St. Patrick's Day came on a Monday that year, and the house elves, ever eager to encourage celebration, dyed the milk, hotcakes and eggs all green at breakfast. Ron wasn't put off by it, slurping down his last bites of green hotcakes with a glass of green milk. Harry, however, had to close his eyes to drink the milk and refused outright to eat green eggs. The Gryffindors, as a rule, balked at wearing green and were thus subjected to more pinches than the others houses combined.
Harry had a free afternoon. The 6th years who were already 17 were going into Hogsmeade for a special apparition lesson. Ron and Hermione were both in this group and Harry made them promise to tell him all about it when they returned. He waved goodbye to them from the castle doors and headed back into the castle.
Later, on the Astronomy Tower, he sat with his back to the outer wall and considered what to do. He had finally figured out where Draco Malfoy was going when he disappeared from the Marauder's Map. He'd tried to get into the Room of Requirement to catch him at his game but the room refused to open for him. He needed to figure out the right question to ask, the right requirement to hold in his mind.
And he needed to tell Severus—to warn him. But he had promised to let it go, to let Severus worry about Draco. And how could he tell him anything without revealing the secret of the Marauder's Map?
/
17 March 1997
Monday
Dear Severus:
Ron and Hermione are off in Hogsmeade at the special Apparition class. Ron was pretty excited about the lesson this morning. He says he's tired of apparating—or trying to apparate—into wooden hoops and wants to move more than three feet when he does it, like right into the middle of the Hog's Head, for example. He said that now that he's 17, he should be able to have something stronger than a butterbeer. I'm not so sure about his chances—he's already proven that he's prone to splinching. Last week he somehow managed to apparate only his ears into the hoop. You should have heard the noise he made when he realized they were missing. I'm not sure I ever heard a noise like it before, but if I had to describe it I'd probably compare it to my Uncle Vernon when he was trying to pass that kidney stone (the only time in my life I sympathized with him—very reluctantly).
Did I ever tell you that Ron talks in his sleep? Well, he does, and last night he kept muttering "Destination, Determination, Deliberation." OK, moaning is probably more accurate than muttering but the end result was that he was making noise and thrashing about and I really wanted to shove one of those socks Dobby gave me for Christmas down his throat, but it reminded me too much of shoving that bezoar down there so I just put my pillow over my head and rolled over.
I saw you and Minerva and the Headmaster at our Quidditch practice last week. Seems like you had some more of that special coffee you and Minerva are always drinking, and this time you pulled the Headmaster into your ring as well. I'm not sure why all three of you would come out to watch the Gryffindors practice—probably to prevent me or Ron from doing something stupid. Well—it worked. Your presence prevented us from practicing our new play where the Chasers all hang from their brooms by one hand and kick the Quaffle to each other like a football, distracting the other team while I searched for the snitch (standing up on my broom and facing backwards). Yes, you being there saved my life! Or…maybe it was the fact that McLaggen is still in hiding and Dobby didn't curse a bludger and Crabbengoyle weren't disguised as Dementors and Quirrell wasn't trying to knock me off my broom…
Oh—and thanks for the bit about Mad Eye's magical eye being able to see through Hagrid's clothing. The next time I see Hagrid I'm sure I WON'T think about that. Nope. Not at all.
On to thestrals. The first time I saw one was at the beginning of last year—when I came back to Hogwarts. I didn't understand what I was seeing, and I wasn't a hell of a lot comforted by the fact that Luna could see them too. Then Hagrid covered them in Care of Magical Creatures and I found out why I could see them. I didn't really wonder at that time why I didn't see them before. I guess I was too young when my parents died for my mind to understand that I'd experienced death.
When we went to the Ministry at the end of last year, Ron, Hermione and Ginny couldn't even see the thestrals they were flying on. I couldn't believe they would do that for me—it must have been terrifying.
I hope they can't see thestrals for a long, long time. Death is much easier to deal with when it's invisible.
Your turn—what place (in the world) would you most like to visit? And do you know how to drive a car?
Regards,
Harry
/
Harry put away the letter and his ink and quill, stood up and dusted off his robes then made his way back down the stairs of the owlery into the castle. He turned a corner quickly, wanting to hurry down to the main doors to wait for Hermione and Ron to come back, and ran headfirst into a group of Slytherin seventh-years. Gorilla-like Slytherin seventh-years. He couldn't say for sure that it was unintentional, though he couldn't say that it was intentional—but the elbow hit his nose so hard that he fell back against the wall. His hand, when he raised it to his face, came away covered with blood. The knee to his groin that followed was definitely not an accident. His wand was in his hand a moment later, but he never got to use it.
