“Did you really try to set fire to half of Hogsmeade last night?” Ron asked anxiously when he and Hermione joined Harry at breakfast. Ron dropped down the Daily Prophet, which had a blazing picture on the front. “Fred and George both got quoted in the article. I’ll never hear the end of this. You had an adventure without me!”

           Harry had been nose-deep in the Blunt Objects book. His Transfigurations book lay open nearby, parted to reveal the more-advanced chapters at the end of the book. Harry gave Ron a moody scowl as he took a bite of toast. Hermione took a seat next to Harry, and Ron threw himself on the bench across the table from them.

           “Next time I’m going to be chased by lunatic killers, I’ll be sure to alert you,” Harry murmured dryly.

           “Oh, dear,” Hermione whistled, examining Ron’s copy of the paper.

           “Fred took Bellatrix’s cloak,” Harry said. “The Headmaster is examining it today to see if there’s anything we can learn from it.”

           “Why not give it to you and let you get familiar with it?” Ron asked.

           “Because he wants to make sure it isn’t going to blow up or turn into a Lethifold.”

           “What did you learn from Volkova’s cloak?” Hermione asked.

           “Nothing,” Harry said grimly.

           “Did you give it back to her?” Ron grinned.

           “Yes. Early this morning.”

           “You were seen leaping from roof to roof like flying squirrels,” Weasley chuckled. “The shop keepers are not thrilled with you. One even said you ought not to be allowed out without an Auror escort.”

           “Great,” Harry muttered. “What does ‘pinna’ mean in Latin?” he asked Hermione.

           “Feather,” she replied.

           “That makes sense,” Harry nodded. “Volkova was mentally turning me into a feather, so I would be light enough to carry when she jumped.”

           “Did she really stick you together with a Lentus Rapidus potion?”

           “Our hands.”

           “Did you learn anything about her while you were attached to her?” Ron wondered.

           “Very confusing images and things– yes and no.”

           “How long did it take to separate you?” Hermione asked, completely curious.

           “We were up till three in the hospital wing with Professor Snape,” Harry murmured. “He was threatening to use a hacksaw, but we tried one last potion, and it did the trick.”

           “Sure you got the right fingers?” Ron grinned, checking out both of Harry’s hands.

           “Yes, I’m sure.”

           “Any lingering after effects?”

           “I wanted to pee sitting down this morning, and I have a strange hungry feeling. I don’t know what I’m hungry for, but I’m hungry. I’m lonely too, I think. It’s odd, interpreting other people’s feelings.”

           “You could use sleep,” Hermione said, fluffing the back of Harry’s head, making his locks stick up. “And a bath,” she sniffed at him.

           “Harry, Volkova gave you a Quicky-Sticky,” Ron teased, laughing. “Always knew it would happen.”

           “That’s what it’s called, using a Lentus Rapidus on someone,” Hermione explained to a red-faced Harry. “Not to be confused with sloppy, uncoordinated sex.”

           “People wouldn’t really ever use that as...I mean...during....um, sex?” Harry stammered.

           “Fred and George did once and got stuck together,” Ron laughed undertone.

           “You don’t mean they were stuck together together?” Hermione questioned. Harry and she exchanged a horrified glance. “TMI, Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said. “Far too much information.”

           “Not together alone,” Ron exploded in embarrassment. “They were stuck with others. That’s all I know,” Ron sighed. “It happened our first year here. Something to do with Quidditch Cup celebrations and why they spent a long weekend at St. Mungo’s.”

           “Did it involve Oliver Wood?” Harry wondered. Hermione laughed discretely.

           “Moving right along with a brisk change of subject, did you finish your Christmas shopping yet?” Ron inquired.

           “No. I’ve been delayed. Professor Dumbledore said I’m not to leave Hogwarts under any circumstances, not even for Christmas shopping.”

           “You could always order by mail,” Ron smiled.

           “He wants a giant purple sex toy bed,” Hermione explained blandly.

           “How many people know about my bed?” Harry asked.

           “Much of the known world,” she said.

           “It was a blind item in the gossip section,” Ron said, pointing to the newspaper. “ ‘What boy-wizard is getting a naughty but nice Christmas present this year? Sources from Hogsmeade claim to have delivered a very adult-rated bed to the rapidly-maturing school boy. Here’s hoping he reads the manual before he uses the truly-advanced spells, or things could get a little hairy.’ They’re behind, aren’t they? You’ve had it for a month.”

           “Fuck,” Potter sulked.

           “Are they self-cleaning?” Ron wondered.

           “Yes,” Harry replied honestly, and immediately regretted it. Hermione covered her eyes as Ron laughed loudly.

           “More than I ever wanted to imagine, thank you,” Hermione grumbled. “Harry, don’t you dare buy Ron one of those beds.”

           “That’s all right. We could borrow his now and again, couldn’t we?”

           “You aren’t really asking permission to allow you to writhe naked together in my bed, are you?” Harry asked, turning a page.

           “Yes,” Ron grinned.

