“What did you see when they brought Harry out?” Hermione asked Ron as they sat together outside the hospital wing. McGonagall had banished them from the ward and spell-locked the door against their entry. Weasley was turning the hem of his cloak inside out with his fingers, wringing the material to shreds.

           When he had seen the flash of magic light Harry’s room, Ron had rushed across the street, busted through the door, and raced upstairs. Volkova was lifting Harry off the bed, wrapping him in her cloak. One bare leg was all Ron had seen, and that had been enough to tell him what had happened. If that hadn’t been enough, the condition of the rest of Harry and his room certainly would have made the situation crystal-clear.

           Ron would never tell Hermione. She wouldn’t understand how he was dying inside at the knowledge this was his fault. He should have been there to protect his friend, and he hadn’t been. Snape’s words echoed in his head.

           “Not much,” he lied, ducking his head in shame.

           “They’ve been in there a long time,” Hermione worried. She reached down and took Ron’s hand, pulling it into both of hers. “At least they got who did it.”

           “Hmph,” Ron growled, kicking his feet.

           Ron had stared around in shock at what was left of Lucius Malfoy, spread far and wide, inside and out, all over the room. Snape gathered up Malfoy’s bloody cane, carrying it with a handkerchief wrapped around the snake head. Ron would have gathered up Lucius’s corpse in order to give him a serious thrashing, dead or alive, but Snape pushed him out of the room and closed the door. Downstairs in Harry’s house, Snape pushed Ron through the Floo and back to the school, and then helped Volkova lift Harry and get him through as well.

           “This is outrageous! This is impossible!”

           Both of the children jumped at the sound of screaming that came up from the staircase.            

“Regardless of what it may seem, Minister Fudge, it is the truth, and I felt you needed to be informed,” came the voice of the Headmaster, surprisingly calm all things considered.

           “Have you contacted the authorities? This is Lucius Malfoy.”

           “I contacted them immediately.”

           “How much time do we have before they arrive? I would like to question Mr. Malfoy.”

           “The authorities have already taken away what was left of Mr. Malfoy. It’s not going to be possible to question him, Minister.”

           “What?! You sent him to Azkaban without waiting for me?”

           “I sent for you and the authorities by two owls which left at the same time. It’s not my fault your owl got delayed by the weather. Did you even read the message? Mr. Malfoy was not sent to Azkaban. He is dead. His remains were taken to St. Mungo’s for examination, by the Head Mortician. Are you listening to me?”

           “Malfoy is dead? Potter killed him? There has to be some mistake. You have to be wrong.”

           “Why do I have to be wrong?”

           “Lucius Malfoy would never commit a crime like this.”

           “He savaged Mr. Potter.”

           “You can’t prove that. You don’t know that,” Fudge fretted.

           “He savaged Mr. Potter, and he has answered for his actions,” Dumbledore said, anger creeping into his voice.

            “We both know Mr. Potter is prone to fantastical tales. Need I say that he is extremely paranoid and suffers from delusions of persecution regarding You-Know-Who? You can’t simply take the word of that clearly-unbalanced boy.”

           “I haven’t simply taken Mr. Potter’s word. In fact, he has yet to regain consciousness since he was brought back to the school. What I do have is the testimony of the two people who found them.”

           “Absurd! They’re lying. They must be!”

           Hermione leapt up with Ron, holding onto his arm to keep him away from the stairs.

           “The Headmaster will straighten him out,” she whispered to Ron as he ground his teeth into pebbles.

           “Minister, I know you have your reasons to be cautious before accusing someone as powerful as Lucius Malfoy of a crime such as this,” Dumbledore murmured.

           “Proof! We need proof, much more than the word of an attention-hungry child and his two best friends.”

           “Minister, the witnesses were not Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. If proof is what you require, I should say Mr. Potter’s condition more than speaks for itself.”

           “What condition is that?”

           “I’m not going to get specific with you. When the doctor arrives and sees to him, she will give you her report with the details she deems appropriate.”

           “Rape is a very serious accusation,” Fudge growled.

           “Did I use the word ‘rape’? I believe I said ‘savaged’.”

           “You can use whatever word you like, but I know what you’re aiming at,” Fudge snapped. “You can’t prove that’s what happened. I don’t care what your so-called witnesses think they saw. It could have been consensual. It could have been Mr. Potter asked to be hurt. There are people who are into that, you know.”

           There was a burst of magic on the stairs. Minister Fudge came racing to the landing, holding his throat. Dumbledore soon followed, his wand glowing in the darkness. When Dumbledore and Fudge encountered Ron and Hermione, they both came to a halt.

           “Sorry. My wand must have slipped,” Dumbledore said, putting his wand away. “Old age,” he added, patting Fudge’s shoulder. “You should have your voice back by morning. We have many things to attend to, Minister, if you would be so kind as to depart. Mr. Weasley will show you out, and do be careful on the steps. I would hate to have you slip and fall to your death in a horrible, grisly manner.”

           Dumbledore glared at Fudge with an expression that read like a book of dark tales. The Minister wisely moved away from the Headmaster.

           “Right this way, sir,” Ron said. He hadn’t even reached the stairs when McGonagall appeared out of nowhere, carrying a lantern held aloft. She practically ran him over. Hot on her heels was Doctor Mesarik, who was carrying an infant wrapped against the cold.

           “Sorry to have to appear clear down in the Great Hall. It’s the default Floo this time of year. We haven’t been able to reach Madam Pomfrey,” McGonagall worried. “Thank you for coming, Doctor. Thank you so much.”

           The two witches walked past Fudge and Dumbledore without a second glance. The Minister quickly shot away, fleeing while he was still able. Doctor Mesarik bounced her infant in her arms as he fussed.

           “Hush, Dreddy,” she whispered, going to the warded door.

           “Wait. I need to unlock it. What are you two doing out of bed?” Minerva asked Ron and Hermione.

           “We were....we....um....” Hermione stammered to McGonagall.

           “Sit on that bench and don’t move. As soon as we know how Harry is, you’ll know how Harry is. I don’t want a word out of either of you,” Minerva said, pointing to the bench in question, where they had been stationed before. Hermione plodded over to the rack of cushions and sat down, not happy at all. Ron extended his arms to Mesarik.

           “When my sister was little, I was pretty good at amusing her,” Ron persuaded, opening his arms a bit wider. Timma tentatively gave him her baby. The hospital ward opened from the inside, and Professor Volkova peered out. When she saw Doctor Mesarik, she almost started crying in relief.

           “So good of you to come,” she mumbled, reaching out to draw her inside. The hands she extended was covered with sprays of blood. Doctor Mesarik shed her cloak and coat on the bench and hurried inside. McGonagall followed her.

           “We can’t stop the bleeding,” Volkova was heard to say before the door closed. Ron and Hermione exchanged a horrified look. Ron sat down and held the baby in his arms. Hermione buried her head on Ron’s shoulder and started to cry. Mordred joined in, weeping even louder. The Headmaster walked over to the bench and gave the baby a warm smile.

           “Hush, now. Everything is going to be all right,” Albus promised. “Would anyone care for a lemon drop?”

           “Severus? Come away and rest.”

           “I have been sleeping here,” Snape answered quietly. “Off and on.”

           “Harry’s not going to wake for another day or so. Doctor Mesarik gave him very strong sleeping agents.”

           “He’s been stirring already,” Snape whispered back as McGonagall planted herself on the far edge of Harry’s bed. “He’ll come around soon. I’ve felt his magic increasing with each passing hour. Can you sense it too? Um....Minerva....you don't think Harry might have...absorbed Lucius's magic, do you?”

           Severus’s eyes never left Harry’s face. He reached a hand up and moved strands of hair away from the boy’s eyes. A memory went through Severus, and he frowned tightly against a sudden bolt of strong emotion that threatened to undo his veneer of calm. Minerva wished she could erase the pain that was radiating off both of them. She put a hand on Severus’s shoulder, and he trembled at the touch.

           “Albus is sneaking around the castle, leaving presents everywhere,” she said, changing the subject. When she released Severus’s shoulder, he stopped shivering.

           “Why?” Snape asked. He started at her in confusion, until he counted days in his head. Realization filled his sad eyes. “Ah. How time flies. Well, I’ve never known the Headmaster to be silent and still on Christmas Eve.”

           “He said it was important to remember the spirit of the season, especially when things are so very bleak.”

           “I hate Christmas,” Snape murmured.

           “Yes, I know,” she soothed.

           “I really hate Christmas,” Snape added.

           “With good reason, yes, I do understand.”

           “Is there any word from Lupin?”

           “No. We haven’t been able to locate him or contact him. People return empty-handed, and the owls all return with their notes intact.”

           “He was with Miss Tonks, wasn’t he?”

           “She has not surfaced either.”

           “If Lucius used a Polyjuice potion, he had to have something from Remus to use. Perhaps when either of them finally appears, we should be extraordinarily suspicious of them until they can prove their identities.”

           “There are other ways to take on a wizard’s likeness. Mr. Malfoy was always extremely adept with glamour magic and charms. How is Narcissa taking Lucius’s death? What about Draco?”

           “I haven’t heard from them. They aren’t answering my messages. I’m not sure about Narcissa,” Snape answered honestly. “Draco will be upset.”

           “How are you going to take it?”

           Severus coughed up a quick snort, and avoided the question. Snape was obviously in the middle of an internal emotional disagreement over that very topic– while he cared about Lucius as a friend and school mate, his feelings for Harry and about Harry were something altogether harder to explain or understand. McGonagall didn’t want to press him, wanted to give him time to sort things out for himself. To have one person he loved violently attack another person he loved wasn’t going to be an easy thing to deal with, especially when he had lived through that once in his life already with his parents.

           “Volkova said it looked like a distortion spell. Mr. Potter must have wrestled an arm free of the restraints and grabbed Mr. Malfoy’s....um....yes...well. Once the spell was cast, Lucius went far and wide, like smashing a piece of over-ripe fruit. By the time the spell should have brought him back together, he had already lost his internal organs and bled to death, all over Harry, all over the bed,” Minerva made careful conversation.

           “Essentially, Lucius was turned inside out and back again. It couldn’t have been pleasant,” Snape put in. “I hope it was painful,” he added sadistically, touching Harry’s cheek.

           “It’s no wonder Harry was in shock, having seen something like that, on top of what had already happened to him. Poor boy. Poor dear boy,” Minerva said as she shook her head.

           “Perhaps you should reconsider teaching the distortion spell in Transfigurations.”

           “I never taught him that one. He picked it up somewhere else,” Minerva insisted.

           “Ten points to Gryffindor for creative use of non-violent spells in life-threatening situations,” Snape whispered.

           Minerva petted Harry’s closest foot with a careful hand, studying the boy’s face. His lightning bolt scar stood off his forehead, irritated and red. He held his mouth in a tight line of angry concentration, even in his sleep. There was no trace of the cuts and bruises that had covered him when he was brought home. McGonagall shivered with remembrance, and rubbed Potter’s foot some more. She had seen the dagger that Malfoy had used to cut and slice at Harry. Minerva had even seen the wounds themselves, opening again and again until Doctor Mesarik found the correct white magic spells to counter-act Lucius’s black magic ones. The floor around Harry's bed was covered with the white runes that Volkova and Snape had drawn on the ground with special chalk while Mesarik read a protection spell to them out of one of the most ancient tomes in the entire school library. Mr. Malfoy had walked the Left Hand Path– there was no doubt in Minerva’s mind!

           “You and your cousin did a fine job healing Harry,” Minerva commented, deciding that was all she’d better say. Snape accepted the compliment absently. It irritated him more than pleased him. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened,” McGonagall added tentatively.

           “I don’t blame myself. I blame Lucius Malfoy, and I blame Lord Voldemort.” Severus smoldered with helpless fury.

