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             "You look as if you've walked through Hell with bare feet," she greeted me.

             I smirked at her tiredly– it was all I had left in me.

             "Is there any point to asking who let you in here?" I wondered.

             "Malchik and I traded places," she replied simply.

             "I told her that no one could enter through the door. She was bound by magic," I protested.

             "I didn't enter through the door," Anna murmured, fighting a weak smile.

             "Next time I will be more specific," I muttered. "Why exactly does your house elf call Mr. Potter 'Master'?" I wanted to know.

             "You must forgive her. The poor dear is very much infatuated with him."

             I barely bit back the words on my tongue: "And he ain't the only one."

             "Can I ask where you've been, or should I not?" she said.

             "You should not," I answered. "Where is Mr. Potter?"

             "He locked himself in the bedroom when I appeared," she frowned.

             "Did he eat?" I asked.

             "No. He was quite disturbed by your absence."

             "Is he asleep?"

             "I don't know. He isn't responding to me, if that's any indication. Perhaps he's ignoring me. I thought I might have heard voices, but to my knowledge, he's in there alone. No one has crossed the threshold but for you, just as you ordered. Am I free to leave?"

             "Tell your house elf thanks for nothing. Fine guard she makes," I snarled.

             "Malchik did the best she could," Volkova replied.

             "In the future, Professor, don't interfere with the trays of food I order for my patient."

             "I'm sorry about the sacramental cup. His clairvoyance is growing stronger. I never dreamed he’d be able to read from it, but I couldn’t take the chance he would see.”

             “See what?”

             “I brought you the books you wanted,” she said, motioning to the divan. “I must ask you not to damage or copy them.”

             "Thank you. I’ll try to remember that. You clearly know the way in. Do you want me to show you the way out?"

             "I need to know if you have decided when you wish to proceed with the splitting of Ivan's Charm."

             "Did you meet with Mrs. Dursley about her donation?"

             "I did. She refused."

             "Did you explain it could be hair, blood, skin, or nails?"

             "She refused them all."

             "How hard did you try to convince her?"

             At this, Volkova gave a ghastly glimmer of a smile.

             "The donation must be made willingly, and I employed my more persuasive charms, but she is clearly not concerned one way or the other about Mr. Potter's well-being."

             "Why am I not surprised?"

             "I had of course thought to employ other methods of procurement. Following her to the cleaners would perhaps reward us with hair, for example."

             "Cleaners?" I questioned.

             "Muggle house elves, of a sort. You take your laundry to them. You pay them a small sum of money. You return later that day or that week, and your laundry is returned to you. It is cleaned and pressed, hung on hangers, wrapped neatly in plastic wrap. They even repair small rips or tears if you request such services."

             "Really?" I murmured. "You have had some experience in the Muggle world?"

             "When it's been necessary, but not often. I know enough to survive. Clearly I was there too often if your ‘friend’ was able to uncover my past in September."

             "Are you sure Mrs. Dursley will not yield to our simple request?"

             "Yes. Shall I determine which cleaners she prefers and attempt to gain access to her laundry?"

             "No. To begin with, she has seen you, and she will remember your accent if not your face. Secondly, we would no doubt get any number of hairs off the clothes. There's no way to determine which would be hers, and which would belong to other members of the family."

             "The sheer size of the rest of her family, not to mention the gender, would make it quite easy to determine to whom the clothing and the hairs belonged. Wouldn't hair from the cousin work? It has the same bloodline as the mother."

             "But if the clothes are all jumbled in one bag, the samples will be tainted. What I want is a pristine donation from her, one directly from her, which no middle man or woman. No. I prefer not to use the cousin's hair or blood. Odious child."

             "I'm only trying to help," Anna protested quietly. She stifled a yawn, and shook her head. "I must turn in. If I come up with any other ideas, I will let you know."

             "Surely," I said, pointing to the door. She stepped towards the fireplace instead. I saw Dumbledore's head lurking about, giving off a peeved aura.

             "Severus? About time you returned. Will you ascend, or shall I descend?"

             "If you would be so kind," I said tiredly. Dumbledore popped out of the fireplace, dusting himself off. Only he could emerge from the floo so gracefully.

             "You got him to come out?" Dumbledore smiled at Volkova, straightening his cloak end.

             "Nyet. Not a peep in at least an hour. Good night, Professors."

             She stepped into the fireplace and vanished, but to where? As far as I knew, my dungeon was not connected to the Dark Arts instructor's quarters. Perhaps Malchik had attached my fireplace to the internal floo network at Hogwarts? Meddlesome pest.

             "The heads would like to petition for a change of scenery," Dumbledore told me.

             "I beg your pardon?"

             "The shrunken heads on your bookshelf. They asked me for a change of scenery."

             "Did they?"

             "They'd look splendid in the Dark Arts classroom, and they'd be helpful as well," Dumbledore agreed.

             "They spoke to you?" I asked him.

             "Weren't they supposed to?" he replied.

             "We had a fight, and they haven't talked to me since."

             "How long ago?"

             "A decade at least."

             "I didn't realize you still had them," Dumbledore smiled.

             "Of course I do."

             "May they go to the Dark Arts classroom?" he asked. "Or perhaps to my office. Plenty of portraits for them to talk to there."

             "If they so desire. But tell them to mind their manners, and to remember what happened to Zomba."

             "I don't understand."

             "They will," I smirked evilly. I heard a click behind me. The bedroom door opened a sliver. One bleary green eye, rimmed in spectacles, peered out at me. A flash of movement raced across the room. Harry wrapped himself into my arms, burying his face in my chest.

             "You're back," Harry shivered. "I was so afraid he'd never let you leave. You can't go back. I won't let you go back. It's too risky."

             Storm clouds gathered in Dumbledore's brow.

             "Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said ominously. "Kindly quit mauling Professor Snape, and give us some privacy in which to talk."

             "I dreamed about their meeting," Harry said, gazing with extreme mistrust at the Headmaster. "I know exactly what Voldemort said to him. So if you're trying to protect me from the truth, it's too late."

             I bowed my head in an effort not to smile. Dumbledore cleared his throat and frowned at Potter.

