Fic



Onward, Reader, but beware of what will ’fore your eyes appear.

For if you’ve not read ‘Villain’ first – all seven parts – you will feel cursed

cos its impact will be diminished.

So make sure you have ‘Villain’ finished.

Then onward read – this tale devour.

May it entertain for many an hour…

The rich and mysterious world of J K Rowling’s Harry Potter, has given us Professor Severus Snape, the deepest mystery of all – the most complex of the characters.

How much the hero?

How much the villain?

– that debate will never end.

For those of you who seek an alternative history and future for Severus Snape here are a few more details of my own devising. But be warned! You must have read ‘Villain of the Piece’ first, otherwise there is no turning back to it without it being ruined – forever spoilt! And this tale has many references to Villain because Villain contains Snape’s past.

Because ‘Those Who Wait’ follows on from Villain it does not include the events and disclosures in J K Rowling’s ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and the characters who died in Rowling’s story have not died in this ... so far.

“…once there was a matchless wizard whose orders I swore to follow. And once there was a boy whose birth was my downfall, and whom I held aloft when a stammering rogue would cast him from his broom…”

Severus Tobias Snape,

from Villain of the Piece part 6

Prince of Spies

“The pinnacles of Hogwarts greatness occur when members of different Houses work together. So these are the watchwords for your time here – ‘work’ and ‘together’.”

Severus Tobias Snape,

from Those Who Wait, part 1, Acres High

Those Who Wait

a Severus Snape fan-fiction 3-part novel

by

Afictionado

Introduction

This story must not be copied or reproduced in any form without the inclusion of this page.

Disclaimer

The inspirational basis of this fan fiction is J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter stories, and Alan Rickman’s portrayal of Professor Snape in the Harry Potter films.

Undisputedly, J. K. Rowling owns the world of Harry Potter. No copyright infringement or disrespect is intended.

I make no money from my fan fiction, nor do I intend to.

Censorship Rating – G (General Audiences)

In accordance with the Motion Picture Association of America (MPA) criteria I rate this story as appropriate for general audiences because it depicts nothing by way of nudity or sex that would be offensive, it contains less violence than is found in most Harry Potter novels, it has very little bad language and what exists is infrequent and appropriate to the ages of the characters.

What My Story Covers

This is yet another novel-length piece of fan fiction, following on from my seven-part story ‘Villain of the Piece’. Villain was written after I read Half-Blood Prince, so in these two novels Snape’s character is intended to be consistent with J K Rowling’s first six books. Because it is a sequel to Villain it cannot be consistent with Ms Rowling’s seventh book – in this world there are no Hallows and those that died in Deathly Hallows are still alive in this story. (Although I make no promises for their futures.)

I am not only indebted to J K Rowling for her wonderful creation of Severus Snape, but also to Lady Claudia who is a constant source of inspiration and encouragement to me.

For the purposes of this story I have, naturally, had to create names of people and places. You will also find it littered with family names that crop up in Rowling’s novels and in Villain. That is only to be expected because the students of Harry’s day must have had ancestors.

I have been careful with the timeline and with real historical events so and as far as possible details such as the weather, the timing of Easter etc, films, and songs, are all accurate or realistic.

SPOILER ALERT: This story will not make any sense if you have not read Villain of the Piece and if you have not read the first six Harry Potter novels by J K Rowling. It therefore contains Big Spoilers for all of those stories.

And finally, I’ll be delighted if you read the Author’s Notes that will appear at the end but they contain spoilers so please do not read them in advance.

Afictionado

Sussex, England

October 2007

Those Who Wait

by Afictionado

Part 1 Aces High

Chapter 1: A Daft Escapade

4th to 16th July 1998

It was a warm July and when the owl arrived Severus was still fast asleep, having decided that as it was Saturday he would treat himself to a lie in. Jotto hurried the letter to him but unfortunately he hadn’t detained the bird.

“That means you’ve earned yourself an errand to the Post Office” Severus told him.

“Sorry, sir. Did not think, sir. Toast was burning and window was open.”

“Yes-yes. Alright. Make me some tea. And then” said Severus, thinking it over, “You can take my reply straight to school. Save time.”

He read the letter. It was from Minerva McGonagall; he had recognised the handwriting at first glance. The letter said

Dear Severus,

My advice is that you should undergo the Mantling. You said you were keen to demonstrate your acceptance. The Mantling gives a clear signal of the castle’s acceptance. It’s by far the best way.