           “What are you reading?” Hermione asked. Harry tilted up the front of the book. Granger’s eyes went wide. “Blunt who? Blunt in what manner? What sort of objects?”

           “What sort of uses?” Ron hummed hungrily.

           “Death, mayhem, physical disfigurement,” Harry answered. “No sex yet.”

           “Hermione, could you budge off for a while, because Harry and I need to talk,” Ron said, giving her a meaningful look.

           “No, you don’t,” Hermione said.

           “Yes, we do.”

           “No, you don’t. Were you not listening to me last night, Ron?”

           “I was listening. Now go away.”

           “Ron.”

           “Hermione.”

           “Ron.”

           “Hermione.”

           “He wants to ask you in-depth questions about your sex life,” Hermione informed Harry.

           “That is NOT what I was going to ask,” Ron insisted as Harry choked and coughed for air for several seconds.

           “No, I’m sure you wanted to phrase it much more crudely. Harry, I told him that you and Snape have struck up a master-pupil friendship, however improbable that might be for him to imagine, and that he should mind his own business,” Hermione continued. “You and Professor Snape are not sleeping together, and neither are you fornicating.”

           “You said a lot more than that,” Ron huffed. Harry continued to cough. Hermione handed him a glass of juice.

           “I also may have mentioned that I thought Snape’s attachment to you is a Nightingale Obsession, falling in love with the people you heal. Your attachment for him has all its basis in your absolute lack of affection before coming here to Hogwarts. You’re in great need of a male role model who is in your life more than two hours a week or every six months when he can fit you into his schedule. Snape has spent years in your life.”

           “Terrifying him at every opportunity,” Ron interjected. Harry took a drink and cleared his throat, trying to interrupt the stream of words from Granger and Weasley both.

           “But what’s important is, Snape has been looking after you, in his own weird way, and he spent a month saving your life, and it’s natural that you’ve become somewhat attached to him, that you might view his actions as affectionate in return. Are you all right?”

           “First off,” Harry stammered. Hermione patted him on the back. “Thank you,” he rasped. “First off, I’m sure you’ll both recall that whole ‘Harry has to remain a virgin so his powers are stronger’ problem? Yeah? That hasn’t changed.”

           “You were sleeping in Snape’s bed for a month,” Ron countered. “You mean to tell me you and he never....I saw how he looked at....at you....how he....” Ron struggled for words, trying to convey his message while at the same time keeping his anger under control. “You were wearing his pajamas. You were sharing a pillow, for Merlin’s sake!”

           “Keep your voice down,” Hermione hissed.

           “He gave you a detention every day for two weeks to get you to spend time with him,” Ron went on.

           “When exactly were you two discussing my private life?” Harry wanted to know.

           “Last night in the broom closet,” Hermione admitted.

           “Why can’t you go to the broom closet, and feel each other up and forget about me, like normal people would?” Harry complained.

           “We’re your friends. We’re worried about you,” Ron growled.

           “Fine. Be worried about me. But don’t think about me when you’re in the broom closet,” Harry wailed. “Because that’s just weird. Okay? It’s really really weird, and I don’t wanna think about you thinking about me while you’re touching each other,” he finished, covering his eyes in embarrassment.

           “It wasn’t all about you,” Hermione promised, touching his arm.

           “Do you mind if I resent being made part of a threesome with my best friends?” Harry continued.

           “Is the idea of it all that bad?” Ron asked. Hermione and Harry both stared at him, mouths open.

           “We are not having this conversation,” Harry blushed hot. Ron followed suit. Hermione smirked at them as they looked away from each other.

           “I heard McGonagall talking about you and Snape in her office this morning,” Ron said. He lowered his voice even further as Snape and Volkova entered the dining hall. They were mid-argument and ignored the children.

           “What are you talking about? Tingling in your fingers? Be glad you even have fingers to tingle,” Snape snapped.

           “I’m having trouble holding small objects,” Volkova answered angrily.

           “You should have thought about that before you attached yourself to Mr. Potter with a Lentus Rapidus,” Severus smirked. “Surely you’ve read the dangers of making two people into one being? The side-effects alone are enough to scare most people stupid. Pray they don’t last more than a few hours.”

           “Did you muck up my hand because I left you in the alley?” she asked euphemistically. “Because you of all people should realize my first priority was to get Mr. Potter to safety. You as much as ordered getting him to safety and leaving you!”

           “A medical professional knows how to separate personal feelings from their patient,” Snape sniffed at her.

           “Yes, but you are hardly a medical professional!” she reminded him sharply.

           “Mr. Potter?” Snape said, dragging Volkova over to the teens, who hushed down.

           “Sir?”

           “Are you experiencing negative biofeedback following detachment from Professor Volkova?”

           “Am I what?”

           “Aches? Pains? Stabbing sensations?” Volkova questioned.

           “I’m hungry. I don’t know what for though.” He wanted to ask her why she was so lonely, and who she was lonely for. Was she pining for that man he had seen in her thoughts last night while they were on the run in Hogsmeade? Harry tilted his head and watched her.

           “Are you nauseated?” Snape asked.

