-Severus-

Wednesday already. A long weekend followed by a seemingly endless week. Severus had always hated February. It wore on and on and on and ended nearly as cold as it began.

After returning from his early morning Death Eater pep rally on Saturday, he'd tried to get a few hours sleep, but had been interrupted by an irate Constancia Crabbe who was quite interested in knowing how her son had managed to splinch his own head and live to tell about it. Severus wanted to tell her that the oxygen supply to his brain had been cut off so long ago that further damage could not possibly occur after such a minor incident as the one that occurred in apparition class that morning. What he in fact did tell her was that her son was one of only a handful of sixth-years who had managed any semblance of apparition, putting him at the head of the class (literally and figuratively) for the first time in his young life.

He had hoped for a cat nap after her visit but Minerva had arrived to demand his presence on the Quidditch pitch where, for some complicated reason his exhausted brain could not comprehend, Gryffindor and Slytherin were about to practice together. Minerva assured him that the two teams would limit their activities to one end of the pitch each but he still smelled disaster. He'd gone out with her, nonetheless, spiking the thermos of coffee with his hip flask of firewhiskey as was their custom. It almost made practice tolerable. He tried to keep his eyes on the Slytherin team but could not help but notice that the Gryffindors were playing as a well-oiled machine, with the exception of two of the chasers—Weasley and Thomas. Ahhh…the break-up. Thomas hurled a quaffle at Miss Weasley with more force than was strictly needed to pass it to a fellow teammate—approximately eight times the force needed, in fact. She ducked just in time but the quaffle landed in his lap, spilling his hot whiskey-laced coffee on his thighs.

Thomas earned another detention. Harry looked pleased.

/

12 February, 1997

Wednesday

Dear Harry:

I have no plans for the Easter holiday. If you would like to stay at the castle, I am sure I can find plenty for you to do. A trip to a dragon preserve to de-bogify Hungarian Horntails is not outside the realm of possibility, though with only a long weekend at our disposal, we may want to stay in Britain. If you're keen on harvesting potions ingredients, we can attempt to coax the giant squid close to the shore and collect some of the protective slime from its skin. You will have to hold it down while I do the scraping so you'd best plan to wear your swim shorts. The lake water should be slightly above freezing by late March—perfect for an invigorating swim.

As for my whereabouts on Saturday when Mr. Crabbe decapitated himself in his first semi-successful apparition, I was, in fact, away from the castle in the company of one of my demanding "employers." I do not believe you are feeling anything directly—it was, indeed, an abrupt and painful "message" this morning that woke me just before dawn. I am heartened to hear that you are transforming so easily now, though I admit that assuming the form of a young deer while in a water bed can have some attendant difficulties. As for the reaction of your fellow Gryffindor sixth-years—I know a very handy charm that I will consider teaching you (but only if you solemnly vow never to reveal where you learned it). It is typically used by healers on unconscious patients instead of the more crude form of catheterization used by Muggles and had the effect of emptying the bladder—abruptly. If any Slytherins suddenly develop incontinence issues, I will know what is going on and will not hesitate to use the spell on you, in Defense class, while you are dueling Draco. Be forewarned.

I note that you believe Miss Weasley to be a good listener. Much has been said, and even more written, over the years about the art of listening. One of my favorite axioms is this: "Two ears, one mouth. Use them proportionally, please." An American writer wrote a poem you might like to memorize (calm down—it's only four lines):

The wise old owl lived in an oak;
The more he saw the less he spoke;
The less he spoke the more he heard:
Why can't we all be like that bird?

When you are listening to a friend in need, someone who has something to "get out into the open" as you apparently did with Miss Weasley the other night when your clock told me you were "somewhere safe," realize that listening is not just waiting for your own turn to speak. You will truly be a valued friend if you learn this earlier in life rather than later. I should not even attempt to give you "relationship" advice, especially since Miss Weasley has indicated a desire to stay out of relationships for a time, but I believe you will not go wrong by continuing to establish a true friendship with her, using your mouth half as much as you use your ears.

Still, I am happy that you were able to use Miss Weasley's listening skills to help work out the question I posed for you. I hope that you no longer feel you have to prove your worth and I most certainly hope you feel that you belong, not to the Wizarding world as some sort of "Chosen One" but to Hogwarts, and to Gryffindor, and most certainly to this small group of adult mentors and caretakers which has grown around you these past months.