Come to lunch tomorrow and we’ll talk it through. I’ll see you at one o’clock. I’ll send Titcha to the gates. (Bring Hermione if you want to.)

Glad the governors’ meeting went well, and that you’ve got the talisman. That makes the Mantling all the more sensible.

By the way, I saw you in The Catherine Wheel on Thursday. It was very crowded wasn’t it – amazing for mid-week. I was with Timmy and Agatha. I would have said “hello” but you looked busy. Did you realise that someone took your photograph? I don’t know who, but – pardon my forwardness – it looked to me as though they were intent on capturing you and Miss Granger gazing at each other. I have a feeling you are in for some attention from the press.

Tomorrow at one then?

Kind regards,

Minerva

He knew they’d been photographed! Hermione had pooh-poohed it, not caring, and thinking he might be mistaken because there were so many couples and small groups, any one of whom could have been the intended subjects. But he knew that tell-tale flash and puff of smoke had been for them, and had he not cared about making a scene he would have challenged it then and there. That was the problem of stepping into the Headship in the wake of the Dumbledore years – he was desperate to avoid any kind of criticism, and he knew he had to keep his temper under better control than he ever had before.

And the Mantle? Taking the Mantle was a way of obtaining the full authority of Headship – it provided the best title to the position of Head of the school. It also carried a small risk of embarrassment because the Mantle was weighty. And it carried the larger risk of rejection – Hogwarts castle might refuse to recognise him as Head, in which case he could expect more obstacles to the smooth running of the school than if he had never bothered with the Mantling. Whether or not to take it was taxing his mind.

The other matter that taxed Severus’s mind, and it had done so for almost a year, was the unsolved mystery of Olive Green, the erstwhile Professor Sinistra. Professor Aurora Sinistra had been an impostor. She had insinuated herself into Hogwarts and had been an agent of Lord Voldemort. Being unsure of Severus’s loyalties she had kept his more questionable behaviour in check by administering doses of a poisonous substance. Severus, who was a master potioneer as well as being skilled in the Dark Arts, had failed to detect that he was being poisoned, and even when Hermione had isolated the substance he had not been able to recognise all the ingredients. He was determined to master its analysis and to unravel the remaining mysteries surrounding the fake Astronomy teacher.

Few, had they known about it, would have shared his passion for this. Ron Weasley, who now worked for the Improper Use of Magic Office and who disliked Severus since he had stolen Hermione’s heart, would have described it as a waste of time. Harry Potter, who was waiting to take up a teaching position at the school, would think the puzzle interesting, but no more interesting than another matter that had currently caught his attention. Only Hermione, Severus’s sweetheart, would agree with him that the Sinistra matter must be solved, even if it took years. And only she would work away at it as resolutely as he would, and support his plans, and encourage him.

*

When Severus arrived at the Head’s tower he found Minerva in a mess. Boxes, rolls of parchment and piles of books were everywhere.

“Come up to the roof garden” she said. “We’re lunching up there; roast lamb and mint sauce – I like my Sunday roast, even in the summer. Don’t worry about that clutter; it’ll be gone by the end of the week, I promise you that.”

“It’s so unlike you, Minerva, to be untidy.”

She explained that as she never intended her stay to be long she had never cleared all of Albus Dumbledore’s things, but just lodged on top of them. Her plan now was that any belongings of Albus’s would go into the anteroom to the office and Severus could keep them or throw them away as he pleased.

“If they’re personal shouldn’t Aberforth have them?”

“He’s taken what he wants. Actually – between you and me – I don’t think he took any thing” she said, mystified. “I left him to it – left him there for hours – and when I got back it looked just as it was. What more can I do? I’ve never understood him. Chalk and cheese the Dumbledore brothers were. Well I can’t worry about it now; I’ve got to think about my new house – my future.”

They chatted for a while about her new home. She had bought the property next door but one to Septima Vector and the sale had been problematic.

“Teapot Cottage” she said. “Stupid name; I’ll have to change it. Quite honestly, Severus, you might as well move in once I’ve gone, or at least start using the office. No need to wait for August. Will you, ah, be moving in alone?”