           “Sir?”

           “She said you were nauseous last night during attachment.”

           “Not any longer. Wasn’t I feeling your nausea?” Harry asked Volkova. She nodded.

           “Dizzy spells? Tingly sensations in your extremities?” Snape persisted.

           “My breasts are sensitive,” Harry murmured. The barest hint of a grin flickered on his mouth before dropping away again. Snape was too startled to reply momentarily. His dark eyes went feral, and back again. Was he mad at Potter for the rude comment? Harry had so been hoping for him to smirk. “What parts of you are tingling?” Harry asked Volkova. Anna gave him her right hand, rather like a child showing a wounded part to a parent.

           “I’ve lost feeling. I can’t pick up small objects. It could be nerve damage,” she said.

           “Oh, not to worry. Lockhart deboned that one for me. Cold days, it’s twingy when I wake up. Nothing to panic about,” he smiled. Volkova withdrew her hand from his grip.

           “See? What did I tell you?” Snape challenged Volkova.

           “However did Professor Lockhart manage to debone your arm?” Volkova wanted to know from Harry.

           “Quidditch accident,” Harry said. Volkova nodded grimly. She flexed her right arm back and forth, working it around.

           “It improves after it warms?” she asked.

           “Yes,” Harry smiled.

           “Good to know. Thank you,” she said.

           “You’re welcome,” Harry said as she moved her arm around again. “Professor? That spell you did with the paperclips? What chapter is it in?”

           “I don’t know,” Volkova answered, flipping around the Transfigurations book to find the table of contents. “Hmm. This is not the same text that I used. Do you have parchment? I’ll write the words for you while I eat. Simple metal to metal? Wood to wood? It’ll be in Latin. Is that a problem?”

           “Um, no. I’m willing to learn. Thanks,” Harry gushed as he handed her parchment and quill. Anna scooped up the ink well with her left hand, giving Snape a cold, civil look.

           “I apologize for my sharpness, Professor Snape.”

           “Apology accepted,” he replied.

           “What?” Harry asked.

           “It will help with the sensitivity,” Snape smirked finally, then walked away. Harry picked up a piece of bacon off his plate, watching Snape leave.

           “That’s not appropriate,” Ron fumed.

           “He was joking, Ron,” Hermione sighed.

           “Him, joking?” Ron fussed.

           “Believe it or not, he’s actually got a sense of humor,” Harry defended.

           “McGonagall thinks you have a crush on Snape, and she’s right,” Ron said.

           “Oh, really,” Harry growled. “That is too much.”

           “He put something in your anti-vampire potion, and as long as you take that, you’ll be under his control,” Ron insisted.

           “I’m almost done taking them, you know. I’ve watched him make the potions from start to finish. He told me what every ingredient is, and what it does. I am not under anyone’s control,” Harry insisted right back.

           “It’s quite the opposite, really,” Hermione interjected.

           “Yes, you are under his control. You can’t see it,” Ron pressed.

           “I am not!”

           “He took off McGonagall’s spell so he could...so he could...” Ron couldn’t bring himself to say it. Harry set down his fork and closed the Transfigurations book.

           “Professor McGonagall put that spell on me?” he questioned.

           “Why would you need a spell like that unless she thought he meant to have his way with you while you were vulnerable?” Ron gasped, very upset.

           “What?!” Harry screamed. Instructors from the head table hushed the children with an ensemble hushing sound. The scattered students at the Slytherin table laughed among themselves.

           “No. It’s the other way around,” Hermione said.

           “Don’t be stupid,” Ron snapped at her.

           “Harry was the one with the charisma spell. You kept making him cuddle with you,” she whispered to him before turning back to Ron. “Snape is under a promise to keep Harry pure. He won’t go back on that promise. The chastity belt spell was to protect Professor Snape, not Harry.”

           “What makes you so sure?” Harry asked as Ron rolled his eyes and pushed away his half-eaten plate.

           “You were the one getting shocked, weren’t you?”

           “Initially,” Harry answered, avoiding Ron’s black, angry heated glare.

           “Snape had love bites on his neck. You had him entirely under your control. In fact, McGonagall feels you have a certain amount of sway over him yet,” Hermione said.

           “Rubbish,” Ron insisted. "Why aren't we all under Harry's control all the time?"

           “I haven’t learned to control the charisma ability that Le Clair's bite left in me. Wish to hell someone would stop trying to dampen it for five minutes and tell me how to control it,” Harry muttered.

           “My theory is that McGonagall put that spell on you to keep you from hurting Snape, because you were using that charisma spell on him, and Snape took McGonagall’s spell off you. Ironic, wouldn’t you say?” she mused.

           “Actually, Doctor Mesarik took it off,” Harry said.

           “It’s all so medieval,” Hermione continued. “There’s no proof that your state of purity affects your magical abilities. You could fornicate with half the school and still cast spells.”

           “I’m willing to test that theory if I get to pick which half,” Harry grinned. Hermione laughed, but Ron did not.