           “Mr. Weasley is tearing his heart out, pacing around the Gryffindor Common Room. I don’t need two of you to deal with,” Minerva continued, completely unconvinced.

           “I will not let this stand unanswered. Harry deserves to be revenged for this humiliation. If there’s a way....if there’s a way....”

           “Severus, don’t be stupid. We’re exceptionally lucky Lucius didn’t kill Harry. He had plenty of time, more than enough time.”

           “He wasn’t there to kill him. His job was to humiliate the child, to violate him.”

           The words stuck in Snape’s throat. Potter moved defensively in his sleep, pushing both of them away from his bed with jagged bolts of magic that expanded outwards, putting them on their butts on the floor.

           “My word!” McGonagall gasped when Snape helped her to her feet. Once the reddish lightning had evaporated and the smoke cleared, Severus reached for Harry’s hand.

           “Harry, you’re safe. Try and rest,” Snape said quietly. Potter took a short breath or two, relaxed, and drifted away again.

           “We’d better alert the Headmaster,” Minerva decided.

           “As you wish,” Severus agreed.

           “What kind of spells did Lucius do on him? Could the Boy have absorbed some of Malfoy's magic? Not purposefully, of course. But what if Harry reversed or deflected a spell that Lucius tried to use on him? Is that what happened?”

           Snape shook his head, kissing Harry’s hand before tucking it carefully into his covers.

‘I’ll make the Dark Lord pay for this, Harry, if it’s the last thing I do,’ he thought, caressing Potter’s cheek once more.

           “You-Know-Who did this to provoke Albus, and to provoke you. At least the Headmaster can see that and isn’t going to give into the temptation to respond in kind. I want you to promise me you won’t react rashly to this,” McGonagall begged.

           “Have you ever known me to behave rashly?” Severus was in full denial.

           “Once or twice, yes. What do we do now?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “The only person who could tell us where Remus is is being carefully reconstructed in the morgue at St. Mungo’s. We need answers from Lucius. It’s a shame Potter killed him.”

           “Harry had no choice. Besides, I’m willing to bet that Lucius didn’t act entirely on his own. He had help. He was never good at brewing potions, and if he used a Polyjuice–“

           ”He didn’t have to,” Minerva corrected.

           “I said if,” Severus answered crossly. “If Lucius used a Polyjuice, he would have needed help to brew it.”

           “Should we bring in Narcissa and Draco, and find out what they know?”

           “Direct questioning will get us nowhere. If we give them time, they will reveal what they know without our prompting them or putting them on the spot. Give them time, and they will reveal all they know, by action or by word.”

           “As you wish.”

           “I know who I’m dealing with– fellow Slytherins.”

           “We need to ask them why Lucius did what he did, what he hoped to accomplish, and....why are you smirking?”

           “Minerva, Lucius did what he did because the Dark Lord commanded him to do it. What he hoped to accomplish was upsetting Harry to the point that he can no longer summon his magic to defeat the Dark Lord. Lucius clearly underestimated Mr. Potter’s wizarding resources.”

           “Perhaps we all have,” McGonagall whispered.

           “We don’t need to know why or what Lucius wanted to accomplish. What we need to know is how long he has been free from Illumina’s Bliss blessing, and what the bloody hell he’s done with Remus Lupin.”

           “What if Narcissa and Draco don’t tell us what they know, or can’t tell us anything because there is nothing to know?

           “Harry is going to help us. It may not be tomorrow. I suspect he’ll need two or three days at least to recover his strength. But if we give Harry something that Lucius was holding or carrying, he can get a reading off of it.”

           “You can’t expect this of Harry. It’s too soon.”

           “It will be the last thing Voldemort expects. He will not be prepared for it. He will be waiting for signs that this attack has defeated Harry’s will, that he has crushed the boy by doing this to him. We must not coddle Harry. We have to make him understand that he cannot show weakness because of this. It’s what they’ll be waiting for. It’s what they long for, don’t you see?”

           “How do you propose we do that?”

           “We let the Dark Lord make him angry. It has proven to be the best way to spark the boy into action in the past.”

           “The Headmaster considered using the Pensieve on Harry, erasing all memory of the incident.”

           “No.”

           “It might be the best thing.”

           “No, it would not.”

           “How do you know it wouldn’t help him?”

           “They erased my memory you know, after my mother was killed. My uncle and my grandfather said it would stop my nightmares if I let Dumbledore take away my thoughts and hide them in the shiny dish. Nightmares?” Snape scoffed. “No. You have no idea. I spent two decades angry with my father, and I had no idea why. Two decades of fury burning in the pit of my stomach, and no explanation why. No explanation until Albus let me have those memories back, and it made sense, finally it made sense. How do you think that made me feel? Finding out what had been kept from me for so long. The mind may forget, but the body remembers. You can erase Harry’s mind, but not his body, not his soul. It won’t do any good.”

           “You were five when your mother died. What did you know of anger?” Minerva asked.

           “I knew enough of anger, believe me. I watched my father hold my mother under the water in her tub until she was dead. I remember her every kick and scratch, her every struggle for breath, and I remember how terrified I was, how I couldn’t move, how I stood and stared and didn’t help her. If I hadn’t been his only son and heir, his path to inheritance from his father, I’d’ve been the next one in the tub. Don’t delude yourself. When they asked Dumbledore to erase my memory of that night, my uncle and grandfather were doing what was best for them, not what was best for me. Couldn’t have the boy blabbing that his father was a murderer, no, couldn’t have that.”

           “It stopped your nightmares,” Minerva repeated.

           “The mind may forget but the body remembers. Do you know how long it took for me to be able to get into a bathtub?”

           “Years. I know. I had a hard enough time convincing you to bathe when you arrived at Hogwarts.”

           “Do you want to give Harry the same phobia for beds? His bedroom at Hogsmeade? Jam cookies? Teacups? Plaid flannel pajamas? You can take away the monster but the shadow will remain.”

           “There’s no guarantee Harry would react that way.”

           “We must not coddle him. We will give him more strength by treating this incident as one he cannot change, but must accept and move away from, or we will cripple him for life. What’s more, we have to be certain he understands this in no way changes how much we care about him.”

           “Why would it?” Minerva flinched.

           “You know what I’m talking about– encouraging him to stay pure to heighten his powers as a wizard. He’s going to fear we don’t care about him anymore. We simply must assure him otherwise.”

           “Naturally. That goes without saying.”

           “No. It must be said. It must be proven to him.”

           “What of Mr. Malfoy?”

           “Lucius will trouble us no more.”

           “I meant the other Mr. Malfoy. I dread the idea that he may have had foreknowledge of this before it occurred.”

           “Why on earth would Lucius tell Draco what he was going to do?” Severus questioned. “It makes sense that other Death Eaters may know, but Malfoy Younger is not one of their rank yet, so far as I am aware.”

           “Lucius always needed the adoration of others to make himself feel important. You yourself have served often enough that way. He needed an audience to play for, an audience to amuse. He would have told someone other than those in on the plan, you mark my words, and Draco is the obvious choice.”

           “An audience?” Severus laughed darkly. “Perhaps you’re right. I will deal with Draco. If he so much as breathes to Harry about this, I’ll have him hanging in the Slytherin Common Room by his thumbs. If he’s lucky, it’ll be his thumbs.”

           “I leave your students in your capable hands, of course.”

           “In your medical opinion, Doctor Mesarik, when will Mr. Potter be well enough to travel?” Severus asked as his cousin leaned over Harry. She cautiously lifted his arm to take his pulse– cautiously, because the last time she had tried to check his vitals, he was just conscious enough that all hell had broken loose in the hospital ward.

           “That’s a tricky one to answer,” Timma replied. “It’s inhuman, what you’re considering.”

           “It’s not inhuman. I wouldn’t ask it of him if I didn’t feel it was necessary.”

           “I’ll be surprised if he ever wants to step foot in that house again.”

           “The signature will be stronger at the location of the event. But do you believe it would be easier to bring Malfoy’s personal effects here?”

           “I wouldn’t recommend it, no. You want Harry to do it again?”

           “No.”

           “Wasn’t this morning enough of a demonstration for you?”

           “Yes. It was quite impressive,” Snape mused.

           “Mother of all creation,” Timma muttered, putting Harry’s arm back down. “Fifteen centaurs and an enraged manticore?! That was enough for me, thank you very much. In my medical opinion, you’d better badger Mr. Potter as little as possible until he’s himself again.”

           “You can hardly tell,” Severus said, glancing around the newly-refurbished ward. “They were understandably annoyed at being apparated here against their will. But the house elves did an admirable job in setting the place to rights.”  

           “Where did he find a manticore? How did he get it here? Hogwarts is warded against apparition except by the house elves, isn’t it?”

           “In theory,” Severus murmured. “Dumbledore is consulting with wiser minds to find out how Harry’s bending his way around the magic of the castle.”

           “Dumbledore can find wiser minds than his own?” Timma smiled. “I doubt very many.”

           “He’s in the Black Queen’s Tower.”

           “Going to the source, eh? I am impressed.”

           “The Black Queen is the one who built the original cell of the castle. We’ve merely built around her castle in the many centuries since.”

           “If you must do what you’re planning, I recommend going by Floo. No more than two hours out of bed for my patient, and that includes both going to London to Olivander’s shop to get a new wand and going to the house in Hogsmeade afterwards. You might consider asking Mr. Olivander if he would be so kind as to make a house call, under these circumstances. Mr. Potter needs to rest. Aren’t you even going to open your present? Dreadful helped me wrap it. You’ll notice the milk stains if you look too closely.”

           “Thank you for coming on such short notice, and for staying till after the new year. I didn’t mean to interrupt your holiday plans. I will save the present for later, when I’m in a more festive mood,” he said, indicating the slender box in his grip. “Please quit calling the baby ‘Dreadful’. His name is Mordred.”

           “My plans? Sitting around Grandfather’s mansion, feeling myself grow old among the antiques? Oh, Sev, you’re such a wart. You always have been, since I first laid eyes on you.”

           “Do you remember when you first laid eyes on me?” he asked as she lifted the present out of his hands and put it under the holiday tree Hagrid had secreted into the hospital ward. Harry’s presents littered the floor. Severus might have been imagining things, but they appeared to multiply every hour they waited to be opened. Presents were arriving from far and wide for Potter.

           “As I recall, I offered you a pre-sampled lollipop, and you took my dolly from me.”

           “Her head was missing. It was disconcerting, seeing you walk around the house with a headless doll in your grip.”

           “I didn’t love her any less without a head, you know. I wasn’t fooled by the ball you sealed on her body as a replacement, either.”

           “What did you do with your soggy offspring?”

           “Professor McGonagall is minding him for me. She’s put a basinet in her office and everything. She’s gotten attached to him.”

           “She’s very motherly.”

           “Yes, she is. Professor Volkova, on the other hand, is a tad nervous around small children. Squeamish, even. I thought she was a vampire killer.”

           “Former vampire killer.”

           “It’s funny watching both of you with Dreddy. You and she hold him at arm’s length, like he’s contagious,” Timma mused. “There’s that sour look again.”

           “I had good reason to be sour, when you met me. I was very upset, and you were incredibly annoying,” Severus said quietly.

           “I wanted to cheer you up.”

           “You followed me everywhere.”

           “I wanted company.”

           “You had brothers already.”

           “But they thought I was pointless because I was a girl. You taught me how to read and how to count– valuable skills I have used often since. My brothers never liked me. They like me even less since I gave Grandfather his first great-grandson.”

           “You three are far too competitive with each other.”

           “You got off easy, being an only child.”

           “Perhaps I did. Mordred has your face. He has the family look, I should say,” Severus murmured.

           “Thank goodness. What an unpleasant reminder it would have been otherwise. So, Sev, since you’ve officially divorced Illumina, does that mean you have plans to get married and make an heir of your own?” she asked impatiently. “I recall something about the necessity of having an heir if you hope to inherit from Grandfather. What? You’re squinting. Did I ask something verboten?”

