Chapter 40

The Burdens of a War

xxx

A burst of green flame interrupted Harry and Ron's mundane conversation with a jolt. Both boys looked to see Ginny's head bobbing in the fire, her eyes watering from the sensation of having only her head travel to Harry's front room.

"Mum and Dad are just coming up to the house now," Ginny informed him in a rush. "And hi, Harry."

Harry gave a little wave, still a bit startled by her sudden appearance and unable to say anything as she was already retreating from the flames.

"Right," Ron said, jumping off the couch as Ginny's head disappeared. "I'd better hurry."

"Floo powder is right there," said Harry, pointing to the jar sitting atop the mantel. "Just grab it and throw, you know the deal."

Ron nodded and fisted his hand in the jar, unaware that several untimely events were about to occur in rapid succession. The fireplace ignited in an emerald glow once again, simultaneously with the unhappy timing of Ron's right handed pitch of grey, chalky dust into the hearth. The result was one large bang, and subsequently, the issuing of a moderately sized plume of hazy smoke from the hearth and several curse words from one rudely surprised Ron Weasley. A split second of confusion followed, in which both boys attempted to comprehend how the two events had happened right on top of each other, and why, consequently, Ron was still standing in Harry's sitting room.

Along with the smoke, however, their perplexed state of befuddlement cleared. Replacing the cloud of smog was something even more terrifying. Unfolding himself from the fireplace, Severus emerged, covered from his wool-clad chest all the way up to his creased forehead in Ron's fistful of misguided floo powder.

Horrified, Ron took a clumsy step backward, nearly tripping over the low coffee table and catching himself just before he fell. Harry instantly swung his feet off the couch and, with no amount of grace, sprang up, knowing that he would much prefer standing to sitting when his father came after him, even if the results would be the same.

Severus, however, neither reached for Ron's nearby throat, nor did he move towards Harry. Instead, he stood still for a moment, obviously in just as much shock as the boys had been seconds before. Realizing he still had a mouthful of floo powder, he promptly spit it out, opening his eyes and blinking several times before gaining the presence of mind necessary to reach up and wipe off the soot caking his face.

Severus' next action was to turn his eyes on Ron, who took another step backwards (this time minding the table). He examined the redhead closely for a second, looking almost as if he were trying to understand why he was standing there, covered in dust with this boy in his front room. He then turned to Harry, narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth to deliver what would likely be a vehement and proper upbraiding, but after another moment's thought, closed it again.

He was too tired to yell. It was ironic; but he was too tired to shout.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, and resettling his dark, yet surprisingly placid gaze on his son, he intoned with deliberation, "I do believe this falls under the category of 'don't do anything stupid.'"

Harry grimaced and bowed his head, wondering what sort of tirade this was a preamble for, and when said raving might begin. He never enjoyed the raising of voices and having an angry jet of threats sent his way, but there were worse things still: such as the suspense of waiting for such things to occur, and imagining in great detail how exactly everything would unfold.

Because the pause seemed to be due to some deliberation on Severus' part, Harry, in hopes of deterring Severus from too harsh an action, continued to hang his head and affect an expression of immense guilt on his youthful face. Of course, he did feel guilty, yes—but he feared his hopefulness that Severus would take this lightly would shine through on his face far more than his remorse if he did not take precautions to avoid such a misfortune.

Severus, however contrary to Harry's expectancy, did not deliver the anticipated diatribe. Instead, he merely turned to the annoyingly frightened Weasley boy, and, with a surprising amount of control over his voice, commanded firmly, "You, boy, should be getting home. Your mother is probably having an epileptic fit by now."

Though he was by no means at the top of his year academically, Ron could recognize a reprieve when he was getting one. He nodded hurriedly and stepped quickly towards the fireplace, sparing Harry only one sympathetic glance before throwing the powder into the hearth and this time, disappearing when he shouted his destination.

Ron's absence only served to heighten the smothering rigidity of the silence that had fallen between Harry and Severus. Harry was perhaps more aversely affected by the severe quiet than his father, suddenly made enormously aware of Severus' paradoxically violent and measured pattern of breathing.

The Potions Master was staring intently at his son, wondering how it was that Harry could pull another stunt like this that he knew would upset Severus so close to their last falling out, and at the same time, marveling at the fact that he felt more disappointed than righteously infuriated. Reasonably, he thought, this was a sign of Harry's brazen disregard for rules and even disrespect for Severus. Rationally, Severus' anger over this would be more explicable and justifiable than his surge of ire the previous week. Still, despite these factors, he was simply more annoyed than ireful.

"I'm not going to ask you what you have to say for yourself," Severus said in way of announcement, his almost gently conversational tone of voice deceiving. He watched the flicker of shame pass over his son's face, surprised when it did not satisfy him. In favour of finishing what he had to say, he refused to analyse the reason behind this and continued. "To be honest… I don't care to hear it anyway. Go to bed, Harry. In light of this event I believe it is best we save any of the talks that need to be had until morning."

Severus did not stay in the room to watch his orders being carried out. He knew that Harry would go up to his room as asked—his guilt was too great to allow him to disobey now. As for himself, he needed to take a hot shower and try to find some rest before he rose again in the morning. He could not—would not—deal with this until then.

Harry watched his father move from the room, the man's movements slowed by physical fatigue and mental weariness. Somehow, he thought, he would have preferred the shouting.

Though Harry realized it was more than slightly foolhardy to provoke Severus further, he knew he could not handle going to bed until he'd made things right, at least somewhat, with the man. It was perhaps a poor decision, but Harry followed Severus, walking quickly to catch up with him before he reached the stairs.

"Please—wait," Harry called out after him, even as Severus caught sight of him and began to ascend the stairs with more haste.

Severus stopped on the third step and turned around, giving Harry an even, and yet somehow annoyed, look.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "I know… I don't know—that is—"

"Harry," Severus breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and leaning heavily on the iron banister with the other. "I'm sure you're feeling quite repentant, but I am in no mood to speak with you right now."

"But I—"

"Harry."

Harry stopped speaking and waited, wondering at the pained expression on Severus' face. "You have to understand that your apologies only mean something when you stop making the same mistakes over and over again."

Unconsciously, Harry's mouth formed a silent, oh, and his eyebrows lifted. Severus nodded, taking this as a sign that his point had been well taken, and turned to resume his trip up the stairs. His assumption was incorrect, however. Though wounded by his all-too-true words, Harry was not ready to give this up.

"Please—if we could just talk—:

Severus stopped moving once again, but did not turn to look at Harry. "I can't. I can't speak to you right now." He sighed heavily and lowered his eyelids "I'm going upstairs, and you're going to check that there are no candles left burning in the house, and then you are going to do the same as me. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded, knowing very well that Severus could extinguish every candle from where he stood, but that he was using this to divert Harry's attention away from him.

"Afterwards, you will need to pen Miss Granger and ask her to be here in the early morning. I shall need to speak to both of you then."

Severus did not wait for a response before taking flight once again, his climb up the stairs slow and executed in an uneven, staggering pace. It was clear that he needed the rest which he sought.

Reluctantly, Harry sighed and acquiesced, taking his left foot off the bottom stair and turning towards the study. A moment later, he turned his head over his shoulder, only to see that Severus had already vacated the landing.

Harry sighed and checked the study which he knew was dark, an oppressive weight settling on his shoulders as he unconsciously began replaying the events of the evening in his head.

xxx

On the whole, Severus was not surprised the next morning when Tibby came to him to inform him that Miss Granger had shown up on their front doorstep, accompanied by Bill Weasley. Rather than being bothered by the thought of dealing with her so early in the morning as he would normally have been, he found himself grateful for her promptness. At least, he thought, he could depend on one of these children to do what she was supposed to.