           “Not being raised with the proper traditions, neither of you would know what the virginity expectation is all about,” Ron said. “Even if there’s no truth to the claim that remaining a virgin heightens your magic, if you’re interested in a socially-sound marriage, being a virgin is a big asset. It has to do with very ancient traditions and beliefs.”

           “Yeah?” Harry asked.

           “Like what?” Hermione wanted to know.

           “Like the idea that the first person you sleep with takes part of your magic and essence forever.”

           “Rubbish,” Hermione frowned. “It takes two to tango. Who takes the magic and why? What if both people are virgins? Who gets whose magic? Old wives tale.”

           “It’s not rubbish. Old wives know a lot more than you might think. The stronger person of the two absorbs part of the weaker person’s magic if they’re both virgins. It happens. It can happen if you’re not a virgin too. There are even dark wizards and witches who can take away your magic if you have sex with them,” Ron said.

           “Bloody hell,” Harry worried. “What? Like they cast a spell on you?”

           “Prove it,” Hermione said, interrupting Ron’s attempt to answer Harry.

           “What?”

           “Name me one case where two people engaged in sex, and afterwards one had a marked difference in ability to do magic. Show me a book. Show me an article. I’ll even accept the Quibbler as a source.”

           “What? You don’t think they put those books on the shelves of a school library, do you? They certainly don’t write newspaper articles about things like that!” Ron laughed. “I don’t know anyone personally where it happened, at least where they’ll admit it. But that’s why more-traditional wizards expect you to wait until you’re married. You want to be sure that you are with someone you can trust, someone who genuinely loves you.”

           “Rubbish,” Hermione scoffed. “Demanding virginity is about controlling how and when and with whom women are having sex. It’s about the Malfoys of the world making more little Malfoys. It’s about insuring your wife only bears your children. It’s stupid things like making me wear a dress to control my actions. Lack of movement equals lack of options. Proper young women don’t wear trousers. Proper young women aren’t overtly sexual. Proper young women don’t have sex before marriage. It’s about keeping women under control so you men have a constant source to produce other men. Don’t you talk to me about love and tradition. It’s oppression, that’s what it is. It’s oppression!”

           “Hermione,” Harry shushed her, watching Ron get more and more furious.

           “We’re talking about Harry, who is not a woman,” Weasley scowled.

           “But certain people are obviously very concerned about Harry remaining pure,” Hermione growled. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why they care if Harry is a virgin until he’s married? It’s because they want to control who he has children with, and the potency of the magic he passes on to his children. Buy a clue, Ron. Obviously someone has approached Dumbledore about negotiating a marriage with Harry, and they want him to be pure, so he can make more Potters with even stronger magic.”

           “The question is why you’re so upset about it,” Ron said, giving what Harry considered a rather Slytherin smile when he knew he had struck his mark.

           “Because I’m trying to protect my friend,” Hermione answered between gritted teeth.

           “My parents waited to have sex together until they were married,” Ron countered. “It’s the proper thing to do if you’re seriously considering someone for your life mate.”

           Hermione froze, and Harry felt the anguish that went across her face.

           “Surely there’s nothing sinister going on,” Harry offered to Hermione. “Virginity is probably encouraged to minimize distractions in a student’s life. It might not be entirely a wizard versus witch thing either.”

           “You’d see it differently if you were the one in the dress,” Hermione replied with a shaking voice.

           “I am, sorta,” Harry said with a small smile. “Love’s so messy and complicated from what I’ve seen. Not sure about any of it. There’s all kinds of love. I mean, different kinds of love. Different ways to show you love someone,” he stammered in the uncomfortable silence. It occurred to him that he wanted very much to know who had approached Dumbledore, and if the Headmaster had been talking to Professor McGonagall, and if they discussed Harry getting married, and if they actually had any say about who he might eventually marry. He paused, and watched Hermione’s eyes tearing up as she glanced away. “Men who are in love do stupid things, say stupid things,” Harry added, giving Ron a pleading look. Had Weasley not yet figured out what a cruel jerk he’d been to Hermione?

           “I’m going to go practice some Quidditch maneuvers,” Ron announced, standing up from the table.

           “In the snow?” Harry questioned.

           “Yeah,” Ron snapped.

           “If you want to avoid us because you’re mad, be man enough to admit it,” Hermione murmured coldly.

           “Fine. I’m avoiding you because I’m mad, and because you’re pretty stupid for such a smart person, and because you don’t know when to keep your bloody mouth shut.”

           “Ron,” Harry gasped when Hermione started crying silently. “You apologize, right now,” he insisted.

           “Bugger off,” Ron growled, stalking away from the table.

           Hermione ate in a very mechanical fashion. Whispers abounded at the instructors’ table and among the few students that were about, but no one came over to where Harry and Hermione sat. Harry pushed his own food around the plate. After as much painful silence as he could manage, Harry gave the Blunt Objects book to Hermione.

           “I recommend Chapter Four, page fifty eight. Maim or Mangle. Right now, maiming might seem too good for him, but I’m sure you’d regret outright mangling Ron, or dare I say, removing any parts you might decide you want later.”