             "Harry, I hold you in very great affection, but if you continue to take that tone with me, I'll have no choice but to punish you."

             "Perhaps you could have a giant hold me still while your vampire killer burns my hand," Harry challenged coldly, circling to my side away from Dumbledore. "Or maybe you could lock me in a dark cupboard for another eleven years."

             "Harry," Dumbledore cautioned.

             "Harry," I scolded. He lowered his head, leaning against my arm. I could feel the warmth of his skin through my cloak. "Go in the bedroom. Start a bath."

             "I don't want a bath," he sulked.

             "I do," I replied. He let go of my hand and headed for the bedroom, closing the door behind himself.

             "What has gotten into that boy?" Albus asked, frustrated.

             "He's upset with you because you let Volkova burn him, and you can hardly blame him."

             "Tell me what happened when you met with Voldemort. What was Harry referring to?"

             "At present, the Dark Lord is too physically ill to do much more than plan."

             "What is he planning? What did he say that has disturbed Harry so?"

             "He knew the manner of Mr. Potter's injury, because Le Clair's bite also made Voldemort sick. But as Harry recovers, so will the Dark Lord."

             "I understand that."

             "Voldemort also knows you mean to keep the boy a virgin in order to heighten his powers."

             "There's no danger in him knowing that is my plan. It's long been the custom of mentors to recommend the practice to their more serious, more talented pupils. I doubt learning this took Tom by complete surprise."

             "I was given an ultimatum."

             "What ultimatum?"

             "I can...." I searched for the correct word, and chose the least distasteful one I could think of on short notice. "I can either deflower Mr. Potter, or I can die. I have one week."

             "I guess you'll have to die then, won't you?" Dumbledore said. I caught my breath in a choking sound. Albus put his hand on my shoulder and began to chuckle. "Relax, my boy. That was a joke."

             "I'm glad to see your sense of humor hasn't suffered under pressure," I replied icily. "The Dark Lord hasn't figured out that Harry is developing clairvoyant abilities. How can he know all else but not feel these growing powers?"

             "Perhaps because the clairvoyance is tied to what parts of Harry are truly Harry, and Tom has access only to those parts of Harry that he has, how to say this, influenced."

             "This may prevent him from learning about Potter's clairvoyance?"

             "Not for long, I'm afraid," Dumbledore mused. "You can be sure when Voldemort figures out what we have in our favor, he's likely to redouble his efforts against Mr. Potter. Has Harry told you what he can do?"

             "He can sense things about people by touching their personal items."

             "Yes."

             "He can sense things about people by touching them," I admitted.

             "Mm hmm," Dumbledore hummed, raising a brow and waiting.

             “He’s very eager to be your bloodhound,” I reported, angry to my core. “He wants to find Voldemort for you.”

             "I dare say Harry's already able to track Voldemort most of the time because of his scar, and because of his precognitive dreams. I'm more concerned that Harry learns to track where other people are, and what other people are doing," Albus said.

             "You mean to train him as a bloodhound to root out Voldemort's followers?"

             "Wonderful plan, isn't it?"

             "Have you lost your mind?!" I shouted. Dumbledore frowned at me, and I immediately lowered my voice. "The boy already has enough to deal with," I began.

             "Severus, I know exactly where my mind is," Albus replied, narrowing his eyes at me. "I know you're under a lot of pressure, not only with trying to help Mr. Potter recover, but in dealing with what Voldemort demanded of you tonight, but I simply must insist you not give up all hope. There will be a way through this without resorting to violence or fornication."

             "If I don't do as the Dark Lord has asked, he will kill me and assign someone else to the task. I dare say there are those among his followers who are fairly clamoring for the honor. Harry must be guarded at all times. I mean it this time, Albus. He must not be allowed to wander anywhere alone. Not at Hogwarts. Not at Hogsmeade. It is absolutely imperative that he not be sent to the Muggles this summer."

             "How is Harry recovering? Let that be our first concern. We will worry about summer when it arrives. Besides, his aunt isn’t budging from her edict of last summer. She doesn’t want him back in her house. You may not tell him that. It would wound him terribly. Tell me how he is progressing."

             "The reversal is almost complete, except for the charisma spell. He's physically depleted of strength, but if you give him time to regain it, he will no doubt do so."

             "Splendid."

             "You must not push the boy."

             "I'm not pushing The Boy," Dumbledore defended peevishly.

             "He has enough to adapt to. You cannot push him into concentrating on this clairvoyance at the risk of impeding his life or his health."

             "Perhaps you've forgotten that we don't have the luxury of awaiting a time and a place that is convenient and comfortable for us all."

             "No, I have not forgotten."

             "A talent like this could be invaluable in defeating Voldemort, and if Harry has to be asked to push himself a bit harder than usual, I'm sure he will understand that I would never ask him to do so if it weren't mortally necessary. I don't know if Harry will keep this clairvoyant inclination for long. We have to act while we know we have the advantage. It may be necessary to push Harry more than we would like to have to."

             "Just like you found it necessary to endanger the Longbottoms and the Potters?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

             "You tread too deep, Severus, and I will not stand for it," Dumbledore murmured. "I want you to train Harry while he recovers."

             "When he is well enough that it will not endanger his health, I'll be more than happy to find a proper tutor for this talent."

             "I want you to train him, as soon as possible."

             "But I have no experience as a clairvoyant tracker."

             "Illumina does."

             "WHAT?!" I bellowed.

             "She could tell you how best to proceed with Mr. Potter. She might even be willing to help you. I like the way Harry is responding to you, to your attentions. Not Those Intentions," he added, giving me a dark look. "I want you to understand that I am trusting you with Mr. Potter because you have never given me reason to doubt you. See that doesn't change."

             "Headmaster, I am not the proper tutor for this talent. Even Sibyll Trelawney would be a better mentor in this than I would be."

             My protests fell on deaf ears. The bedroom door clicked, and Harry peeked back out.

             "Your bath is ready," he said to me.

             "Goodnight, Harry. I will see you tomorrow. I think you're well enough for visitors, aren't you?" the Headmaster said, pulling down the curtain of benevolence once more.