They had got to the subject of Hermione. Minerva warned him that it wouldn’t be wise to start his career embroiled in an affair with the youngest female on the staff.

“Should I switch, then, to the youngest male?”

“Severus! Really–!”

“All joking aside, I know exactly what you’re saying” he said, “And, to her enduring credit, Hermione shares your view. Our behaviour will be impeccable while the school is in progress. When we marry – if she ever consents – then we will live here together, but still with decorum.”

“You’re very serious about this, then?”

“I most certainly am.”

“You say if she consents. Have you – I hope you don’t mind my asking – have you proposed?”

“I haven’t literally popped the question, but I have made sure she’s is in no doubt of my intentions” he said firmly. “I think you ought to know that I discussed the Headship with Hermione before I went for the formal interview. I wanted to be sure she was comfortable with the idea of being the Headmaster’s wife.”

Minerva was impressed. “Very wise” she said. “I’ve had Tonks griping at me about her situation. Being married to a werewolf is fine. But, would you believe, being married to a House Master is not?”

Severus called it the price of seniority, remembering how constraining it had been heading Slytherin, and regretting that at residential schools the most senior staff must live in. “Couldn’t she and Lupin have married quarters in Gryffindor Tower?” he suggested.

“She’s not keen on the idea. Especially now you’re going to be Head. Am I right in thinking she’s an ex girlfriend?”

“Yes, but that was years ago” he said. “I thought we were both grown up enough not to mind about that. It’d be no problem to me, and I’m sure Hermione wouldn’t mind. She’s always been fond of Tonks, and very fond of Lupin.”

Minerva gazed at him, marvelling that he of all people could be so unruffled about this, and concluding that the advent of Hermione was responsible for much of the change.

“She’s made a huge impression on you, that girl.”

“Nymphadora?”

“Hermione!”

“You mean we now patronise The Catherine Wheel more than we patronise The Green Dragon?”

“Ah yes! A changed man you may be, but still not always a sensible one. The Catherine Wheel is very much the in place, so if you want to escape journalist gossip it’s the obvious place to avoid.”

“I suppose we did push our luck.”

“Story of your life, Severus. I’m glad to see you’ve not been so rash about Pettigrew. Do I detect the Hermione affect at work again?”

Peter, who was ‘imprisoned’ at Severus’s Suffolk home, and Kreacher who kept him company, were to be moved when Severus took up residence at Hogwarts. The solution for Kreacher was simple; he was to re-join the kitchen elves and to take care of Remus during the times of his transformations. Severus also wanted Peter moved to Hogwarts, and he had toyed with the idea of converting Dungeon Nine into a suite. But Hermione had argued against it, saying it would give the Ministry an excuse to interfere constantly, because they already came regularly to Lempaura to test the Hog-Tie Jinx they had in place on Peter, and would presumably need to do the same wherever he was, unless he was in Azkaban.

The answer was to move Peter to the Shrieking Shack. Sidney Brookstanton was the owner of the Shack, having bough it to assist Dumbledore with managing Remus Lupin’s werewolf condition, and Sidney was happy for it to be renovated and turned into a secure home for Peter. Minerva agreed with Hermione, thinking it preferable to have a former Death Eater in the Shack rather than the school, and she was surprised Severus had taken a different view.

“Personally, I’d have let matters take their course and let him go to Azkaban if the Ministry had no other option” Severus said lazily. “He’s pleasant enough company, but when all’s said and done he is a murderer.”

“But he did help you conquer You-Know-Who.”

“Which is why I’ve allowed him to live at my house; it’s why I indulged Harry’s mercy.”

“It had nothing to do with comradeship?”

“Peter and I? We were never comrades” Severus said. “I don’t find it difficult to get along with Wormtail at a superficial level, but I find it impossible to trust him totally. He has weaknesses and limits. Harry doesn’t seem bothered by them. I can’t decide whether that’s down to his father’s carelessness or his mother’s compassion.”

“Harry is a remarkable boy, isn’t he.”

Severus thought about it. Yes, he was. He had Dumbledore’s gift of allowing second chances. He had been remarkable even when he had shared an attachment to Voldemort. Now, freed of that, he was even more unusual. But what else should one expect of Lily’s son?

“We’ll see” he decided, “When he’s had a year of teaching.”

“During which you’re duty-bound to help him, or you’ll have to answer to your young lady again.”