"Potter—off the floor! Ten points from Gryffindor for public disturbance!" The voice sounded exactly as it might have a year ago, before the summer at Shell Cottage. Harry groaned as he struggled to his feet. "What are you waiting for, get to the infirmary Potter," commanded Snape in that very-same cold voice. "Vaisey, Warrington, Hopper—enough of this dawdling about!"
Harry wiped his nose again with the back of his hand. He was in no mood to deal with a broken nose and the old Snape.
"Ten points, sir?" he managed to grind out. "Aren't you going to give points to Slytherin for a well-placed knee to the groin?"
Snape stared at him a moment, then the corner of his mouth lifted. "Ten points to Slytherin for ensuring that the Wizarding World has seen its last Potter," he said, his voice smooth. "Now go, Harry!"
Harry? Had Severus just called him Harry in front of his Slytherins?
No. As he limped away with a final glare at Severus, he realized that he'd heard that last command only in his head. As he turned the corner, he heard a "Scourgify" and the unmistakable sounds of Severus sighing.
-Severus-
He had supervised two detentions that evening—the first with three first-year Ravenclaws who had been caught cheating on a rather inconsequential quiz and the second with a sixth-year Hufflepuff and a seventh-year Gryffindor whom he had come upon during rounds the previous night in a rather compromising position. He had taken them to their respective heads of house in exactly the same state in which he'd found them. The Hufflepuff boy had his shirt unbuttoned and a rather large hickey on his collarbone. The girl, who should certainly have known better, was obviously missing a certain article of underclothing, as Severus had found it draped over a suit of armor, and her red and gold school tie was wrapped around the boy's neck. He could not help but chuckle at the memory of knocking on Minerva's door and handing her the undergarment along with the errant teenager.
When the students were finally gone—he had forced the older two to write detailed letters to their parents apologizing for their embarrassing behavior and had already dispatched said letters by owl, after his agonizingly slow and methodical review of them while the miscreants stood before his desk,—he settled down at his desk with the rest of his marking. He looked sideways at Harry's clock and saw that the boy was safely in Gryffindor Tower. Strangely, the clock no longer comforted him as it once had. Was he doing homework? Giving hula-hoop lessons? Staring at the young Miss Weasley? Playing a game of chess with his best friend? Looking under his bed for a sock to stuff in his best friend's mouth?
Or was he focused, as Severus himself so often was, on what was to come? Closing his eyes against the dark thoughts, the unpleasant possibilities as he strove to imagine a world where the only thing on his to-do list was to kiss Ginny Weasley?
/
20 March 1997
Thursday
Dear Harry:
Just exactly what occurred in the corridors on Monday to leave you with a bloody nose and a wand in your hand? I detected no more malice than usual in my Slytherin seventh-years, and they were more prone to giggles than to jeers as they slunk away after I discovered you on your side gripping your groin. Please clarify as I am equipped to dole out "unjust" punishments as I see fit, and I can easily create a reason to take points or assign detentions with Filch. "Warrington—your eyebrows are asymmetrical. Five points and detention with Filch! Hopper—is that a red thread on your Slytherin tie? Detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest tonight!"
I will put your mind to rest regarding your unexpected audience this past weekend at your night-time Quidditch practice. We were not there to assure that your self-destructive instinct did not kick into high gear, although if that was the unintended effect, I shall strive to attend more practices in the future. Your team will simply assume that I am a spy for the enemy, so to speak. Rather, the Headmaster was feeling a bit stir crazy and convinced Minerva to accompany him to the pitch to watch the action. Minerva brought me along as well, undoubtedly convinced that it would do my heart good to stop then start several times in the course of the hour we spent in the stands.
