneer attended the several brews he had on the go at once. Five cauldrons of varying sizes were set in a semi circle within which Severus stood. Behind him and at one end of which Albus sat, was a marble topped bench where several different piles of ingredients were set out with accompanying knives, spoons, mortars and pestles and measures.

Severus finished stirring and tapped the glass rod on the side of the cauldron, waiting patiently for every last drop to fall back into the simmering contents before he removed it and set it on the bench. Indeed, waiting for potions was the only waiting Severus did patiently.

Severus was looking less than happy because though he didn’t normally mind Albus being around while he brewed—the man was a more than competent potioneer himself and he knew when to stay silent—today the old man had impinged on his solitude to broach a subject that Severus found highly distasteful.

“There is little point in your hanging about any longer, Albus, the answer will be a resounding ‘no’, no matter if you sit there until the start of term.”

“But Severus, you must see the advantages to my idea. An intensive course…”

“It is not the idea I have objections to, old man. It is the way you wish to go about implementing it that I find abhorrent.”

“Severus. You are the perfect choice. You can straddle both worlds, which will be necessary…”

“And I told you yesterday that I loathe straddling both worlds. I am a wizard and I am quite happy living in the wizarding world. There is little cause for me to have anything to do with the Muggle world.”

“But surely, a young man such as yourself would appreciate being in the frequent company of such an attractive…”

Severus pointed the sharp blade of the silver dagger he had been slicing stewed daisy roots with at Albus. “Don’t even go there, old man. I am definitely not interested.”

“Severus! She’s young, she’s beautiful, she’s intelligent…”

“And she is not blind! Why would a woman like that ever look at a specimen such as myself?”

“You see her as being shallow?”

Severus added the daisy roots, one at a time, to another concoction from which a cloud of indigo steam was issuing. With each slice that was added, the steam became a little less dense and a little lighter in colour. “No, I see her as being eminently sensible. Even if she was prepared to see past the visage, she has been in my company quite enough to know just what an unpleasant person I am.” He wiped his hands clean of the daisy root juice and began to stir the cauldron, this time with a brass ladle.

“Opposites attract, Severus. And I might be old enough to be her great, great, great, great grandfather, but I also am not blind and I happened to see the young lady cast rather more than just the odd look at you.”

“You might not be blind, but you are definitely senile! She and I cannot be alone together for more than five minutes without jumping down each other’s throats.”

“As I just said, opposites attract, Severus.”

“Look. I would appreciate it if you would stop waffling about things that are not going to happen and which I have no desire to see happen.”

“Is it that she is a Muggle?”

Severus slammed the ladle down on the bench, flicking drops of potion in all directions. One drop hit a small pile of powdered acacia pods and they started to sizzle and hiss. Severus swore and with a wave of his wand, he banished the adulterated pods.

“If you wish there to be a reason other than the fact that I do not wish to embark upon a relationship with anyone, then by all means let the fact that she is a Muggle be it!

“And if I did wish to embark upon a relationship then I admit, I would prefer that it be with a witch.”

At Albus’s appraising look over the top of his half-moon spectacles, Severus bit out, “I do not have to tell you that I am the issue of just such an unequal marriage, Albus. My parent’s marriage is the reason that I have never sought a long term relationship. That and the fact that no sensible woman would look twice at me.

Albus shook his white head and stood, banishing the stool. “You keep on convincing yourself of that, my boy. You hold everyone at arm’s length because you are too impatient to work on a relationship.”

“I will not turn into one half of what my parents were!” bellowed Severus. “Now get out.” He pointed at the door with dramatic emphasis and Albus moved towards it.

“I will leave you in peace for now, Severus, but I beg you get used to the idea of tutoring Erin.” The old man was patience personified.

“She wants to go to Australia!”

“And you quite rightly told her that it is out of the question. She needs protection, and Harry will benefit greatly from her company.”

Severus rolled his eyes at this last declaration. “What! Are you telling me that the Golden Boy might yet turn into a human being if Miss Hanson works her charms on him?”

Albus had hold of the heavy iron door latch, but he half turned and peered over the top of his glasses again. “Do me the courtesy of not coming out with such ridiculous statements, Severus. When it comes to Harry, you seem incapable of reasoned thought. Or at least, you pretend to be.

“I know your opinion of Harry has undergone a radical turn around. Maybe not as far as I would like to see, but certainly enough for you to know that he is not the spoiled, much indulged son of doting parents that you seem to see him as. He is not James, Severus. Please try to keep that in mind.” Seething, Severus turned his back to Albus in curt dismissal.

Albus pulled the door open, only to be nearly rapped on the nose by an upraised fist. He fell back a step, as did his would be assailant.

“Oh! I'm so sorry!”