             "I guess so," Harry replied. Dumbledore reached into his pocket and produced a handful of lemon drops. He lifted his hand to Harry, and very slowly, Potter reached over and drew one out. He put it into his mouth, sucking quietly. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he murmured, staring at the floor.

             "I'm sorry you did too," Albus chuckled, popping one of the lemon drops into his mouth and sticking the rest back into his pocket. He patted Harry on top of the head, and headed back into the fireplace. Harry stood next to me, sucking away. The scent of lemons drifted into the quiet room. It was accompanied by the merest trace of another scent, one that was almost, but not quite, intangible. I furrowed my brow. Was I smelling a calming potion?

             "He’s a perfect nutter, isn't he?" Potter asked.

             "He’s a brilliant sorcerer," I replied. "Do you mind? Would you let me have that?" I asked, putting my hand in front of his mouth. Harry gave the candy another small suck, and carefully pursed his lips, letting it slip into my palm.

             "He could be a brilliant sorcerer and a perfect nutter," Harry hummed grimly. "Can I ask what you're going to do with that?" he added.

             "No," I said bluntly, walking through the bedroom and opening the secret lab. I grasped a vial off the table and put the lemon drop inside, closing the lid.

             "Um, Professor?"

             "Yes? What?"

             "How many roving fancies was Professor Dumbledore bitten by?"

             "I don't know. But McGonagall swears they pulled at least two hundred off him the second time. She and your father."

             "Really? So, Dumbledore used to go on missions for the Order as well?"

             "Yes," I nodded. "Until McGonagall put her foot down and insisted that he stop."

             "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten. The stuff on the tray is still warm. Malchik spelled it to stay hot until I ate it. There are several species of sausages," he added happily.

             "Bath first. Food second. Talk intermittently," I ordered, pushing him outside of the lab and closing the door once more. "While I'm thinking of it," I paused, taking his right hand.

             "What?" Harry stopped with me, puzzled. I put his hand against the stone that opened the lab.

             "Look away please," I insisted. Potter focused on the far wall as I held my hand over his, and tapped the stone with my wand. Curiosity got the better of him. When I faced him again, green eyes studied me. I put away my wand, taking his hand off the wall.

             "It felt all tingly," he whispered, examining his hand.  

             "In case of emergencies, you have access to this lab, but only under the strict proviso that you not abuse the privilege. By emergency, I mean that you are bleeding profusely, that you have had a limb hacked off, that you have a gaping head wound, that you have a hoard of screeching weevils attached to your bodily organs, that you are being chased by a pack of hungry wolves. Do you understand me?"

             "Mm hm," Harry replied. "Screeching weevils?"

             "Never you mind. Where are you going?"

             "Bath," Harry said.

             "You go sit in the front room and eat half of the contents of that tray. I will join you in fifteen minutes."

             "You don't want help?"

             I pointed into the front area, and he sighed heavily, but he did head in the appropriate direction. I closed the door, and locked it. It wasn't five minutes before I heard his voice outside.

             "Professor?"

             "What?"

             "You've an urgent owl."

             "From whom?"

             "Doctor Tiamat Mesarik."

             "Cousin Timma? Slip it under the door."

             "Too thick."

             I unlocked the lock, and put a hand outside the door. He put the note into my hand.

             "There's a jar on the mantle. Give her owl one of the pearls inside."

             I sat in the tub of hot water, pushing aside the bubbles the boy had seen fit to put into the water, and opened the letter from my cousin.

             "No, Severus, I believe you have every idea what I'm asking," Voldemort gave a cold sneer. He worked his way up into a seated position, looking grim and weak. I lowered my head, and pretended not to notice how drawn and exhausted he obviously was.

             "I am under constant watch by the Headmaster. What you ask cannot be done without him finding out. Surely you know this."

             "I expect Dumbledore to find out, Severus," the Dark Lord sneered again. "If you can at all manage it, I'd like for him to watch."

             Wormtail smirked as he shuffled over to us, bearing a goblet in his silver hand.

             "It's time for your draught, Master," Peter intoned, part nurse-maid and part simpering servant. But who was I to cast about stones? Wasn't that my role as well?

             I shook away the words and thoughts, rolling onto my other side. I needed to sleep. I needed to rest. Even here in my quarters, Voldemort intruded on my life. He fought his way back into my dreams and thoughts.

             The darkened bedroom at Riddle Estates had smelled like dust and the sweaty-metal of human blood. The decanter on Voldemort's bedside had been filled with a thick liquid that made me uneasy. Should I warn him about the exact amounts of blood and restorative draught that could be safely consumed together? No matter. I was certain he knew better than me, or at least felt he did.

             Voldemort emptied the goblet Pettigrew had brought. In the interim between gulps, Peter eyed me with utter distaste. I found it amusing that of all people, this traitor, this vile creature, should think himself above me. How utterly fascinating the deranged mind was, with its clever, self-preserving intricacies, that this man could feel himself above me.

             "Seven days, Severus. I expect the task to be completed in seven days," Voldemort informed me, thrusting the goblet at Wormtail. "Bring more."

             Pettigrew hurried away.

             "Seven days?" I protested. "You're not giving me enough time. It's unseemly. It's indecent."

             "Did I tell you to propose marriage? To wine and dine? To seduce?"

             "No," I mumbled.

             "NO!" Voldemort shouted as loudly as his strength allowed. "No! I told you to make certain Mr. Potter is no longer a virgin, and that Dumbledore cannot profit from his magic. I want you to either do it yourself, or see that someone else does it. Or you can bring him to me, and I will have it done by someone whose tastes turn to that. I don't care who does it, as long as in one week's time, you are standing before me with Potter in hand, ready for the taking, or you are recounting to me every last detail of what occurred. I want to know that his magic will begin to diminish."

             "It's not a proven fact that once I do this his magic will diminish."

             "It will put my mind at ease," Voldemort growled. "He’s growing, Severus. I have felt his strength increasing daily, nay hourly, and what I have felt makes me ill with dread."

             "Master, this is most injudicious. A week? If I had more time, I could do this properly," I cautioned.

             "How long could it possibly take? He remains a virgin until you penetrate him, or he penetrates you."

             "But, Master, what you ask of me," I shook my head.