While Mr. Weasley may indeed be 17 years old, and certainly capable of ordering a fire whiskey or mediocre scotch from Hog's Head or elsewhere, age alone does not guarantee the maturity to appreciate strong liquor and handle its effects. Case in point—a certain set of sixth-year Slytherins, often referred by you as a single entity, celebrated their "coming of age" with a bottle of fire whiskey a few months ago. They unwisely drank so much that they were totally incapacitated—so much so that their older housemates (you ran into a few of these the other day), taking absolutely no pity on them, stripped them naked and levitated them to the hallway outside of Minerva's quarters. She found them there at two in the morning, having been awakened by the sounds of retching. Minerva, holding me in such high regard, sent me her annoying patronus to notify me that my charges were out past curfew, intoxicated, nearly naked, covered in their own vomit and wearing god brassieres with red tassels. She sounded a trifle vexed, or at least her three patronuses did. Yes, three. She had to send them out in triplicate as I ignored the first two and only got out of bed after she threatened to transfigure my waistcoat into a similar gold brassiere while I was eating in the Great Hall the next morning.
I have given some thought to your question about the place in this world I would most like to visit. My answer is undoubtedly the Amazon Rainforest, for it boasts an abundance of flora and fauna that are not only rare and beautiful but that can be used in countless potions that promote healing and a better quality of life for those that suffer. There is old magic in that place, Harry, and I have long dreamed of visiting and exploring it. There are dolphins—pink dolphins—that swim in the rivers, cut off by the rise of the Andes Mountains from the sea. There are flesh eating fish called piranhas and catfish that grow to enormous sizes and a deadly type of amphibian called the poison dart frog. There are hundreds of species of mammals, even more so of fish and birds, and nearly 30 million different types of insects—more types of ants in a single tree than are found in all of our own country. The Amazon Rainforest has more distinct flowers and trees than we can begin to imagine confined as we are to the islands of Great Britain.
You ask as well whether I know how to drive a car. Yes, I am able to drive a Muggle automobile, having learned from my father when I was a teenager home from Hogwarts for the summers. I can only guess that the two questions are somehow connected, though I do not think a car would be useful in getting from Scotland to Brazil, nor of great use in the Amazon Rainforest. There are no bridges over the Amazon River, you know, not because the river is too big but because there are no roads to connect with bridges. Do tell—why are you interested in my driving abilities?
I suppose that will stand for my question with this letter.
Regards,
Severus
/
His letter was short, but Harry's was as well. What was going through that boy's mind? Poppy had told him that Harry reported he'd simply turned the corner and walked right into the Slytherin boys the other night but that the seventh-years had taken advantage of him while he was down, kneeing him in the groin when he was trying to hold onto his gushing nose. It was not like Harry to be so distracted. He could not afford to be, Severus knew. There were many worse dangers out there for Harry Potter than three 18-year-old boys bent on causing him a bit of discomfort and embarrassment.
He'd barely thought the word…discomfort…when his mark erupted in pain. He cursed as he stood, fetched his robes from the hook in the closet, sent patronuses to Minerva and Albus, and strode from his quarters as quickly as he could.
The Dark Lord was angry—he could already tell that much from the steadily intensifying burn in his left arm. He hurried out the castle doors and down toward the gates, noting that the moon was waxing toward full, that the lake was eerily visible under its soft light. He wished, briefly but fervently, that he could be anywhere else tonight, that he could be anyone else tonight. Tamping down that errant emotion and steeling himself for the inevitable, he slipped through the gate and disapparated with a quiet crack.
-Harry-
When he pulled himself out of his occluded state he was immediately aware that all was not right in the world. The pain of Severus' summoning that had sent him into his water cocoon had changed, but had not dissipated, moving instead into his extremities, making arms and legs ache and feel like heavy weights tying him to his bed. Worse though was the fear, the feeling that overcame him as he awoke, a weight heavier than the leaden feeling in his limbs.
"Mate? Harry?" Ron's voice pulled him out of the fear. He opened his eyes.
"'time is it?" he asked as he rolled onto his side with difficulty.
"Midnight. You were thrashing around. You OK now?"
Harry sat up, the oppressive weight of fear making his stomach clench. He shook his head.
"No." He slid his feet out of bed, reached for his robe and slid into it, kicking around on the floor for his slippers. Ron got down on his hands and knees and reached under the bed to grab one, handing it to Harry.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low.
"Snape…" He fumbled for his glasses and stood up. "He's…afraid…"
"You wanna go down and check on him?" asked Ron.
Harry shook his head. "He's not here." He stood up, grabbed his pillow and moved toward the door. "Can't sleep…I'll go down to the common room."
Ron sighed and grabbed his own pillow. "I'll come with you," he said as he followed his friend out the door.
