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             “Eat as much as you can,” I suggested. Harry pulled a piece of roll out of one basket and started to nibble. Miss Granger pretended to be leafing through her book bag, but I could feel her watching our exchange even if her eyes were elsewhere. Harry was smiling at me in a happy, silly way that reminded me of a puppy that I had once been insanely tempted to purchase for Draco when he was a small boy and would have liked such things. When I caught a glance of myself in the mirror by the exit, I realized I too was wearing something of a smile. How terrible! I frowned at my reflection, feeling much better for having done it. I smoothed my cloak, and gave the children a quick bow.

             “You’ll be back soon,” Harry told me.

             “You think so, do you?”

             “Gryffindor is going to cream Slytherin,” he replied, smirking.

             “I look forward to seeing you proven wrong,” I replied. Harry watched me leave, smiling still.

             The game meant nothing to me. My Slytherins gave it an admirable try, but the Gryffindors had clearly been devoting much time to practice. My Slytherins had had the upper hand for the first hour of the game, owing much to the strange way the Gryffindors would be distracted when close to any of the green and silver-dressed players. I waited until I saw one of my students go by in the stands. It happened to be Pansy Parkinson. On her left lapel, there was a sudden flash of letters, followed by a bumpy line. I motioned her over to me, and she approached nervously.

             It was a black button that blended in with her cloak in general. But every five seconds, red words appeared. ‘Potter Sucks’ greeted me. A second later, a row of teeth appeared, one long, four short, one long. Once its message had been delivered, the button went blank for five seconds before repeating again. I looked up from the pin to Miss Parkinson’s reddening face.

             “Where did you get it, Miss Parkinson?” I asked.

             “Draco had them sent to us.”

             “Did he? How clever.”

             Pansy started to brighten up.

             “Take it off, or I’ll rip out your spleen,” I said, giving her what I hoped was a hair-raising scowl. Parkinson’s face paled with fear. I took off my scarf and handed it to her. “You may go through the stands and the school and collect them. How many did Mr. Malfoy send?”

             “Five hundred.”

             “You’d better have five hundred buttons on this scarf before the game is over, or I’ll deduct one hundred points from Slytherin, in your name and Mr Malfoy’s name.”

             “But, sir!”

             “If Gryffindor or Slytherin catches that snitch before you have rounded up five hundred buttons, there’ll be hell to pay, Miss Parkinson.”

             She shrank from me, holding the scarf at arm’s length as she rushed away. I made a mental note to owl Draco a curse that would make his teeth fall out, and sat back to enjoy the rest of the game.

             Quidditch ended to the sound of the rejoicing Gryffindors carrying Mr. Weasley and his younger sister around the pitch several times. Glumly, I headed back to the school. There was a delivery truck parked near one of the entrances accessible from Hogsmeade. Two burly men were getting inside, laughing to themselves. It pulled away from the entrance, and the gates closed behind them. I wondered what they might have been bringing until I remembered that Lupin had promised to get Harry’s bed as quickly as possible. At least something was going right today.

             “Are you sure that’s the one you ordered?” Hermione was asking as I entered my quarters. She was standing at the bedroom door, peering inside as if she wanted to watch but also didn’t want to. The strangest whirring noise could be heard. Harry was talking, and his voice was shaking.

             “They muuuuust have mixed uuuuup the ooooordeeeeeer.”

             “You should have told them it was the wrong one,” Hermione fussed. Harry laughed giddily, a sweet sound. “Harry, stop it. That’s just weird. Oh! Hi, Professor!” she said, stepping back when she noticed me.

             The whirring noise stopped. Harry appeared at the door. He had on a lop-sided grin, and was vaguely tousled all around. It did my heart good to see his cheeks were a healthy pink. He took my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. Once there, he presented the bed to me with an outward gesture of both hands, like a magician having conjured a strange animal.

             It was very clearly the wrong bed. To begin with, the covering was a flashy, deep purple, and looked like leather. The bed itself was oval-shaped instead of a rectangle. The headboard had a smooth, silver surface that traced the arc of one short side of the oval. I opened my mouth to protest, but Harry set me down on the edge. It began to shimmy in a lurid fashion. I leapt to my feet as if I’d been planted on top of a burning fire. Harry lay down on his back, and his entire body quivered. He closed his eyes and giggled. I caught my breath and looked away, finding Miss Granger watching us.

             “Where is the delivery invoice? They must have gotten separate orders mixed around,” I said crossly. Miss Granger handed it over. Everything was in order, up to and including Harry’s name, Hogwart’s address, and Lupin’s signature on the original order. Harry had scrawled his own signature below Lupin’s, confirming the shipment had been completed. I glanced back at Potter and to my dismay, I saw that he had turned over on his stomach. “We have to send it back,” I said, my mouth dry.

             “Nooooo,” Harry protested, eyes closed, voice muffled. “I liiiiiiiiike it.”

             “Of course you do. That’s why it has to go back.”

             “But IIIII want to keeeeeep it,” Harry said.

             “Harry, you can’t,” Hermione told him.

             “Why nooooot?”

             “Because,” she blurted, “it’s a giant purple sex toy.”

             She handed me the manual that had accompanied the bed. I flipped through the pages and felt my heart skip around in my chest. My brain actually froze for several seconds. Granger took out her wand and touched the bed. The shimmy stopped mid-quake. Harry gave a forlorn moan and remained lying on his stomach.

             “Spoil sport,” he muttered.

             “It’s indecent,” Hermione scolded. My brain began working again. I heard a knock on the outer door. Had I left the entrance open? I couldn’t remember. What was the matter with me?”

             “Professor Snape?” Pansy Parkinson called. I handed the manual to Potter, and he sat up. An eager grin sprang up on his face. Hermione was taking the manual away from him as I left.

             “Maybe Remus meant it as a late birthday gift,” Harry suggested.

             “I very much doubt it,” Hermione growled.

             “Have you seen my wand?” Harry asked.

             “Harry James Potter, don’t be crude,” Hermione said hotly, turning away from him.

             “I wasn’t,” Harry insisted. "Ouch! Why is there so much static electricity in the air here?"