“Erin!”

Albus and Erin had both exclaimed together, and the intrusion of the new voice had Severus spinning around. He glared at the newly arrived person standing in his open doorway.

“My dear, how lovely to see you,” said Albus with genuine delight. “I take it you have recovered from your rather distressing return journey yesterday? ”

Erin, who was pleased to see that Geppetto looked much more vigorous today, grimaced slightly. “Yes, I'm fine now, thank you. But I never want to Apparate again. I don’t know how you stand it,” she said.

Albus tipped his head to one side and answered her seriously. “It is a sensation that takes a lot of getting used to, but magical folk can tolerate it much better than do Muggles, I am afraid.”

“Well,” Erin laughed. Give me a car any day of the week. It might take longer, but a car is much more comfortable than even that purple monstrosity of a bus. Do wizards have many different forms of transport?”

She laughed. “And are any of them at least partially comfortable?”

Albus’s eyes twinkled. “I am afraid that I am going to have to leave your education about magical means of transportation in other capable hands…” he gestured to Severus who threw him a filthy look. “I have many an official document on my desk awaiting my perusal and signature, I am afraid. I will be busy until much later. But I look forward to seeing you at dinner tonight. Until then, I bid you adieu.”

He took her hand and bowed over it in a courtly fashion and Erin, a little flustered, thought how delightfully old fashioned he was. She watched him disappear around a bend in the shadowed stone corridor that was lit only by flame torches in wall brackets…just what you would expect a castle dungeon to look like.

“Is there something I can do for you Miss Hanson?” asked Severus in a cold voice. He had just finished putting Stasis Charms on all of his potions. He certainly could not concentrate on managing them with her here, but as he had caught up with his work, he was not overly concerned at the delay. Though he would certainly not let her know that. “And just as a matter of interest, how did you find your way down here?”

Erin smiled tentatively before stepping into the large, brightly lit room. Like the corridor, it was built of unlined dark stone walls. Even the ceiling was stone. There were no windows and Erin could not understand where the bright light was emanating from. There were no torches or lanterns or candles in here. And it went without saying that there were no electric lights anywhere.

A long marble-topped bench took up one long wall, and a stainless steel bench took up another. The rest of the wall space was encircled by row upon row of shelves laden with glass bottles and jars of different colours, wooden and onyx and ivory containers and marble urns. The clear containers were mostly filled with powders or liquids but a small section of shelving housed specimen jars with horrible dead creatures suspended in different coloured solutions in them. She didn’t look too closely, but the quick glance she allowed herself was enough to tell her that she could not recognise one single animal. Not surprising really, most of them had been dissected before they were plunged into their various preserving solutions. Some of the jars did not contain whole animals either; there was one large jar that looked as if it was filled with eyes of differing sizes and colours and another with black, leathery things that Erin finally decided looked like bat wings. These were not suspended in solution, but looked shrivelled and desiccated.

There were many cupboards under the benches and a long alcove set off to one side was lined along it's three walls with both stone and stainless steel sinks with marble and stainless steel draining boards. In the very centre of the large room she was standing in was another marble bench and a series of cauldrons standing over what could only be magical flames because there was no wood or coal to feed the flames. All of the cauldrons were covered.

The Prince was standing in the middle of this work station, putting various chopped, diced, shredded or sliced ingredients into various containers—some he put in by hand, others, he used his wand to direct there transfer from work bench to container. He was banishing the dirty implements he had been using to the alcove and one of the sinks, over which the tap was gushing forth a froth of already soapy water.

The whole place was scrupulously clean—almost sterile—and the Prince himself did not have on his usual voluminous robes, nor indeed, the tight fitting jeans and jumper Erin had so admired on him yesterday. Instead, he was wearing another high necked, long sleeved black robe, but this one had tightly fitted sleeves and was nowhere near as voluminous as his more formal robes. And even though it was black, the robe had a shiny, bluish- green cast to it—it almost had the look of some synthetic Muggle fabric, but Erin did not doubt that it was made of some highly, indestructible natural product. Obviously, whatever was in those ‘Double, double, toil and trouble’, type cauldrons was highly corrosive or something.

“So, this is where you work your magic?” she asked, rather obviously, she knew but it was too late to call back the banal words.

The Prince was definitely of a like mind because he raised those obsidian eyes from his task, but without lifting his chin. He stared at Erin coldly under his arched eyebrows, his hair falling in twin curtains around his pale face and his hands continuing with the task of sealing containers. Only when Erin’s cheeks and forehead had reddened with embarrassment, did he look back down to attend to his task. He didn’t deign to answer.