           “That’s sweet of you, Harry. I’ll keep it in mind,” Hermione whispered. She impatiently brushed away the tears on her face.

           “I’m sorry he said those things,” Harry said, pushing the book onto the table. He picked up the platter of french toast and gave two more pieces to Hermione and one to himself.

           “He’s clearly been needing to say them for some time. I already knew that’s how he felt, that he wasn’t serious about me,” Hermione said softly, watching Harry pour syrup on her plate.

           “I could talk to him,” Harry offered.

           “Please don’t.”

           “Break his kneecaps for you? That’s in Maim or Mangle too.”

           “No.”

           “They mentioned something called a bamboo manicure in Swing from the Trees.”

           “No.”

           “How about....”

           Harry flipped several pages, and pointed to a moving illustration that depicted one person sticking a pointy, booted foot near a specific posterior body orifice of another person. Hermione burst into laughter and tears at the same time. 

           “Ugh. No,” she replied, drying her face.

           “You consider it a while,” Harry suggested, closing the book again.

           “I can do your shopping for you,” Hermione offered, “since you can’t leave Hogwarts but I can. If you have a list, that is.”

           “I can have one ready right away,” Harry said eagerly. “I’m almost done, but I’d love the help. Of course, I’d have to obliviate you so you don’t remember what you bought for yourself.”

           “Give me a list and some knuts, and I’ll go this afternoon.”

           “Thanks,” Harry beamed. “Um, could you wrap them for me too? I’m all thumbs at that.”

           “I suppose,” Hermione said with an annoyed sigh. “It’ll cost you extra though. Having something to do will keep my mind off how much I want to push Ron off a tall tower.”

           “Chapter Fifteen – When Push Comes to Shove.” Harry patted the book. “It tells you how tall a tower is necessary for maiming vs killing, what kind of splatter to expect, what surface produces the most spectacular results.”

           “Did you stay up the rest of the night reading this?”

           “Let’s just say I was highly motivated, yes,” Harry smiled at her.

           “Can I borrow it?” Hermione asked.

           “Of course. Come up to the Black Queen’s Tower after breakfast. We’ll experiment with pumpkins,” Harry grinned.

           “Did you have a fun afternoon?” Ron asked as he entered the Gryffindor dorms, wet from the showers, wearing a heavy robe. Harry flopped over onto his other side on his bed, giving Ron his back. “Not interrupting anything, am I?” Ron asked.

           “No. I finished massaging my sensitive breasts hours ago,” Harry replied. “I was napping when you came in.”

           “I saw you and Hermione pushing pumpkins off the vacant tower.”

           “Napping, also known as sleeping. Meaning if my eyes are closed, chances are I’m trying to sleep,” Harry murmured.

           “Was she pretending they were me?” Ron asked.

           “You owe her an apology,” Harry said, rolling flat onto his back again. Ron darted behind the curtains of his bed to continue dressing, throwing out his robe. “She pretended several of them were you, yes,” Harry added, fighting the urge to whistle loudly in order to fluster Ron.

           “I don’t owe her an apology.”

           “Yes, you do. You owe me one too.”

           “What?” Ron protested. “Why?”

           “What’s more, I owe you one.”

           “Fine. You go first,” Ron frowned, pulling his sweats on behind the cover of his bed curtains.

           “I’m sorry I’m bisexual, and that you’re uncomfortable with it.”

           “I’m not uncomfortable about you being half-poof.”

           “Sure you’re not,” Harry said dryly. “I’m sorry I’m bisexual, and I don’t find you attractive.”

           “I don’t care if you don’t find me attractive!” Ron wailed. “That’s what Hermione said too! You’re both wrong! I don’t want you to find me attractive.”

           “Ron, the idea of you and me having sex is about like the idea of Fred and George having sex. I think of you as my brother. You’re fun because you cheer me up. You don’t care if I don’t live up to the Potter hype that everyone expects. You’re always there to back me up. I love you like blood. But we’re not sleeping together. Ever. Okay?”

           “Fine!” Ron wailed. “I don’t want to sleep with you. I think of you as my brother too. You’re a moody, unpredictable, irresponsible git. Inexplicably, you’re also a chick-magnet, not to mention a complete glory-hound. And we’re not sleeping together. Ever. Love me like blood? Where’d you hear that phrase?”

           “Don’t remember. Why?”

           “Nothing,” Ron said, shaking his head. “It gives me the shivers though.”

           “I’m glad we cleared that whole sex thing up.”

           “Good.”

           “It’s your turn. I’m waiting.”

           “Why am I apologizing to you? Because you’re too stupid to see Snape is backing you into an emotional corner so he can hand you over to You-Know-Who?” Ron sulked.

           “He’s not going to hand me over to Voldemort,” Harry sighed. “Has it occurred to you that Severus is in trouble with the Death Eaters? He’s as much a prisoner at Hogwarts as I am. He refused to do what his ‘master’ wanted him to do, and now there’s a price on his head, just like mine. He has put himself in jeopardy for me.”

           “So have I,” Ron pointed out miserably.