           “Perhaps I might. Someday. Not now. Not soon. Besides, my father gave up all rights to Grandfather’s money, as penance for Mother’s death, remember?”

           “Penance– what a curious concept. He gave up his rights to the money, not your rights. At least that’s how Grandfather feels about it. He asked about you when he came to see Mordred. ‘How’s Severus coming along? Still locked in the dungeon with his school books and his potions, eh?’ You should visit him sometime. It wouldn’t kill you. He’s not getting any younger. He misses you.”

           “I might visit him,” Severus agreed reluctantly.

           “He’s one hundred twenty years old. You’d better hurry. The children and I are going to go make snow angels in the courtyard. Care to join us?”

           “Snow angels? Do I look to you like the sort of man who goes around throwing himself into snowfall to make decorative patterns? Angels? Nonsense.”

           “Don’t you believe in angels, Sev?”

           “No, I do not.”

           “I do,” she smiled strangely, in a manner that made him question her sanity. Again.

           “You aren’t really going to take Mordred out in this weather, are you? Do you know how susceptible to colds and illnesses babies are?”

           “Yes, as a pediatrician of some acclaim, I do know. Oh, Sev,” she laughed merrily, bending down to kiss him on the top of the head. “Wart, wart, wart. You should come outside for a breath of fresh air. Stretch your legs.”

           “I’ll stay,” Snape said, gazing back at Harry’s sleeping form. He bolted up from his chair when he saw Potter’s eyes were open again. Unlike the other times in the last couple of days when Harry had been awake but not aware, this time there seemed to be a sharp, focused expression on his face. Doctor Mesarik went to the other side of the bed when Snape loomed behind her.

           “How do you feel?” Timma said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

           “Malfoy,” Harry hissed, trying to rise up in spite of her insistence not to do so.

           “You need to remain as calm and immobile as possible.”

           “Where’s my wand?” Harry wanted to know.

           “Broken,” Severus rumbled. Harry gasped in pain.

           “Are you in pain? Where do you hurt?”

           “It doesn’t matter. I have to get Malfoy,” Harry growled.

           “That’s the spirit,” Snape smiled darkly. “What do you remember?”

           “Severus, not now,” Timma said. “Mr. Potter, you are to remain in bed. I don’t like your color yet. Do you hear me? I want you to remain completely horizontal for another two days.”

           “Why do I feel so different? I’m empty,” Harry said frantically, raising his eyes to them for answers. “My magic? Did Malfoy steal my magic? Am I still a wizard?”

           “Of course you’re still a wizard,” Timma soothed. “No one took your magic. You’re under a dampening spell.”

           “There were centaurs everywhere in here this morning.” Snape motioned around him. “In the window frame behind you? See the hoof prints? Where the hell did you get a manticore? Even as we speak, Hagrid is trying to figure out how to talk Dumbledore into keeping the thing.”

           “What’s wrong with my magic?” Harry questioned.

           “The Headmaster put a Wet Blanket on you. It’s a dampening spell,” Snape said. Potter tilted his head and searched around the room with squinting eyes. Timma went and traced a hand over the place in question where several half-moons dented the wood.

           “The centaurs from the Dark Forest?” Harry asked, having trouble tracking still. That shouldn't have been a complete surprise, all things considered.

           “They weren’t happy. The place was turned upside-down with their stampeding about. Dumbledore decided that before you moved up the food chain from centaurs and manticores to Norwegian Ridgebacks again that he’d better put a Wet Blanket on your magic, at least until you were awake enough to control it,” Severus explained.  

           “Can you undo the spell? We have to get Malfoy,” Harry insisted, annoyance clear in his ill-colored face.

           “How did Lucius trick you? At what point did you realize it was not Remus Lupin?” Severus asked. Harry’s face clouded over with fear and pain. Did the boy not realize that Lucius was dead? Timma must have been thinking the exact same thing. She opened her mouth to speak, but Severus shook his head no.

           “When he started tearing off my clothes,” Harry rasped hotly. “Got any other stupid questions?”

           “May I see into your mind?” Severus asked, reaching for his hand. Harry withdrew in fear, pulling away. “I only want to help,” Snape added, softening his voice. His heart stopped when he saw the fear in Harry’s eyes.

           “I knew when he touched me. Everything got foggy after we had our tea in the kitchen. He drugged me with a potion,” Harry rambled, closing his eyes and keeping his hands out of Snape’s reach. “I saw him standing at the wooden counter of a shop. The man behind it gave him a tiny vial. ‘Put it in his tea. He won’t taste nothing but honey.’ I tried to get away from him,” he added, his voice going weaker.

           “You gave him an admirable challenge,” Severus said.

           “How did I get back to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, opening his eyes and gazing blankly around the ward. Severus picked up the dark-rimmed spectacles on the table. True to their guarantee, the glasses had not been broken. It had taken several washings and a heavy-duty cleansing spell to get them clean again, but they had not been broken.

           “Here. Put these on. We have to talk.”

           Harry slid on the glasses and glared at Snape.

           “There’s no time for talk. I want to make Lucius pay for what he did before he weasels his way out of it,” Harry growled.

           “Harry, Lucius is dead,” Severus said simply.

           “He is?” Potter’s eyes went wide.

           “What’s more, it appears you killed him.”

           Harry blinked at Snape and didn’t reply. It appeared that the news had been a surprise to the boy.

           “He’s dead? You’re sure?”

           “He drugged your tea, dragged you upstairs, attacked you?” Snape asked.

           “Yes,” Harry answered hoarsely.

           “You grabbed him in a somewhat lucid moment, used a distortion spell on him, and turned him into goo,” Timma murmured.

           “Am I in trouble?” Harry trembled.

           “Minister Fudge did his best to make it sound like intentional homicide, but the other wizards on the tribunal decided you acted in self-defense. You were tried in absentia this morning, the vultures,” Severus murmured darkly. “He wouldn’t even wait for you to be there to defend yourself. Dumbledore went as your representative. Fudge is hot for your blood, boy. I suggest we keep him a safe distance from you.”

           “You are not in trouble,” Timma reassured Harry. “I’m sorry, but I had to make your condition public knowledge for them.”

           “Oh no.” Harry’s face went pale.

           “I am sorry. It was the only way I could make them understand the severity of your condition, that it was not something you would have requested,” she said. Harry gave a cynical ‘hmph’, shaking his head.

           “Bastards,” he commented.

           “The problem is, Harry,” Severus said. “We don’t know where the real Remus Lupin is. We haven’t been able to find him or Miss Tonks either one.”

           Harry studied Severus for a space of seconds before putting his eyes on the floor.

           “You want me to touch something that belongs to Lucius or to Remus? I don’t know if I can do that,” Harry gulped, his eyes filling with tears.

           “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency. We have to find Lupin and Tonks.”

           “Severus, stop pressuring him,” Timma interjected softly.

           “What do you remember?” Snape asked Harry.

           “I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry turned away again.

           “I saw your injuries. I know what you must have gone through. Do you want Voldemort lording that over you?”

           “No.”

           “What about Draco? Do you want him mocking you for it?”

           “Draco knows?”

           “There are those that feel Lucius might have told Draco before coming to find you, yes. You don’t want to give Voldemort the satisfaction he seeks in knowing you have been injured. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

           Harry nodded vaguely, lowering his head.

           “Then you can’t let anyone see this,” Snape said in an authoritative tone, putting a hand on Harry’s wet cheek. “Put your pain away. Don’t let Voldemort have it. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Don’t give him the power over you. Don’t give him your pain.”

           Harry nodded, drying off his face and clearing his throat.

           “The Headmaster would give you a speech about forgiveness and learning to move on with your life, but you aren’t going to get that from me. Slytherins are not about forgiveness. It happened. You cannot undo it. Move beyond it. Don’t you dare, for a single second, forgive Malfoy for what he has done to you. He had no right, and he does not deserve your forgiveness.”

           “Do you really think he told Draco?” Harry whispered, horrified.

           “We’re not sure,” Timma said.

           “Some of us are,” Severus said. Harry heaved heavily with momentary panic, trying to collect himself. “It makes you angry, doesn’t it? You’d like to make Lucius pay for what he’s done, but he’s dead, so you can’t take out your anger on him.”

           “No, I can’t,” Harry whispered.

           “I want you to take all the anger you’re feeling for Lucius and put it right next to your heart. And the first person who gets in your face about what happened to you, let them feel the brunt of your fury. Your anger can be a shield and a weapon, Mr. Potter.”

           “Yes, sir,” Harry agreed. “Yes, it can.”

           “Thank Merlin you know the name of a competent therapist,” Timma muttered. “I’ll ring ahead and let Artemis know you’ll need her services in about ten years, Harry, when you have a nervous breakdown on the train to work,” she added reproachfully.

           “You disagree with my recommendations?” Severus asked.

           “Disagree?” Her voice rose. “You shouldn’t hold in your anger until you explode from it. No, you cannot do that.”

           “Why not?” Harry asked.

           “You’ll end up like me, with a dead husband buried in your backyard frog pond,” Timma answered. Harry rubbed his scar, and closed his eyes.

           “Did Voldemort see?” Severus asked. Harry ducked his head. “He watched through you?” Harry’s head drooped lower still.

           “Yes,” the boy admitted.

           “Severus, stop it,” Timma growled. She took one of Harry’s hands, holding on tight.

           “Are you sure Malfoy is dead?” Harry asked.

           “It took several buckets to carry all of him out of your room. Yes, we can be reasonably certain Lucius Malfoy is dead,” Severus answered, smiling grimly.

           “At least he can’t buy his way out of this one,” Timma said.

           “He’s not going to get away with this,” Harry decided, sitting up slowly. He wobbled as he stood, but he made it all the way to his feet.

           “Harry, you need to rest,” Timma said.

           “I have to find Remus.”

           “You need to rest. Severus will make arrangements. In two days, you will have a new wand, and you will be able to go to the house and touch something that belongs to Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Lupin. You’ll be able to find Remus then.”

           “Two days is too long to wait,” Harry decided.

           “You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and you’ll need to be back in bed as quickly as possible,” Timma told him.

           “Two days is too long,” Harry repeated, wobbling. Severus steadied him.

           “One day, perhaps?” Snape murmured, holding Harry upright. 

           “At least one day,” Timma said, guiding Harry back to bed.

           “What if something happens in one day?” Harry worried.

           “I will bring things of Lupin’s from the house. You can start from your bed,” Severus offered. “All right?”

           Harry sank back into the mattress, finding the pillows with his head.

           “Okay,” he answered, closing his eyes against a heavy sigh. Severus straightened Harry’s legs under the covers as Timma brought him a glass of water.

            When Harry, Snape, and McGonagall appeared through the Floo into the kitchen of the house in Hogsmeade, Harry was going over the visit to Olivander in his mind as he fingered the new wand in his cloak pocket. It had previously belonged to a young witch who had died because in a moment of randy insanity, she had inserted it in a particular place tip-first. The considerable magic of the wand had ignited, and she had come and gone in one fateful blast. However satisfied, she was very much dead. Olivander hadn’t explained these events to Harry, for obvious reasons. He had cautioned Harry not to buy the wand because it might be bad luck. The way his luck had been lately, bad sounded like a big improvement to Harry.

           The wand had leapt out of its box at Potter’s mere approach, shivering with excitement. Harry felt it would have bad manners not to at least give it a chance to prove itself. He had sensed when he touched the smooth wood that the wand had not at all influenced the witch in her misguided actions, and it was anxious to be of use to him. Olivander said he would contact Harry if he managed to repair the phoenix feather wand, but not to get his hopes up. Harry needed a wand, and this wand wanted an owner desperately. Harry had paid for the wand, and taken up a polish cloth to give the object a nice rubdown. It hummed happily with the attention.