Smiling a gloating smile Severus said “I think she will be the better teacher; don’t you?”

“She’s taught you some sense. She was quite right about not putting Pettigrew in a dungeon.”

“We’ll see about that, too” he said. “Wormtail’s incarceration will be out of my hands. But my scheme would have worked. A Hogwarts tower-room? No. But a dungeon? Yes.”

“A tower could be made secure.”

“How secure? Legend has it that someone was snatched from a high room, and rode off on a Hippogriff. I’d like to see them try that below ground!”

“Touché” Minerva said. She asked why Harry wasn’t going to free Kreacher in view of the fact that he had freed Dobby. “Is it because he wants to be sure Kreacher will take care of Remus?” she enquired.

“I think that comes into it” said Severus, “But freeing Dobby was mainly to put him out of reach of the Malfoys’ cruelty. Personally I’m glad Kreacher isn’t free. There might be the odd lingering Dark activist. We made a good round-up of the Dark Side but we didn’t nab everyone.”

“You mean sympathisers? Hangers-on?”

“Dross? Largely, yes, but one or two may actually pose a danger. Fenrir Greyback, for example, wasn’t among the prisoners. That could mean there are supporters who didn’t bear the Mark. Harry will free Kreacher at some point – I’m sure of it. I asked him to stay his hand at least until we’re sure the stragglers are either caught or have abandoned their bad old ways. And talking of people with bad old ways, can I ask what you recall of Olive Green?”

He said it as casually as he could, but he sensed immediately that Minerva didn’t want to talk about Olive. It was embarrassing for her to be faced with the fact that the girl she had appointed Lily Evans’s contact in the magical world had turned out to be a member of the Dark Side. Severus wanted data about Olive and she could remember very little. Certain facts were in the school archives but he couldn’t very well press her to look them up because he’d be able to do so for himself soon. So he didn’t push her, but asked in general terms about Olive’s family.

“An ill-fated family” Minerva said. “There was only the father – a thin, sharp sort of face. But lazy – I remember thinking he was lazy. Slipshod. The mother died when Olive was a tiny child. She was Greek, I believe, the mother. They had a big house near Kingston Hill. Spacious rooms; a playroom full of toys. But there was a dead emptiness; an unhappiness. I never spent a moment there longer than I needed to. Horace is the one to ask. He’ll know far more of her than I.”

It was a signal to say don’t ask me any more. It was also a huge inaccuracy. Horace Slughorn had never had any interest in Olive Green because she was a girl going nowhere. He was likely to say even less than Minerva had, and at this juncture Severus had no inclination to ask him. That also could wait until he was Head. Hard though it was he would have to contain his inquisitiveness, and hope that information from other sources would keep his curiosity fed.

“Well, that was an excellent lunch” he said happily. “Thank you, Minerva, very much indeed.”

“It’s not over yet. Lemon meringue pie?”

“You spoil me! At this rate I won’t fit under that Mantle.”

***

A week later Severus was still waiting for news from his other sources. Two owls arrived on Sunday while he was applying finger-swelling curses to bows of cotton tape and humming ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance’. He was happy and annoyed at the same time, and couldn’t get the dratted tune out of his head. A pile of dull grey folders, secured with tapes, littered the coffee table of his Suffolk sitting room. This was his solution to the problem of storing the Olive Green information. He had a folder for each member of the current Hogwarts staff and one for Aurora Sinistra, and sadly that file was still very very slim. And would these owls be of help, he wondered? One might because he didn’t recognise it, but the other would be no help at all – the other was Hedwig. He took the letters. The first he opened was from Barnabas Cuffe and it said

Professor Snape,

Thank you for your luncheon invitation, and for the Portkey. I shall be with you by one o’clock next Friday.

It needed no reply; and the owl, knowing that, had not stopped a second longer than necessary. But Hedwig was waiting for a reply. He read Harry’s letter:

Dear Headmaster,

I’ve got some news and I’d like to call round – maybe one evening – so owl me back to let me know when would be convenient.

It won’t take long, but I’d rather say it than write it. I don’t mind calling late.