"Thank you, Tibby," Severus said, rising from his seat. "You should set out breakfast- nothing heavy, just something suitable to eat before we leave this afternoon."

"Yes, Master Snape," Tibby answered obediently, instantly disappearing from in front of Severus like any proper house elf should have done. Not for the first time, Severus found himself grateful that she was the one who had stayed on to tend the house all these years. She was an incredibly helpful elf, and not nearly as irritating as half of those who made up the population.

The previous night's fatigue had not left Severus entirely with his long dose of slumber, but then, he hadn't expected it to. As much as he would have liked to deny it, the fatigue was an inevitable consequence of the mental faculties he employed during times such as these. Though he did not mean to, he spent so much of his time analysing the constantly changing state of society and developing some sort of strategy for coping that it was exhausting, and without the work of a spy to keep his adrenaline pumping and providing a source of energy, he simply didn't know from where he could draw strength.

Further a drain on him was the pressure of dealing with Harry, especially when he complicated matters in the way that he had the previous night. He felt that perhaps if he could trust that Harry was at least prepared in terms of maturity for the war, he might not be so worn by the thought of training the boy in months to come. When he acted so immaturely, however, it only added to the stress of Severus' every day life. He would have to find some way to make Harry see this… he would have to coax the boy into developing some sense of responsibility.

"Miss Granger," Severus said easily as he approached the entrance hall, where she stood removing her clock, mittens, and scarf. Her cheeks were pink from the biting cold outside, and her teeth chattered slightly. Nevertheless, she smiled and returned his greeting, whereupon he turned to address her chaperone.

"Mr. Weasley," Severus greeted, inclining his head.

"Professor Snape," Bill returned, looking equally as cold as Hermione. "Don't mind if I use your floo to get back, do you? It's horribly chilly out there, you know."

"Not at all," Severus said, turning towards the parlour. "It's just this way. You might have used it this morning, rather than taking the walk up."

"I had thought of that, but Miss Granger was intent on arriving early, and I was unsure if you would have received my owl in time."

"Logical," Severus consented, arriving in the sitting room where the man's brother had been only the previous night. He made note to himself to write to the boy's mother and ask her to keep a closer watch on her children—he couldn't have them so frequently invading his home and taking liberties. He said nothing to Bill, however. As he had been an excellent student, this was the Weasley he minded least, even if he would never admit as much.

"Well, thank you, sir," Bill said, stepping towards the fireplace. "Hermione, I'll give your regards to my lazy brother when he finally hauls himself out of bed this morning. Sorry you missed him."

"Of course," Hermione laughed, waving as Bill moved to depart. Once he had gone, she turned to Severus. "Is this about the potion?"

"Very subtle, Miss Granger," Severus remarked dryly, shaking his head and moving past her towards the kitchen, where he saw that Tibby had set out a tray of light breakfast foods.

"I didn't suppose you'd like to hear about how my holiday has been, Professor, and that's the only other thing I've got to talk about," Hermione quipped. "But if I was wrong, please, tell me. I like a conversation just as much as the next person."

"You may spare me," said Severus, shaking his head and fixing two cups of tea. "No, this is not about the Potion, though that should also be discussed."

A perplexed frown crossed Hermione's face, but she nodded. "Should we wait for Harry?"

"No, I'll wake him—"

"It's fine," Hermione said quickly, rushing to get the words out. "I'm sure he could use the rest if he's still asleep."

Severus arched his eyebrow at this, but silently complied, coming to sit across the table from her and setting down the cups of tea he had prepared.

"Then we can speak about the potion, in the meantime," Severus provided, ignoring the direct topic of Harry for the moment. "I believe it's reaching the end of its first period of stasis."

Hermione's look of perplexity turned to one of deep concern, and she protested, "But that doesn't give us very much time…"

"No, it doesn't. Not at all."

"Will you speak to Malfoy, or will Harry?"

"It should be Harry," Severus said, though he had to admit to himself, he was, for the moment, mildly reluctant to lend the boy trust with such an important task. "He'll need to become accustomed to handling these situations himself… though I will speak with him beforehand."

"That makes sense," Hermione said, though she too looked equally unsettled about the prospect of giving Harry such an important task. "It is crucial, though, that he succeed in persuading him—"

"I'm well aware of that, Miss Granger, thank you," Severus interrupted, his tone short. He was pleased when she fell silent. Intelligent though she was, Severus disliked when she took the liberty of lecturing him on things such as the importance of Harry's success. When he wanted her opinion, he would certainly ask for it.

Apparently, however, as Hermione began speaking again several minutes later, he had not done as effective a job at silencing her as he had previously thought. He considered snapping at her once again when she began asking him about the sustaining qualities of blood's magical components, but because he found the question an interesting one to answer, he decided to privilege her with the knowledge he had to impart.

It was gratifying to be listened to, if only for once.

xxx

When Harry woke the next morning, he was surprised to find Hermione sitting in the kitchen with Severus, mulling over a cup of tea and picking at the last half of her lemon scone. She looked up brightly at him when he entered the sunny little room, and he was hit with the sharp contrast of her expression in comparison with that of his father.

Severus had been speaking to Hermione only a minute prior, but when Harry had arrived, he'd instantly stopped, reminded of their encounter the previous night. He neutralised his expression and waited for Harry to seat himself at the table.

"When did you arrive?" Harry asked Hermione, ignoring Severus' intent gaze.

"About half an hour ago."

"She insisted that we let you sleep," Severus informed him, and Harry was startled that the man was speaking to him. "You're fortunate; I would not have been so kind."

Harry was unsure whether this comment was meant to be taken seriously, or if his father had only meant it good naturedly. He breathed his laugh, knowing it sounded synthetic, and returned his attention to Hermione.

"When did you receive my letter?"

"Early this morning," Hermione answered, setting down her cup. "My parents are gone out of town for the day, so I was glad for a reason to leave the house."

"Your parents are away?" Severus questioned, looking concerned. "You should have told someone; it's not wise for you to spend your weekend alone in such times."

Though Hermione looked heartened by his concern, which Severus noticed with a touch of irritation, she casually responded, "I suppose I thought that if something were to happen, they weren't going to be of much help to me anyway. They're Muggles."

"I recognise that," Severus responded stonily, rising from his chair to pour himself another cup of tea. "Still, it's unwise."

"Dumbledore did know," Hermione said a moment later. "He didn't say much on the topic."

"The Headmaster knew and did not think to tell any of us?"

By us, both Harry and Hermione knew Severus was referring to the Order. Hermione shrugged, and admitted, "Well, he must have told some… at least, the ones on duty at my house for this weekend. He seemed to think it was better I stay there than to travel with my parents."

Severus turned around and gazed at her for a second, wide eyed as if comprehension was dawning on him. Then, with one violent shake of the head, he spat an admission of "Fool!" under his breath and went back to preparing his tea.

"Sir?"

"Never mind," Severus snapped, tossing his spoon on the counter and returning to the table. "There are more pressing matters at hand, anyway."

"More pressing matters?" Hermione inquired.

"Did you honestly think I simply asked Harry to invite you for toast?" Severus asked derisively, a familiar sneer to his expression. "You're more tolerable than most students, I'll admit, but I hardly yearn for your presence when it is not necessary."

Harry's eyes flew to Hermione's face; similar remarks had, in the past, had her near tears. This morning, however, she simply narrowed her gaze and set her jaw firmly.