           “What’s this wand made of?” he wanted to know from Olivander. Oak wood and crup hairs was the answer. No wonder it was so eager to please, Harry had thought with a smirk.

           “Are you sure you want that one?” Snape had asked. Maybe someday Harry would tell him about the wand’s past. Would it amuse Severus to know? Or would he think Harry had finally lost his mind? Knowing what people were up to was one thing, but being able to read what objects were thinking? Even believing that objects could have conscious thoughts might have been enough to get Harry a permanent suite at Hotel Mungo, one right next to Lockhart and the Longbottoms.

           Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by a pair of luminous green eyes that narrowed critically at him from less than three feet away. A pair of people were walking around the room. They were as mismatched as any socks Harry had ever worn. One was a thin witch with short, red hair and cream-white skin. She might have been twenty. She also might have been an escaped Weasley, Harry thought. The other stranger was a tall wizard in his mid to late thirties. The menacing green eyes belonged to him. His night-black hair was braided down his back to his waist. He had an olive complexion, and a sour pickle expression.

           “From the looks of this place, Nim, Potter’s lucky to be alive.”

           “Who are you two, and how did you get here?” Snape asked as Dumbledore appeared out of the Floo seconds later. The two people gaped at the group that had appeared so suddenly.

           “How was Olivander?” Dumbledore asked with a smile.

           “He sends you his regards,” McGonagall replied.

           “His regards?” Dumbledore countered. “What about the twenty galleons from our last chess match? Hmm? Now, who are you two, and how did you get in here?” Albus asked the silent, gawking people. The young witch was not nearest the group, but she jumped out of her trance, taking a step forward.

           “Manglebranch and Nimblewyck,” she said. Simultaneously, they produced law-enforcement Auror badges as proof. “We’re here on a private investigation. The door was open and the wards were down. Mr. Potter? Should you be out of bed?” she asked, giving him her arm. She guided him to a chair and set him down, still holding onto his arm. Her investigation partner was clearly in a mood. He was pacing by the stove, rolling his eyes at her.

           “Did the Minister of Magic send you?” Snape asked.

           “No,” the man replied. “We were hired by interested parties, and that’s all we can tell you. They wanted an objective investigation of the events.”

           “May I see your credentials?” Snape demanded. He snatched up the badges and studied them thoroughly. “Everything appears to be in order,” Snape decided when Harry leaned more heavily on the witch’s arm, wearing a tiny smile.

           “We won’t disturb your work,” Dumbledore promised, standing next to Harry. The witch finally let go of Potter’s arm, and picked up her notepad off the table.

           “Draco Malfoy sent you to see if I’m telling the truth?” Harry asked her. Nimblewyck went redder, and stammered sheepishly.

           “I don’t know how you know that. We aren’t at liberty to say who hired us,” she replied. Harry frowned momentarily. “But don’t let that scare you. We came from St. Mungo’s, saw what was left of your attacker. Once his insides were inside again and we had a good look at his outside, it was pretty easy to make out what had happened from the marks on his body. We read your doctor’s report as well. Clear case of self defense as far as I’m concerned. May I say, Mr. Potter, job well done.”

           “Nim,” the man growled when she grinned.

           “What?” she defended, brow furrowing with annoyance.

           “Do I need to define the word 'objective' for you?”

           Nimblewyck rolled her eyes at Manglebranch before she smiled affectionately at Harry once more.

           “What’s the point of another investigation if the tribunal already decided that Harry acted in self defense?” McGonagall wanted to know.

           “Our interested party wants to know the truth,” Manglebranch answered. “But if we’re disturbing you, we’ll leave.”

           He motioned to Nimblewyck. She pocketed her notebook and quill, reaching for Harry’s hand in order to shake it gingerly.

           “I’m glad you’re going to be all right, Mr. Potter,” she said before following Manglebranch out the back door. Severus gave half a thought to following them, but Dumbledore was already walking out the portal after the investigators.

           “Are they genuinely what they said?” Snape asked Harry, knowing that Potter had taken the opportunity to read Nimblewyck. Harry stared out the opened door, tilting his head in curiosity. In spite of all things, the boy had been speechlessly flattered by the young witch’s attention. He had a dazed look in his haunted eyes. When he did finally nod, it satisfied Snape’s mind.

           “Where shall we begin?” McGonagall asked.

           “I don’t know if I can do this,” Harry whispered, focusing on the house again. The dazed look washed away to fear once more.

           “Remus Lupin needs your help,” Severus said.

           “I’m afraid,” Harry stammered. 

           “We all are,” McGonagall answered, squeezing his shoulder tenderly. Snape put a hand in the middle of Harry’s back.

           “You are not going to give Lucius the satisfaction, remember?” he added sternly. “You are going to walk into Lupin's room, and get a sense of where Remus is if you can.”

           Harry steeled himself and stared around. As he gazed about, his brow furrowed.

           “The place is a mess. Did they march the whole bloody Ministry of Magic through here? I can't believe they left the door open and the wards down! There’s footprints and marks all over the carpet,” he said crossly. “Remy’s going to kill me if he sees the house like this. What the hell happened in the living room?”

           “Do you remember where the teacups came from?” Minerva asked, seeing all the shards lying about.

           “I picked up the sugar bowl and threw the cubes at Lucius, transfigured them. I don’t remember asking for teacups though. I wanted knives.”

           “Element to element, Mr. Potter. If you wanted knives, you should have thrown thumbtacks at him, not sugar cubes,” McGonagall chided.

           “The cubes didn’t slow him down, not even as teacups. I tried to use my charisma spell, but I was too drugged at that point. I could hardly stand. Someone else is in the house,” Harry said, getting to his feet in a rush.

           “Are you sure?” Snape asked, pulling out his wand. McGonagall held hers close too.

           “I can feel someone here,” Harry said.

           “Can you make it up the stairs?” Severus asked. Harry reached for Snape’s arm but hesitated as if to ask if it was all right to do so. Severus slid an arm gently around his waist, steadying him.

           “If at any point you want to leave, you let us know,” Minerva said. “I’ll check the house floor by floor. Don’t go further up the stairs until I let you know it’s clear, all right? Any sign of trouble, you go back through the Floo. Is that understood?”

           “Yes, ma’am,” they replied as one. It was a long climb up the stairs. The clothes and food had not been removed from the steps, and it was clear from Harry’s face that he was remembering bits and pieces the further up into the house they progressed.

           “Part of your wand was on the steps up to your room,” Severus said, pointing. Harry nodded, reaching forward to touch the wall. Snape pulled his hand back. “Not yet, I think. In fact, try to avoid touching anything at all, if you can.”

           “Wonder if I could read with bare feet,” Harry pondered, leaning more on Severus as they neared his room.

           “All clear, in a manner of speaking. ” McGonagall called from the attic. “Severus, I don’t want Harry to see this. Can I bring you an object? A pillow? We could go into Remus’s room, couldn’t we?”

           "I didn't have any luck with Remy's things," Harry said forlornly. "I tried for two days. Nothing. I keep seeing sand and sunshine and water. It'll have to be something from Lucius."

           “The reading will be stronger from in there,” Snape pointed into Harry’s room. “What is it?” he asked when she appeared at the door, frowning down the steps at them.

           “There’s blood everywhere. They didn’t clean up the room. I mean, they took samples of evidence, surely, and all of Lucius they could reach, but it’s a charnel house, Severus, and the boy really doesn’t need to see it.”

           “The boy really doesn’t mind, ma’am,” Potter said, clinging to the railing and climbing up to where she stood. He waited for McGonagall to let him pass. Very slowly, Minerva allowed Harry in the room.

           “Oh...my...” Harry whispered. He sat down on the floor with a tremendous exhale. Snape was kneeling beside him immediately.

           “Are you all right? Are you in pain?” Severus fretted, tenderly cupping Harry’s arm as the boy stared around in horror.

           The room was covered in blood. The purple bed was coated in a layer inches thick, and it had dried to a nasty, crusty coating of goo. It was very easy to make out the shape of a stretched-out body underneath the shadows of disjointed limbs of a second body in the blood. Strands of long blond hair were everywhere, visible to the naked eye. Harry drew his legs up to his chest and leaned his head on his knees, quivering. There were rips and tears straight through the covers of the bed. It hummed when Harry put a hand forward. He flinched back in terror. Snape stayed between Harry and the bed.

           “He doesn’t need to go through this. I’ll find out what the investigators did with Malfoy’s clothes, and if Harry can get a reading off of them, fine,” McGonagall said. She moved to help Harry stand, but he pulled her down next to him.

           “Professor, it’s all right,” he whispered.

           “No, it’s not,” she said sadly, holding onto his hand.

           “He’s dead. He’s gone. He can’t hurt me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

           “Hush, child. Don’t cry,” McGonagall murmured, putting her arms around Harry. “This was such a mistake,” she said to Snape as Harry leaned tentatively on her shoulder. Snape stood to his feet, suddenly vitriolic with anger. McGonagall wondered what was wrong until she heard the voice behind her.

           “Aren’t you full of surprises, Mr. Potter?”

           Harry went silent and pale, his hands tightening into fists. In the darkest corner of the ruined room, a phantasmal shape was shimmering as it took on a more-apparent form. It hovered off the ground, coming closer and getting more solid.

           “Lucius?” Severus whispered, standing between the ghost and Mr. Potter.

           “At least it’s a decent outfit,” Malfoy said, indicating his clothes. “Leave it to you to be here, Severus. When the Dark Lord gets his hands on you, what happened to Potter will seem like a day at the circus.”

           “Keep your distance, if you please,” Snape hissed. He smirked through his anger, pointing his wand at Lucius. The Malfoy ghost gave a grisly smile.

           “And here is our lovely Mr. Potter. How it warms my heart to see you. Up and around already? I didn’t do a very thorough job, did I? You know, the moment I knew I was going to die, it was my most fervent wish to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

           Harry clenched his fists tighter, refusing to look up at the ghost. Snape gave Malfoy a poke with his wand, and Lucius moved back away from Harry.

           “Killed by a distortion spell. What a stupid way to die,” Malfoy mourned. “What? I didn’t hear you, Potter.”

           “I was trying to Avada you. I couldn’t remember the second word. The other spell sorta came out by accident. I’m sorry.”

           “Killed by a distortion spell by accident. Thank you– an even more stupid way to die. I feel so much better,” Lucius growled. Severus smirked at him, and the specter hovered off the ground.

           “He doesn’t know where Remus is,” Harry said when McGonagall stopped hugging him and dried his face.

           “How can you tell?” she asked.

           “He doesn’t know. They brought him the Polyjuice already made. Voldemort and Bellatrix.”

           “How did you know?” Malfoy worried.

           “Remus Lupin,” Severus said, aiming his wand at the ghost once more.

           “What about him?”

           “We want to know where Remus Lupin is.”

           “Why should I tell you? Either way, I’m not coming back. Maybe I’d like Lupin for company on this plane,” Lucius taunted.

           “He doesn’t know,” Harry repeated impatiently.

           “How can you be sure? You aren’t touching him,” Snape replied, not taking his eyes off Lucius.

           “He’s everywhere in the room,” Harry laughed hysterically, choking on his tears. “On the ceiling, on the bed, on the floor. He’s all over the place. Little drops of Lucius are everywhere.”

           “So Draco was right. You are becoming a seer. I owe my son an apology. Give us another demonstration,” Lucius grinned wickedly.

           “Don’t say another word,” Severus interjected, pushing Harry towards the door. Harry interrupted Severus’s rushed departure when he saw Lucius’s ghost following them.

           “Please. Where is Remus?” Harry begged.

           “I’m not telling you a thing, Potter.”

           “Please,” Harry begged again.