I do not quite know how to address your comment about what happened in the graveyard following the Triwizard Tournament. Yes, I am aware of what happened there. As you may recall, I was in the office with you when Crouch Jr. made his confession under Veritaserum. Albus sent me out after that to find Fudge while he took you to his office to hear your story. I am sure you recall my return—when Fudge was in the hospital wing, denying the return of the Dark Lord. He did not believe even when I showed him the evidence of my dark mark. You were still awake, I remember, after Fudge had left, when Albus sent me off again. You surely understand now my mission, for I was not present in the cemetery, having ignored the Dark Lord's summons when it came as I was otherwise engaged helping to oversee the Third Task. While the mark had been growing more clear all year, I still could not piece together what precisely had happened to make it blaze in pain at the same time that so much appeared to be happening within the maze. I only understood fully when I listened to Crouch's confession.

By the time I joined the other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord at the Riddle Mansion, the story of the joining of the wands was the only thing being discussed. So yes, hearing it from, as you say, "someone who was there" was indeed how I learned about the appearance of your parents. But I heard it again, a second time, when I returned to Hogwarts and reported to Albus.

I think now about how you must have felt then, Harry. You had just witnessed a host of atrocities, had been injured yourself and were functioning on instinct alone. To have your parents appear at that precise time…it must have given you the hope and courage to persevere, to keep trying even though you were certainly tired enough and hopeless enough to simply give up.

Perhaps you think that I have been avoiding your question. I certainly have not. While admittedly I never had to consider a career in the Muggle world, I did grow up in a home with a Muggle father in a Muggle neighborhood. I suppose you would expect me to propose a career as a chemist, which would seem to be similar to what I do as a Potions Master, or perhaps a professor at a university. But faced with a life without even a vestige of magic, I believe I would choose a career that would allow me to enjoy the ordinary magic of the world—perhaps in music or painting. It would have to be a solitary profession, of course, as I am not predisposed to a great deal of social discourse. I can, in some ways, envision myself doing the work of Michelangelo, or better yet, one of the many lesser artists that assisted him in his work in the Sistine Chapel. An anonymous artist, yet contributing to something enduring.

That being said, I do not think I have a special talent for art or sculpture, but we are playing a "what if" game, so I believe I should be able to choose something unlikely if I so desire.

I think it a fair question to ask you in return. When you were in Muggle primary, before you knew anything of the Wizarding World, what did you dream of being when you grew up?

Regards,

Severus

/

For a few moments, Severus Snape sat at his desk, resolutely ignoring the pile of seventh-year essays that he still had to mark. His thoughts went back to that day, nearly two years ago now, when everything changed. He'd been patrolling the perimeter of the maze when the sparks had gone up, signaling that one of the champions needed help. They'd gotten Krum out, and then the French girl, and then the expected signal had finally come—a champion had reached the cup and taken hold of it. The shower of silver and gold sparks made the entire crowd cheer. But then…nothing.

Nothing when Dumbledore had cast the spell to open a direct path through the maze to the cup. Nothing and no one. Not Potter. Not Diggory.

"Point me Harry Potter." "Point me Cedric Diggory." Severus, Minerva, Pamona and Filius had fanned out in the maze to search for the champions. Ten minutes. Twenty. The searing pain, nearly forgotten, of the Dark Mark burning. He grasped his arm, hissing in pain, catching Dumbledore's eye. Dumbledore looked defeated yet irate.

The minutes, even now, seemed interminable. How had it felt for Harry, a fourteen-year old child, looking death in the face?

-Harry-

Harry hated February. Quidditch practices were icy and brutal in the Scottish winter. The castle was cold and damp all day, cold and damp all night. You'd think that magic could somehow shake the dampness out of a thousand year old castle, but no such luck. The house elves provided warmed flannel-wrapped bricks at night to put under the sheets at your feet. It was a bit old fashioned, but the charmed bricks stayed warm all night at least. Everyone tried personal warming charms, which were satisfactory during the day, but faded at night along with consciousness. Classes, well into the second term, were progressively more difficult and professors progressively more demanding. Harry guessed that they were just as cold and damp as the students.