Regards,

Harry

Severus wrote ‘Any night after 9:00pm would suit me – make it sooner rather than later’ signed it and sent Hedwig into the sunny morning, wondering what Harry had to say that he preferred not to write down. Then he extracted the folder belonging to Matilda Thorne and read through the Astronomy Professor’s details. Minerva had taken Matilda on – a stop-gap to fill the hole left by the demise of Aurora Sinistra. Matilda was old – a few years senior to her sister Septima Vector – but she has always enjoyed better health than Septima, and since the death of her husband Severus knew that Matilda had a vacuum in her life. Teaching Astronomy was all very well, but he had other plans for Barton Thorne’s intellectual widow.

*

Harry was punctual. When Jotto opened the door that same evening he stood there tousle-haired in the sunset, his Firebolt slung over his shoulder.

“You flew, Master Harry.”

“Yeah. Weather like this, it’s a crime not to.”

He was shown into the sitting room where, together with a hefty street map entitled ‘Master Atlas of Greater London’ the folders still littered the table and Severus sat, using his wand to drag entries around in his diary. He stood up to shake hands.

“You look busy” Harry said, pointing to the clutter. “Are these from the one-to-ones?”

“Yes. Mostly. Take a seat and we’ll have some beer.”

Since his meeting with the governors in April Severus had organised a series of discreet and informal one-to-one meetings with the staff. He wanted to know who was at ease about him taking over and who was likely to make difficulties, because he wanted his years of Headship to be remembered as serene even if he could not achieve celebrated. He warned Harry not to touch the folders but offered to let him see some details. Jotto brought them chilled lager and they looked through Harry’s folder, but there was nothing there that came as a surprise, in fact it said less about Harry and his Muggle connections than the newspapers had revealed. At Harry’s bidding Severus opened Hermione’s folder and Harry took it, sitting back as he read what little there was.

“Hey, it says Oxfordshire, but that’s not right because the border wiggles about” he said. “Her little town is actually Berkshire–”

“A tiny error, and quite a believable one” Severus said lightly. “It’s meant to mislead. Just in case.”

Harry looked slightly alarmed. “You think these might fall into the wrong hands?” he asked.

“I’m confident my curse will hold” said Severus, “And once I get these to the Tower, I don’t see any reason to remove them. But even so, why take chances?”

Harry read the details again and thought about them. “That’s why there’s not much in these” he concluded. “Name; address; date of birth; qualifications; Head Girl – yeah, I see. Sketchy, and just a tad inaccurate.”

Severus said smugly that he knew Hermione’s details and had no need to write them down, and the same applied to Harry’s. The same also applied to Eileen Snape, but for completeness there was an Irma Pince file because Irma Pince was the public face of Eileen Snape. Harry was impressed but he insisted that physical files could be discovered and even stolen; it would be better for Severus to trust his memory.

“At the moment these records give nothing away” Severus argued. “At school I can keep them secure. There is a certain innocence in writing down employee details – it’s what employers do.”

“Sinistra’s not an employee though, she’s a former employee.”

“Which would look the more suspicious?” he asked archly. “Having a Sinistra file amongst twelve others, or having only a Sinistra file? I can’t rely on storing the Olive Green facts in my head. A, I don’t know them all and B, I have to cross-reference and compare, and separate lies from truth. This is my chosen method and I’m sticking to it. Now, are we done?”

“Can I just–? It’s awkward, this, but I was wondering about Professor Thorne.”

“Wondering what?”

“Well, it’s just that I don’t know her” Harry said apologetically. “Do you know if she’s alright?”

“She’s the sixth of the seven Vector girls” said Severus. “And seven years older than Septima. Minerva found her. She knew her. We know Septima’s sisters. I believe Matilda to be genuine and trustworthy. She was the wife of the author Desmond Wicks. Barton Thorne was his real name.”

“Oh, I’ve read some of him. Ginny got me his ‘Musical Chairs’ last Christmas.”

“I met the Thornes once at the banquet Lucius gave when he was exhibiting Fudge to all and sundry. I believed them innocent.”

“They were friends of the Malfoys?”

“I don’t believe they were anything of the kind. They were involved with the Wizengamot and the legal side of Ministry life – that was why Lucius included them. There is nothing about Matilda that gives me cause to worry.” He realised Harry was concerned that he should keep watch for Dark supporters attaching themselves to Hogwarts. “What a suspicious mind you have” he said proudly. “All down to my good influence. Now, let’s get shot of these and hear your news.”