           “I wasn’t killed by a wizard. I was killed by a child! A simpering, sobbing child!” Lucius mocked, laughter bubbling up in him. His form shimmered as if getting emotional took up the strength that was required to remain visible. Harry's tears dried away as he got suddenly, terribly furious.

           “You’ll tell me. You’ll tell everything,” Harry growled, pushing past McGonagall and past Snape and going over to the ghost. He put a hand through Lucius, and the ghost convulsed in response. Humor left Lucius’s face and fear coursed through him.

           Images flooded Harry’s mind, flickering like the flame of a candle. Blood everywhere. Mangled body parts sprawled like a twitching carpet. Screaming. A triumphant cry of pleasure. A curved knife with a black handle darting in the light. A kicking, crying, hysterical form beneath him. Red eyes. Blood. A heartbeat. Voldemort’s face came into clear focus. A circle of black runes had been drawn on the floor. Harry caught his breath, shuddering wildly. He stared at the floor but could see nothing. Where had the runes gone? Maybe it wasn’t this floor? Had Lucius kept Harry here the entire time? He stared at the floor again, and Lucius got very worried.

           “Stop him,” Lucius demanded of Severus.

           “Why? Afraid of what he might see? Afraid he’ll uncover your nasty, dark secrets?”

           Harry continued shuddering. The runes weren’t on this floor. The ruins had been on the floor around Voldemort, where he had been standing. Voldemort had been channeling spells into Harry while Lucius attacked him.

           Potter’s magic was opening a wide hole in the specter. Lucius’s form was becoming unstable again as Harry seemed to be absorbing him from the inside out. Harry could sense Voldemort in his own mind, moving like a poisonous cloud over the sea of images that Harry was absorbing from Lucius’s spirit. The cloud was trying to block what Harry was seeing. It became harder to concentrate. Every place Lucius had been, every image he had seen, every smell, every taste of the last few weeks went through Harry’s head. It was a long time searching before Harry encountered a glimpse of Remus. To his great disappointment, they were standing in the train station in London. Lucius hadn’t seen Remus since the day he returned from his extended trip abroad.

           A hand clasped Harry’s shoulder, scaring him. It cut the link between Potter and Malfoy.

           “That’s enough, Harry. You’ve seen all you need to see.”

           Dumbledore’s voice reached him over the distance, over the ringing in his ears. Harry sank down ungracefully on the floor. Both McGonagall and Snape dove for him, one to make sure he was all right and the other to get between him and Lucius. Voldemort receded slowly from the boy’s mind, screaming with frustrated anger. Harry shook with exertion, holding onto his forehead. His scar felt wet. He rocked back and forth, holding himself tight across the chest as he swayed.

           “Where is Remus Lupin?” Snape demanded of the unstable ghost.

           “He doesn’t know,” Harry whispered hoarsely. “I told you Voldemort and Bellatrix brought him the Polyjuice already completed.”

           Voldemort’s furious screams echoed in Harry’s head, and he clutched his scar with a whimper. He faced the wall, heaving for breath, suddenly aware he was crying loudly again.

           “Ah, my favorite view of you,” Malfoy mused. “Having you face down on that mattress, completely at my mercy, I have to say it was one of the highlights of my life. I’ll savor it forever.”

           “Lucius,” Snape hissed, backing the ghost into a far corner.

           “Aren’t we touchy?” Lucius smiled at Severus. “He could have been yours, Severus. All you had to do was obey the Master, and Potter would have been yours to keep.” 

           “Just remember two things, Malfoy,” Harry rasped, trying to draw himself up with what little dignity he could dig up from the fathoms of his soul.

           “What’s that, Potter?” Lucius mocked him even while being threatened by Snape’s malevolent fury.

           “First is, you’re dead. Forever.”

           “As if I could forget,” Lucius feigned ennui. Harry advanced on Lucius, and the ennui faded fast. There was no time to pull a wand and do it gracefully. His words would have to be enough. Harry bore through the ghost with his eyes, hoping on some plane that Lucius could feel the hatred burning off of him.

           “Second is, Draco is out there, and he no longer has you to protect him. I promise you, if I get my hands on your son, I will treat him with all the mercy you showed me.”

           Severus couldn’t help but smile at the Slytherin edge that Harry put to his voice when he said those words. They went right to the heart of Malfoy. Lucius’s face went dark with rage as Potter whirled away from him.

           “My son is more than a match for you, Potter, as I am.”

           “If I’m drugged and restrained,” Harry mocked, heading down the steps. McGonagall gave him her arm to lean against. If she hadn’t, Harry would have hit the stairs on his knees.

           “I have powerful friends, Potter. Don’t you go near my son!” Lucius warned. Harry refused to answer. McGonagall guided him down the stairs and away.

           “Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll find Remus,” Minerva soothed. Dumbledore waited at the door as Snape glared in fury at Malfoy.

           “Severus, Draco has become your responsibility. I expect you to look after him,” Lucius pressured.

           "I'm not sure Narcissa will find that request to her liking," Severus replied. "She is his mother, after all."

           “After all I’ve done for you, Severus, you owe me that much. I can't count the number of times I’ve saved your miserable life. You have to protect my son.”

           “I swear to you I will look after Draco, but not for your sake. I will do it for Draco’s sake.”

           “What do you mean by that?” Lucius panicked.

           “I’m afraid we must be going,” Snape answered.

           “Wait! Severus! I want to talk to Draco. Bring him here, and let me talk to him. I don’t know how long I can stay here. The Other Side is pulling at me even now. You have to let me talk to my son,” Lucius begged. His emotional state was making it difficult to remain solid. Wisps of him were escaping.

           “No, I don’t,” Snape replied, turning away.

           “Severus!” Lucius screamed.

           “Mr. Potter? It appears one of your presents arrived late,” Headmaster Dumbledore said as he entered the hospital ward. Harry sat up in bed in alarm, moving a flurry of newspaper pages onto the floor. “You haven’t opened the other presents yet,” Albus added.

           “Not much in the mood for celebrating, sir,” Harry replied. He folded his legs up tight, hugging his knees. “Are you sure I have to stay another night in the hospital wing? Doctor Mesarik said two days was all I needed. I’ve been here a week.”

           “One more night won’t put an end to your sanity. You need your rest. I’m not certain you’ll get that in the dorms. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are busy scheming about tomorrow night and what they’re going to do during the Faculty Yuletide Party.”

           “But it’s not Christmas.”

           “We postponed it until you were better. Then we decided that we could combine the Yuletide Party with the New Year's Party, and there you have it. I hope you don't mind.”

           “But you didn't have to wait on me," Harry protested. "Have you received word from Remus yet?” he asked as Dumbledore put the black, satin box on the ground at the bottom of the Christmas tree that winked and blinked at him.

           “No, I’m afraid not. But you shouldn’t worry, Harry. We’ll find him eventually. He and Miss Tonks will surface when they are able, and we will hear from them.”

           “That’s what Professor Snape said yesterday when he brought me the papers to read.”

           “I had hoped you’d been able to avoid the Daily Prophet of the last few days,” the Headmaster voiced his disapproval.

           “Having seen them, I understand why,” Harry replied. “They certainly have reliable sources of information, don’t they?”

           “They know too many details about your attack and Lucius’s death for the articles to have been conjured from pure speculation.”

           “They must have a mole,” Harry decided.

           “I suspect as much,” Dumbledore agreed.

           “Who is for sale at the Ministry of Magic? Want me to go feel up the furniture and find out?” Harry tried a grim smile.

           “Not as yet, no.”

           “What about Bellatrix’s cloak?” Harry asked.

           “Not yet, Harry. Not yet. When you are ready. When you are healed. When you are whole again.”

           “I can’t believe Lucius’s funeral made the front page. There were articles about Draco as well,” Harry said, kicking another paper off the bed. This page had a black hole burned straight through it.

           “I was very disappointed to learn Draco chose to negate his father’s contract of donation to St. Mungo’s Hospital. A lot of good could be accomplished if that medical university could be built in Hogsmeade.”

           “The article said he claimed the donation would have wrecked his inheritance, and that because the donation was made while his father was under the influence of a mood-altering spell, that it should have been declared null and void to begin with. He already sounds like an advocate,” Harry commented, running one hand over the covers to knock more newspaper pages away.

           “No matter. St. Mungo’s will be able to come up with funding somehow. Maybe a bake sale,” Dumbledore pondered.

           “It would take an awful amount of biscuits, wouldn’t it, sir?”

           “You sure you wouldn’t like to open one present?” Dumbledore persuaded.

           “Not until Remy comes back,” Harry declared impatiently.

           “I’m the last person to suggest a negative attitude, Harry, but in the unspeakable event that Remus Lupin does not return, it goes without saying that you’re going to have several disappointed presents lying around the hospital ward. Madam Pomfrey isn’t going to like that when she gets back tomorrow.”

           “Am I interrupting?”

           “Where have you been?” Harry exclaimed as Severus entered the hospital ward from the other side. "I've been worried sick about you and Hagrid! Eight damned hours of torture, thank you so much!" Snape gave Potter a sour frown, tossing a packet of letters into his lap.

           “Your owl is exhausted. I sent her with Hagrid to get a good rest. She was down at the post office in Hogsmeade, trying to deliver all the mail that was waiting for you. Hagrid won't let her go on another mission until she is herself again. You don’t have to answer every letter you receive from the crackpots that are writing to you.”

           “All right,” Harry agreed sullenly. "I'm sure they're not all crackpots. What's waiting at the post office?"

           “He hasn’t opened his gifts,” Dumbledore complained. Snape cast a stern glance at Harry. Potter ducked his eyes, sifting through the letters on his bed.

           “Our agreement was that I would deliver your missive, and you would open one present for every hour I was gone,” Severus murmured, taking off his cloak and putting it over the chair.

           “You deliberately took extra time so I’d have to open more presents,” Harry replied hotly.

           “I was gone eight hours. I believe there are more than enough boxes under that tree to have kept you occupied.”

           “Did something go wrong? What did they say?” Harry pressured him.

           “Open their letter and read for yourself,” Snape motioned, selecting a large, brown envelope from the group.

           “No, you do it,” Harry said, pulling back. “It might be a howler.”

           Snape sighed dramatically as he fished in his pocket and threw a golden key into Harry’s bed covers. As Severus unfurled the creamy-brown letter, Dumbledore picked up presents off the floor and brought them to Harry. Potter toyed with the ribbons but did not open the boxes.

           “ ‘Dear Mr. Potter: After much consideration, the board of governors of St. Mungo’s Hospital has unanimously decided to accept your extremely generous donation towards the construction, operation, and staffing of the Wilhelmina Sapientia Malfoy School for Medical Training.’ ”

           “Mr. Potter! Bake sale indeed,” the Headmaster glowed with a broad smile. Harry shrugged modestly. Dumbledore waited for Snape to continue, nudging a blue box into Harry’s hands.

           “The bake sale is a good idea too,” Harry said.

           “Much consideration. They took all of ten minutes,” Snape grumbled. “ ‘We had your gems appraised by several experts, who determined that their approximate value would be more than enough to.....’,” Snape stopped again, sitting down in the chair with his cloak.

           “How much?” Harry asked eagerly.

           “Enough to buy the whole of Mongolia and finance the invasion of Russia,” Snape growled. “Are you sure about this? It’s a lot of money, Harry.”

           “I’m sure,” Harry said, tentatively picking at the blue present Dumbledore had pressed into his grip.

           “Stupid boy. Suffice it to say, the governors are delighted to accept your donation. They grovel at your feet in gratitude, and ask that you answer two quick questions by mail or messenger,” Snape said, folding away the letter.

           “What are the questions?”

           “What do you want to call the school you’re buying for them, and do you wish a position on the board of governors? That was apparently part of the contract they had held with Lucius before his untimely demise.”

           “Don’t they like the name they have?”