/
24 March, 1997
Monday
Dear Severus:
I need to see you in private. When I got to Defense on Friday and saw the Headmaster there in your place, my stomach sank into my shoes. At least he let me know you were OK, but told me you hadn't slept at all the night before and needed some time to yourself. He made it clear he didn't want me going down to check on you myself and told me you'd be back in class on Monday.
Having the Headmaster for Defense didn't do much to reassure me. We didn't even do any proper Defense practice—just read a chapter and wrote an in-class essay. Dumbledore sat behind your desk with his hands folded on the blotter the whole time. It was quiet and unsettling. Even Hermione looked a bit disturbed by how peaceful class was. At least he returned our homework that you marked and I got your letter.
The weekend wasn't a lot better. You must have had your meals sent to your quarters and frankly, I didn't have much of an appetite. I got my homework done by Saturday night and sat down with Hermione to try to figure out a way to get that damn memory from Slughorn. She thinks I need to reason with him—to present him a logical argument for sharing the memory. I'm pretty sure this isn't going to get me anywhere but agreed to try. She's even working up something on paper for me—kind of like an "If/then" chart so I have a "path" to follow for any potential argument or rejection he comes up with. I looked at the parchment after class today and had to laugh—it looks like a map of the London Underground. Hermione huffed at me—she does that when she really wants to say "You boys are IDIOTS."
I get the idea from your last letter that you want to see the Amazon Rainforest. I don't know much about it, but I've heard of anacondas, which you didn't mention. (When you're throwing out lethal species, why not offer at least one I can understand?) Put those together with piranhas, those poison dart frogs and millions of insects (probably flesh-eating ants or ear canal-burrowing termites) and it seems like the perfect place for a summer vacation. You did say you were going with Malfoy, right? Why don't you take Crabbengoyle along too instead of pack mules?
Why did I ask about driving? Well, driving a car is dead useful. I've been thinking about things, like what I'll be doing next year, or even this summer, and what will happen if I can't use magic to get around. I'm going to be 17 this summer (in case you needed to be reminded) and I just thought that you could teach me to drive…if you knew how, that is. I know it's kind of stupid—it's not like you have a car or anything—but I thought that you could figure something out. You always do.
So when can I see you? Not in class, or in the Great Hall at meals, but see you to talk to you. I know you were afraid that night you were summoned, Severus. I could feel it and it was the fear more than the pain that kept me awake until past three in the morning. Ron stayed up with me and we tried to play chess but he trounced me even more thoroughly than usual. Maybe I could sneak down to your rooms under my invisibility cloak one night this week. I don't need to stay long—I just have some things I want to tell you that I shouldn't say in a letter.
I'll end with my question.
What made you so afraid?
Regards,
Harry
/
He didn't think Severus would answer the question but he wanted to ask it anyway. The fear he'd felt—Severus' fear—gnawed at him. Severus, like it or not, had become his rock. What was going on in now that made Severus' fear surface?
Was it possible that Harry had felt Severus' fear through their connection even if Severus had managed to suppress it when in the Dark Lord's presence?
He was frustrated beyond endurance. He wanted to see Severus for himself, alone. He wanted to talk to him, to sit in the same room and read a book or do his homework or practice Occlumency. He was tired of pretending that he hated Severus and more than tired of putting up with Severus' cutting remarks and Slytherin put-downs.
He put away the letter he had just written then reached, almost guiltily, for the Marauders' Map. Unfolding it, he immediately scanned it closely looking for Draco Malfoy's dot. It was late and the tiny dots were concentrated in the four common rooms and it took Harry several minutes to determine that Malfoy appeared to be in his room and probably asleep.
He was about to fold the map up when something caught his eye. A tiny "S Snape" was seemingly wavering back and forth near Dumbledore's office. No—it was moving up the spiral staircase…toward the office where Dumbledore waited. Harry squinted at the map, trying to see who else was in the office with the Headmaster. Weasley? W Weasley? Who was W Weasley?
Bill.
What was Bill doing in the Headmaster's office at ten o'clock on a Monday evening?
Harry continued to watch the map as Severus' dot joined Bill's and Dumbledore's, as Severus' paced back and forth and even around the other two. Finally, he could take it no longer. He grabbed his invisibility coat, stuffed it in his pocket and slipped out the portrait hole without a backward glance.