             “I got all of them,” Pansy said, giving me back my muffler, to which she had attached the blinking buttons in question.

             “Very good,” I replied.

             “I’m sure Draco meant it in good fun,” she added timidly.

             “Perhaps,” I murmured diplomatically.

             Pansy’s eyes went wide, and she put her hand inside her cloak. I turned to find Harry standing at the bedroom door, looking tousled and wild. He was of course staring at my muffler. The buttons blinked out of sequence, so at any given point, some were readable. Pointed teeth and filthy words called out randomly.

             “Potter? You are alive!?” Parkinson said, clearly astonished. Harry tested his own pulse, one wrist curled inside his other fingers.

             “So far, so good,” he reported. Chuckling softly, he approached me, examining the buttons. “Those have Draco written all over them,” he said.

             “That is so childish,” Hermione said. Pansy and Hermione exchanged an unfriendly look as Parkinson put away her wand.

             “Thank you, Miss Parkinson. Miss Granger, would you owl Hogsmeade for Lupin, ask him to come at his earliest convenience if he is still in town?”

             “Yes, Professor.”

             “You may leave with Miss Parkinson,” I said bluntly.

             “Yes, Professor,” Granger answered, seemingly not surprised at all. She put her arm around Harry, hugging him tight. “Remember what I told you,” she whispered. He nodded. Hermione picked up her book bag from beside the divan, leaving Harry’s where it was. When books fell out of her bag, Harry retrieved them for her. Titles leapt up at me from the ground; Deusredeti: Cult or Philosophy and Walking the Circle: Is the Deusredeti the Path for YOU?

             “Can I keep this?” Harry asked, snatching up the last one.

             “Sure,” Hermione said. Pansy watched them, smirking sardonically when she caught Granger’s eye. As soon as Hermione joined her in the hallway out, I closed the door. But I could hear their conversation.

             “Going to add Potter to your collection?”

             “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

             “Of course you don’t, Gryffin-whore,” Parkinson laughed mockingly, and then yelped in pain. The corridor door opened and closed to the sound of running feet. Momentarily, it opened and closed a second time. I would have followed to investigate what had transpired between Miss Granger and Miss Parkinson, but currently all I wanted, all I cared about, was standing right next to me. Harry plucked one of the buttons off my muffler before I could pull it out of reach.

             “Can I borrow your wand? I can’t find mine.”

             “That depends on where you’re going to put it,” I replied silkily, heading back to the bedroom. Harry gasped in dismay when my meaning finally struck him. He followed on my heels.

             “I wanted to try out of a couple commands for the bed, that’s all.”

             “It says right on the manual that it’s not to be delivered to anyone under sixteen. What were those men thinking?”

             “Venturing out on a limb, I’d say they aren’t paid to think. They’re paid to deliver beds.”

             “No, you may not have my wand,” I said, slapping away the hands that were searching my cloak.

             “Pleeeeease?”

             I sat him on the end of the new bed, and stuffed my muffler into the sleeve of my heavy cloak. I turned and tossed my heavy cloak onto my bed, suddenly aware of how empty it was going to feel tonight without him under the covers beside me.

             “We have to return the bed, Harry.”

             “No, we don’t,” he protested. “I like it, and I want to keep it. Is that so wrong?”

             “It’s a giant purple sex toy.”

             “I know,” he grinned lazily. A second later, he jumped to his feet.

             “What?”

             “It shocked me,” he reported, rubbing his backside. “Or you shocked me.”

             “For the last time, I did not shock you. I have not BEEN shocking you. Will you stop it?”

             “But it keeps happening,” he retorted. “You’re around every time, too.”

             His eyes went wide, and he sat down gingerly on the bed. Another thought had occurred to him, one that was making him blush.

             “Did Volkova use her wand on you when you were here alone?” I asked.

             “No.”

             “Did she whisper incantations to you?”

             “She did when Dumbledore and Hagrid and Remus were here, but they contained words like ‘benedictus’ and ‘spiritus’. I was left with the vague impression she was trying to perform an exorcism.”

             “Which was when you decided to drop the bed on her?”

             “Um, no. I dropped the bed on her when she burned me. And I didn’t drop it so much as it fell when I paused to say ‘ouch’. I really said a lot more than ‘ouch’ if you must know.”

             “Someone may have put a curse on you, one that shocks you intermittently. Volkova would be my first choice of suspects. While we’re on the topic, how exactly did Volkova exchange herself for Malchik when I left the house elf alone with you?”

             “One second I was having a conversation with Malchik. I left the front room to get a pillow out of the bedroom, and when I came back, Volkova was standing there. I dove for cover as quick as I could.”

             “Really? Fascinating. Go on.”

             “Nothing else. I locked the bedroom door and barred it with the dresser. She kept talking at me, but it wasn’t incantations. Do we really have to send back the bed?”

             “Has it occurred to you that it might be jinxed?”

             “I don’t care,” Harry said, carefully lying back against the covers. “I forgot to ask about pillows,” he murmured. Under his head and shoulders, the bed began to swell, lifting him at a slight angle. “Ooooou,” he purred happily. “Are you doing that?”

             “No, I’m not.”

             “It likes me,” he mused, relaxing against the mound that was rounding comfortably under his head. “It’s very soft,” he reported, closing his eyes. My gaze traveled down his relaxed limbs, down his outstretched arms and slightly-parted knees. I reached forward and almost touched his stomach, but withdrew my hand. “Let me borrow your wand, or help me find mine,” he whispered.

             “No,” I whispered back. In response, he turned over onto his stomach, burying his face in the mound.

             “I’m trying to have an intelligent conversation with you,” I said acidly. “Would you mind not making me stare at your arse-end?”

             Harry sat up. The mound sank back into the bed.

             “Nobody’s making you stare,” he grinned. I pulled out my wand, and out of reflex, he shot backwards across the bed away from me. “I was kidding,” he frowned. “Don’t get angry.”

             “Hold very still,” I commanded.

             “Or what?” he gulped.

             “Come back here,” I said, pointing to the edge of the bed with my wand. Slowly, Harry scooted back near me. Touching my wand to his chin, I lifted his face. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily as I bent close. The second our lips brushed, we both jumped back with a shout of pain.