             "When are you ever going to have a better opportunity? He is in your care, in your rooms, in your very bed. Roll him over, stick the appendage of your choice inside him, and be done with it!"

             I hung my head, unable to speak. Voldemort drank the second goblet that Wormtail brought him.

             "Would you care for anything to eat, Master?" Peter asked.

             "Something light," Voldemort growled at him. Once Pettigrew disappeared again, the Dark Lord surveyed me, and he could not have helped but sense my distress. "If you find the idea of this task too distasteful, bring the boy to me. Or take him to one of our friends. Bellatrix expressed a desire to help you in any way you needed her. But I thought that you would be eager, Severus, given the past between yourself and Master Malfoy. I felt you might even have gained some pleasure from the task, knowing how the boy has been a nuisance to you. Rape isn’t about sex, Severus, it’s about power. Perhaps I have misjudged you. Having power over Harry Potter doesn’t appeal to you?"

             He levelled a deadly eye at me, and a smile wove his face that made my blood run cold.

             "Could it be caring for the boy has engendered in you a certain affection for him?"

             I looked away, crossing my arms over my chest. Voldemort chuckled.

             "No. Of course not. I don't mean to impede your sense of honor, Severus. You would never find yourself in the position of actually caring about the child of James Potter, no matter how long you might have to care for the brat. I did not mean to wound you."

             "You haven't wounded me," I replied, making it clear from my tone that indeed he had. Voldemort chuckled again, highly amused with my display.

             "He certainly has changed his mind about you. I have seen into his dreams, Severus. I have seen what he wants you to do to him, only he's too afraid to ask. You might be shocked."

             "I doubt it."

             "You might even be afraid."

             "I fear nothing," I sniffed.

             "We all have our fears," Voldemort mused smoothly. "I have wounded you, haven't I? What a sensitive pride you have! Come now. Don't leave angry. Let us come to an understanding. Can you or can you not do what I have asked? I have no problem with you arranging for someone else to do it, one of our friends, if you find the idea distasteful or dangerous, so long as in one week's time, I am able to hear the tale of Mr. Potter's virginity being taken. Do you understand me, Severus?"

             "I understand, Master," I replied.

             "I know you won't disappoint me," Voldemort smiled, arrogance and amusement gilding his red eyes a golden color around the edges. He took my nearest hand and tugged me closer to his bed. "I believe you know what's at stake if you fail me, don't you?"

             "I won't fail you," I murmured, bowing to him. He released my hand, and I kept bowing as I backed out of the room. Once I was away, I would have more time to consider the task at hand.

             The 'task' was all I could carry in my mind at once. It weighed me down and chased away my sleep. I sat up slowly in bed, putting a hand on the indistinct form that was molded next to me. I had inadvertently grasped his hip. Harry gave a startled peep, and sat up beside me.

             "You can't sleep either. You've been tossing about," he said, taking my hand and holding it in his own. I replied a nod, wondering when the fireplace had gone out. The chill was climbing tangibly up the floor and onto the covers. When Harry breathed, trails of cold air whispered around him. He moved to stand up, sliding across my lap. I put a hand on his other side as he swung his legs over the bed.

             "The floor will be cold," I cautioned.

             "I know," he smiled.

             "You must take care of your health," I said deeply. For a long moment, I held him in place, imagining all the things that Voldemort had suggested. How easy it would be, I pondered with one arm around the boy, to push him back against the bed, to muffle his cries with my hand, to pull off his clothes and be done with this task as quickly as possible. What sounds would he make? Would he enjoy it quick and fast? He was sixteen. I could probably be done with him inside of five minutes. All I had to do was breathe heavy in his ear. By his own admission, Harry had done nothing more than kiss. I let my mind consider it, if only briefly.

             "One of us has to be up to start the fire," Harry replied, slipping over my lap with a teasing motion that made all sense of reason vanish from my mind. Potter's bare feet pattered on the cold floor. I stood out of bed and followed him, retrieving my wand off the side table. I aimed the wand at the fireplace. Flames should have appeared at once. Instead, nothing. Harry felt his way towards the aperture, knocking over the fireplace utensils.

             "Light would be helpful," he said meaningfully. I put down my wand and found him in the darkness.

             "What are you doing?" I asked, grabbing and holding him still.

             "Trying to build a fire," he replied. I turned him around by the shoulders rather roughly.

             "Can't you obey me, just once?"

             "What?"

             "Get your backside in that bed this very instant," I bellowed at him. Harry caught his breath, stepping back slightly. Anger quickly replaced his fear though.

             "You don't have to scream at me," he replied. “I’m not deaf.”

             “Get back in bed.” I pushed him towards the mattress and made him sit down.

             "I was trying to make myself useful," he added. I lifted the covers, and waited for him to crawl back under them. He did so very begrudgingly. I tucked the covers in around him with great care, trying to keep my temper in check. I picked up my wand once more, and headed back for the fireplace.

             "Think I'm going to spend a month curing you of vampirisis only to have you die from pneumonia?" I muttered, putting fresh logs on the hearth. One poke from my wand caused nascent flames to lick and tickle around their edges. It would soon be a cozy fire.

             "Could we go outside?" he asked.

             "Do you have any idea what time it is?" I asked. He glanced at the timepiece on the nightstand and nodded. "You're in no condition to be outside. There was a forecast for snow," I went on.

             "I'm feeling cooped up. You must be too. I want to go and stretch," he pleaded.

             "It's the dead of night."

             "No one will be around. There’ll be no sunlight to worry about, least ways," he persuaded with a fetching smile. "I want to go outside," he pleaded.

             "Stay in bed. I will find socks and slippers for you. You will have to borrow a cloak."

             He cheered quietly, bouncing up and down once or twice, and scooted over to the side of the bed. He tossed the covers aside quite capriciously. I frowned at him, and lifted his chin.

             "But I want you to understand, this in no way means I'm giving into you."

             "Of course not, sir."

             "Because I could use a stretch myself, and it has been a long day. I'm overtired and can't sleep. This is not your walk. I'm taking you along on my walk. Is that understood?"

             "Yes, sir."

             "You are not going to get everything you want from me. You will not bend me around your finger, so don't even try. I am completely immune to your ruffled manner of charm. Utterly immune. You are getting this walk because I want it. It's mine. My walk."