-Severus-
Harry wanted Severus to teach him how to drive. Drive a Muggle car nonetheless, because after all, he'd be seventeen this summer and legally qualified to secure his driver's license. It wasn't enough that he'd already taught the boy how to shave, and how to occlude his mind, and had held his hand and bathed his face when he'd been ill this past summer.
Severus remembered the first time he'd gotten behind the wheel of an automobile. His father had been almost intolerably patient, having apparently decided that he could impart this one thing to his wizard son that he could not learn from his mother. He'd taken him out on a Sunday afternoon to a mostly empty car park and it hadn't taken Severus long to master the controls and the clutch and after a few jerky starts, maneuver the vehicle in graceful, slow circles around the perimeter.
It was the best time he'd spent with his father in years, and the last good memory he had of him.
Well, if Harry wanted him to teach him to drive, he'd teach him to drive. Maybe, with adequate lessons, he'd be less of a daredevil in an automobile than he was on a broom.
Now…to find a car…
/
26 March, 1997
Wednesday
Dear Harry:
It cannot possibly have slipped your mind that Easter break begins this weekend and I have arranged for us to spend it together here at Hogwarts. I do not think it wise to attempt a private meeting before the weekend, however. By the time you receive this response from me, it will be Thursday already and the holiday begins the next evening. You may floo to my quarters from Minerva's office any time after the students leave on Saturday morning. I will be waiting for you and am curious about what exactly it is you wish to discuss than cannot, or should not, be said in a letter.
And while we are together, I will answer the question you posed as best I can. Like you, I feel there are some topics best discussed in person. Things are progressing, Harry, coming to a head, so to speak. The Ministry is more far gone than I had thought and the friends we have there are dropping like flies. The Order is marshalling its forces but sometimes I think the effort is like stopping the rolling tide. We will have much to speak about next week, and plans to make for all eventualities.
Fear, Harry, is a powerful emotion. It can feed on your soul and remove the spine of the even the strongest and greatest men and women. Fear can be crippling; one person succumbing to their fears can destroy the efforts of many fighting against an evil. The poet Robert Louis Stevenson once said "Keep your fears to yourself but share your courage with others." Similarly, the American Martin Luther King Jr. said "We must build dikes of courage to hold back the flood of fear." One person, Harry, by a show of courage, can become that dike to hold back the flood. We will talk about this next week; it grows more and more important.
I will decidedly not be sharing my Amazon getaway with any of my Slytherin students, though using some as pack mules is more and more appealing as the term progresses and their intellectual development does not. I could, of course, say the same for certain Gryffindors. I am now more interested, since you bring it up, of having a parselmouth with me to communicate with the anacondas and other serpents of the jungle. As you seem to exhibit a fear (see previous paragraph) of bugs, especially those ear canal-burrowing termites, be sure to bring sufficient insect repellant. I can whip some up for you if you'd like—how many liters do you believe you will need for a three-week stay?
I will do my best to arrange for driving lessons for you this summer, Harry. I do not drive frequently, but have been told that it's like riding a bike—you never forget once you learn. It is a useful skill, and I would decidedly prefer to work with you myself rather than handing you over to those miscreant Weasley twins who may set you up with a flying Ford Anglia instead of a safe War era Bentley. I trust that the color of the car (black) is unimportant to you?
I am behind on my marking so will end here—we will have ample time to catch up over the coming break.
Stay safe, Harry. No more lurking about in corridors under that infernal invisibility cloak.
Regards,
Severus
/
Severus replaced the lid on his bottle of ink and rubbed the back of his hand. It was still cramping after his visit with the Dark Lord several days ago.
How odd he had found it that Harry had picked up on his fear that night. He assumed Harry had been roused from his occluded state by the fear rather than the group-directed Cruciatus; he was well-equipped to occlude against physical pain but if Severus had allowed his fear to surface… He could not afford a slip as significant as that.
The Ministry was nothing more than an elaborate but poorly-constructed house of cards. And the Dark Lord, since his reawakening in the graveyard outside of his father's ancestral home, had been constructing a simple line of dominoes around and through it. Come the tipping point, they would fall, one against the next, until the house of cards toppled.
Severus knew what the tipping point would be, as did the Dark Lord.
As did Albus Dumbledore.
Could he live long enough to make sure that the domino in front of Hogwarts was strong enough to stand when the onslaught came?