             “You are too shocking me!!” he bawled angrily, rubbing his mouth.

             “Someone put a chastity belt on you,” I informed him.

             “A what?” he said, clasping at his own waist with both arms and staring down.

             “It’s a spell, nitwit,” I sighed. “Negative reinforcement. It gives you a start of pain when you act on sexual feelings.”

             “They what?!” he exclaimed. “Dirty bastards.”

             “But who? That’s the question. Who would have thought it was necessary? Has Dumbledore muttered any incantations around you?”

             “No.”

             “How long has this been happening? Does it happen when you’re by yourself and think about sex?”

             “No,” he flamed pink.

             “Does it happen when you dream about sex?”

             “No.”

             “No. It’s only when you are with me, and when we get too close.”

             “Exactly. How do we find out who did this to me?”

             “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, dear boy. No, no, no.”

             “No, what? Why no?”

             “You ask everyone we suspect who might have put a chastity belt on you, and what is their first question going to be? Hmmm?”

             “How’d I find out it was there,” Harry decided. “That’s clever, isn’t it?”

             “Indeed. So we are not dealing with an amateur.”

             “That would seem to let a lot of our suspects off the hook,” Harry almost smiled. “How do we find out who did it? Is it specifically designed to shock me alone, or does it shock whoever I am with?”

             “It shocks you, and if the person you’re with is having the same feelings, they are also shocked.”

             “When I mesmerized you and we were snogging, this didn’t happen.”

             “All right. Let’s be logical about this. It’s been approximately a week and a half.”

             “Was it Voldemort?”

             “No. If you’ll recall, he would prefer—“

             ”Yes, I do recall what he’d prefer, but I also recall he’s a sadistic bastard, and so I necessarily must ask, was it Voldemort?”

             “No. It was not the Dark Lord. We will—“

             The floo activated in the living room. Harry and I both went to investigate, and met Remus Lupin at the bedroom entrance.

             “I received Hermione’s note. Where’s the giant purple sex toy?”

             “Did you put a chastity belt on me?” Harry asked, the words out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. His brain engaged shortly thereafter, right in time for him to step between Remus and myself.

             “WHAT?!” Lupin snarled.

             “Sir, calm down,” Harry said, putting both hands on his guardian’s chest.

             “You have ten seconds before I go carnivore on you, Severus. You’d better explain yourself!”

             “I kissed him, we both got shocked, end of story. Did you put a chastity belt on me?” Harry asked.

             “I did not!” Lupin replied. “And you are leaving here at once. Severus! How could you?! After all those things I said to you yesterday?!”

             “I didn’t!” I retorted, still holding my wand out.

             “I’d never do something so underhanded to you,” Remus said, hugging Harry protectively. “Attaching a chastity belt spell to you?”

             “Someone clearly thought it was necessary though,” I interjected. Lupin gave me an ugly look.

             “I’m not leaving,” Harry said. “I can’t even walk up the steps to Gryffindor Tower. We’ve tried. I can’t get halfway up.”

             “I’ll carry you,” Remus said, keeping both arms around him.

             “Stop coddling him. I’m not going to pounce on him and drag him into a dark corner,” I scowled.

             “You go in the other room, Harry. Severus and I need to talk,” Remus glared at me as he spoke.

             “Wands,” Potter said, putting out a hand.

             “What?” Remus protested.

             “Wands,” Harry repeated. I gave him my wand, and Remus very warily dug around in his cloak.

             “I can’t find it,” Lupin said.

             “I’m not leaving this room without your wand,” Harry added. Lupin produced his wand, and gave it to the boy.

             “What now?” I asked as Harry closed the bedroom door. Lupin sat down on the new bed, and buried his face in his hands.

             “He’s a child, Severus. He’s sixteen years old.”

             “He kissed me. It’s not what you’re thinking,” I lied. My mind was still ticking over how long it seemed that Harry had had this spell attached to him. Not when he first arrived. Not certainly during the first or second weeks, when I had been luxuriating night and day in the very idea of sex with him. It had been sometime around when he had been starting to come to his senses.

             “He’s a baby,” Remus cried.

             “He’s not a baby. You can see that for yourself,” I replied. Lupin stood up, taking my arm.

             “I know you need to stay in You-Know-Who’s circle at any cost, but you must not, you cannot, you will NOT endanger Harry or the future of his magic abilities. He has to remain a virgin until Voldemort (aaah! I can’t believe I said his name) is dead. If Harry is going to stay here, you’re going to take a potion.”

             “What kind of potion?”

             “Some kind! Any kind! One that will prevent you from having sex with him.”

             “Remus, I’m not going to have sex with Harry. Now will you please calm down?”

             “It’s not your fault. I’m the one to blame. Sirius was a terrible godfather, and I’m even worse. Harry’s never had a proper home life. He’s never had proper affection. You’re probably the first adult in his life who has paid attention to him on a one-on-one basis for this long a span of time. No one since Lily has spent this much time alone with him. No one has cared for him as you have.”

             Lupin convulsed, burying his head in his hands once more.

             “It’s only natural he’s grown attached to you, that he’s misinterpreting your attention for affection. Please discourage him. Do whatever you have to do. But you cannot take advantage of him. He’s a child, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. He’s extremely vulnerable, and you’ll hate yourself, you know you will. And you, you’re perfect! You’re on the rebound from being divorced, and naturally you’re feeling vulnerable, but–“

             ”Look, do not drag Illumina into this. She has nothing to do with Harry acting on his inappropriate feelings for me.”

             “It’s not inappropriate. The boy is starved for love and attention, and here you are, giving him undivided time and energy, caring for him, bathing him for Merlin’s sake! Of course he thinks you love him.”

             “But I do love him,” I heard myself say. I clapped a hand over my mouth. Lupin bounced up onto his feet and grabbed my shoulders.

             “His charisma spell has absolutely fried your brain, hasn’t it? Severus! Can you hear yourself?”

             “Let go of me, and calm down. And stop your shouting,” I added.

             “He doesn’t understand this is wrong, but you are certainly old enough to know it’s WRONG!”