           “It was part of Lucius’s contract, and not their first choice, confidentially.”

           “I don’t care what they name it,” Harry shrugged. Snape glared at him evenly. “I’ve never named a school before.”

           “It’s to be a university, not a school. You’d better come up with a good name, because they’re depending on you,” Snape murmured. “There are certain responsibilities that go along with tossing around money this way. It’s your duty to come up with a name for the facility you’re buying.”

           Dumbledore chuckled, and Severus narrowed his eyes at him.

           “What’s wrong with naming it after the previous Mrs. Malfoy?” Harry wanted to know.

           “Tell them you’re working on a name, and chose one later,” Dumbledore suggested.

           “Guess you’ll have to study more Latin and find out,” Severus answered with a sharp, playful smile. “You should have an advocate study that contract before you sign and return it.”

           “I don’t have an advocate,” Harry fretted. Dumbledore accepted the letter from Snape.

           “What about the position on the board of governors?” the Headmaster asked.

           “I don’t have any experience with that sort of thing,” Harry protested. “Wouldn’t they rather have someone who knows what to do?”

           “No. They’d much prefer someone who will give them all kinds of money, and not pester them about how they want to spend it.”

           “Now you’re being rude,” Harry muttered.

           “They’d like a naive, impressionable child who believes they can be trusted to do what is right and not line their own pockets with the funds he wants them to use for the good of the many, not the good of the few.”

           “I do see what you’re driving at,” Harry responded to Severus. “I’m not completely stupid, you know?” Snape’s thin smile dripped with dark mirth. “I’ll accept a position on the board so I can keep an eye on them,” Harry added.

           “Splendid,” Dumbledore clucked happily.

           “Start opening presents, Potter,” Snape ordered. “We haven’t got all day. Eight hours. Eight presents. We had an agreement.”

           “I don’t want to open them without Remy being here,” Harry protested sadly.

           “Potter, I dragged myself all the way to London and all around London and all through London during the peak travel time for the holiday season to be your personal letter and gem courier. Start ripping paper this very instant.”

           Harry picked at the wrapping of the gift in his grip, avoiding Snape’s dark eyes.

           “Make it snappy,” Snape barked.

           “You keep yelling at me, and I’m going to curse you,” Harry said quietly, pulling the ribbon slowly off the present. “Maybe I’m tired. It takes a lot of energy to open gifts.”

           “Who is it from? Read the card. Read the card!” Snape insisted. “I spent four hours on the train listening to the woman in my compartment talking to her pet goldfish. Don’t talk to me about tired, Potter. You don't know tired. You have never felt tired as I have felt tired. Don't you squint at me in that tone."

           "She had a fish? On the train? Sitting on the cushions next to her?" Harry questioned cynically.

           "She had the thing in a bowl on her lap. Hours and hours of sloshing about. And there was Hagrid, egging her on all the way. ‘What a good swimmer! What a lively swimmer!’ I wanted to burn my own eardrums out.”

           Harry gave a tiny smile, easing his thumbs inside the wrapping paper.

           “It’s from Hermione. It’s a book,” he said, caressing the velvet cover with the tip of his nose. It smelled like roses and pencil shavings.

           “What kind of book?” Dumbledore asked. Harry slid the book under his pillow.

           “Indecent fiction, I believe. I’m going to read it later, when I have a bit of privacy,” he replied.

           “Next!” Snape barked, putting another present into Harry’s lap.

           “Has anyone told you you’re pushy and obnoxious sometimes?” Harry asked.

           “Yes. Often. But it’s done us no good,” Dumbledore whispered to Potter. Harry smiled sadly. He was painfully aware that they were stepping lightly around him, trying to raise his spirits, even trying to spark anger in him to get him to respond to them and not drop further into the overwhelming depression that had consumed him the last few days. They meant well, he understood. But couldn't they let him wallow for a day or two? He needed time to deal with this, needed time to mull over his feelings and fears.

           “Has he agreed to go to the party tomorrow?” Snape asked Dumbledore.

           “Has he what?” Harry gulped, almost dropping the black satin box in his grip.

           “Not yet,” the Headmaster clenched his teeth as he needled the Potions Master with a chastising glance. “I hadn’t gotten that far.”

           “Is this from you?” Harry asked Snape.

           “What makes you think I got you a present?” Severus pretended annoyance.

           “It’s shielded against detection. A very spiky cover spell. Just your style. Prickly and uncomfortable,” Potter replied. Snape took out his wand and leaned closer. “Don’t zap it,” Harry said, pulling it away from him.

           “I wasn’t going to. Who signed the card?”

           “What card?”

           “Maybe it’s inside the box.”

           Harry peeled off the lid and peered inside. A poof of magic brought Snape and Dumbledore to their feet, wands raised and pointed at the box. A piece of parchment unfolded itself, and delicate script seeped up onto the page.

           “It’s from Henri Le Clair,” Harry said, surprised. “He wants to wish me a happy holiday, and hopes that my....difficulties....” The boy’s voice dropped to a hush. Snape and Dumbledore both held their breaths and tensed up. Only yesterday, Harry had literally burst into tears because Snape had served him cinnamon tea with lunch. It had taken a calmative draught to put Harry to rights again, and as Potter was sleeping off his terrible scare, Snape had had to brew a second calmative for himself, right after he finished screaming at the house elves and making them get rid of every trace of cinnamon tea in the entire castle. “That my difficulties with the late Mr. Malfoy do not spoil my outlook on life. Apparently he also reads the Daily Prophet,” Harry added sourly.

           “How thoughtful of him to send you a gift,” Dumbledore said, relaxing once more and putting away his wand. Snape followed suit.

           “The letter says you are not to show anyone what is in the box,” Severus said, peering sideways at the parchment. “Very well. We’ll be over here, putting the rest in order.”

           “We won’t ask what it is,” Dumbledore promised. They pretended to be fascinated by the tree and its multiple flashing lights. “These aren’t Flitwick’s fairies,” Dumbledore commented, lifting his glasses and getting next to the tree.

           “Miss Granger rigged a Muggle device with a flashing spell. Ghastly, aren’t they?” Snape said, picking up another handful of presents off the floor. Harry’s scream made them both spin around. Potter quickly stuffed the lid back on Henri’s box.

           “Mr. Potter, you nearly gave me a seizure,” the Headmaster chided.

           “Is something wrong?” Snape asked. Harry was white as a sheet, and heaving for breath. His eyes were as wide as his glass frames.

           “No,” he lied, conjuring a broad, false nervous smile.

           “We can’t ask what it is, remember?” Dumbledore poked Snape in the arm.

           “I’ll wager it’s a diamond the size of a man’s fist,” Severus murmured to Albus. “Next Potter will be buying himself a magical village all his own.”

           Harry stifled a squeak of words (ohmygodohmygodohmygod) and set Henri’s box aside on the nearest table. His hands were shaking so badly that he had to hold them together to make the shaking less visible.

           “Shall we have it carted off to Gringotts?” Dumbledore asked.

           “I tell you, it’s annoying. If a man hangs around for five hundred years, he’s bound to accumulate enough wealth. But it’s so gauche for him to go around lavishing his money on attractive young men, smothering them with emeralds and rubies and such. I hope you’re not forgetting he nearly killed you,” Severus added pointedly to Harry. Potter gulped, eyeing the box with fear.

           “Nope. Hadn’t forgotten.”

           “Keep tearing paper, Potter. You’re falling behind, and these damn things are breeding like sheep,” Snape commented, piling presents on the bed. “There are three from Hagrid right there. He’s been adding presents every time he comes in here! I knew it!”

           As Dumbledore and Harry watched, Snape shook out one sleeve, and small, rod-shaped, red and white striped boxes dropped like candy canes.

           “Where did those come from?” Dumbledore murmured as the boxes sat on the floor and began to enlarge from cylinders to flat squares.

           “They were at the post office, waiting for owls to carry them,” Snape answered.

           “Who are they from? How curious that they all match.....” Dumbledore noted. He bent down to read one of the tags, and Snape zapped the tags with his wand, burning them off.

           Harry started the day in no mood for the evening. As evenings are very hard to avoid once you’ve made it through an afternoon, he decided to make the best of it. The Faculty Yuletide Party was a raucous and loud affair filled with music and people and food and drink. Harry had been invited as a guest of honor, and the students present at the school were also invited. Potter's head was throbbing, and the rest of him ached as well. It appeared to Harry that an inordinate number of people were showing up at Hogwarts today, not just students returning from holidays earlier than normal, or parents of students, or faculty members, but people at large, from Hogsmeade and London and further away still. The party crowd included many more people than merely the school’s faculty. He was certain he saw at least one fellow walking around in Egyptian robes and a headdress, but that proved to be Bill Weasley. Everyone was intent on greeting Harry, shaking his hand, patting him on the back.

           “Let’s have a look at you,” Bill had said, coming up to him and shaking his hand very vigorously. “No, it takes much more than a stinking Malfoy to do you in, doesn’t it? So glad you’re all right. So very glad. Mum’s relieved too. Have you seen her this evening?"Bill grinned, pulling Harry into a tight hug, smacking a gin-smelling kiss against his ear. Harry did his best not to tense up. It would have sounded stupid if he tried to explain, but every hug had him chanting things to himself like, 'This is Bill, and Bill is safe, and it's okay to let Bill hug me.' It made Harry feel better, however foolish it might have seemed.

           “She’s been by a couple times,” Harry said, gasping for breath as Bill hugged him again. “She keeps showing everyone today’s Daily Prophet.”

           Harry’s ribs still were aching from having taken several gouges from Malfoy’s knees and elbows. Having been hugged and squeezed by Mrs. Weasley minutes ago, for the third time this evening, Harry didn’t know how much more affection he could take.

           “Happy New Year!” Bill shouted, lifting his glass and refilling it from the punch bowl to Harry’s right. Harry watched him gulp down the brew, wondering how many glasses Bill might have already had. Bill refilled the glass and put it into Harry’s grip. “Here. Your turn.”

           “I couldn’t.”

           “None of that. We’re drinking to an occasion here,” Bill said, scooping up another glass and filling it to the brim.

           “To what are we drinking?”

           “You’re alive. I’m getting married. Lucius Malfoy is dead. I heard from reliable sources in attendance at his funeral that his right hand is missing.”

           “You don’t say,” Harry ducked.

           “Vivà la resistance!” Bill shouted before downing his entire glass.

           Harry took in a cautious slurp from his. Stars shot through his field of vision as the potency of the liquor warmed his mouth and tickled his throat.

           Harry had spent much of the party this way, with people coming up to him, hugging him, shaking his hand, wishing him well, congratulating him on the death of Lucius Malfoy as if he had a reason to be proud that in a moment of utter panic he had unzipped a man by grabbing his genitals and using a distortion spell on him. The idea of it made Harry sick to his stomach. Maybe Harry shouldn’t be drinking. Bill refilled Harry’s glass for him, and topped off his own as well. Ron’s brother had been the first to offer Harry a drink, Potter smiled to himself. Maybe Bill knew better about this than Harry did. Maybe the drink would make him feel better instead of simply miserable.

           “What are we drinking to this time?” Harry asked.

           “I’m going to be a father. You’re building a medical school.”

           “I’m not really building it,” Harry blushed. “Not like they’ll have me stacking bricks and ladeling on mortar and what-have-you.”

           “Is it true you’ll be on the board?”

           “Professor Snape recommended it, yes. So did Headmaster Dumbledore.”

           “To Mr. Potter, Governor on the Board of the U.A.M.E.M. Sir, I salute you,” Bill grinned, finishing his third, or maybe fourth drink since he’d been standing here.

           “To Mr. Bill Weasley, father to be, husband to be! Who are you marrying?” Harry asked, gulping his entire drink. He missed Bill’s answer, because the world was spinning. He opened his eyes to find Bill patting him on the back, lifting his arms up.