           “But you’re not putting yourself in harm’s way so I’ll sleep with you, are you?”

           “No! Of course not.”

           “Neither is Severus.”

           “The hell he isn’t! You can’t sleep with him. He’s old enough to be your father. And he hated your father. Up until this summer, he hated you!”

           “Ron, that might be a cover for how he really feels. He doesn't let himself get attached easily because that would put people he cares about in jeopardy. He lost his wife to a vampire's bite, and even though she's still around, they can never have a real life together. He only agreed to divorce her because he wanted to make her happy. He's not good at getting close to people, and so he compensates by pushing everyone away, especially those he truly cares about."

           “And when did you get your psychology degree, Doctor Potter? Don’t be stupid. It's not as complex as all that. If you trust him, he'll betray you. It's that simple. You don’t have to sleep with him because he saved your life either. It’s illegal. It’s immoral. It’s wrong!”

           “Ron, stop yelling at me!”

           “If he calls for your virginity as payment for the life debt, you can ask for legal intervention by a neutral party, especially considering the fact you’re still a minor.”

           “What? I am not a minor. What is a life debt?”

           “He saved your life. You owe him. It’s wizard law.”

           “He’s saved me several times, and has never asked for a life debt payment yet.”

           “Hermione said she’s surprised he hasn’t called for payment, which he’s entitled to by law, but she said it’s probably because of something we don’t know about. It’s the part that’s got her very confused about him too. She actually defended him to me. I can’t take this– both of you need to snap out of it. If you want to know more, ask her. But whatever you do, don’t sleep with Snape.”

           “I am not sleeping with him.” 

           “You can say it as many times as you like. I still don’t believe you.”

           “Why not?”

           “You’ve been moaning his name in your sleep,” Ron blurted. “There. I said it. You’ve been humping your bed at night, moaning his name.”

           Harry sat up, goggling at Ron in shock.

           “I have not,” he defended, scandalized and amused. Nervous giggling sprang out of his open mouth, and he covered it.

           “You should hear yourself,” Ron muttered in exasperation. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone. I couldn’t tell you that in front of Hermione.”

           “I have not been moaning for him in my sleep.”

           “Yes, you have,” Ron insisted. Harry lay back against his bed and started to laugh again. “It’s not funny. It’s embarrassing. My best friend, the Pride of Gryffindor, Harry Effing Potter, is moaning Severus Snape’s name in his sleep while having wet dreams.”

           “I am not sleeping with Severus, and I’ll prove it to you,” Harry said, sitting up and pushing his hands through his hair. 

           “How?” Ron asked, deciding not to bring up that Harry was calling Snape by his given name, and that smacked of a familiar relationship indeed. Ron wondered if Snape’s parents even called him by his given name.

           “We’ll go to him and ask for a potion that proves I’m a virgin.”

           “We are not going to go ask him for....are you out of your mind?” Ron hissed. “Besides, he could give you any potion and you’d never know the difference.”

           “He’s got to have a potion lying around that will show you I’m still a virgin.”

           “No, Harry. I don’t care if you’re a virgin,” Ron insisted.

           “Sure you do.”

           “As long you’re not sleeping with him, I don’t care who you’re shagging. I swear I don’t! You can shag whoever you want. Even Oliver Wood.”

           “I’ll ask Professor Snape to give me Veritaserum, and you can ask me all the questions about my sex life you want. But it’s going to be pretty damned boring.”

           “No,” Ron refused.

           “What do you want? What will it take for you to get off my back about this?”

           “I’m not on your back about it,” Ron insisted. “I’m trying to protect you, stupid. Where did Hermione go?”

           “Why?”

           “I need to apologize, remember?”

           “She volunteered to go to Hogsmeade and shop for me, since I couldn’t leave the school.”

           “Maybe I’ll go to Hogsmeade and find her.”

           “Maybe you’d better dry your hair first.”

           “What are you going to do?” Ron asked.

           “He’s going to come with me. To Hogsmeade.”

           Both boys screamed and jumped. Ron turned around to get his wand off his bed, while Harry was over the end of his bed like a shot. Harry had Ron pushed behind him, and was facing the door with his wand at the ready. Remus Lupin smiled at them from the doorway.

           “Put your finger here,” Hermione pointed.

           “Right there?” Ron questioned. She took his hand and guided it. Ron gulped, watching her with sultry eyes.

           “Don’t move,” Hermione complained.

           “I’m not moving,” Ron replied.

           “You’re going to mess it up.”

           “I’m not going to mess it up,” Ron said, putting his face in Hermione’s bushy hair while her attention was elsewhere. “Want to go see if the broom closet is free?” he rumbled.

           “What are you two doing?” Professor Snape asked, his voice reverberating in the Great Hall. Scarlet and golden ribbons went everywhere when Ron jerked back from Hermione.

           “Nothing,” Ron lied, his voice rising high.

           “Oh, Ron,” Hermione fussed. “Hi, Professor Snape. I’m wrapping Harry’s presents for him. Ron was helping me with the ribbons. That’s all.”