             “Stop screaming at me.”

             “He’s convinced I’m going to die. That’s not helping matters. He’s convinced I’m going to die, and you’re the only person left who has shown him an ounce of affection, and so he’s anxious to please you, anxious to stay in your favor.”

             “You’re reading too deep into this. It was a kiss. An innocent kiss.”

             “It activated a chastity belt spell!” Lupin howled. “How innocent could it have been?!”

             “Calm down.”

             “He’s reeling from losing Sirius. He’s afraid he’s going to lose me. He’s throwing himself at you, Severus, and you must do everything you can to refuse him. You’ve got to make him wear the blindfold. You cannot take the risk that he’ll charisma you and...and....oh, Merlin. I’m having a heart attack.”

             Remus put his hand to his chest and sat down with a thump. I walked over and poured Lupin a stiff drink, walked back, and stuffed it in his hand. He drank it in one gulp. 

             “Are you having chest pains? Do you have a history of heart problems?”

             “No. It’s nothing. Go away. I need to talk to Harry,” he commanded.

             “I will wait in the other room. Harry will be right in,” I said dryly. Lupin wheezed anxiously, clutching his chest with one hand.

             I opened the door. Harry was sitting on the divan, head in his hands. When he heard me, he leapt up and hurried over. He gave me back my wand, and I pointed him into the bedroom. With a rather funereal march, he went in to face Remus.

             There was an initial burst of shouting from Harry, dire threats on his part. Lupin’s voice fell below my range when the door closed. Minutes later though, Remus emerged, carrying the shipping invoice and the manual for the bed. His shoulder was damp, and his face was damp, and his hair was wildly ruffled.

             “Harry wishes me to convey his apologies for mauling you. He’s promised to keep his hands to himself. Lastly, he’s going to keep the bed. I’ll see what I can do to disable the more...er...creative spells attached to the bed.”

             “What?” I gulped. "Why can't it go back? Why don't you figure out why they delivered that abomination in the first place? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

             “It's staying because he’s got his heart set on it,” Lupin shrugged.  

             “Remus, you have to learn to say no to him,” I insisted. Lupin nodded, pocketing the invoice.

             “Someday, perhaps I will,” he smiled. I watched his eyes, studied his face. Unless I missed my guess, Harry had mesmerized him, charmed him into complying with his wishes.

             “Lupin, are you all right?” I asked.

             “Perfectly. I’ll see what I can learn about disabling the spells on the bed. In the meantime, both of you are to keep your distance.”

             “I have every intention of doing so,” I assured him.

             “By the way,” Lupin sniffed, drying his face. “Dumbledore asked me to tell you that Dr. Mesarik will be arriving late tomorrow morning, and Harry should be in the infirmary to meet with her at eleven sharp for his examination. The Minister will be there as well.”

             “Does he plan to watch?” I muttered.

             “If you need me, I’ll be in Hogsmeade,” Lupin sniffed again. “Remember what I said, Severus. Keep your hands to yourself.”

             “Doctor Mesarik is with the McGonagalls and Minister Fudge,” Dumbledore told us.

             “What?” Harry protested. “I am not getting naked for all those people!”

             “No, you are not, dear boy,” Dumbledore laughed. “The only one who will be examining you will be Doctor Mesarik, and I doubt you will have to be naked.”

             “All right then,” Harry said, calming visibly.

             “How are your eyes?” Dumbledore asked. Harry’s glass lenses were glazed with darkness. He took them off to show the Headmaster his green eyes.

             “It’s all too bright still. And sounds are too much. I’m fine though,” the boy said with a small shrug.

             “Capital,” Dumbledore sighed, pleased. “Let’s see what the doctor thinks of you, but I believe we may entertain positive thoughts. Don’t you agree?”

             He squeezed Harry’s arms, letting go when the button on his collar lit up. Instead of saying ‘Potter Sucks’, it declared ‘Potter Bites’. The teeth remained, but were now blinking in white instead of red. I reached forward to take the button off, but the Headmaster beat me to it.

             “How very clever! I saw several Slytherins with something similar at the Quidditch game yesterday,” Albus laughed. “What do you think, Severus?”

             “Mr. Potter is tempting fate, and showing his usual cavalier attitude at having survived a near-death experience.”

             Harry smiled at my frown and said nothing. Albus gave Harry back his button, and the boy put it even higher up on his collar, sending a playful and challenging look at me. Behind us, the door to the private examining room opened, and people poured out as if shot from a cannon.

             “Ah, Mr. Potter, there you are,” Professor McGonagall said. “You remember Minister Fudge.”

             “Minister,” Harry said, giving a slight bow of his head.

             “Mr. Potter,” the Minister returned the civility.

             “You remember my sister, Doctor Artemis McGonagall?” Minerva said, indicating the woman to her right. Artemis was a shorter, broader version, but very clearly a McGonagall, with her auburn hair and stern face. Artemis shook Harry’s hand.

             “Nice to see you, Mr. Potter,” she said, then stepped back to study him in silence.

             “I’m Doctor Mesarik,” my cousin said as she stepped forward and took Harry’s hand. She was thinner than when I last saw her, understandably since she had recently delivered her baby. She had done something ghastly with her hair, cut it off short to be practical, no doubt.

             “Nice to meet you,” Harry said.

             “We’ve never met. Do you remember me?”

             “No,” Harry said carefully.

             “Me either,” Timma laughed, her voice like an early spring breaking through a dark winter. “Artemis, quit it,” she said, letting go of Harry’s hand. “You can feel it from here, can’t you? Those eyes boring through you, analyzing your every move. Artemis, you’re making the boy nervous. Do stop. You’ll increase his heart rate and my scan won’t be accurate.”

             “Terribly sorry, Mr. Potter. Good to see you, Professor Snape,” the younger McGonagall said.

             “Perhaps you two can have a chance to talk later,” Professor McGonagall chortled.

             “I doubt it,” I replied tersely.

             “Before I forget,” Timma said, digging in her cloak. She handed me a photograph. “That is your new second cousin, Mordred Mesarik. I’d have brought him along, but newborns and floo-travel don’t mix well. Besides that, he was very peevish during his morning feeding.”  