If Erin had any sense, she knew she should have turned and fled, there and then, but as usually happened when she was in his presence—and regardless of her current chagrin—her backbone stiffened. She advanced further into the room, until she was standing on the other side of the marble-topped bench where he worked. She clasped the bench top, her thumbs running parallel with the edge and her fingers tight on the underside. Her white nail beds were the only indication of her nervousness, but Prince Severus couldn’t see them under the bench.

When she realised just how nervous she was, her fingers loosened their death grip. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel nervous. She was not usually a nervous person. And that a man could make her nervous, was enough to make her fuming mad. Severus Snape was a man, nothing more, nothing less. Well, that wasn’t strictly true…he was a wizard, quite a powerful wizard from the little Tonks had told her and what she had seen herself—not that she was any judge of how much magical power was considered powerful.

Geppetto was very powerful, everyone said so, but he didn’t make her nervous. Remus was powerful—that had been inferred because he had been able to Apparate with her in an unconscious condition and with himself being injured—but he didn’t make her nervous either. Neither did Minerva or Tonks, nor indeed any of the other people she had met. Except of course for that horrible Selwyn man she had seen and heard yesterday. And he had not only made her nervous, he had also given her chills down her spine. But then again, Prince Severus gave her chills down her spine…very different chills—mainly when his black velvet voice stroked her senses or he looked at her and she saw a fire in the depths of those onyx pools that were usually so very cold. Of course, she had only seen that fire once and it had been quickly extinguished, but she had gotten chills down her spine.

Of course, yesterday after what she had overheard during the Prince’s confrontation with Selwyn, Erin had been very nervous of her companion’s seeming association with that evil lord and his minions. But she had had time to think during their trip to the mall and bank, and shopping trip that had tried his patience to the nth degree. Now that was the reaction of a typical man, wizard or not.

And of course, anyone who would risk himself to go and rescue a cat after telling her categorically that he would not do so, couldn’t be evil. Definitely unpleasant at times, there was no getting away from that fact, but evil? No.

“Do not touch anything on this work bench if you wish your fingers to remain whole,” bellowed Severus, and Erin jumped so badly, her hands slipped and she nearly ended up with her nose in a pile of some kind of dried reddy-purple plant matter. It looked like strands of tobacco except for the colour.

“And you couldn’t have said that quietly, I suppose,” Erin yelled back, now safely feet away from the bench top. Yes, definitely unpleasant!

Severus banished the last of the sealed containers—some to various places on the shelves, but two of them flew across the room to one of the larger cupboards where the door was standing open to receive it's new contents.

“It is not my habit to warn unexpected and unwanted guests of the dangers they can encounter in my laboratory, madam,” Severus said in his usual unpleasant drawl.

Madam! She was madam now. And though she knew her visit had been unexpected, it took an extremely detestable person to tell a guest, unexpected or not, that she was unwelcome. Erin glared, all her positive thoughts about him disappearing in a puff of smoke. He could go hang before she would thank him for retrieving Pumpkin.

And then much to her dismay, she felt her bottom lip start to tremble. She bit it in an effort to hide her distress. Then without a word, she turned on her heel and left the room with as much dignity as she could muster. She even eased the door shut rather than giving into the temptation to slam it as hard as she could.

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Severus’s eyes remained fixed on the door through which one of the most attractive women he had met in a long time had just exited. And in his inimitable fashion, he was going out of his way to alienate her. In a gesture born of frustration and self-loathing, he spun about and flung a silver dagger at the wall where it hit with a dull metallic clang before it ricocheted off, hit the edge of the shelf below it and then fell to the floor.

Severus growled like a rabid dog as he stared at it. He had just destroyed his favourite dagger and it would cost him a small fortune to replace it. It was pure silver with an ivory handle, and it was as sharp as dragon scales. But what made it so valuable was that it was Goblin made.

It had been a gift from Dumbledore fifteen years ago, and over the years, it had become imbued with traces of Severus’s magic. He had never before had a dagger like it and he doubted he ever would again.

He walked over and picked the abused instrument up. He turned it reverently in his hand. The ivory handle had a crack along it's length and he could see the silver tang within it's ivory cocoon. Though Severus knew that the tang was made of sterling silver, rather than pure silver, it looked exactly the same as the blade. The tang needed the addition of copper to give it extra strength. Silver was a soft metal, just shy of being easily malleable and for this reason, Severus only used it for light tasks—no heavy chopping or cutting. And now, his foul temper had gotten the better of him—again—and he doubted he would be able to find as fine an instrument anywhere. Dumbledore had contacts even amongst the goblins that Severus could never hope to cultivate. Severus supposed his ancient mentor had had at least one hundred and twenty or thirty years to cultivate all of his exceedingly handy contacts.