"That was unnecessary," she said quietly. "And you needn't respond; I'll leave it at that. But it was unnecessary."

Severus considered snapping back at her; how dare she speak to him like this? Still, a part of him admired that she had, for once, contained her emotions. He'd watched her burst into tears or go into fits of nervousness at his similar remarks in the past, and her lack of discretion had always bothered him. Today, however, something had changed in her countenance. What, he could not quite place.

"I've asked your presence," Severus finally said, ignoring the situation entirely, "because the Order meeting last night produced some very important information, and Dumbledore has asked me to inform you of it."

Well, this was new, Harry thought. It was a rare occasion when Dumbledore actually decided to let him in on any information, let alone anything of relative importance.

Hermione's rigid look had melted into one of concerned curiosity, and she had unknowingly inched her way to the edge of her seat. Severus took a long sip of his Pu'erh Tao Cha before continuing.

"We will be concluding our holiday a day early. I have asked you here because it is a safe location from which we can leave without making our movements known."

Hermione blinked, awaiting an explanation. Harry squinted, evaluating his father's expression. "Why?"

"St. Mungo's was attacked yesterday, early—just before dawn. The boldness of this act makes the Headmaster fearful that something equally horrific could occur before the holiday comes to a close."

Hermione gasped. Harry dug his fingers into the sides of the chair, but said nothing, waiting for Severus to continue.

"We were fortunate to find that the casualties were few… but unfortunate to discover that the victims were closely associated with our own."

"Who?" questioned Hermione, her voice a whisper, as if she might break if she raised it only a fraction higher.

"The Longbottoms," Severus informed them evenly, accustomed to withholding display of emotion in circumstances such as these. "Frank and Alice Longbottom."

"Merlin," Hermione murmured, paling and rising from her seat. She moved towards the small, white-paned window and stared blankly out of it.

Harry watched Hermione walk away from the table, and murmured woefully, "Neville." A sinking feeling overtook him as he turned his wide-eyed face to the floor.

"Yes," Severus responded, nodding solemnly. "I believe that is exactly why Dumbledore preferred that I tell you rather than keeping you in the dark. Harry, you realise he'll be—"

"Set on vengeance, yes."

Hermione turned around quickly, her pale forehead creased with worry. "You don't really think he'd do something stupid for the sake of revenge?" she exclaimed. "That's not like him at all!"

"You've never lost a parent, Hermione," Harry snapped, unaware of how harsh his voice had sounded until he glanced at Severus' cautionary expression. He gave both of them an apologetic look, and said more calmly, "I'm not sure you understand what it can do to a person."

Hermione tried to relax her stance, and admitted in a conceding way, "No, I haven't. I suppose this is adding insult to injury, as well, considering…"

"Considering what had already happened to them," Harry finished, confused when Severus shook his head.

"No- considering their purpose," Severus corrected. "It is also important that you understand… the Longbottoms were among those that Voldemort could consider true 'enemies'. He couldn't have you, Harry, for the Asterisus Potion. He knows time is running out… Dumbledore has informed us that this is the reason for the Longbottoms' deaths."

A shaky whimper escaped Hermione, and she threw her hands up to her mouth, clasping her own face tightly. She shook her head disbelievingly, and Severus nodded.

"Yes, imagine knowing your parents died to be chopped up and used as Potions ingredients—"

"Oh, Merlin, stop!" Hermione cried, bringing one hand down to clutch her stomach. "…I think I'm going to be ill."

"Not in my kitchen," Severus said evenly. "Lavatory's that way." He pointed down the hall.

Harry looked at his father in shock, and Hermione gave him a look expressing how appalled she was that he could be so blunt. Still, she seemed in need of a moment alone. She shook her head and, with a slight stumble, left the room, heading in the direction that Severus had advised.

"How can you be so insensitive?" asked Harry disbelievingly.

Severus shrugged and leaned against the back of his chair. "You should become accustomed to hearing the brutal details, Harry. Isn't that exactly what you asked of me several weeks ago?"

"I asked you to let me know what was going on, not sit here and describe every graphic detail until it makes me and everyone else sick to our stomachs!"

"You asked me to help you get prepared!" Severus responded vehemently, fisting his hands and rising quickly from his seat. "This is what you are up against! This is why you need to do what I say; take my advice and start growing up! This is a war, Harry, and it is upon us. It's not just a prophecy anymore—it's happening. You need to realise that and start acting like an adult."

"I'm trying!"

"No, you are clearly not," Severus hissed in a way that was all too familiar to Harry. "If you were trying you would consider my instruction far more imperative than you treat it."

"Is this about last night?"

"Yes. If you can't even follow simple instructions, then you aren't ready to be trained. If you can't understand the necessity of withholding your childish emotions at a time like this, then you can't be trusted to engage in the type of mental warfare that will most certainly be required of you. If you cannot take the truth in detail, then you certainly are not ready to witness it! None of you are: not Miss Granger, with all of her intelligence, not Mr. Weasley, with all of his blind courage, and certainly not you, with all of your disobedience."

"That's unnecessary."

"Don't try to play Miss Granger's card! That only works when you're right!"

Harry stared at his father for a moment. He stubbornly had to admit to himself that there was truth to what the man was saying. Finally, he sat down, saying, "Fine. What will it take to prove to you that I'm ready? Because I am. I'm ready to be trained. I'm ready to be told the truth."

"Find a way to fix this," Severus instructed simply, stepping away from the table and towards the door.

"What do you mean?"

"You must put serious consideration into what I am telling you and come to your own conclusion. I do not care how; you must adjust the way you think and behave accordingly."

Harry folded his arms against his chest and stared fixedly at the table. After a moment, Severus seemed to decide that his lecture had reached its close.

"Have your bags packed by eleven," he said cooly, his features smoothing into a neutral expression as he straightened his robes, "and tell Miss Granger that someone will be sent to her house to collect everything she needs."

"Who?" Hermione asked, reappearing at the door, looking mildly better than she had ten minutes before.

"Ah, Miss Granger," Severus said, his tone of voice suggesting that nothing had happened in her absence. "I'm told it will be either Nymphadora Tonks or Hestia Jones. If you want to make a list of what you need, I will be glad to pass it along."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to hand it to them myself."

Severus tilted his head to the side in concession, though his singularly arched brow indicated he thought this request rather silly. "I wasn't planning on looking at it, but if you insist, I will have the Auror meet us at Hogwarts and you may speak to her there."

"Thank you," Hermione said, nodding her gratitude.

Severus dismissed himself from the room a second later, and once Hermione was sure he had gone, she turned back to Harry.

"How can you act as if nothing happened?" Harry asked her as she sat down again at the table.

"I'm not acting like nothing happened, Harry… but I was standing around the corner for a good portion of that… erm, confrontation," she admitted. "He does have a point."

"Oh, great, you too," Harry muttered, slumping down in his chair.

"Harry," Hermione said gently, if not with a touch of annoyance, "Harsh as he may be, Professor Snape's intelligence far exceeds our own. Maybe he's not always rational… but he's not survived this long due to luck. He knows what he's talking about. Perhaps we do need to toughen up."

"Always the voice of reason, aren't you?" asked Harry grudgingly.

"Oh, don't give me that," Hermione scolded, narrowing her eyes. "You just don't like that I'm right. And I am."

"Very modest, Hermione."

"I don't need to be," she replied. "These are just facts."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, and then stopped himself. "Yeah, I suppose so," he sighed.

"Well, I'm glad we at least agree on that."

"Yeah," said Harry, correcting his posture. "When did you start… standing up to him, anyway?"