             Harry peered over my arm at the baby, or rather at the blue-blanketed bundle that my cousin was holding up at an angle for the camera-shot. The infant opened blue eyes, lifted both fists, and started to wail for all he was worth.  

             “I made her promise to bring him to see us,” Minerva said, gazing happily at the picture as well.

             “He looks like you,” Harry told me. “Such dark hair, and the Snape nose too.”

             “Poor lad,” I said grimly, returning the picture to Timma. Dumbledore and Fudge exchanged muted greetings, and afterwards, Fudge continued to center his beady eyes on Harry, searching him for cracks in the surface no doubt.

             “You keep it. It’s for you. Read the back,” my cousin said, pushing her short, dark locks off her forehead.

             “ ‘Eleven years, six months and counting, Love, Mordred.’ Very funny.” I raised a brow at her. Her laugh rang out, accompanied by Minerva’s.

             “I’m so looking forward to another Snape being here,” McGonagall said. “In a manner of speaking,” she corrected herself, chuckling.

             “Come with me, Mr. Potter. Let’s have a look at you. You know,” Timma told Harry as she escorted him into the private room, “one of my colleagues back at St. Mungo’s offered me an unbelievable amount of money to come in my place today.”

             “Why?” Harry asked.

             “One can only speculate,” Timma winked at me, closing the door. I turned the picture over in my hands and stared at it again. Minerva leaned in and asked me a quiet question.

             “Have they found her husband yet?”

             “No, no trace,” I answered.

             “For the better, perhaps. If they’d been married less than a year and he was already taking a hand to her, she’s better off without him. He deserved to vanish into thin air.”

             “I quite agree,” I replied, pocketing the picture. The door to the private examining room opened, and Timma peeked her head out. Her face was crinkled with amusement and concern.

             “Cousin, could you come in, please?” she requested. Harry sprang up off the table at my entrance. Timma closed the door.

             “What’s wrong?” I asked, unable to miss how tense and afraid Potter was. Timma motioned towards Harry, and shook her head discretely.

             “You stand here,” she said, moving me around the table to stand at the side. Harry shivered. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise,” she said to him.

             “What?” I questioned impatiently.

             “She’s a witch doctor,” Harry said, lowering his voice.

             “You’re just figuring that out?” I asked, showing my exasperation.

             “No! I mean...she’s a witch doctor,” Harry said, laughing awkwardly. “She was wearing a mask, standing over me, and it freaked me out.”

             “You have a mask?” I asked Timma. She showed me the small, half-face ceremonial piece of wood hidden in an interior pocket of her cloak. The ancient reds and browns were intertwined with black stones. It wasn’t an alarming mask at all.

             “I didn’t dream it would scare him. Children usually love when I put it on.”

             “Yes, well they haven’t had hoards of masked Death Eaters looming over them, now have they?” I chastised Timma. She heaved up a sigh, and hid the mask again.

             “Sorry. Didn’t realize,” she mumbled, patting Harry’s arm. “I’ll give you a couple minutes. Be right back,” she added, leaving on silent feet.

             “Please stay,” Harry said, taking hold of my hand.

             “And do what? Hold your hand? Make you tea?”

             “I don’t want to be tea,” Harry replied.

             “There’s nothing to be nervous about. She’s odd, I’ll grant you, but a perfectly-capable pediatrician. Children simply love her.”

             “Sure you’re related?” Harry asked.

             “I’ll stay,” I relented.

             “She’s going to use a spell that will tell her every injury I’ve ever had.”

             “I’m sure it’s standard procedure for her new patients.”

             “Can’t she just read my file from Madam Pomfrey?”

             “Eventually she will, I’m sure. But the scanning spell will go faster, and give her much more detail. Pull yourself up, and don’t give her any more trouble.”

             “Yes, sir,” he answered.

             Timma returned as if she’d been listening by the door for an opportune moment. She was carrying several quills and a thick-stuffed manila folder.

             “If you’re going to linger, could you copy-spell this for me?” she asked, giving me what I assumed must be Harry’s file from Madam Pomfrey. It was made from roughly half a forest of trees. I sat down at the desk under the window against the wall, took out my wand, and set to work laying blank parchment pages in between each of the sheets of paper. Broken bones and scraps and scars and headaches went past my eyes as I leafed through.

             “Keep that mask to yourself,” Harry said to Timma as he tried to lie down against the table.

             “Relax. Clear your mind.”

             Harry sat up with a funny look on his face, taking her hand that wasn’t holding a wand.

             “Your husband? Is he a sailor?”

             “No,” she answered. “Why?”

             “Water, water, everywhere,” Harry said, lying down once more.

             “Clear your mind,” Timma repeated. He held onto her hand as she raised her wand.

             “He’s in the water,” Harry said, his eyes closing. Timma stopped short, taking her hand from him.

             “Are you experiencing clairvoyance with regularity, Mr. Potter?” she asked, lowering her wand.

             “He’s dead,” Harry whispered.

             “Yes, dear. I know he is. I killed him,” Timma whispered back. Harry’s eyes both snapped open. “Now, will you relax, or do I have to sedate you?”

             “I’m relaxed,” Harry stammered.

             “Good,” she murmured deeply. “Not to worry, dear. The scanning spell won’t hurt you, and neither will I.”

             Finally finished putting written pages against blank pages, back to back, I touched my wand to the pile and spoke the incantation.

             “Speculum en atramentum.”

             The words caught Harry’s attention. He watched me as Timma’s wand moved over his right side. Her quill jumped to life on its pile of parchment, frantically darting words out left and right.

             “You’ll have to teach me that one,” Harry said to me, his glasses reflecting the ripples of yellow magic as it ran through my file. When the ripples dispersed, I carefully separated the pages.

             “Who are Vernon and Petunia?” Timma asked in concern.

             “My aunt and uncle,” Harry said.

             “His guardians,” I supplied. Timma frowned, nodding. She watched Harry, then the parchment, Harry, then the parchment.

             “Relax. Is the spell making you queasy?”

             “A little,” Harry admitted, swallowing dryly. Timma added more pages to her pile, and her quill kept dancing. She read a sentence or two, shaking her head.