           “Was he?” Snape raised a brow at Weasley, and waited for him to move further away from Hermione. He did not miss that Hermione was secretly covering the unwrapped presents with a stretch of colorful paper. “Miss Granger, where is Mr. Potter?”

           “I haven’t seen him for a while.”

           “You will recall I asked for the courtyard to be completely spotless when you two were done cleaning up those pumpkins carcasses.”

           “It is, sir,” she promised.

           “Not so much as a measly seed had better be there. Where is Mr. Potter now?”

           “Why do you want to know?” Ron asked, his voice deepening with anger. Snape studied him, keeping his arms crossed over his chest and his cloak drawn closed.

           “Not that it is any of your concern why I should want to know Mr. Potter’s whereabouts, Mr. Weasley, but I found a certain item belonging to him while cleaning my quarters. I wished to return it. He was not in Gryffindor Tower when I went to leave the item for him. Mr. Weasley, where is Mr. Potter? I know he is not in the school. Where is he?”

           “I don’t know where he is right at this particular moment,” Ron replied.

           “We left him in Hogsmeade with Remus Lupin,” Hermione said as she nudged Ron. “We were headed for the joke shop, but Remus wanted to go into the bakery.”

           “Lupin is back?” Snape asked. “Already?”

           “Yeah, apparently,” Ron muttered.

           “What time was this?” Severus asked.

           “Six?” Hermione guessed, looking towards the ceiling. “Wow, it’s gotten very dark outside. What time is it?”

           “Nearly eight,” Snape replied, glancing up as well.

           “Lupin said they’d be back before nine,” Ron interjected. Snape did not look at all placated by this announcement. He turned to Hermione after giving Ron a hostile glance.

           “Miss Granger, please find the Headmaster and tell him I have gone to Hogsmeade to search for Mr. Potter. Does Professor Dumbledore know Lupin is back?”

           “I don’t know, sir,” Hermione answered. “But I could go with you and help search,” she offered, standing up.

           “No. You will go find the Headmaster,” Snape insisted.

           “I’ll go with you, Professor,” Ron said, standing up.

           “Are you two under the impression I have forgotten the way to Hogsmeade Village?” Snape glared at them as he raised his voice.

           “No, not at all, sir,” Hermione answered. “But your concern makes us concerned. We’ll come with you and search for Harry too.”

           “Miss Granger, tell the Headmaster that Mr. Weasley and I have gone to Hogsmeade in search of Mr. Potter,” Severus reiterated.

           “I could come with you and help search,” Hermione suggested anxiously.

           “GO FIND THE HEADMASTER!” Snape yelled at her. Hermione sprinted from the hall as Ron glared hatefully at the Potions Master.

           “Are you sure it was Remus Lupin you left Mr. Potter with?”

           “Am I what?” Ron asked, shivering in the cold as they prowled through the streets and alleyways of Hogsmeade. Weasley followed Professor Snape, not at all sure what they were doing eight blocks away from the house that Harry shared with Remus. Why hadn’t they simply flooed to Harry’s house? Why were they clear over here?

           “Are you sure the person you left Harry with was Remus Lupin?” Snape repeated.

           “What kind of stupid question is that?”

           “As someone who has, in theory, studied potions that can change a person’s appearance, I’m surprised you would ask such a question.”

           “It looked like Lupin. It sounded like Lupin. It walked and talked like Lupin.”

           “The point is, do you have any proof? How long were you around him?”

           “What was I supposed to do? Ask for his apparition license?”

           “Until the Dark Lord is dead, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter’s life will be in constant danger. At school. In Hogsmeade. London. Little Whinging. He is not safe anywhere. Speaking frankly, as his closest compatriot, it is your solemn duty is to protect him.”

           “I know that,” Ron growled.

           “Even with your life, if necessary.”

           “I know that,” Ron repeated more softly.

           “You know? And yet you left your best friend in the care of someone who may or may not be the person you believe them to be,” Snape snapped. “Next time, you ask for a blood sample if necessary. Is it asking too much for you to use your head, perhaps even get in touch with your intuition?”

           “It was Remus Lupin, and Harry will be perfectly all right,” Ron snapped back, shivering. There had been fear in his eyes long enough that Snape knew he had sparked something akin to worry in Weasley.

           Severus stopped at the house on the corner of two blind streets which intersected at a sharp angle. He walked up to the brick pillar at the exact point of the two streets, and uncovered the house numbers– 1375. Ron watched in amazement as Snape pulled the 7 away. The remaining numbers crowded together, undisturbed. Snape calmly continued on down the sidewalk. Ron looked around, shaking his head. Snape handed him the 7.

           “If anything happens, subtract six, count to five, and tell it where you want to go.”

           “What?” Ron asked, giving the number back. “What is this?”

           “A 7. Do you know what seven minus six is?”

           “One.”

           “How would you make this a 1?” Snape asked, jabbing the number at Ron.

           “Bend the end straight.”

           “Such a clever boy.”

           “What is it?”

           “Emergency portkey, dolt,” Severus growled. “Put it in your pocket and hurry up.”