             "Mm hmm. I understand," Harry smiled. I fingered his chin, stroking with my thumb.

             "Where are your glasses?" I asked. He pointed to the bedside table. "You mustn't forget them. Can't have you bumping into walls and doors."

             "Yes, sir," Harry whispered, his voice deepening. I caressed his bottom lip and bent down to his level, covering his mouth with mine. The kiss I demanded was quick and bruising. I meant only to suck on him for a couple seconds and pull away. But he opened his mouth without any prompting on my part. I pushed my tongue inside, darting it roughly against his several times, pushing his mouth open even wider. He gave a shivery moan, followed by a quick jump. He jolted back from me, and stared at me in surprise.

             “Did you shock me?” he asked.

             “Did I what?” I questioned. “Did I shock you?”

             “Kiss me again,” he said. I bent down to touch my mouth to his, and I felt the next jolt. I let go of him, and stepped slightly back. 

             “Did you shock me? he asked, peeved.

             "No," I said brusquely. “Did you shock me?” I asked.

             "What’s going on?” he pouted his disappointment. I strode over to his clean clothes and rummaged through them, withdrawing a pair of socks.

             "I told you before. It’s probably electricity in the cold air. Put these on," I said, tossing them to him. "I'll wait for you by the door."

***

             Thirty minutes later, high in the Astronomy Tower, Potter was beginning to fade. He yawned, stood closer to me in front of the waist-high wall, and leaned against my shoulder. The pressure was slight at best, but I could feel it nonetheless. The navigation of the darkened corridors, prepared a junction at a time by a Nox spell, had been difficult enough for him, but the climb up the Tower had utterly exhausted him. We stared wordlessly up and across at Gryffindor Tower, where a dim candle could be seen wandering back and forth in the Common Room. Would Potter even be able to climb to his bedroom in this state? I doubted it. I had a suspicion I would be carrying him back to the dungeons, half asleep as he was.

             "Now which delinquent miscreant Gryffindor do you suppose is wandering around in the Common Room at this hour?" I asked him. He squinted at the windows, and a second candle appeared.

             "Can't tell at this distance," Harry replied. He gazed around the school grounds, reaching up to rub under his glasses. I had covered him from neck to toe, heavy cloak, thick gloves, two extra layers of socks, and a pair of slippers, not to mention my spare muffler, twined around his thin neck. Dressed in all that blackness, his green eyes and the glint of his glass frames was the only part of him visible.

             "Perhaps we should sit down," I suggested, leaning on the wall with my elbows. Harry almost tipped over trying to hit the ground comfortably. I quickly wrenched him back up. Puzzled, he blinked at me. I took out my wand, and brought a chair out of Trelawney's classroom up onto the top of the Tower with a quick flick of the wrist.

             "Oh," Potter said dimly.

             "The problem with you," I began, putting away my wand, "is that you don't think like a wizard."

             He conceded with a nod that I might have a point. I sat down on the over-stuffed arm chair and drew him into my grasp. Gripping him firmly around the waist, I tugged my cloak off, and pulled it around us both as a cover against the cold.

             "For example," I continued, "Le Clair's attack."

             "What about it?"

             "You could have done something a bit more inspired than stand there and allow yourself to be bitten."

             Harry‘s puzzlement was gone. Anger was rising in his face, but it was outweighed by his sleepiness.

             "Yes, because you've defended yourself against a hundred vampires, haven't you, without a wand, scared stiff, quite completely mesmerized by a charisma spell," he replied tartly. "I'm sixteen years old. You forget sometimes, don't you, you and Dumbledore?"

             "Forget that you're a mere polliwog, untrained, practically unteachable, wise beyond your years but too dismally thick to let anyone help you learn? No. I don't forget for a minute."

             "Hmph," he muttered, dropping his head to my shoulder. "Sorry. I'll do better next time I'm faced with keeping my two professors from killing each other while keeping a vampire from trying to kill me."

             "Don't be cheeky," I chided him.

             "Where is my wand, anyway?" he asked.

             "I don't know," I replied. "When was the last time you saw it?"

             "On the table. I was answering letters. That’s right. Are we going to keep up with the fencing lessons?" he asked.

             "When your strength returns, and once you've caught up on the lessons that you've missed," I nodded.

             "Don't think I have enough strength to lift even a light rapier at this point," he agreed.

             "When you are more yourself, we will resume," I promised. "You may of course read the books in my quarters, if you find yourself in the mood to reanimate your mind from the haze of erotic dreams and childish fantasies."

             "What?"

             "I'd like to recommend that you begin with something easy, as not to overtax yourself."

             "You can't do it, can you?"

             "Can't do what?"

             "Can't be around anyone for any length of time without giving into the urge to insult them. Can’t be around me at all without having to channel Darth Vader."

             "Of course I can," I whispered. “Who the hell is Darth Vader?”

             "No, you can't. I'm beginning to suspect the more you like someone, the more you insult them."

             "Don't be stupid."

             "You were quite put off by what Voldemort said to you, and so to prove him wrong, to prove you don't care about me one way or the other, you're going to insult me until I hate you again. Is that what it's always been about?"

             "What?" I asked.

             "Pushing me away so I don't get attached to you. Or worse, so you don't get attached to me."

             "You're not only tired, you're delusional. Are you sinking those clairvoyant fangs into me again?"

             "No. I'm using my intuition."

             "Preposterous."

             "I totally agree."

             "Insipid child."

             "Hmph," he said. I squeezed him tight to my side, and touched his forehead with my lips to see if he was warm. He might have developed a temperature from all the exertion. To my surprise, he giggled softly. "You missed," he whispered, tilting his face upwards, waiting.

             "I was testing your temperature," I said sourly, longing to put my lips to his, but knowing no good would come of it.

             "Of course you were," Harry smirked knowingly, putting his head back down on my shoulder. In the quiet that followed, small flakes began to fall down from the sky, dotting our black cocoon of warmth. I held Harry until I thought he might have fallen asleep from lack of movement and steady breathing. Finally, I reached up a hand and moved his hair out of his eyes, my gloved fingertip tracing across the edge of his scar. His eyes opened once more.