             “Quidditch, quidditch, quidditch,” she moaned. “If I had a knut for every quidditch injury I’ve treated, I’d be a filthy rich witch.”

             She touched his right leg, and exchanged a sad look with me. Harry’s mouth was turning into a small, tight frown.

             “What do the words mean?” he asked me, his voice trembling.

             “What words?” I responded, moving closer to him.

             “Speculum in.....your copying spell,” Harry swallowed, closing his eyes.

             “Speculum en atramentum. Mirror in ink.”

             “Speculum en atramentum,” Harry repeated under his breath. “Can I see?”

             “I’ll show you later,” I agreed. Timma was reading the parchment that her quill was writing on, her frown getting more and more pronounced.

             “Can you turn on your stomach?” she asked Harry. He opened his eyes, and slowly complied, hunching over onto his side, and finally onto his stomach on the table. “You’re almost finished. You’re doing fine,” she soothed.

             Timma touched her wand to Harry’s back, and the quill jumped, literally jumped, and went spastic over the page. In response to the intensity of the spell, Harry’s entire body went rigid. Timma added more pages under the quill, and as she set the completed ones aside, I caught a few lines. ‘Twenty strikes with a belt, Vernon Dursley. Twenty-four strikes with hand, Vernon Dursley.’

             Timma’s quill snapped its tip, and fell down. It was shivering as the spell left its form, looking like an exhausted horse after a long run. She picked up another quill, touching her wand to it, and stood it up on the page. The new quill got to work very urgently. Vernon Dursley. Vernon Dursley. His name was filling these lines. Petunia’s name came up as well. But more often than not, it was Vernon. I could feel hot bile churning in my stomach. Twenty strikes here. Fifteen there. Years and years worth of spankings and beatings and starvation and deprivation were appearing before our very eyes. A week without meals, or else not enough food to keep a mouse alive– my stomach was churning, and my heart was trembling. Timma was reading the same thing I was, and her normally-cherubic face was growing more upset by the minute.

             At last, the new quill lay down and was released from the scanning spell. Timma collected the pages and put them in a separate pile from the ones I had copied for her. I picked up the quill and put it with the others on the desk. The broken quill would need a bit of trimming, but should be fine. I picked it up as well, straightening the black feather to neatness once more. My cousin was standing over the results of her scanning spell, caught mid-motion.

             “Why would someone put a chastity spell on you?” she murmured softly to herself, shaking her head. The pages disturbed her. Psychologically, she wanted to put away the pages, wanted to make them disappear, first covering them with her hands, and finally, almost compulsively, taking off her cloak and folding it over them.

             Harry sat up, avoiding our gazes. Timma stuck a hand into her spread-out cloak, fished in the pockets, and produced a neon-bright lollipop. It blinked back and forth between green and yellow. She gave it to Harry, putting on her best, most-comforting smile. He of course saw right through that.

             “Screaming Lemon,” she reported. Harry took off the wrapper and put the sucker into his mouth. “I would like to see your bite, if I may. You may lie down again if you’re queasy.”

             The boy poured himself onto the table and closed his eyes, turning away as she hesitated over him. Timma carefully unbuttoned his top buttons, and put her fingers against the small, tough dots on his neck and shoulder junction.

             “I’m very pleased with this, Severus. You’re ignoring your true calling.”

             “True calling,” I smirked.

             “You didn’t become a healer because you knew it would spite your father, I realize. It’s all Artemis talked about on the way over. But honestly, you’ve got a healing touch. You do.”

             “How’s my patient?” I asked.

             “This is fine work. You couldn’t be in better hands, Mr. Potter,” she told him. Harry nodded, eyes still closed. “I’ve seen Toadvine’s course of treatment for similar cases. I must assume you’ve discussed this case as well. He knew all about it.”

             “I didn’t discuss it with him, but I suspect Pomfrey did,” I said. Harry’s eyes shot open, and his face scrunched up.

             “Canis Capellum, made with the offending vampire’s blood, can be so dicey a proposition. But you started treatment within a day?”

             “Within hours, actually.”

             “Toadvine’s got a case in London from Portugal, girl in her teens, year or so older than Harry. He began her treatment that soon, but they got the wrong vampire, wrong blood. He’s done all he can for her, but it doesn’t look good.”

             “If he would have consulted me....”

             “You know what an egomaniac Toadvine is,” Timma mused. “Did you keep notes?”

             “Notes?” Harry gasped, choking.

             “No,” I answered.

             “Pity,” Timma tisked. “It would make a terrific article for the Medi-Wizards Association Journal.”

             “It will not,” Harry insisted.

             “No notes at all? Severus, Toadvine would burst his spleen with envy.”

             “No notes,” I replied.

             “How goes the reintroduction to sunlight?” Timma had knocked her head against my walls of stubborn refusal enough times to recognize them. She withdrew all talk about articles and notes.

             “We’re being cautious,” I reported. She slid off Harry’s glasses, and he let her look in his eyes.

             “No trace of red whatsoever. Sensitive though, I’m guessing from the lenses, hm? The dilation of your pupils will diminish, I promise,” she soothed. He nodded. “You’ve had an increase in ability to do wandless magic?”

             “Yes. How did you know?” he asked.

             “Toadvine’s secret. He didn’t tell Severus, but he’s noted that too in several subjects. His supposition is that as magic is often considered a sixth sense, as the other five senses are at a state of heightened awareness, so it is also true with the magic. Downside though, the better Mr. Potter gets, the more he will need his wand again.”

             “He kept conjuring roving fancies out of thin air,” I told her. Timma laughed again.

             “Did you get them all?”

             “He drew up a Norwegian Ridgeback,” I added.

             “Was it Norbert?” Harry asked quietly.

             “It did seem to know Hagrid,” I said, wondering if that was the answer he was seeking. He put the lollipop back into his mouth, beginning to smile.

             “How often are you giving him the Canis Capellum and the restorative draught?” Timma wanted to know.

             “We’re down to one dose a day of each at bedtime.”

             “That’s what you needed the breast milk for. I had wondered.”

             Harry yanked the lolly out of his mouth with a wet popping sound.