A flush stole over Hermione's lightly freckled cheeks, and she shrugged. "You know, I've been watching you two the past few times I've been here… and I've come to a conclusion."

"And that is?"

"The Professor's bark is much worse than his bite."

Harry laughed loudly at this, and expressed his disagreement. "I wouldn't say that. It's just that he doesn't bite as often as one might expect."

"Yes, that is more accurate," Hermione agreed with a quirk of her lips. "But I do think I can respect him without fearing him, if you understand what I mean."

"I do," Harry agreed.

Both raised their eyes, and their gazes locked for a moment. Then, almost as if the sight of the other's happy face reminded each of them that the current circumstances were too grave to allow themselves jubilance, both quickly dropped their eyes again, expressions sobering.

"Anyway," said Hermione after a moment, habitually smoothing down her jeans the way she would have her skirt had she been in uniform, "You should start packing. I'm sure the Professor will want to leave promptly."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Do you want to come with me, or stay here and finish your tea?"

Hermione shrugged, and said, "I'll just come up and keep you company." She looked down and touched her cup, which was still halfway full. "It's cold, in any case."

Both knew very well that it would have been easy for Hermione to reheat her tea with a simple flick of her wand, but it was a case of comfort. Neither wanted to be alone right now—Harry because he knew Hermione's presence would be enough to keep his mind off of vengeance for Neville's sake, and Hermione because she didn't want to dwell on the dangers her own parents faced, if the Longbottoms could be so easily eliminated while being kept safe in a magical institution.

Silently, both started towards Harry's room.

xxx

They arrived at Hogwarts later than Severus would have liked, but they arrived nonetheless. Little was said as they made the journey from the front gates up to the doors, Harry and Hermione trailing at the Potions Master's feet. The cold was blistering—worse here than in Flintshire, the town nearest to Severus' home. Harry and Hermione had been ordered to wear hats, scarves, and mittens, and both were glad now that they had complied. Hermione held her scarf over her nose, protecting it from the chill, and Harry kept reaching up to tug his hat down over his ears. Severus wore a simple grey wool scarf and a pair of mittens, and did not appear to be bothered by the wind and snow; he merely squinted against the flurries of white, and led on.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them when they arrived at the doors. She stood inside the entrance hall, ushering them in with urgency, brushing the snow off of Harry and Hermione's shoulders and ignoring Severus, for she knew her attentions would be unwanted.

"Really, I can't see why you didn't simply use the floo," she muttered, performing a drying spell on both the children. She slanted Severus an agitated glance, and he narrowed his eyes.

"It would be unwise to use the floo at such a time, Minerva," Severus informed her coolly, as if it was utterly ridiculous to even suggest such a thing. "Such a move is expected by Voldemort, I assure you—and none of our party is particularly exempt from his attentions."

McGonagall looked like she wanted to agree, but the self-assured and condescending expression on Severus' face held her response at bay. She finished with the children before turning her full attention on him.

"The Headmaster wanted to see you the moment you arrived," she told him, receiving a reserved nod. "You'll need to be briefed on the new safety measures we'll be taking."

"Wait," Harry interjected, alerted to the fact that he wasn't supposed to be listening in when they both glared at him. He continued, however. "Why are we taking new safety measures all of a sudden? We've known all this time what Voldemort was planning to do—"

"Not here," Severus warned in a hiss, shaking his head once. "Both of you may visit me in my quarters tonight—don't bring the Weasley idiot, however, for my patience is running low today."

Neither objected; to have anything explained to them about the situation was a rarity in itself, and they couldn't risk losing the opportunity. Though disheartened by Severus' perpetually ill temper, Harry nodded silently and tried to look grateful.

McGonagall exchanged her last few words with Severus, and then escorted the kids into the Great Hall. Waiting at the end of the Hufflepuff table was a small arrangement of food, and several steaming cups of hot cocoa.

"Neville will be arriving sometime this afternoon," McGonagall informed them somberly, walking with them to the end of the table. "You should be prepared to deal with the situation delicately."

Ah. This was McGonagall's subtle way of telling them to behave tactfully. Harry privately thought that it was a bit silly to think that either one of them should need to be reminded; if anyone could understand what Neville would be feeling, it was Harry, and if anyone deserved an award for eloquence, it was certainly Hermione.

Both nodded to McGonagall and sat down to what she told them was meant to be lunch. She abruptly left them to eat alone, and then went to join Severus in Dumbledore's office.

xxx

"Honestly, Albus, Aurors?"

McGonagall entered the room to find Severus glaring sceptically at the Headmaster, reclined in a deceptively casual position in the high backed chair across from Dumbledore's desk. She silently took her seat, feeling invisible to the two men who had an almost tangible wall of tension between them.

"We discussed this at the Order meeting, Severus—"

"Yes, but I had hoped you were only agreeing to temporarily appease Moody," said Severus. "I had no idea that you could actually be so daft as to seriously allow—"

"It is better that we take precautions now than after another disastrous event, you realise," Dumbledore interrupted calmly, clearly perturbed but actively unmoved by Severus' arguments. "If we do not concede at this point and something happens at the school, we will be labelled as uncaring, having not prevented such a catastrophe."

"Ah, so this is all just a farcical replication of safety, created for the sole purpose of preventing the pointing of accusatory fingers by parents and ministry officials when something else occurs? You do realise that a team of five Aurors will not hinder Voldemort if he should choose to attack the school?"

"Additional defence can't cause us any more harm than we are already facing," Dumbledore responded. "And it will discourage misbehaviour from some of the more dangerous students in Hogwarts' population."

Severus frowned, then looked away. Dumbledore did have a strong point. Voldemort would be training his new pet… his protégé. More likely than not, he would choose a boy who would have easy access to Harry, due to close proximity. If anything were to hinder the actions of such a child, certainly Aurors were one answer to the problem.

"I can see you are considering the point," Dumbledore said, drawing a groan of annoyance from Severus. The old man ignored it. "I'll expect you to cooperate, Severus, is that understood?"

Severus hated that, at times, the Headmaster still treated him like a child. He doubted whether the boy whom Albus seemed to picture sitting in front of his desk could have spent years ducking in and out of Voldemort's circle, loyalties wayward but undetectably so. Certainly he had proved himself more reasonable than a child- he had rationally come to terms with his and Harry's relationship, hadn't he?

A part of Severus realised that, though he was an adult in all these ways and more, the Headmaster did have viable reasons to expect him to raise complications. He was difficult—fundamentally so—and his arguments arose with such conviction that it was doubtful whether his actions would be concurrent with his agreement by way of conceding silence.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Severus agreed to cooperate with the efforts of the aurors who would soon inhabit the school. On some level, he realised that this meant he would need to give over some of his authority to the likes of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks; on another level, he ignored the fact entirely.

"I understand," said Severus tersely, feeling almost as if he had lost something once the words left his mouth. "Now, I do believe we have more important topics at hand."

"We always do," McGonagall sighed, taking her place in the conversation now that the disagreement between the two men had been settled, at least on the surface.

"Harry needs to begin training," Severus said at once, taking in but not responding to McGonagall's comment.

"It's rather soon, Severus," McGonagall said, the lines etched in her face deepening along with her thoughts.

"It will always be rather soon, Minerva," Severus responded stiffly, refusing to look at her. He stared straight ahead, past the Headmaster, and concentrated on controlling the movement of the rapidly twitching muscle in his jaw. "He will always seem too young, too unprepared- but that's the point of it."

"He's got to grow up," Dumbledore said quietly, resting his hands on the desk in front of him and lowering his eyelids over his tired blue eyes.