             "Shall I take you back inside?" I asked.

             "No," he replied. Underneath my cloak, I felt his arms bind around me. Snowflakes clung to his wild hair, sinking into darkness as pips of water. They began to dot on his glasses as well.

             "Did you really see my meeting with Voldemort?" I asked.

             "Yes," he answered, closing his eyes.

             "You mustn't let what you saw alarm you," I worried.

             "What, me worry? Tell me, which is your appendage of choice?" he chuckled. “Ouch,” he shifted around, frowning.

             "The Headmaster will protect you at all costs, even from me."

             "No," Harry said sadly. "He will protect me up to the point that I am useful against Voldemort. If he finds I am no longer of use, he will no longer protect me."

             "You mustn't think that way," I soothed.

             "I'm being practical."

             "You're being Slytherin," I murmured. "The snow is falling heavier. We should go inside."

             "What do you think it's like to be dead?"

             "I try not to think about it, if I can."

             "Maybe it wouldn't be all bad," Harry said.

             "Don't talk like that," I cringed.

             "Some days, I want it all to be over. I don't care who wins. I just want it all to be over."

             "Hush," I soothed, rocking him back and forth. I smoothed flakes and wetness out of his hair, standing slowly to my feet once I had both arms under him. "Can you stand?"

             "Yes," he said tiredly, opening his eyes and unfolding his legs.

             "I could carry you," I offered.

             "No," he refused. I guided him back towards the door down the Tower, returning the chair to Trelawney's classroom with another flick of my wand. Harry was yawning every few seconds as we reached the bottom of the stairs. The light from the open door took us both by surprise. We had left the corridor pitch-black. I pulled Harry behind myself and pushed the door open. Minerva McGonagall lowered her wand, shaking her head at me.

             "What are you two doing pussy-footing around at this hour?" she asked, putting away her wand. I put mine away as well, ushering Harry out from behind my back. Minerva produced a handkerchief from her plaid robe, plucked off Harry's glasses, and started cleaning away the water droplets as we headed into the hallway.

             "Does the light hurt your eyes very much?" I asked him. He shook his head no, yawning again.

             "I went down to the dungeon to tell you that the Headmaster received an owl. The Minister of Magic has sent Harry an official summons," Minerva said.

             "At this hour?” I questioned. She merely stared at me. “I know what the summons said. Harry is to appear within forty-eight hours for a general physical, to be given by the head pediatrician at St. Mungo's."

             "How did you know?"

             "Cousin Timma wrote me."

             "I wondered what was in that," Harry nodded, barely able to keep his eyes open. Minerva pushed his glasses back onto his nose, straightening them for him. She took a moment to eye his wardrobe, and gave me a half-smile.

             "The Headmaster wrote back, telling him Harry wasn't well enough to travel, and asked if the pediatrician could come to Hogwarts,” she informed me.

             "Timma isn't ready for travel yet either. She had her baby only yesterday."

             "Then we can safely assume when Harry is better, and when Timma is recovered, she will come here to examine Harry."

             "Unless Fudge insists that Mr. Potter go to London for the examination, as I expect he will," I concluded. McGonagall nodded in agreement.

             "Aye. That was my thought as well. Shall we take the long way around back to the dungeons? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

             I tugged Harry's arm, drawing him along. He was loitering by the window, gazing outside at the snow.

             "What is it?"

             "I couldn't help but notice there's still only one bed in your quarters," Minerva said, pursing her lips and waiting for me to figure out what she was aiming at. I decided to play stupid. "What I'm saying is, Remus told me Harry has yet to furnish his room at their house in Hogsmeade. I should like to suggest that Harry choose a bed, which can temporarily be placed in your quarters. After he has moved back up to Gryffindor Tower, the bed can be moved to Hogsmeade."

             "No," Harry protested.

             "Mr. Potter. I will send to Professor Snape's quarters all the home furnishing catalogues I can find. You will choose a bed. It will be delivered here. We will then move it to Hogsmeade when you are back in your dorms. And the words you're looking for are 'yes' and 'ma'am'. Am I making myself clear, Mr. Potter?"

             "Yes, ma'am," I answered for him. Harry frowned at her, taking my arm and going to my opposite side to get away from her.

             "I will also be bringing comfortable clothes for you."

             "Why?" Harry protested.

             "You will be receiving visitors, myself tomorrow, possibly the Minister of Magic after that. Do you expect to see Mr. Fudge in your pajamas?"

             "I'd like to see him stuffed in a duffle bag and tossed in the lake," Harry replied.

             "You might have to stand in line for a chance of that, my dear," Minerva laughed. "Nonetheless, you will receive the Minister of Magic dressed in something other than oversized pajamas and fluffy slippers."

             "What if I don't want to be examined by the pediatrician from St. Mungo's? Don't they have to have a signed permission slip from Aunt Petunia or something?" Harry asked. "Madam Pomfrey's permission slips only cover seeing her, not a healer outside of Hogwarts."

             "I have your aunt's permission for the visit," Minerva said.

             "You saw her?" Harry asked, shocked.

             "Yes," Minerva said slowly.

             "You didn't tell her why I've been sick, did you? She'll make me sleep in the backyard this summer."

             "She asked why you needed a physical examination. I told her you had been ill. I did not get specific."

             "Is she angry about last summer?"

             "Yes, quite."

             "Oh," Harry said sadly. "What did she say?"

             "Nothing of much consequence." Minerva shook her head, dismissing the topic. Petunia must have had much to say, all of it bad, I surmised. "You know, the strangest thing happened while I was there in Privet."

             "What's that?" I asked.

             "I went alone, of course, except for Hagrid, who swore he'd stay down the street and keep watch. When I came out of the house, there were these signs up everywhere."

             "What kind of signs?"

             "Blood Drive. November 30. All donors to be entered in a drawing for a huge grand prize."

             "Blood drive?" I questioned. Harry stopped a few steps after we did.

             "Nothing to worry about. It must be the clinic. They do blood drives all the time,” he said.

             "What's a blood drive?" Minerva asked.

             "When the hospital needs extra blood to have on stand-by in case of accidents, they go out with mobile vans, a couple of technicians, collect blood from donors at a particular site, offer incentives for people who donate, give you pins that say you donated," Harry explained.