             “Breast milk?” he fretted.

             “Mr. Potter is free to go,” Timma said, taking his hand and stuffing the lollipop between his lips. “I would like a few moments to converse with your professor. Could you wait in the hallway with the others?”

             Harry nodded, buttoning his shirt, scooting over to the side of the table. He cautiously put his feet on the floor, stood, and took a step. If I hadn’t been turning at the same time, he’d’ve hit the floor. I caught him around the chest, and steadied him to the ground on his backside.

             “Okay.....okay....there you go,” Timma murmured, helping Harry back up onto the table. He lay down, blinking away dots. “Well, how about you rest on the table, and we’ll use a silencing spell?”

             “Sorry,” Harry rasped.

             “Not to worry,” Timma said. I patted Harry’s shoulder, and stepped to the window with her. She enveloped us with large, silver, globe-shaped shield, and cast a cautious glance at Harry before she started to talk.

             I paused on my climb up the Astronomy Tower, waiting for him to catch up. He paused as well.

             “We discussed your course of treatment. Increasing your exposure to sunlight two hours a day a week. By January, you should be able to vacation in Bermuda. Continuing your dosage of Canis Capellum and restorative draught but lowering the dosage until within one month, you are finished.”

             “What else?” he asked.

             “She wanted to talk to the Headmaster about your progress in clairvoyance.”

             “What else?” he asked, raising one hand to me. I cautiously put my hand in his, unsure if he wanted help up the stairs or was trying to concentrate his magic on me.

             “She removed the chastity belt spell,” I revealed.

             “Yes!” he shouted, jumping close to me.

             “However,” I began.

             “Oh, here it comes,” Harry frowned, stepping away again.

             “There is proper behavior between a professor and a student, and there is improper behavior between a professor and a student,” I said, holding one hand up, then the other.

             “Technically, I haven’t been in your class for a month, and I am your patient, not your student.”

             “Mr. Potter, I am still your professor, you are still my student, and furthermore, the proper behavior between a doctor and a patient is rather similar in nature to that of teacher and student.”

             “I know where you’re going with this,” he moped, starting up the stairs ahead of me.

             “What did you expect I was going to say to you?” I replied, dodging those hopeful eyes.

             “So if I drink aging potion and climb in your bed, what will you do?”

             “Spank you, march you to the Headmaster, and promptly hang myself.”

             “Drastic, don’t you think?” he teased.

             “Mr. Potter, don’t be dense. Oh, that reminds me. Doctor Mesarik wants to start you on a prescription.”

             “What kind of prescription?”

             “It will help you sleep. I told her you’ve been having disturbing dreams.”

             “McGonagall told her sister too,” Harry said. “She wants to me to start seeing her on a regular basis. Professionally, not romantically.”

             “In short, after a month of reintroduction to daylight hours, and of weaning you off of my potions, you will officially be cured.”

             “I like the charisma spell,” Harry said, sitting down on the steps and heaving for breath. “Can’t I keep it? I’ll learn how to control it.”

             “No singing, no public speaking, and no running for political office,” I reiterated. “Do hurry up. We’re expecting guests for dinner.”

             “I thought you were shipping me back to Gryffindor Tower tonight.”

             “I’m shipping you back tomorrow morning. I thought a Saturday would be more appropriate. You can relax a couple more days before being dropped back into your studies.”

             “Relax, yeah, right. Hermione will be riding me about catching up. Are you ready to return to classes? Admit it. You’ve liked having one student, one problem at a time, one patient, I should say? At what point am I no longer your patient?”

             “When you stop taking my potions, I suppose.”

             “Hmm, all right,” he agreed. “Who are we having for dinner?”

             “Guests,” I repeated.

             “What are we having for dinner?”

             “That depends on what the house elves bring.”

             “Can we have Greek again?”

             “I asked for regular fare,” I replied, tugging him further up the Astronomy Tower. “We’re almost to the top. Come on. Ten more steps.”

             “It’s at least twenty more steps,” he complained.

             “We will take them ten at a time.”

***

             “Oh, they’ve redecorated,” Harry said as he stepped into my dungeon quarters and encountered a dining table and four chairs instead of a divan, coffee table, and mounds of books. He counted places, and looked at me in curiosity.

             “We will be on our best behavior. You should dress for dinner,” I said, indicating his pajama bottoms and sweatshirt under his cloak. I didn’t even mention the fuzzy slippers that covered his feet. He frowned, clutching at the shirt.

             “I’m dressed.”

             “Go wash your face and change into dinner clothes,” I prodded him towards the bedroom. He went inside, closing the door. My face fell as it hit me that tomorrow night at this time, I would be looking around, wishing he were still with me in my quarters. I shook myself and pulled off my cloak, hanging both his cloak and mine in the closet. Then I realized there was no point in putting his cloak in the closet, because he needed to take it back up to Gryffindor Tower in the morning with the rest of his things that had begun to litter my quarters over the last month. Clothes. Socks. Toothbrush. Favorite sweatshirt. Unkempt underwear. Balls of paper. At least a hundred letters. That nasty gaudy scarlet box that Miss Granger had delivered.

             The poof of a magic spell igniting behind me brought me around. House elves appeared with dinner trays. Four places were set. Napkins were laid out. Silverware was aligned. Glasses were shined and put into place. The house elves bowed in unison, and vanished once more. The bedroom door opened, and Harry arrived, pulling a white shirt on over his bare chest.

             “It’s too big. I’ve shrunk,” he complained, showing me the length of the sleeves and the drape of the fabric. “Is this supposed to happen?”

             I peeked down behind his neck at the tag, turned him around by the shoulders, and pushed him back towards the bedroom.

             “Stupid boy, that’s my shirt. Put on your own clothes.”

             “Oi, bloody hell. I didn’t know. The house elves put them all together in the closet,” he said, going into the bedroom again.

             The Floo activated, and Hedwig appeared. She seemed surprised to find me, circled the room, and landed on the mantle. She gave a loud squawk. Harry poked his head out of the bedroom.

             “Hi, Hedwig!”

             The owl dove at him. He opened the door and let her inside. Seconds later, he came back out, still wearing my shirt over his jeans, with bare feet and wild hair.