When Severus came back from locking the files in his bedroom he found Harry browsing the atlas, and looking with curiosity at the pages Severus had marked.

“Guess where Ginny and I went at the weekend” Harry said brightly. “Godric’s Hollow. I always intended to go back.” He saw the look on Severus’s face and hesitated. Severus was wondering if Harry had found James and Lily’s house; if its ruin still existed after all these years. But Harry didn’t intend to talk about that. “When you were there that day” he said, “Did you read all the gravestones?”

“I had other things on my mind.” It had been a moment mere days after Dumbledore’s death and mere days after the flight from Hogwarts; a time when Severus had been a criminal on the run, desperate to find Harry and make himself trusted. The Potters’ grave? No, he dared not look closely at that. “Once I found what I needed, I stopped looking” he said. “I simply hid … and waited.”

Harry nodded. “Then you didn’t find Dumbledore Corner” he concluded, letting the atlas flop closed. He smiled at Severus’s look of amazement and added “Yeah; there are Dumbledores buried in that churchyard. I can’t help thinking it’s odd that in all the moments he and I shared – times when I thought I could talk to Dumbledore about almost anything, times when he spoke about my dad and my mum – he never mentioned – just in passing – that he had family at Godric’s Hollow.”

“Perhaps he thought it would sidetrack–”

“And he never chose to be buried with them.”

That did make Severus wonder. Yes, Harry was right, it was odd. Both facts were odd.

“I suppose he might have found it … painful?” Severus ventured. “Like I find the Lily aspect painful … And when you consider that latterly he had a brother, Aberforth, living just down the road, who would ever have guessed that connection? Perhaps Dumbledore wasn’t a family man. The Dumbledore brothers seemed no closer than many Order members – Albus and Moody; Albus and Elphias. He chose the Order, but we cannot choose our families. Perhaps he didn’t like his family. Or perhaps he kept a pretended distance to protect Aberforth.”

“Yeah; could be” said Harry. “Maybe it was pretence. But it was odd the other way too – Aberforth never seemed to like Albus. He didn’t even seem all that cut up about his death. I suppose I shouldn’t say that really. You can’t really be sure what someone’s feeling. But that was the way it looked, wasn’t it. I suppose he might’ve had to grow up in Albus’s shadow.”

That seemed to make a lot of sense; Severus nodded his agreement. “Albus was a majestic figure” he observed. “High-handed at times. And with plans and clues buzzing in his head; especially in the latter years. After the re-birth there was a lot going on.”

Harry agreed, thinking of Voldemort breaking into his mind and the desperate quest for the Horcruxes. “S’pose I wasn’t very easy to deal with” he admitted. “It did get a bit fraught. And yet? I can’t get over the fact that there was never a moment … never a moment when he could say…” He tailed off, lost for words.

“I don’t see why it puzzles you so much. Wherever the Dumbledores are buried is their private concern. You’re not family. Are you? Don’t tell me the Potters and Dumbledores are related.”

That hadn’t even crossed Harry’s mind. He shook his head, dismissing it. “No idea” he said. “But what there is is a Peverell grave. Ignotus Peverell. Marvolo Gaunt said the Horcrux ring had the Peverell coat of arms on it. It’s carved on the grave – you can just make it out. So I can’t see why he kept so quiet about Godric’s Hollow.”

“All I can say in Dumbledore’s defence is that he was a man of many secrets, rightly or wrongly” said Severus. “He seemed infallible, but he was not. I will have my work cut out to follow in those footsteps, yet if people knew more of the true Dumbledore they might realise he was only human after all. But why are we discussing these mouldering stones?”

“I want us to go there–”

“Oh no–!”

“No, it’s okay; you can skirt round the Potters. I want you to see Dumbledore Corner, and this Peverell.”

“You think I have time for pointless escapades?”

Harry looked at him. “Actually yeah” he said. “Don’t pretend you’ve lost the taste for adventure. Even I can tell you’re bored. You’re too young to be staid middle-aged – a diary full of appointments, and thinking about your career. That’s for Percy Weasley.”

Severus was tempted to scold him. How dare he talk to the Headmaster that way? But he knew it was true – he was bored. And Harry was good company. “Don’t rush me to that place” he said. “If you want an adventure, I have a better one. Godric’s Hollow will wait, won’t it?”

“Yeah; I s’pose” said Harry. “The people in the graves aren’t going anywhere. When then?”