             “What?" Minerva and I gasped.

             "People line up and give them blood?" I questioned.

             "Yes. Aunt Petunia got a dinner at Sam and Fritz's one time."

             “All you have to do is ask?” I sputtered.

             "The clinic gave Aunt Petunia a coupon for a free dinner at Sam and Fritz's," Harry said sleepily. "It was one of the prizes they gave away that year. Uncle Vernon couldn’t button his pants for week.”

             "Blood drive," I puzzled. Harry started dozing, standing up, hanging on my arm. McGonagall directed questioning eyes at me when I hefted Potter up into my grasp. Harry tucked himself close to me, falling immediately to sleep.

             "Well the odd thing is that Hagrid never saw anyone staking those signs into the ground," McGonagall went on, following me through the corridors.

             "Odd," I agreed.

             "No," he laughed.

             "What's wrong with it?" Ron wanted to know.

             "Looks like it ought to be covered with buxom Teutonic warriors in metal corsets, that's what," Harry replied. "Not me."

             "What made you think of that?" Ron asked. Remus was sitting on the divan at the opposite corner from me. He sipped at his tea and hid a smile.

             "What?" Harry asked.

             "Buxom Teutonic..." Weasley ventured a glance up at Remus and I, and did not go on.

             "Harry, we’re going to go in the other room and talk about you,” Lupin said. “You and Ron stay here.”

             Potter raised a brow at Lupin, shrugging slightly. Weasley struggled with a forlorn frown.

             “All right. Whatever,” Harry answered.

             "I guess I’m coming with you," I murmured, rising to my feet. Remus put down his tea and dragged me towards the bedroom and the lab. I wished, as we walked through the bedroom, that I had been more successful in making Harry pick up his clothes and straighten the books that he had been borrowing off the bookcase. Something in the room made Remus smile, though I couldn't discern what.

             "He's a world better than last week," Lupin said as we approached the lab door and I made him turn away. "Did you change something about the treatment?"

             "It's the food. I've been feeding him every two hours."

             "Ah."

             "Red meat and seafood and such. The ingredients in the restorative draught are remarkably fresh too.”

             "I am in your debt for what you've done for him," Remus said. "Though I tremble to put the thought into words, how can I ever repay you?"

             "When I am convinced Mr. Potter is entirely himself again, he will repay me."

             "Something a bit odd about how you said that," Lupin frowned.

             "What?"

             "There was this lilt in your voice."

             "Lilt in my voice? Don’t be stupid. What did you really want to talk about?”

             “I was very angry with you for not telling me where Le Clair was hiding.”

             “Understandably.”

             “But I realize what you did. You knew I’d rip him limb from limb, and you needed his blood to cure Harry, and so you weren’t so much protecting Le Clair as you were protecting Harry. I just wanted to say I understand why you did what you did.”

             “Okay,” I nodded.

             “I wanted to tell you that Illumina wrote to me, apologizing for what Le Clair did, and promising that he’s terribly sorry for it.”

             “I’m sure he is.”

             “I’m sorry about your divorce too.”

             “Anything else you’d like to get off your chest?” I asked, amused at this sudden confessional urge.

             “Wouldn’t it all have been easier if Lily had dated you, and James had dated me?” Lupin whispered.

             “Hello, what?” I replied.

             “I was just thinking, that’s all, that it would have all been so much easier.”

             “Different, perhaps. Not necessarily easier,” I conceded.

             “We could have been friends.”

             “Except for Sirius and Illumina, who would have felt quite left out,” I said. “Besides, Lily and I? Would that have worked out? There’s no guarantee. You and Potter? James, that is. No guarantees either.”

             “I miss her laugh.”

             “I do too,” I admitted.

             “I miss his mouth.”

             “Um, what?”

             “Nothing,” Lupin sighed.

             “Does Harry know about you and Sirius?”

             “No.”

             “You think it might be a good idea to tell him?”

             “No. It’s the past. Leave it there. Let it rest.”

             “You’re forgetting that if things had worked out differently, we wouldn’t have Harry,” I reminded him.

             “He’s something special, isn’t he?” Lupin said with bittersweet sadness in his face.

             “What’s with the sudden regret and nostalgia, Wolf Boy?”

             “Snivs, I want you to promise you’ll look after Harry if anything ever happens to me,” Lupin stammered. “Would that be redundant? Am I being thick? Has Dumbledore already sworn you to protect him?”

             “I can’t talk about that, Remus.”

             “Ron said you’re going away again,” Harry said, bursting into the lab.

             “Mr. Potter,” I chided. “Are you incapable of following a simple request?”

             “Ron said you’re going away again,” he repeated.

             “Dumbledore has a mission for me, yes,” Lupin said.

             “I don’t want you to go,” Harry replied, his voice rising with emotion.

             “If the Headmaster asks me to do something, I am honor-bound to obey him. As are you, Harry,” Lupin said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll be so busy you won’t notice I’m away. I’m told you’re going to start training your clairvoyance.”

             “When he’s well enough, yes,” I nodded, ushering them both out of the lab. Weasley was waiting on the other side of the door, staring around the bedroom as if it were a crime scene. He gave me a very accusing glare. Like a herd dog, I ushered the three of them into the living room. Ron thrust a catalog at Harry, awkward and wary.

             “McGonagall said you need to pick a bed.” 

             “I don’t care about the beds,” Harry replied, his voice tight.

             “I’ve got practice. I have to go. But McGonagall said you have to pick a bed, today.”

             Harry nodded, taking the catalog, closing it. He turned it around three times, and flipped it open at random to the bed section.

             “That one,” he said, pointing to a picture. The photos on the pages were moving around, showing the products from several angles. Some of the beds had models lounging on them, and others were piled high with pillows. The one that Harry was pointing to had a grey wolfhound lounging on it.

             “Fine. I’ll tell McGonagall,” Ron said. “I have to go to practice. I’m really sorry.”

             “I’ll take care of it,” Lupin said, taking the catalog away from Ron and putting it down on the table. Weasley patted Harry’s shoulder, then bounded out of the quarters and away down the corridor.