"He is close," Severus admitted, rising from his seat and going to stand by the window. "There are aspects of his supposed maturity that are weak, but he is only a teenager, we must remember. Essentially, I believe he has what is necessary to begin this journey."

Severus turned around to face the two adults in the room with him, assuming the same posture he held when he lectured a room full of students. He paced slowly as he spoke, unaware of his movements and far more absorbed in the thoughts behind his words. "His decision making skills are perhaps the least advanced at this point- he has, for the most part, ceased making reckless decisions and acting on an impulse, but his thought processes frequently lack logic. I believe that the best course of action is to train him now according to this weakness- we must hand him every strategy he could possibly employ, and trust our instruction more than his judgement. If we can forestall Voldemort's action long enough, perhaps time will bring him the tools necessary to take our instruction to another level- until then, we can only hope that we are teaching him what he most needs to know."

"What, exactly, do you suggest we teach him?" McGonagall asked, placing her hands on the arms of her chair.

"He'll need to be versed on dueling tactics, naturally," Severus began. It was clear that he'd been thinking for a long time on what Harry would need to learn before he finally faced Voldemort. His face was drawn in with concentration, the rapidity of his thought apparent in the glint of his eyes. "I don't plan to give him practical lessons in the Dark Arts, but the theory is necessary if he is going to come up against it. He'll need to be instructed in the strength of White Magic—Albus' strongest suit. If at all possible, the boy needs to be shown some methods of stealth, and somehow, if it is within my range of capabilities, I should like to force into his thick skull the concept of cunning. That could perhaps be the greatest challenge we face."

"Oh, come now, he can't be that horrible—"

"I assure you, Minerva, he can," Severus interrupted, shaking his head at the thought. "He's not daft by any means, but he's certainly not skilled in artifice or strategy."

"And how are we to teach him such a thing?"

"I'm working on it," Severus replied mildly, causing McGonagall and Dumbledore to exchange glances.

"How, precisely, are you working on it?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

The cautious note of the old man's voice caused Severus to thin his lips and quirk an eyebrow. "Beatings, regular ones," he answered facetiously.

"Severus, be serious," Dumbledore entreated, expression chastising.

"Oh, but I am," came the flat response.

"Severus," McGonagall said, more gently than the Headmaster had. "Please, no one is suggesting anything negative. We're just… curious."

"Ah, of course."

Severus did not retort further after that. He paced a moment more, and finally realising how many times he had crossed over the same stretch of floor, moved back to his chair. He sat down with a restless huff that was small enough to go unnoticed by the other two, and rested his head against the back of the chair.

"Just trust that I'm doing what I know is best for him," he said after a moment, for he could feel McGonagall's eyes resting on him and felt it best to give her assurances before being pestered on the topic. Dumbledore had long ago realised that when it came to Harry, it was sometimes best to let the issue lie with Severus; McGonagall had no such experience to go by.

McGonagall opened her mouth to respond to Severus, but her peripheral vision first detected Dumbledore's discreet shake of the head. She frowned, but acquiesced immediately with his unspoken appeal, and settled back into her chair.

"We should return to the Great Hall," she said tiredly. "The Aurors will be arriving soon."

"We should," Severus agreed, voice equally deadened with weariness.

Despite the general consensus in the room that they should move on to fulfill their more pressing duties, each of the adults sat immobile in his or her chair. Though unvoiced, their thoughts were all based on corresponding branches of the same idea: the war had been going on for far too long. It felt as though they had gone through the same sorts of conversations cyclically; there was always some matter pressing, and there was always the understanding that the decisions they made could very well determine the fate of countless others. The weight of such a burden was pressing, and though they had become accustomed to feeling the strain that accompanies any series of pivotal decisions, the familiarity of such a feeling hardly made it any less severe.

It was an exhausting state of being.

xxx

"He hasn't spoken once since it happened."

These were the first words that greeted Harry and Hermione upon Neville's arrival. His grandmother stood in the entrance, looking after him as he walked wraith-like to the end of the table in the Great Hall. Hermione and Harry turned just slightly, following her gaze, and watched him sit down sullenly. He stared at the food in front of him, but did not touch any of it. In fact, it didn't even seem like he was looking at the food. He really was just… staring.

"—quite shaken, though I can't see the reason for all the emotion—his parents were hardly alive in the first place," continued Mrs. Longbottom, though Harry and Hermione were hardly listening, "but then, that is Neville for you. I had expected to keep him home for awhile, but Dumbledore insisted he return to the school."

"I'm sure it's for safety reasons," Hermione said faintly. Her response was quiet, and almost automated for the lack of emotion in her voice.

"Of course," Mrs. Longbottom agreed, straightening her cloak. It was shocking; one would think that she would be just as emotional as poor Neville, but she was as rigid, austere, and appraising as ever, looking the children up and down as though determining whether they were fit company for her grandson. "You'll see that he eats something, and tell the Headmaster I will speak with him later."

"We will," Hermione answered, though Harry thought it was hardly necessary. Mrs. Longbottom had phrased it more as a command than a request; he doubted she required an answer. She was used to people obeying her without question.

"Well, good day to you both." the older woman said in way of goodbye, nodding to Neville, who was watching her from far away. Slowly, she turned and, clutching her oversized red handbag, moved towards the doors with grace that was impressive for a woman of her age.

"I'm surprised she didn't wait to see Professor Dumbledore," Hermione commented in a low voice to Harry.

"I get the impression that she feels it unnecessary," Harry responded. "She doesn't seem very concerned with Neville—"

"Shut up!" Hermione hissed. "You know how voices carry through the empty hall."

"Hermione, I don't think he can hear me—"

"Still," said Hermione stiffly.

Harry knew when it was best not to argue, so he consented and ceased speaking at once. He and Hermione stood in silence for a moment, neither knowing quite what to do next. It was obvious that they would need to go and sit with Neville—they couldn't just ignore him. Harry, however, had gone through periods similar to this enough times to know that there was a great possibility that Neville just wanted to be left alone. Though her intentions were noble, Hermione's persistence could be more of an annoyance than a comfort.

"You should probably go tell the Headmaster that Neville is here," Harry told Hermione a moment later, hoping she wouldn't realise that his motive was to distract her from Neville's presence. "I'll go keep him company for a while."

Hermione cast a worried look over her shoulder, considering her grief stricken friend. "Yeah, alright," she agreed hesitantly. "Do you think he's still in his office?"

"I don't know where else he'd be," Harry said, shrugging.

"Okay," said Hermione. "I'll be quick."

Harry nodded and shooed her off with a wave of his hand. He felt a certain loss of security as she left; as much as he knew it was necessary that she go, her presence provided a certain sense of reassurance in moments such as these, when he wasn't exactly sure what the best course of action was.

Because Harry knew that the first thing he must do before anything else was to go to Neville, he turned towards the Great Hall's doors and walked with even steps towards his destination. Neville did not look up as he approached, making Harry feel rather uncomfortable—if Neville would not even look at him, it seemed logical to conclude that neither would he respond to anything Harry might say.

Watching Neville intently for a reaction, Harry slowly sank into the seat across from him. The other boy's wide eyes remained fixed on the worn table, unseeing.

"Neville," Harry said gently, causing the other boy to lift his eyes. Harry smiled an encouraging, sympathetic smile, and nodded his gratitude for Neville's attention.

"Don't ask how I'm doing," Neville said hoarsely, bitterness etched into the lines of his face.

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't going to," he assured the other boy, glad that he had at least spoken.

"She exaggerates, you know," Neville muttered. "I have spoken—just not much."

"Who, your Grandmother?"

Neville nodded numbly, round face displaying a myriad of melancholy emotions, sullenness the most prominent.