           They rounded the corner of the merchant district at a dead run. Madam Grimwood was standing outside her shop, talking with Professor Volkova. Ron raced for them, desperate for anyone as an ally against Snape and his sharp tongue.

           “Is something wrong?” Volkova asked. Grimwood avoided Snape’s questioning gaze.            

“Have you seen Harry and Lupin this evening?” Ron asked.

           “Yes,” Volkova smiled. “I was in the bakery. They bought a dozen jam prints and some other items. Cream horns. Sticky buns.”

           “Did everything seem normal?” Ron asked as Grimwood continued to avoid Snape’s searching eyes.

           “How did they seem to you? Did Mr. Potter seem worried?” Snape asked. “What occurred during your exchange with them?”

           “I asked Lupin why Harry wasn’t at Hogwarts,” Volkova said, her brow furrowing.

           “What did he say?” Snape questioned.

           “Where did they go?” Snape asked.

           “Inside,” Volkova pointed to the house across the street, and quickly gave Ron her books. Snape stared down at Grimwood, and she ducked his gaze again.

           “Mr. Weasley will stay with me while you get him,” the bookseller said, taking Ron’s hand. Snape agreed with a nod, feeling fear and bile roll around in his stomach.

           “We won’t be a minute,” Volkova promised Ron with a hollow smile. She motioned for Snape to lead the way as she drew out her wand.

           “How best to proceed?” Volkova asked Snape as they crossed the street, making sure she was beyond earshot for Ron. Grimwood pulled Weasley into the shelter of the doorway, but did not go inside.

           “How long have they been in there?” Severus asked, gulping down loudly once.

           “An hour and a half,” Anna whispered, her voice tight. “I should have known. I should have known. I’m so sorry.”

           “There’s no time for that. Come along and be quiet as possible. How much time have you spent with Lupin?”

           “Not much, but he was never that charming and friendly to me. It should have made me curious in the very least,” she trembled. “I take it we’re not going to knock.”

           “The link the Lentus Rapidus made between you and Harry? Have you felt anything?” Snape asked, desperate for whatever advantage there might be to have.

           “Nothing since my right arm warmed up this morning,” she whispered.

           They stood at the door, and Snape carefully inserted his wand in the lock. The knob turned without a sound. Anna followed on Severus’s footsteps as they prowled into the semi-dark kitchen. A ring of nine candles were burning themselves into the top of the table. There was an empty tea kettle on the stove, turning from red to black. Volkova moved it silently to a dormant back burner and extinguished the flames. 

           A box from the bakery lay open on the counter. Severus examined it with the lit tip of his wand. A handful of jam prints were inside. Anna prowled across the kitchen, crouching as she went. She tipped her head sideways, and motioned to the living room. Snape followed her view, stopping at her shoulder.

           Someone had unleashed a fire calamity spell into one corner of the living room, and the furniture was burned in an irregular pattern that stopped suddenly where a water calamity spell had soaked the other half of the room.

           Tea cups by the dozen were strewn about the floor, some in pieces, some fully intact. There was not a saucer to be had though. An open sugar bowl was broken as well. Kneeling down, Snape retrieved a shard of the nearest teacup and put it carefully on his tongue.

           “Sugar,” he whispered, spitting it back out into his hand.

           “He learns fast,” Volkova said proudly.

           Anna pointed up the staircase. Severus proceeded to the first landing, praying these were silent stairs. When they reached the second landing, walking with cat-like steps, they went past a boy’s plaid jacket on the stairs. Snape lifted the dark torso and held it tightly. Harry’s jacket was inside out as if pulled off by a person standing behind him. Severus folded the jacket cautiously over the bannister. On the other side of the stairs, jam cookies were thrown about. Cream horns were smashed into the wall, and their insides were smeared downward. Legible finger streaks skated through the thick, white remains.

           Snape and Volkova continued to move up the stairs into the strangely-still house, their feet moving faster in growing panic. Jam cookies lay everywhere in pieces, one half-eaten. A crushed teacup lay on the threshold of Lupin’s dark and empty bedroom. Sirius’s bedroom was dark and empty as well.

           Half of Harry’s wand was on the steps that led up to his room. A man’s brown cloak was tangled around the bannister, as if ripped off in a hurry or a struggle or both. Snape paused long enough to wonder if he was hearing someone crying. Volkova went past him like a shot. Severus pursued her, angry she had gotten ahead of him. She raised her wand as she burst open the door to Harry’s room with her shoulder. A spell not from her lit the room like a thousand candles, and she dodged back, covering her eyes. She was blinking and staggering when Snape caught her and steadied her. They faced into the doorway together, and Snape introduced a low ‘Lumos’ into the room.

           Redness and gore speckled and streaked nearly everything in sight, including the naked young man balled up on the bed. Lingering somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, Harry shivered with fear while he pointed half a wand at them.

           “Harry? Harry! It’s all right,” Snape insisted. Volkova put down her wand and eyed the rest of the room with terror. Snape slowly put down his wand as well. “Harry? What happened?”