           “Easy there. Easy,” Bill said as Harry drew in a deep breath and coughed and sputtered like a drowning man.

           “You trying to kill ‘im or something?” Ron demanded of his brother, taking Harry’s arm and dragging him away from Bill. “Pouring alcohol down him like he’s a bucket without a bottom. Ought to have your head examined,” he called back at his brother. “You all right?” Ron asked Harry, patting his back, leaning him against a near-by wall.

           “Mm hmm,” Harry nodded, hiccuping and coughing still.

           “Say, you know that box you put under your bed? The black satin one?”

           “Yes?”

           “Well, we’ve got a problem.”

           “Have we? Why is Bill wearing that outfit?”

           “An accident at work. He's stuck in those clothes until the curse he tripped can be cracked. That's not what I'm here to talk about. It seems Dobby thought your box smelled like dirty socks, and he opened it.”

           “Uh oh.”

           “He screamed and fainted and dropped the box down over the balcony into the Common Room. Everyone in the Tower at the time got to see what was inside the box too.”

           “Uh oh.”

           “Now Hermione and I are not going to talk about what we saw in the box. But Seamus and Neville are in shock. Dean is babbling about curses and spells and what to do, and he’s worried if it’s safe to sleep in the same dorm with you. Several of the girls ran crying to Professor McGonagall. She’s sure to come looking to talk to you.”

           “Thanks for the warning.”

           “Mate, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

           “About what?”

           “Where the HELL did you get that?”

           Harry responded with a coy smile. Ron accepted Harry's silence for what it was, not questioning him any further. He reached up and straightened the collar of Harry's cloak, and adjusted the simple gold broach that held it closed.

           “Where did you get this? The clasp is about to break. It's older than you are."

           "I found it in Remy's room. I didn't think he would mind if I borrowed it."

           “No. He won't mind," Ron agreed. "You stay here, and I’ll go find Hermione. She’ll be able to talk sense to you. Stay here. Stay right here.”

           “Okay,” Harry nodded, sitting down against the wall. Liquor poured through him, filling him with warmth and happiness. He spotted Bill Weasley across the room, dancing cheek to cheek with Fleur Delacour, and assumed that was a pretty good answer to the previous question.

           But didn't that mean that Bill and Fleur hadn't waited until they were married? Was she already expecting? Harry watched them again. She was glowing warmly, her face like a full moon as she gazed at Bill. His face was no less round with delight, and the effect was amplified by the strange gold and onxy headdress that masked his red hair. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that that's what the face of love looked like.

           Harry scanned around the room. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were also dancing together. Several other couples were parading around the floor, arm in arm, belly to belly, all cozy and warm. Harry leaned his head against the wall and sighed. The happiness from the alcohol drifted out of him and into the ground. He trembled with cold.

           He was never going to have that, was he? Who was going to want him like this? Imperfect. Damaged in handling. Whatever. He wasn't going to have that, was he? Dancing cheek to cheek, his head on someone’s shoulder, moving slowly to romantic music. Harry put one hand against the stones and concentrated his magic, trying to pick up the vibes as the couples moved across the floor. Like seeking candles in a dark forest at night, he sensed first one warm spot, then another, and another. The glow that burned from the Weasleys alone was spreading to other couples in the room. Harry picked up his hand and shifted his seat on the floor.

           The cold stones felt extremely good against his still-sore backside and hips. No amount of pain-killers would reduce the humility of what he’d endured, but knowing that Malfoy was dead, and knowing that the right hand of said Mr. Malfoy was in that little black satin box made accepting the pain a great deal easier. Maybe Harry was happy someone finally knew what was in the box. Wow. Harry would have paid good money to have seen the expressions on the faces of the people in the Common Room when that pasty, white paw came flying down over the balcony and landed in their midst. He grinned stupidly to himself and felt his happiness returning.

           “Mr. Potter? What are you doing on the floor?”

           Harry slowly raised his head, and blinked at Severus Snape. He tilted his head to one side and smiled up at him. Why was it that every time Harry started feeling depressed, merely having Snape show up wiped that away? Did Snape know how to dance, he wondered.

           “The floor is cold. It feels good. It sinks into you when you sit on it this way.”

           “I was afraid you had left the room. I couldn't see you down here,” Snape replied, putting careful hands around Harry’s waist and pulling him to his feet. “Have you been drinking?”

           “Just one,” Harry whispered.

           “Out of the punch bowl?”

           “No. Out of a cup. Where have you been?”

           “What do you mean?” Severus asked.

           “I was searching for you too. I saw you leave a half an hour ago.”

           “Will you come up to the Astronomy Tower with me?”

           “It’s almost midnight. We’ll miss the big moment.”

           “Come up the tower with me,” Snape persuaded. Harry’s eyes got really wide, and he felt his mouth open.

           “Why?” he asked, almost irritated and a tiny bit afraid. “You promised Remy you weren’t going to do that sort of thing while his back was turned.”

           “I know what I promised Mr. Lupin, and that is not why I want you to come to the tower. Someone is up on the tower who would like to talk to you, someone who cannot come into the courtyard or the great hall.”

           “Why not?”

           “The big bonfire out there.”

           “Is it Remy?”

           “No. I’m sorry. It’s not.”

           “Do you believe we’ll ever find him?” Harry asked, his eyes growing bright with tears.

           “Yes, I do,” Severus replied. “Can you walk?”

           “I had one drink, ONE DRINK,” Harry fussed. “Yes, I can walk.”

           “Follow me then.”

           Harry traced behind Snape, moved in the same pattern across the stone floor as they made their way around dancing couples and past the food tables and into the outer foyer. A quick pattering of feet across the foyer from them made Harry look around. Hermione and Ron were running down the other set of stairs as Harry followed Severus up the opposite set. Harry waved at them happily. Ron and Hermione made the same shocked face, and started climbing back up the stairs. They were sure to intersect at one point or another, Harry was certain.

           He climbed and climbed behind Snape, watching his cloak billow in his wake behind him like the dark sail of a very black ship. Maybe a ghost ship. Maybe one of those ghost ships that wandered the sea, terrifying sailors and making grown men tremble with fear. Harry reached forward to grasp at Snape’s cloak.

           “Do you need help?” Severus asked, reaching back to take Harry’s hand.

           “I’m all right.”

           “Why are you gouging me in the backside?” Snape paused, and moved Harry up ahead of himself on the stairs. He kept a careful arm around him, walking him along.

           “Severus?” Harry ventured.

           “Mr. Potter, what have I told you about calling me by my first name?”

           “Professor Snape?”

           “Yes. What do you want?”

           “I...wanted to tell you...I’m sorry about what I did to Lucius.”

           “Don’t be.”

           “He was your friend.”

           “When it suited his fancy.”

           “You loved him.”

           “Yes, I did. But he does not deserve your sympathy.”

           “But I am sorry,” Harry persisted.

           “That speaks well of you,” Severus complimented him, rubbing his back warmly.

           “I had a happy thought,” Harry announced.

           “Did you?” Snape rasped, colliding with Harry when Potter stopped on the stairs again. "It happens to us all now and again. You’ll get over it.”

           “You are such a sour puss,” Harry muttered. Snape stopped, and gave Harry a strange look. "No. You are THE sour puss," Harry persisted. Severus tried out a tired chuckle.

           “Mr. Potter, it's very possible I am the sourest puss you will ever have the misfortune to encounter. But now is not the time to ponder the mysteries of life, nor to question what makes one a sour puss, nor to wonder what has to happen to a person for them to become THE sour puss as you so eloquently put it. Will you please move your....bottom along faster? It's going to be daylight in six hours and we have half a tower to go. We’re in a bit of a rush,” Snape murmured.

           Puzzled by Snape, Harry hurried along as well as he could. At the top of the Astronomy Tower, the door was open. Harry felt his way in the dark around the door frame, and outside onto the stones.

           “There is an inordinate amount of fornication taking place down there. Cover your eyes, petite chère,” a man’s deep voice said. There were three people at the rim of the tower, looking over the side.

           “This is a sacred occasion. How about some propriety, people!” The second one was a woman, and she was shouting loudly into the blowing winds.

           “What are they doing?” The third voice belonged to a younger woman. “Are they all drunk?” she wondered.

           “Is that...is that Volkova? Who is she with?” the man asked.

           “I dunno. I can’t see from here."

           “Shall I whistle for her?”

           “No. You’re too drunk for a fight tonight. Don’t make a bad impression on Raphaella.”

           Harry got tentatively closer when he recognized it was Illumina Snape and Henri Le Clair. The two vampires were leaning over the top, studying the people below who were in the castle courtyard. Between them was a third vampire, a young woman perhaps twenty with dark hair and red eyes surrounded by too-much-eyeliner. She was a head taller than Illumina, but not quite as tall as Henri was. She was the first to face Harry and Snape. She tugged anxiously on Illumina’s arm to get her attention.

           “Could you at least try keeping a lower profile?” Severus said, following Harry out onto the tower roof. “Honestly!” he chastised them.

           “Ah, there you are!” Henri exclaimed, turning around unsteadily. “Monsieur Potter, merci. Thank you so much for allowing me a chance to speak with you in person.”

           Snape stayed at Harry’s back as the teen moved closer. Harry put out a hand, and Le Clair shook it anxiously. The younger vampire gaped at Harry, her eyes rounding and her mouth dropping open. She took a step away, and put her hand on Illumina’s arm. Snape’s ex-wife gave a soft ‘meep’ of pain.

           “Thanks for the emeralds,” Potter said softly. Henri turned to Illumina, who was equally unsteady. Harry wondered if Henri would feel him concentrating his magic, if he tried to use his clairvoyance on the vampire. He decided against it, not wanting to arouse Le Clair’s anger. But how interesting it would be to see the centuries of history that Le Clair had lived.

           “Merci pour les bijoux,” Illumina repeated for Henri.

           “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I didn’t know you could catch a cold.”

           “I should know by this point not to bite sick people,” Henri shrugged. “It’s a bitch trying to fly by sonar with clogged ears.”

           Illumina and Henri screeched with laughter among themselves for several seconds. The younger female vampire laughed as well. Snape rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Harry tried not to laugh, and it was very difficult. Apparently this was very funny to the vampires. And it was so odd to see them laughing, doubled-over with humor.

           “Not at all,” Harry said. Snape was stuck in permanent-frown mode though.

           “May I introduce Raphaella?” Henri said, indicating the young woman. Illumina nudged her forward, and she smiled shyly, showing delicate fangs.

           “Hello,” Harry said, shaking her hand too. It was the only polite thing to do, really.

           “You have the same death day,” Le Clair explained. “Or should I say, near-death day in your case.”

           “Harry Potter,” the girl said to no one in particular, stars glittering in her eyes. Henri chuckled and bent to whisper to her.

           “Don’t even think it, my pet. I took one sip, and spent a month retching up, my head spinning, my magic utterly beyond control, delirious, out of my mind. He’s bad for you. Completely.”

           “I see you’ve been to St. Mungo’s recently,” Severus murmured. Raphaella’s face clouded with emotion. She let go of Harry’s hand, and hid in Le Clair’s shadow.

           “The Spirit will put you where you are needed,” Le Clair replied to Snape. “I sensed someone who needed guidance, someone without a mentor. It is what I do best, help those in need.”

           “Hmm,” Snape commented as Le Clair’s eyes trailed over Harry, filled with equal parts of desire and regret.

           “This mess, this debacle, this situation with that farm animal of dubious parentage, this Lucius Malfoy. Has it been resolved to your satisfaction?” Henri asked of Harry, drawing himself up, squaring his shoulders very stiffly, like a soldier awaiting inspection by a general. Harry had a quick thought– maybe Le Clair had had some experience with boards of governors? Should Harry ask for advice? Would that be against etiquette? How was one supposed to behave with someone who first wants to fuck you and eat you, and the next minute is polite and formal as a diplomat?