Harry left the topic of Neville's Grandmother alone; he was sure that her overbearing nature had been of little solace to him. In fact, it was probably best that he was here now instead of with her. The company of family was not always a cure for sorrow. If anything, it could sometimes be a catalyst.

It struck Harry a moment later that Hermione had been correct; Neville had been able to hear what had been said in the Entrance Hall. He considered that Neville's Grandmother had been speaking very audibly when she'd arrived, but he was suddenly thankful that Hermione had stopped him from speaking when she had.

"It's hard, I know," Harry said a moment later, reaching forward and grasping a bunch of grapes. He separated the bunch from the rest of the vine, and, remaining casual, began to eat them in sequence. As much as he would have felt relieved to show some emotion, he knew it was better to hold the conversation with relatively little. He wasn't sure he could clearly focus on what he was saying if he became blinded by his feelings. "—losing someone, that is."

"Of course," Neville responded. Though the bitterness had not left his voice, Harry was heartened by the note of interest in it. "Anyone who expects different is a fool."

"There are a lot of fools in this world," Harry commented, eating another grape. "It's easy to feel alone when you're surrounded by people who don't understand."

"Yes," Neville agreed quietly, tempted by Harry's actions into taking a handful of grapes for himself. Both boys sat silently for a moment, working away at their small portions.

"But you know," Harry said a moment later, "no matter how alone you feel… you never truly are. That's the beauty of humanity, I guess. Everyone suffers… but I suppose it gives us all something in common."

Neville's circular eyes flickered up to Harry's face; he looked rather caught off guard. Harry shrugged, as if to say, Well, it's true. Neville slowly nodded his agreement and, with something changed in his expression, looked back down.

"It's just so unfair," Neville said at length. "He already robbed them of their sanity… why their lives, too?"

"You can't expect a logical explanation for why these things happen, Neville, they just do."

"But they weren't hurting anything!"

This outburst, accompanied by Neville's fists slamming into the table, caused Harry to jump slightly. He blinked several times, trying not to show any emotional upheaval at Neville's pain, though it was physically hurting him inside. Harry did not like to see people suffer: particularly his friends. However, he supposed that if he was to be of any help, he had to appear as though he was holding it together. One of them had to retain some sense of fortitude.

"I know," Harry said softly, reaching across the table and resting a hand on Neville's arm. Harry would have expected such a gesture to feel awkward and uncomfortable, but Neville's instantly consoled reaction made it seem like the right thing to do in such a situation. Harry tried not to develop a feeling of pride at this, but the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he didn't need Hermione for this as much as he had previously thought. "It's not rational, and it's certainly not justifiable, a death such as this—but all you can really do is just… focus that anger on defeating Voldemort, I suppose. That's what I did."

"Oh, they'll be avenged, that's sure enough," Neville seethed, eyes closed against the tears. It was an odd combination: his boyishly curved face which normally shone with effort and innocence had taken on an intense look of pain and righteous infuriation. Harry had rarely seen the boy worked into such a state.

Frowning, Harry opened his mouth to respond.

"Harry?"

Hermione's feminine voice floated over his shoulder, and he winced. Neville's hand twitched, and Harry realised he was still grasping the boy's wrist. Aware of the embarrassment working its way into Neville's expression, Harry jerked his hand away, and looked up at Hermione. The concerned look on her face told him that she had heard Neville's previous comment.

Her greeting had been a request—one to join the conversation, or simply to take a seat. She sensed the tension, and though she felt as though she was intruding on something, she also felt that her presence was necessary.

Harry nodded his assent, and she lowered herself into the spot on the bench beside him. She said nothing, but gazed sympathetically across the table at Neville, as Harry had done several minutes earlier. She looked to Harry with a troubled expression, and with his eyes, he nonverbally communicated to her that he understood her concern, and was doing what he could for their friend.

"Neville," Harry said carefully, turning back to his friend, "I can understand why you would want… revenge… but I'm… well, that wasn't what I meant when I said we should concentrate our efforts into defeating Voldemort."

"I know what you mean, Harry, and I'm not talking about Voldemort."

"What do you mean, then?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Didn't they tell you? It was them- the Lestranges, again- they took my parents. It wasn't enough to torture them to insanity! They had to see the task through!"

Hermione's wide-eyed expression told Harry that she hadn't been prepared to deal with this side of Neville. For once, she was the one who had no clue what to do. She turned to Harry with a pleading expression, that to him said, reason with him!

Harry was shocked that, for a moment, he considered telling Neville that his parents probably hadn't had a clue what had been going on, anyway… and then he realised that this was probably the exact sort of nonsense the boy's grandmother had been spewing for the past day. It was hardly a heartening notion.

"Vengeance isn't the answer, Neville, surely you can see that," Harry offered, knowing it was somewhat weak and unoriginal, but for the time being, unable to think of anything else that was more honest or to the point.

"And why not?" Neville asked, a sniffle escaping him. Despite all his anger, his underlying soft personality could not be erased. "Why shouldn't they pay for what they've done?"

"They should!" Harry exclaimed. "But not at the price of losing you too. Leave justice to those who have been trained for it."

"What, you think I'm not strong enough to handle it, huh?" Neville asked bitterly. "Think I'll choke, do you?"

"No, that's not it at all, Neville!" Hermione interjected, lifting her hand to reach for his, but thinking better of it at the last moment. "It's just…"

She looked to Harry to finish the statement, unsure how to do so, and he quickly picked up where she had left off. "There are better ways of dealing with your pain…" Harry said, hating that he sounded like an article to be published in Witch Weekly.

"Vengeance won't bring them back," Hermione interrupted, logic seeming to have returned to her.

Harry nodded, glad that she had been able to voice what he had been unable to find the words for.

"It's not that- it's the principle of it."

"The principle of it," Harry repeated. "The principle of it is that if you allow yourself to be so moved by their actions as to seek revenge- to destroy that part of yourself that you can never get back- then they've won something else. Vengeance turns otherwise good people into ruthless predators with little purpose other than to make a comeback. Is that what you want to do with your life?"

Moved far more by these words than anything that had been said thus far, Neville looked up and away again, staring hard at the ground off at his side.

"Neville—Neville—Harry's right, you know," Hermione said gently, this time allowing her boldness to get the best of her and reaching out to grasp Neville's hand, much like Harry had grasped his arm earlier. "We'd hate to lose you to their cause as well."

"I don't know…" Neville whispered quietly. What he did not know was unclear. "I just don't know about anything anymore."

"And that won't change for a while," Harry said. "It's never easy, Neville… but… you do what you can."

There seemed to be few words that could follow such a discussion. Neville chose not to respond, and Harry took this as a sign that his words were being taken in with at least a small measure of contemplation. He and Hermione deliberately avoided each other's gazes—it was an uncomfortable and yet settling silence which fell over the group, and neither were inclined to disturb it.

It was not long after that Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape emerged from the door directly behind the staff table at the front of the Hall. Both held their own characteristic looks of seriousness, McGonagall's face drawn into a tight, puckered expression, and Severus' pulled into a glare which Harry had since come to recognise as a look of deliberation.

"Longbottom," McGonagall said gently, coming behind him and resting a weathered hand on his shoulder. "You should come with me."

Hermione frowned and looked at Harry questioningly, who, in turn, shrugged and looked to Severus. The older man shook his head once, indicating that now was neither the time nor the place. His eyes drifted from his son's face to McGonagall and Neville's exiting forms, and, after a brief period, back to Harry.

"That was… well handled," Severus said in way of commendation, nodding to both Harry and Hermione.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione returned while Harry deliberated how to react.