             “Quidditch,” I mumbled. Remus cocked a brow at me.

             “You watch. Didn’t you ever want to play?”

             “Once, but only on the outside chance it might involve sex,” I admitted. Lupin gave a fake gasp of surprise, covering both of Harry’s ears. Potter shook his head and rolled his eyes.

             “I suppose I should follow Mr. Weasley’s example soon. You must be tired,” Remus said to Harry, taking his shoulders and turning him around to look at him. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll be fine.”

             Harry nodded, trying not to have to talk.

             “While I’m getting the bed, I’ll order you some other furniture too. Armoire. Night stand. That sort of thing. I’ll have those taken directly to Hogsmeade though. Would you believe Tonks has been telling everyone who visits the house in Hogsmeade that you’re sleeping on the floor when you’re there? It’s utterly embarrassing. I’m going to get arrested for child abuse.”

             “You’ll be back by Christmas, right?”

             “Of course I will. It’s nothing, Harry. Pure reconnaissance. There’s nothing that could possibly go wrong with this mission.”

             “Well, now you’re utterly fucked,” Harry blurted crossly.

             “When exactly did you become such a worry-wart?” Remus smiled charmingly. “Last I heard, that was Hermione’s job.”

             “It’s nothing to joke about,” Harry raised his voice.

             “Okay, love, the first thing you have to learn about being a clairvoyant is that not every dream is a vision, and not every cup of tea holds the future. Sometimes, it’s just a nap and a cup of tea. All right?” Lupin said, straightening Harry’s slouched frame before drawing him into a tight hug. “I won’t leave Hogsmeade without telling you. If you need anything, owl me, and I’ll floo over. All right?”

             Harry nodded. Lupin leaned in and whispered against his cheek. Harry’s mouth folded around itself, and he closed his eyes. Remus let go of the young man very abruptly when Harry lurched out of the room. The bedroom door closed and locked. Lupin took a deep breath, and let it out again slowly.

             “Severus, he’s wound tighter than a harp string. Have you any idea what he dreamed?”

             “No. He won’t let me see. But he’s had the dream several times. He wakes up screaming your name.”

             “You couldn’t possibly take a look, could you?”

             “Last time I tried to intrude upon his private thoughts, I woke up in the shower, fully clothed, singing show tunes.”

             “What?” Lupin stared, fighting like hell not to grin or gape. “What were you singing?” he ventured. I glared at him sharply. “Never mind,” he retreated.

             “We can safely assume that Mr. Potter has finally learned to block my Legilimens spell. Ra, ra, ra,” I cheered unenthusiastically.

             “I’ll go order the bed and finish packing.”

             “Where are you off to?” I asked.

             “I don’t know yet. Dumbledore hasn’t told me.”

             “But you told Harry–“

             ”I know what I told Harry,” Remus whispered. “You are not to tell him any different. Owl me if you need anything.”

             With that, Lupin was gone. I went to the bedroom door and knocked. The latch unsealed to allow me entrance. Harry was sprawled on his stomach on the bed, face in the pillows. When I entered, he sat up, drying his face.

             “Why won’t he believe me?” the boy asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. I sat down beside him, putting a tentative hand over one of his.

             “Perhaps he can’t,” I suggested. “A self-defense mechanism.”

             “What good is it to have these dreams if I can’t help people avoid what I see?”

             “A question prophets have asked since Cassandra and before,” I commiserated with his dilemma. “He’s right though.”

             “About what?”

             “Not every dream is a vision. Not every cup of tea is the future.”

             “Let’s talk about Quidditch,” Harry said, changing the subject as he dried his face again. “I don’t want to think about it. Let’s talk about Quidditch.”

             “The game tomorrow is between Slytherin and Gryffindor, which means I must attend.”

             “But you don’t want me to go outside yet, because you’re not sure about how I will react to sunlight. I understand. I wouldn’t want to insult Ron by falling asleep in the middle of the game either.”

             “Have you answered all your letters yet?” I asked.

             “All the ones that didn’t start with ‘Harry, I love you and I want to marry you’,” he tried vainly to laugh and sounded hollow and hurt.

             “Hmmm. How curious. Those are the ones I’d’ve answered first,” I smiled. He coughed up a short laugh, scooting closer to me. “Mr. Weasley was very concerned about your coloring. Perhaps we should try you out with a few minutes of sunlight this evening. At twilight, we’ll go to the Astronomy Tower.”

             “Do you mean it?”

             “Certainly. That gives me four hours to get through the last of Volkova’s family history books.”

             “What am I going to do?” he asked.

             “You’re going to nap. After you nap, you’re going to eat. And after you nap and eat, you’re going to pick up some of these clothes that are lying about.”

             I caressed his cheek, and tried to sound stern. He took my hand and nestled against my side.

             “I could read Volkova’s books for you,” he offered.

             “I can read them for myself.”

             “I meant....” He let the sentence trail off, tracing my hand with his fingers, measuring the size of our two hands together. I remembered sitting on my mother’s lap as a small boy, seeing how our hands measured together, finding all the similarities in color and texture. To this day, I could taste the bitterness that had been on her fingertips when she had wiggled my first loose tooth. Her nails were always worn down, and her index fingers had been curved inward along the tips.

             “You want to be my bloodhound?” I asked.

             He nodded.

             “Do you have any idea how much a good clairvoyant detective charges for his services?” I questioned.

             He shook his head no.

             “You could put yourself through university working only when you had the urge to do so,” I added. Harry laughed softly.

             “Maybe I should put a notice on the Odd Jobs Board,” he mused, brightening. He dried his eyes with the palm of his hand.

             “Nap, food, or clothes?”

             “Where’s Volkova’s books?” Harry asked, pushing himself to his feet with some effort.

             “In the front room,” I heard myself say. He headed that direction, and I followed. I had purposely not allowed him to touch them yet, worried what he might encounter. “Harry, I should warn you that there are spells that can counter clairvoyant attempts. Some of them are quite vicious.”

             “Vicious?”

             “Paralyzing spells that could cripple your mind. May I show you a simple detection spell to use? If you’re going to insist on helping me, the least we can do is insure your safety.”

             “As you wish,” he agreed. I pulled out my wand, and waited while he found his.