           “Yes. Thank you,” Harry replied. “Merci.”

           “You’re most welcome. You liked my trinket, did you?” Henri laughed with excitement, his chest swelling up and sinking down as he breathed quickly. Illumina poked him in the arm, and he fished around in his cloak. “These I brought for you,” he said, offering a small box to Harry with a courtly bow. Potter took a step out of Snape’s reach in order to accept the offering. Henri’s eyes went a darker shade of red, and Snape growled under his breath.

           “That’s close enough, Le Clair.”

           Le Clair heeded the sound of Snape’s annoyance. He slipped the ribbon-bedecked box to Harry, and moved back a safe distance.

           “What’s in there?” Harry asked, almost afraid to look inside. Was Lucius missing any other parts that might fit in this box?

           “I saw the Daily Prophet today, and knew what you did with mes bijoux, and I felt you deserved....I felt....open them. You’ll love them.”

           Harry squinted in the darkness, and Snape pulled out his wand, lighting the tip with a very dim Lumos spell. There was a name in gold lettering on the small box inside. Severus read it, and gasped out loudly.

           “That’s hardly an appropriate gift for a boy his age,” Snape said as Harry pulled off the heavy paper and encountered an innocent-enough box of chocolates. Harry smiled, digging into the crinkly paper to draw out an almond-shaped bon-bon. He put it carefully into his mouth, well aware that Le Clair and Snape were snarling at each other. Illumina tittered quietly, adjusting her jacket to a more comfortable position. Raphaella whispered to Illumina, and she laughed again. Illumina shushed herself, but the girl kept giggling.

           “Thanks,” Harry beamed. The chocolate began to melt on his tongue, and his face went warm and tingly. Harry felt as if he had dipped his tongue into something altogether more than chocolate. It draped itself around his mouth, and seemed to be sucking back at him. Henri was extraordinarily pleased that Harry was happy. Snape was bristling with fury.

           “Severus, there’s no harm in it,” Illumina interjected as Snape approached Le Clair as if spoiling for a fight. “Be civil.”

           “Civil?” Snape breathed.

           “I wanted only to make him feel better, after what he’s been through,” Henri defended.

           “Severus,” Illumina chided Snape.

            “We will go now. Don’t want to overstay our welcome. Happy New Year. Be safe,” Le Clair said. “Au revoir, Harry.”

           “Bye,” Harry whispered, waving slowly. “Merci.”

           “It’s pretty far down,” she commented squeamishly. “Have I mentioned this is not my favorite bit about this whole vampire thing? What if we land in the bonfire?”

           “We are not going to land in the fire. We'll change long before that. It's instinct, Raphaella. Remember to concentrate. You want to fly. You want to fly. You want to fly.”

           Henri took a hold of her and jumped. She screamed, and as they fell, the scream mutated into the piercing cry of a bat.

           “You ought to have a piece or two of that chocolate yourself, love,” Illumina said, once she had stopped looking over the wall.

           “Why isn’t the girl with her family?” Severus asked.

           “They refused to take her home because they were afraid she’d infect their other children. They returned to Portugal without her.”

           “She speaks good English.”

           “Her mother is English.”

           “Ah.”

           “Henri and I found her in Toadvine’s ward, trying to slit her wrists. Apparently Toadvine neglected to explain to her that suicide won’t work unless she throws herself into fire or sunlight. Henri asked her to come with us. She accepted.”

           “Did he use magic on her to coerce her?”

           “No. She was lonely for company, and we obviously can relate to her situation. She’s a good child, very nice company. It’s very ironic, really. Henri and I were talking about this only weeks ago. I’ve always wanted a daughter, you know.”

           “I know,” Severus replied tenderly. Clearly the young woman was not the only one lonely for company. “Why were you and Monsieur Le Clair at St. Mungo’s?”

           “Shopping for groceries?” Illumina mused. She cocked her head to one side. “You do know Volkova is running up the tower steps, don’t you?”

           “What? You expect her to hear screaming vampires and see dropping people turning into bats and not come to investigate?” Severus asked.

           “She’s slowing down. Is she limping?” Illumina laughed. “The minute Henri read what had happened to Harry, he took matters into his own hands. One second we’re having a polite dinner in London, the next second he’s got to see a friend of his in the morgue at St. Mungo's. That was the day before Lucius's funeral. What a send-off! You'd think he discovered a new continent or something. Sixty-two horse-drawn carriages and a band of professional keeners? That was laying it on thick, wasn't it? I've never seen the like in all my years. You didn't go, did you?”

           “No," Severus answered simply. Illumina blinked at his curtness and frowned at him. Clearly she understood right away this was a touchy subject. "You have friends at the morgue? Why did you go there?" Snape asked.

           “Morbid curiosity. I heard what happened to Harry and Lucius and wanted to see for myself. I was worried you had done it until Henri told me about the article.”

           “If Lucius hadn’t already been dead, I’d’ve considered it. But there are other things at stake here, no matter what my personal feelings on the matter are.”

           "You can't tell me what Lucius did surprised you," she persisted impatiently. "I warned you what kind of prick he was years ago. If Remus and Sirius hadn't come along when Lucius cornered me under the Quidditch pitch in 7th year and tried to attack me, you'd've been putting Malfoy in the ground years ago, dear. It would have taken a teeny, tiny box too, not some fifteen thousand galleon, gold and oak monstrosity like what they had the bastard laid out in a couple days ago. But you never listened to me about Lucius, and you were never going to listen to me about Lucius, and there's really no point in going on about it, is there?" she concluded, her voice rising and suddenly dying off calm again.

           "No," Snape said curtly.

           If you’re still in contact with He Who Must Not Be Named, you should warn him that there’s a particular wizard vampire who has gotten it in his head that he’s going to protect Harry Potter from the forces of darkness and the Deusredeti. Setting aside of course the fact that the Deusredeti consider vampires paramount among the forces of darkness. Volkova’s just about up here. I should get going.”

           She hesitated, staring behind Severus. Snape followed her gaze. Harry was lying on his back, dropping another chocolate into his open mouth. Potter moaned and trembled, closing his eyes. He was radiating the kind of physical heat that was making the stones around him glow with warmth.

           “Don’t let him eat the whole box at once, or he’ll be rubbing on the furniture,” Illumina warned with a small laugh.

           “Potter, give me those,” Snape said impatiently. He felt Illumina vanish into the sky, and saw in the distance as one tiny fluttering form joined up with two tiny fluttering forms underneath the limbs of the trees of the Forbidden Forest. The door to the tower banged open, and Volkova emerged, panting and horrified.

           “Hi,” Harry said, waving to her. Volkova ran to the edge of the wall, and gaped into the night. She spun around to face Snape, lowering her glowing wand.

           “Le Clair?” she questioned.

           “Would you like some candy?” Harry asked. Snape offered her the box, smiling wickedly. Volkova gave an indistinct shout of fury, sputtering words in Italian and Russian as she threw her hands in the air.

           “There were three of them. Three!” she said, finally speaking English again.

           “Have some candy. Forget you saw them. Don't make me obliviate you,” Severus said. Anna stared at the box, and took it from him. She dug out one of the candies, and sat on the ground next to Harry. With a forlorn squeak, Volkova popped the candy in her mouth. She immediately caught her breath and stifled a sensuous moan.

           “I am. Yes. Former. Former,” she stressed.

           “He’s not all bad,” Harry said. Volkova raised a brow at him.

           “I heard the scream and thought you jumped. That’s why I rushed up here.”

           “Of course,” Snape said snidely, sitting down on Harry’s other side. Volkova gave him the box of candy.

           “Delightful. My mortal enemy has consumed another victim, recruited her into his coven of malevolent creatures, and you’ve managed to convince Mr. Potter that Le Clair is ‘not all bad’,” Volkova muttered at Snape around Harry. "He tried to kill you," she reminded Harry.

           "Yeah," Harry snorted. "I hadn't forgotten, you know? I'm not completely stupid. But he's apologized. I think he means it. And he was very nice tonight."

           Volkova put a hand under Harry's chin and made him face her. "He was nice to you because he...he has....um....people don't go around buying expensive, charmed chocolates for someone they don't have designs against," she said as carefully as she could. "He is interested in you. That's what I'm trying to tell you. He's still VERY interested in you, in a particular fashion which one does not explain in polite company. He's insatiable, and he's very bad luck. I have studied him my entire life, watched him convert companions year after year. All of them have died."

           "How many have you killed?" Harry asked boldly. Volkova blanched uncomfortably.

           "Touché," Severus mused.

           "Who was the young one?" Volkova asked Snape.

           "The young woman you saw was converted by another vampire, not by Le Clair. She was abandoned by her family. Le Clair has taken her in to tutor her,"Severus explained.

           “As he did with your wife?” Anna questioned.

           “Former wife.”

           “Hmm. Former. Of course,” Volkova smirked. “So. Le Clair is ‘not all bad’? Shall we give him a Nobel Prize? What about what he did to my grandfather?”

           “He gave me Lucius’s hand,” Harry blurted, quickly covering his mouth with his hand and laughing wickedly.

           “He gave you what?” Anna asked.

           “Which one?” Snape asked.

           “Right,” Harry said. All three jerked in surprise when shouts below rang out in time with fireworks exploding above their heads.

           “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”

           Wild merriment continued below. Bells rang in the distance in Hogsmeade Village. Sprays of fireworks lit the sky there as well. Several lightning bolt shapes appeared in the showers of red above the tower. Harry put a hand to his scar, not in pain, but in recognition.

           “It’s a Hand of Glory,” Snape turned to tell Harry. Potter bumped a platonic kiss to his cheek, and dodged away before he could be reprimanded, because the kiss had come narrowly close to landing on Snape’s lips. Harry put a similar kiss on Volkova’s cheek, and rose carefully to his feet. “It’s a good luck charm,” Severus whispered, thoroughly perplexed.

           Ron and Hermione burst up onto the tower roof, gasping for breath, panting like crazy. Harry waved to them.

           "What took you so long?" he questioned before heading back down the steps.

           “Where are you going?” Ron gasped. "Harry!? We're here to warn you-- McGonagall's on her way up!"

           “Follow him,” Hermione prodded.

           As the bells and fireworks continued, and Ron and Hermione vanished back down the steps, Volkova got to her feet. Snape climbed up as well. They were left standing on the roof, staring at each other before turning awkwardly away. Each rubbed their cheek when they saw the chocolatey kiss Harry had left on the other person.

           “I believe this is the point where we exchange witty, sharp remarks and retreat to ponder what the new year will bring,” Volkova said, her usual brashness softening momentarily.

           “Thank you for your help with Harry, for your dedication to protecting him,” Severus murmured. “I appreciate that your special skills make you ideal for the job. Whether I like you or not, I understand that’s why Dumbledore wants you around.”

           “You’re welcome,” she said, looking worried. "Did you compliment me? A new year's resolution, Severus? Shall we bury our grudges and try to get along?"

           “Being able to appreciate the usefulness of your killing skills doesn’t mean I think you’re any less of a back-stabbing, murderous zealot,” Snape clarified haughtily, moving to the door.

           “Zealot?” she echoed. “At least I believe in something besides my own superiority. Where are you going?    

           "To hide these chocolates from Harry," Snape replied, disappearing into the dark tower.

>Author's Note 8: voodoo Latin: Biting Light

>Author's Note 9: Latin: University of Medical and Magical Arts

>Author's Note 10: French: Literally: It's nothing. Idiomatically: You're welcome.

>Author's Note 11: French: Sorry.

>Author's Note 12: French: Literally: What horror! He's as jealous as a tiger. Idiomatically: Eek! He's really jealous.

>Author's Note 13: French: You're welcome, my dear.