Somehow, Harry was not shocked that Severus had listened in on the conversation. He had almost come to expect this sort of thing—even when the man had been simply his teacher, he had somehow managed to intrude on every conversation that held any importance. While part of Harry was glad that his father had witnessed it, Harry couldn't quite feel pride at having done what he felt necessary… he appreciated that he was being complimented on as much, but regretted having been placed in a situation where such a discussion was needed.

"This- all this disaster- it's just going to keep getting worse, isn't it?"

Again, Severus only responded with a silencing shake of the head. Discouraged by this reaction and further confounded when his father abruptly turned and headed for the doors, Harry wondered how Hermione could be so at ease as she placed a steadying arm on his shoulder. He slanted his eyes in her direction, and she tilted her head in the direction which Severus was walking towards.

Suddenly realising why Severus had been adamant that they refrain from conversation in so open an area, Harry gave a little nod to an Auror he'd seen only once in the Daily Prophet over the summer.

"That makes sense," he whispered to Hermione, who nodded her agreement.

"We should go," she whispered back, tugging slightly at his arm.

At once, both slid off the bench and, as they were unsure how it would appear if they disappeared out of the staff exit, headed towards the doors. Severus, seeing them coming his way, shifted out of the doorway, and continued to engage the Auror, who raised his eyebrows in Harry's direction as if he wanted to say something to him, in quiet conversation until they had passed.

"I'll have to remember to thank him for that later," Harry commented to Hermione as they reached the top of the stairs, infinitely grateful for Severus' subtle interference.

"Oh, yes," Hermione murmured, "I'd forgotten we were supposed to go visit him tonight."

"You had?" Harry asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"Well, I was thinking about Neville, you realise," Hermione came back defensively, rolling his eyes when he smiled and shook his head.

"You know, on the subject of vengeance… do you think perhaps it would benefit Neville to speak to Professor Snape?" Hermione offered, sounding tentative on the subject.

"I doubt it would be well received, given Neville's immense fear of him," Harry disagreed, grimacing. "I don't doubt, however, that Severus would have something of value to say to him, I do agree with you on that point."

"You just called him Severus," Hermione pointed out, reaching the top of yet another flight of stairs and turning to face him.

Harry stopped with each foot on a different step, frowning and mentally retracing his last contribution to the conversation. "I did, didn't I?"

Hermione nodded slowly, searching his face with her eyes which almost perpetually shone with worry. "Did something happen between you two? I thought you were calling him 'dad' now."

Harry's mouth opened slightly, and he suddenly realised that she knew nothing of what had occurred during Christmas vacation. At the same time, the comfort with which she spoke of his and his father's relationship gave him an instant understanding that she was someone he could trust with the information. His brows relaxed in consent, and he nodded.

"I think I've alot to explain to you," he said quietly, joining her where she stood.

Hermione looked like she wanted to question him right then and there, but instead, she settled for momentarily resting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and giving him a weak smile before dropping her arm and continuing to lead the way to the Gryffindor common room.

xxx

Hermione did not speak for quite some time after Harry explained to her the events that had transpired over his holiday. She looked like she was wavering between disapproval and relief that things were working themselves out again, if not with a few difficulties. Her arms folded between her knees and her chest, she stared at the ground, eyes squinting in a thoughtful fashion that made Harry quite nervous for her response.

"Are you going to say something?" Harry asked tentatively.

Expression unchanging, Hermione slowly shook her head, and Harry let out an exhalation of frustration, leaning his head against the back of the couch.

"It's really not as bad as it sounds—"

"Harry," Hermione said shortly, though she still didn't look at him, "stop talking. I need to figure out how I feel about this."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but when he saw her eyes shift irritably in his direction, he snapped it shut again.

Just when Harry was beginning to wonder if Hermione remembered how to speak at all, her brisk voice cut though the silence. It was clear from her rather pointed tone of voice that she had been planning what to say for quite some time.

"First of all, I can't believe you actually said those things to him—"

"No, I did."

"Well, I meant- Harry! I meant I'm appalled that you did, not that I actually doubt you would. Honestly, you've never been one to exercise strong control over your temper."

"Neither is he."

"Obviously," Hermione retorted, shaking her head. "That's most likely where you get it from."

"Right," Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes. Honestly, he thought he was much more rational a person than his father, but he didn't say as much. "But do you think I made the right choice?"

"I'm not entirely sure there was a right choice to be made," Hermione admitted sceptically, lifting her eyebrows. "Really, you could have only made the choice you felt comfortable with. And you did, so… I suppose there's nothing to say about it. It's done with."

Harry nodded, about to respond when Hermione's voice resumed sharply.

"However, that doesn't mean that no one was at fault. And personally, I can't believe you would do something so stupid merely a week after all this happened!"

"It didn't seem so stupid at the time!" Harry objected. Part of him realised that this was hardly an adequate argument, but he felt it had to be made anyway.

Hermione shook her head, scowling at him with a fierce look of condemnation. "Harry," she said, lifting her eyebrows.

"Fine, fine, it was stupid," Harry conceded, slipping from his seat on the couch to the ground, and resting his back against the couch's arm.

"Thank you for at least admitting that," Hermione said, extending her legs to the other side of the couch so that she was lying down.

Harry looked up at her from where he sat on the ground, and thought that she didn't look so intimidating when she appeared to be relaxed.

"I am glad you told me, you know," Hermione offered after some time, a small proportion of harshness gone from her tone.

"Yeah, well, just don't spread it around."

"Of course not!" Hermione exclaimed scandalously, evoking a laugh from Harry.

"Anyways, I am still- I've still got to fix things," Harry said once his laughter had cleared, turning slightly to look at Hermione's face.

"Naturally," Hermione replied soberly. "But the Professor seems willing to let you, so that's something."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, tilting his head. "I told you, he's rather cross with me."

"Harry, what he said to you in the kitchen today—and the way he's treating you now. I should think it abundantly clear that he's willing to give you the chance to prove yourself. He's leaving it up to you."

"I think he's just biding time until my punishment," Harry grumbled, shaking his head.

Hermione laughed. "Could be. But the point is that you've got the chance- take advantage of that."

"Yeah," Harry breathed, because it was easier to agree than to disagree. He didn't mention that he had no idea how to do what he was agreeing to.

xxx

Exhilaration was a feeling that Harry had neither felt nor longed for in quite some time. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to suffer from that superficial fear and adrenaline rush that resulted from running around the castle after curfew, tucked safely under an invisibility cloak with the Marauder's map in hand.

Since Harry knew he would not be in trouble if Severus caught him, since, after all, Severus had been the one who asked him to see him that night, the main concern to be faced was the Aurors. In his earlier years, he had felt much more protected by the invisibility cloak. Now, however, he knew that there were Aurors patrolling the castle who would catch him and think it suspicious activity if they were not familiar with him as a person. That was the last thing he needed.

So, with stealth, Harry and Hermione crept down the maze of stairs all the way from the Gryffindor common room down to the dungeons. They were silent as they went, communicating only by pointing to important figures on the map headed their way.

Due to the many detours they were forced into taking in order to avoid the Aurors, it took them a great deal of time to finally reach Severus' rooms. Harry found himself regretting not having found Tonks or Lupin—surely one of them would have escorted them down to his rooms. He felt uncomfortable inquiring such a thing of anyone he did not know.

Harry was rather shocked when he reached out from underneath the invisibility cloak to knock and the door flew open before his knuckles could make contact with the wood. Before he could register what was happening, Severus was in front of him, angrily yanking the invisibility cloak off their heads and pulling Harry in by the front of his shirt, and indicating with a jerky movement of his hand for Hermione to follow.