This February was no better than the five previous ones at Hogwarts. While Ron and Lavender were definitely no longer snogging against the walls, on the sofa and in the middle of the corridors, they did still grudgingly spend time together. Hermione and Ron spoke as infrequently as possible, though Harry could not and did not miss the looks they gave each other when the other wasn't looking. Ginny and Dean's break-up had gone as well as expected—not well at all—and Dean was still giving Harry death glares, though he'd let up a bit when it became obvious that Harry was no closer to having Ginny as a girlfriend than he was while she was seeing Dean.

And then there was Slughorn. Harry still hadn't gotten him to spill anything about the Horcrux. Dumbledore had passed him in the corridor yesterday and had given him an encouraging sort of nod. Harry had hardly been able to meet his eyes, looking away and to the floor, his cheeks, already red from the cold, turning even pinker in shame. He was fairly sure that the Headmaster's eyes had not been twinkling.

Apparition lessons were still going strong. They'd had another lesson just this morning, though neither Harry, Ron nor Hermione had yet managed to make it out of their hoops. No one, in fact, had managed to do anything without splinching themselves, which made the remaining students a bit less eager to try too hard. If all you got for your efforts was ending up three feet from your original destination minus a useful body or two part like your leg or your ears, why expend too much effort?

Harry sighed and picked up his quill. He'd actually finished his Defense homework on Thursday night, but they hadn't had class yesterday, so he'd saved his letter for the weekend. The fifth and sixth years, or at least a good number of them, were having an impromptu study session in the common room. Ron had gone to their room, claiming to have a pounding headache, and Lavender had slid onto the couch next to Harry. She was sitting a little too close for comfort. He budged over a bit and she followed.

Sitting across from the couch on a squishy loveseat next to Neville, Ginny frowned.

/

15 February, 1997

Saturday

Dear Severus:

Thanks for the Easter break invite. Itwas an invitation, wasn't it? Because I've already told Ron I plan to stay here. If you really want to scrape slime off the giant squid, I think you should go ahead and do it now while the weather is still really cold. The squid doesn't swim very fast this time of year so your sixth year Slytherins can keep it pinned down during the next detention you assign them. Oh, I forgot…you don't ever assign Slytherins detention.

Hey, that charm sounds great! Easter break would be a great time to learn it. By then, Dean and Seamus won't even suspect me when they wet themselves. That really sounds like a handy charm—you know you professors could make tons of money selling those things to students. It would be a very handy—if not exceedingly embarrassing—way to skive off of class when there's a test. "Oh, I'm sorry Professor McGonagall, but I seem to have wet myself. May I be excused?"

I like the poem. Easy to remember and also about one of my favorite animals. I get what you're trying to tell me, too. Take Hermione, for example. She's brilliant, and she can give really good advice, but she's always so ready to tell me what she thinks that I'm not sure how well she really listens to me. I'm not criticizing her—she's a better listener than Ron, anyway. It's just that I always have the feeling that whatever I'm saying makes her think of something else, and she's just politely waiting her turn to say it while I finish saying whatever it is I'm trying to get off my chest. Then there's Ron. He's just plain distracted half the time. We get along great, and he really cares about me—I know he does—but when it comes to listening he's pretty much pants at it.

That's why that talk I had with Ginny stuck out so much. We got to talking and I told her about the sorting hat, and then told her about the question you'd set for me in your letter. And instead of trying to interpret what the hat mat, or telling me what she thought it might mean, she asked me questions, and the answers to those questions brought me around to the answer I gave you in my letter. I hope I can return the favor someday when she needs me.

She doesn't seem to be needing me much now, though. Dean is still angry and sullen about the break-up, but he isn't openly harassing or blaming me at least. He leaves her pretty much alone, and doesn't dare talk bad about her around me, and she's trying to be friends with him. There isn't much love in the air around here anymore—which is pretty funny, since yesterday was Valentine's Day. I only got about 50 cards this year, almost all of them from girls in third year and below. Someone somehow got one of Fred and George's Valentine Day Surprise boxes and opened it in the common room. We had about a dozen little cupids shooting arrows all day. If one hit you, you got all goofy-eyed and started reciting poetry. It was horrendous. Neville was one of the first ones who got hit, right after lunch after those stupid girls opened the box. He stood up on a table and started reciting something by Ben Johnson (Well, that's what Hermione told me, anyway. He was a contemporary of Shakespeare. I'm really glad I have Hermione around.) It went "Drink to me only with thine eyes and I will pledge with mine." There was a lot more but that's what we all remembered and everyone has been teasing him about it ever since.