             “Her letter is from Lupin. ‘Can’t make dinner. Have to run. Leaving within the hour and need to pack. Love to you both. Remy. P.S. Tell Severus I inverted the numbers on the order form. P.S.S. Illumina is sending training manuals, and recommends Professor Trelawney with utmost sincerity.’ Is he serious?” Harry scowled, stroking Hedwig’s feathers where she was sitting on his shoulder.

             “Trelawney??” I echoed.

             Harry put away Lupin’s letter, shaking his head.

             “So it’s three for dinner then?” he asked, petting Hedwig. She nuzzled his ear, grooming his hair as if it were feathers. “Who is—damn!”

             The sound of knocking made Harry jump. I went to answer the door as he darted into the bedroom to arrange his clothes. Minerva peered inside as I opened the door. Standing next to Professor McGonagall was Anna Volkova.

             “Are we late?” McGonagall asked.

             “No, you look alive to me,” I answered.

             “Do you mind if—“

             ”No,” I said, motioning them both inside. “Harry is getting dressed.”

             Volkova glared at me, but McGonagall stared at the table.

             “You knew we were both coming? Harry knew?” she asked, amazed.

             “You sure I can’t wear my pajamas?” Harry asked as he returned to the front area. “Everything else is scratchy and uncomfortable.”

             He stopped face to face with Volkova. Anna gave a friendly smile. Harry frowned at her. While staring at her, he put on his button. ‘Potter Bites’ flashed at her, double speed. I wondered where he had left his owl, and hoped she wasn’t scratching up the furniture or leaving droppings on top of the bookcases.

             “I read the report that Doctor Mesarik submitted to the Headmaster concerning your state of health,” Volkova said awkwardly.

             “And?” Harry said coolly.

             “If the esteemed head pediatrician of St. Mungo’s is of the opinion that you are on the path to healthy pinkness, who am I to disagree?” Volkova offered.

             “Guess that means you won’t be sprinkling me with holy water again?”

             “No, I will not. It was necessary, Mr. Potter, or I would not have done it in the first place.”

             “Necessary as a professor, or as an agent for the Deusredeti?”

             “I no longer work for the Deusredeti, Mr. Potter,” she replied.

             “I’ve been reading all about you,” he smiled darkly. “Don’t think you’re going to fool me. I am no one’s fool, Professor Volkova.”

             “I would never try to fool you, Mr. Potter,” Anna answered, bowing to him.

             “What do you say we shake and declare a truce?” he purred, extending a hand to her. Volkova watched Harry’s hand, and broke out in a nervous sweat.

             “Did Miss Granger give you the list of recommended reading, what your assignments were for Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Volkova asked, reaching over and rearranging Mr. Potter’s shirt collar, tucking it down and carefully straightening it.

             “Yes, Hermione has been very helpful,” Harry answered.

             “Let’s eat before dinner is cold,” McGonagall interrupted. Harry lowered his hand, and stepped away from Volkova. She watched him go to a chair at the table, keeping a very close eye on him. “Is Mr. Potter ready to return to Gryffindor Tower?”

             “Actually, tomorrow morning would be better,” I said. Minerva cocked a brow at me, sat at the place across from Volkova, and waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, she burst out.

             “Why is that?”

             “We need to work out a schedule for receiving his medication.”

             “Besides, if climbing Gryffindor Tower will be like climbing the Astronomy Tower, I’m going to start out after breakfast and get there by lunch, at which time I’ll have to go back down, and start again,” Harry said, picking up a pitcher off the table. He walked around to each of our settings, pouring pumpkin juice into our glasses.

             “Until your strength returns, you should take the Floo around the school,” Minerva recommended.

             “If that’s permissible, I’d be thrilled,” Harry said, filling her glass for her.

             “Tomorrow morning, you will return to Gryffindor Tower. I will ask the Headmaster about the Floo. Of course you’ll be under strict instructions not to pop around into places unannounced or uninvited.”

             “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry said, much too quickly. He picked up my goblet, filled it, and gave it back, all the while under Volkova’s gaze.

             “Thank you, Mr. Potter,” I said, accepting the glass.

             “Welcome, sir,” Harry said, his eyes bright with mischief. He reached for Volkova’s glass, and filled it almost to the brim. Out of reflex, she lifted a hand to help him bring it back to the table. I knew what he was about, and tensed, anticipating disaster. The moment her hand came near, he let go of the goblet and reached for her fingers. McGonagall had her wand out in a flash, and captured the goblet before all the juice sloshed out, let alone before it hit the carpet.

             “Be careful, child,” Minerva said, putting the goblet on the table. Harry was still clasping Volkova’s hand. His skin went clammy, and he stopped breathing. For her part, Anna stiffened with surprise, and yanked her fingers away from him, muttering under her breath. She used her napkin to dab the juice off her arm, seemingly unconcerned about Harry’s sudden, extreme pallor. Harry set down the pitcher and took his chair, keeping his distance from Volkova’s hands when she went for a platter or dish on the table.

             “I see you know the Occlumency spell,” Harry said a moment later. Volkova raised her eyes at him, and nodded.

             “Yes, what a coincidence. Have you studied Occlumency and Legilimens as well?” she smiled.

             “Yes,” he frowned at her. “Far too briefly, it would seem.”

             "If you have any questions, I'm more than happy to help," Anna purred, giving him a challenging smile.

I am sending this letter to arrive with your Saturday mail, under the impression you maybe have already observed that as of tonight, our week has passed.

In regards to the recent request I made of you concerning a third party who here will remain nameless, it has come to my attention that the matter as yet remains unchanged, unresolved. I have to say that I do regret this extremely, but I realize that perhaps I erred in coercing you to agree to perform a task that very clearly did not inspire you whatsoever.

Therefore, I happily release you of your obligation. The matter will be resolved another way more convenient to the both of us. In so absolving you of this verbal agreement, I must ask you to do nothing whatsoever in regards to the resolution of the problem. I will see the task is completed by someone more compelled by my desires than their own.

As always, I look forward to our next meeting. I don’t believe we will be too long in waiting.

Best regards,