"Idiots," he complained as he released Harry and shut the door behind them. "Do you have any idea the amount of trouble you would have been in had you been caught out after curfew by one of the Aurors?"

"But the term hasn't even started yet!" Harry argued, receiving an annoyed glance from Hermione, who was remaining quiet.

"If the rules still apply to the students who stay here for the Holidays, than certainly you can't think yourself exempt? Really, Harry, I thought you had been cured of that arrogance."

Harry visibly recoiled, and Hermione looked rather taken aback that Severus was speaking to him this way, only adding to Harry's embarrassment. The boy looked away and muttered a quiet apology, surprising both other parties in the room when he did not argue further.

While normally Severus would have realised how cold he had sounded and would have softened his expression to tell Harry that he hadn't really meant what he'd said, he decided that this was not the course of action to take now. Admittedly, his words had been born of true irritation, but once he heard them and instantly regretted speaking them, he remembered that he wished Harry to continue believing Severus was angry with him.

"You should have come earlier," Severus said gruffly, still glaring reproachfully at the pair.

"We thought you would be occupied," Hermione offered, since Harry looked hesitant about speaking again.

"The logical course of action, then," sneered Severus, "would have been to contact me on the matter, would it not have?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered immediately, earning a curt nod from the Potions Master.

"Harry?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, irritated by his father, his eager to please friend, and the colour that was rising in his face due to mild mortification and temper.

"Very well, then," Severus said, his expression unchanging. "And, regrettably, I feel a duty to take fifty points from Gryffindor."

"Regrettably?" Harry repeated dubiously.

"Yes, you know how it pains me. Have a seat."

It was not the warmest welcome Harry could have hoped for, but the fact that the man was dropping the subject so soon was good enough for him. He nodded and went to sit on the couch, where Hermione joined him.

"You wanted to know why we are now taking new precautions, as opposed to earlier in the year," Severus began immediately, seating himself in his black leather armchair.

Hermione nodded vigorously, and Harry looked up interestedly.

"It is…a valid question," Severus admitted, his harsh demeanour beginning to melt. The swiftness of his change in bearing should have been an indication of the superficiality of his prior anger; however, Harry did not think of it.

"The problem at hand should be obvious," Severus continued, pondering his hands as he did so. "As I told you earlier today, the Dark Lord now has all he needs to brew the Asterisus. You can guess what issue this creates for us."

"He'll be choosing a prodigy," Hermione answered instantly, just as Harry had opened his mouth to say the same.

"Yes," Severus responded. "And we must be prepared for the fact that, most likely, he will choose someone in close proximity to Harry."

"He's not stupid enough to try something at Hogwarts, is he?" asked Harry.

"It's not a matter of prudence so much as an act of desperation about which we are worried. Attacking you at Hogwarts, where so many would come to your aid- not least of all Albus Dumbledore himself- would certainly be a poor move compared to alternatives... but at this point, there are very few of those alternatives available. How many times as the Dark Lord attempted to remove you from this castle, only to see you escape? The logical next move is to chase you to the place to which you keep running."

"Very encouraging," said Harry darkly.

"I told you—I won't attempt to make things sound more pleasant than they are. You don't need to be spared the truth. That's the worst possible thing anyone could do for you. Tell me you realise this."

Harry was quickly realising he liked Severus much better when the two of them were alone. He could take the ridicule far more lightly when there was no one there to witness it.

"Yes," Harry replied grudgingly, widening his eyes in annoyance and looking away from his father. Severus narrowed his eyes at Harry's tone, but said nothing about it. Still, the look on his face and lack of comment were enough of a message to Harry, who relaxed his expression a bit in order to please Severus, despite his continually rising agitation.

"Have you any ideas who it will be?" Hermione asked, apparently unaware of the nonverbal exchange going on between Severus and Harry.

Taking his eyes off his son, he nodded. "You should both be prepared for the fact that it very well may be Draco Malfoy."

"Why him?" Harry asked immediately, head turning sharply.

"He'll seem the best candidate to Voldemort," Severus answered. "Consider, he is very much like Riddle was in his school days—he is a prefect, well liked by his housemates, earns high marks in all of his classes. The Dark Lord will consider this a telling factor."

"But you've heard Malfoy; he doesn't want to work for Voldemort!"

"Once the Dark Lord singles one out for servitude, there's hardly any escaping it," Severus stated grimly, bitterness heavy in his inflection. "Especially when you consider who Mr. Malfoy's parents are. If he is asked and does not comply, he'll be safe from no one."

"He could come to Dumbledore."

"Ah, but he's also expressed his sentiments on that issue as well, hasn't he now?" Severus pointed out, lifting his eyebrows. "The Dark Lord will offer Mr. Malfoy power- he will consider it differently from how his father and others do. He will not realise that, in all likelihood, Voldemort's intention is to give someone strength enough to defeat you without putting himself at risk, and once that is done, he will discard whatever idiot allowed himself to be swept into his service."

"But, what are we supposed to do, then?"

"Be wary of his intentions, and speak to him as soon as possible about his contribution to the Potion. Someone will need to obtain Voldemort's flesh, and give us his blood… Little as I like to trust him, he is currently the only one in a position to do these things. I certainly cannot, as I had once planned to. Nor can I get myself killed in the process, because you need me to complete the potion as well."

"Is that the only thing stopping you, then?"

"Of course not, I'm no Gryffindor."

Harry scoffed at this, shaking his head. "So you say."

Severus grunted at that, and rose from his seat. "I believe that answers your questions, then," he said.

"Well—"

"Harry, classes resume the day after tomorrow. You should take tonight to readjust to the schedule of going to bed and waking up early. So, unless it's incredibly important…"

"Fine, fine," Harry conceded, also rising from his seat.

Hermione, who had been rather quiet for a while, thanked the Professor for answering their questions and headed to the door to wait for Harry, who still stood in front of Severus.

"I'll need my cloak back," Harry reminded him, pointing to the table behind him.

"No, I don't think you will," Severus responded, not bothering to explain that he was planning to write the boy a pass back to his Common Room and that to be caught in the halls carrying an invisibility cloak would draw unwanted attention.

"What?" Harry asked, eyebrows shooting up into the fringe of his hair.

"There," Severus said, ignoring Harry's outburst and handing him a slip of parchment explaining the reason for Harry and Hermione's presence in the hallways at this hour of night.

"But what about my cloak?"

"It will be returned, don't have kittens," Severus intoned almost mockingly, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and steering him towards the door. It amused him that Harry would take him so seriously, even when he wasn't, in truth, being serious at all.

"But I want it!"

"I told you would have it back, what more do you want?"

"Preferably? I'd like to have it back now."

"Pity," Severus said, opening the door and giving Harry a light push into the hallway. "On your way, then."

"Not until you give me my cloak."

"Harry, I believe you will be rather cross with me—and more than mildly embarrassed—if I am forced to levitate you through these hallways up to your common room."

"But—"

"Leave."

"No, but—"

The door slammed, leaving Harry and Hermione to stand in the dark hallway. With a frustrated groan, Harry illuminated the corridor with his wand, and turned to look at Hermione.

He was displeased to find that she was stifling her laughter, and snapped irritably, "And what do you find so funny about this?"

"Really, Harry, that was quite amusing," she admitted, allowing herself a light chuckle, but restraining the majority of her humour. "I'm sure he'll give it back to you in the morning."

"Yeah, well… he'd better."

And that was all Harry had to say on the matter.

xxx End Chapter 40 xxx