Absently, Severus summoned the box that he kept the dagger in. As he placed it in it's purple velvet nest, his thoughts returned to Erin. Why had the bloody woman shown up? And what was more, how had she found her way down here, through the maze of passageways that separated his private laboratory from his classroom and office?

Angrily, he summoned a great stone jar from a cupboard under the sink and his hands hurt when the momentum of it's flight made it slap against his bare palms with stinging force. Gritting his teeth, Severus tried to reign in his anger but when he pointed his wand at the stone stopper, it shot out so fast, it flew across the room, shattering into half a dozen pieces when it hit the wall. Severus took several deep breaths, and then because he was still angry, he took several more. Finally, he felt calm enough to direct the jar to angle itself so that liquid dribbled out of it onto the soiled bench top.

No more than three ounces had puddled onto the marble, but as Severus watched, it spread itself across the whole surface until every inch was covered. The flow stopped right at the edges but not a drop fell to the floor.

Severus pointed his wand at the stopper and said “Reparo”. He then summoned it so that it stoppered the jar again and the jar returned itself to it's home under the sink.

After two minutes the solution on the bench top began to sizzle. Severus watched it for another two minutes and then with a wave of his wand, and a muttered “Evanesco,” he banished the cleaner, leaving a pristine work surface again.

Severus had carried out the whole of this everyday task with only half his mind on the job. The other half had returned to thoughts of Erin again. He knew how upset she had been after his nasty set down. It had been more than nasty. It had been totally uncalled for, but she had caught him totally off guard.

He had been daydreaming about Erin before Dumbledore had shown up with his ridiculous idea and his even more ridiculous request. Of course, the reason for the unannounced visit had been the problem of what to do with Erin Hanson. It was as though Dumbledore had performed Legilimency on him because his own reluctant thoughts had been centred on the bloody woman since he had woken that morning.

God, during the few hours of sleep he had managed after returning from Privet Drive, he had probably been dreaming about her as well…no, he knew he had been dreaming about her! In the shower and as he was getting dressed, he had been envisaging just how she would thank him for rescuing her cat. He had partaken of a solitary breakfast and while sipping his coffee, his thoughts had returned to luncheon yesterday when she had sipped the honeyed mead and shut her eyes in ecstasy, and then to the coffee shop where she had savoured the chocolate.

He had very nearly had to treat himself to a second shower! And that had been the beginning of his festering anger. He did not want to be attracted to the bloody woman. There was another woman planted firmly in his psyche and he had been true to her for a very long time. At least in mind. He tried not to think about his inability to control his body’s occasional demands for release.

He had managed to banish the Muggle from his thoughts for a few hours while he got on with his brewing, but then Dumbledore had arrived and his temper had reared it's ugly head again after the old fool had reintroduced he subject of Erin Hanson.

And then she had appeared. If Dumbledore had not spoken to her, Severus would have thought his mind had conjured her out of thin air. She had changed her clothes since yesterday. The green suited her, it brought out the colour in her eyes.

Her eyes were a different green to Lily’s…they were a misty green compared to the vibrant almost emerald green that he saw every time he looked into Lily’s son’s eyes. But even those eyes, though identical to Lily’s, looked different in Harry Potter’s face, surrounded as they were by the features of James Potter.

And that was when Severus had lost it entirely…Erin had smiled tentatively and advanced as far as the bench. That had been his excuse to let loose his inner demons, as if he had needed one. The fact that he had been comparing the colour of her eyes to Lily’s had made him realise just how far down the path of infatuation he had travelled.

He did not want to be feeling attraction. He had no time for such indulgences. And if the Dark Lord was to learn that one of his lieutenants had an attraction for a Muggle—let alone the Muggle whom he had seen in Potter’s bedroom before both had escaped him—then he was a dead man.

None who took the Dark Mark would ever consider harbouring an attraction for a Muggle. Oh, their master encouraged them to slake their lust with any Muggle they felt so inclined to do so with, but the outcome of any such liaison was the certain death of their victim by the most brutal means possible.

And really, what was there to be attracted to anyway? The woman was a little harpy. And she seemed to have made herself a surrogate mother to Potter. If he did decide to follow up this attraction to Erin Hanson, could he get past everything that annoyed him about the woman? There were dangers inherent to himself and her with such a foolish course of action. Perhaps the fact of her attachment to the ‘Bloody Boy Who Lived to be the Bane of His Life’, was just the thing to kill any thought of romance that might have already taken up precious space in his brain, stone dead.

No, he Severus Snape definitely did not want romance clogging up his life, always considering that the woman would look at him in that light anyway.

But as Severus spelled off the lights after re-checking his potions, and making sure everything was neat and tidy, he could not help wondering again, exactly why Erin had searched him out down here in the very bowels of the castle.