And since you're going to hear it from someone, sometime, I'll go ahead and tell you that I made a fool of myself too. Probably worse than with the hula hoop, too. I had just gotten back to the common room after visiting Hedwig and MacKenize in the owlery after dinner and had totally forgotten about the stupid cupids. By the time I got there, one of the seventh years had figured out how to charm the arrows so they made the victim sing love ballads instead of recite poetry. Yes, really.

I got hit twice.

The first song that I belted out was "Killing Me Softly." I am going to just assume you know it. I did not—at least not before last night. If you do know it, you'll know it's sung by a woman, about a man, so it sounded like I had a male lover. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course…it's just that I don't and the object of my affection was in the room at the time. Can you imagine how ridiculous I sounded? "Killing me softly with his song, killing me softly, with his song, telling my whole life with his words…"

Oh, don't worry, it gets better.

No sooner had I finished that one when I had this huge urge to drop to my knees in front of Ginny and sing "You Light up My Life." Who in the heck IS this Debby Boone person?

Needless to say, it was the hit of the evening, even though Dennis Creevey sang "Love Me Tender" to Steven Willis (he's in Dennis' year) and Romilda and Collin got hit ON PURPOSE and did this ridiculous song called "I Got You Babe."

OK, enough of that. I'm going to try to put it behind me and NEVER think of it again.

I'll answer your question first. When I was in primary the only thing I ever wanted to be was a policeman. I don't know if you knew that Aunt Petunia was in love with the royal family. She read all about them all the time, and watched every event on the telly. The streets were always swarming with police when the royals had something going on. I was fascinated by the bobbies with their chin straps and their uniforms and their sticks. I liked the ones on horseback the most. I think to me they represented protection, and good, and order. Looking back on it now, I can see that those were things that were lacking in my life.

I have a question for you. I know you might not want to answer it, or even be able to. It has to do with something Voldemort said in that cemetery after the Third Task. I was still tied up when he called the Death Eaters. They all began to apparate in and took their places in a big circle. There seemed to be an order for it all, and he knew by the gaps in the circle who was missing.

Obviously, you were one of those gaps.

I'm trying to remember exactly what he said. I think I at least have the essence of it. He came to a big gap in the circle and said there were six missing there. He said three were dead in his service, one was too cowardly to return, one had left him forever and one was his most faithful servant and had already come back to him.

Are you one of those three? If so, which one?

I don't like to remember that night, or think too much about it even. None of it. Except what my dad said to me. He said "It will be all right…hold on."

It seems exactly the sort of thing a parent would say to you, doesn't it?

Too bad he had to be dead before he got to say it.

It kind of reminds me, just a bit, of when I was at St. Mungo's this summer, and how you stayed with me.

I'll try to end on a more upbeat note—did you get a valentine from Sybil?

Regards,

Harry

/

Harry finished the letter and carefully put it inside his Defense textbook. He had moved as far away from Lavender as possible, but she was still scrunched up next to him, drumming her long pink fingernails on her Potions textbook and chatting with Parvati who had sat down next to her on the end of the couch. Oddly, there was plenty of room between Lavender and Padma. He glanced across at Ginny. She looked up at him and caught him looking at her. She grinned—no longer annoyed at Lavender after watching Harry's futile attempts to squeeze himself into the arm of the couch over the last fifteen minutes.

Seamus had plopped down on the floor in front of Ginny. He took out his wand and did a quick Lumos, holding it above his head.

"This make you want to sing again, Harry?" he asked.

The room erupted with laughter as Harry turned pink.

"So many dreams, I've kept deep inside me," sung Seamus in an unnatural falsetto.

"Alone in the dark but now you've come along!" finished Dean.

"And YOU light up my life, YOU give me hope, to carry ON…" The whole room was singing now, and even Harry joined in. After Harry had serenaded Ginny last night, nearly all of Gryffindor House had stayed to learn the song lyrics from a helpful Hermione who, for some reason Harry could not comprehend, actually knew the song and all its inane lyrics.

"It can't be wrong…when it feels so right…

Cause you…you light up my life."

Harry stole a glance at Ginny. His stomach did a back flip when she winked at him.