“Christmas?”

“If that’s a promise.”

“It’s a promise.”

“Okay. What’s the other adventure?”

Severus went and brought back the ‘Aurora Sinistra’ folder. He showed Harry a sheet of parchment which bore two words.

“Coomb Martin?” Harry said, mystified.

“My only clue to Olive Green’s address – and that came from my memory” he said proudly. “I repeated those words to Minerva but she cannot recall the rest, and I bet a Galleon to a Knut that Horace wouldn’t either. I asked Dumbledore, but he was of less use than Minerva.”

“What do you mean, asked Dumbledore? Dumbledore’s dead.”

“I asked his portrait while Minerva was packing. Dumbledore was unbelievably unhelpful. ‘Somewhere near the Evanses’ he said. Hopeless! Of course it was near the Evanses. Send Horace for it, he suggested.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Drag him back from holiday? No, I’d rather nose around discreetly. We both could. Floo powder. That house is on the network.”

“How do you know?”

“I know it used to be.”

Harry shook his head, thinking Severus was barmy. “You’re suggesting we break into a house” he pointed out. “All I suggested was a visit to a churchyard.”

“Exactly. My proposition’s more fun than yours. This isn’t just any old house, it’s Olive Green’s old house – it must have had some connection with the Dark. I’d like to see it. Wouldn’t you?”

“If we get caught Hermione will go ballistic. I can just hear her ranting at me, saying it’s not the done thing for the Headmaster of Hogwarts… And it’ll be all my fault!”

“Dumbledore would have done it, if it suited his purposes.”

Half unsure and half fascinated Harry had to agree. “He would, you’re right. Fred and George would say what’s the problem, let’s go now. Okay, I’m up for it. But we mustn’t get caught or we’ll get severely Hermione’d.”

They made the Coomb Martin trip that very night. It was past midnight when Severus stuck his head in at the grate. There was no fire at either end and Harry knew he was fretting that someone would notice his face pale amongst the coals. That turned out to be impossible, because although there were coals in Coomb Martin’s grate, there was a fire screen and he could not see into the room. He pulled back his head and let Harry take a look, and then they argued for a while, debating the risks of Apparition and Splinching with the risks of Floo powder and a noisy collision with the fire screen. Eventually Severus decided to risk the Floo network because they were both convinced that the room was unoccupied and Severus was confident that he could use a hover charm on the screen.

It worked and seconds later they found themselves in an elegant sitting room, similarly furnished to the way Severus had seen it two decades earlier. Not a sound came from anywhere. They checked that the door was closed, lit their wands and tidied away traces of their entry. Then, wands extinguished, they moved into the hall…

That moment was a shock to Severus, because he suddenly realised he knew the house. If the hall hadn’t been proof enough, a ten minute nose-around was all that he needed. A week-old Prophet was folded in a conservatory chair, a list on the kitchen table said ‘cancel paper, turn off gas, tickets’, letters on the doormat said ‘A J Edgecombe’ and the tower room high in the southeast corner looked as if it might once have been an observatory. As for the billiard room – the Edgecombes had even found a billiard table for it, and maybe they played the Muggle game, but Severus knew that room all too well. It was the room used for testing the dementation draught. Coomb Martin – light, airy, Edwardian – had most definitely had a Darker side.

They found a way out of the house and walked down the road in the warm summer night, all the time gaining the impression that the dirt lane was lined with big houses, dotted around in a carefully randomised pattern. But the houses were out of sight, set behind clumps of bushes and trees, strategically placed. Without a traipse up each driveway it was impossible to see them. A dog barked distantly, and was quiet. And there was a constant background drip-drip; sprinklers had been playing in most gardens, keeping them lush and green.

“The Edgecombes have some money!” Harry observed bitterly. “I wonder if A J Edgecombe is the father of that sneak friend of Cho-Chang’s?”

“Ah, yes. Your former girlfriend. I remember your first–”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I was only going to say ‘kiss’.”

“I know you were. And you didn’t see it; I stopped you.”

Another lane joined the one they were in and the two debouched onto a narrow tarmac’d road – Burrow Way – a name Severus recognised from the London street atlas. In both directions the landscape continued as before so they turned around and nosed along the other lane.

“I quite like this” Harry said. “Horace travels from house to house. It’s got something going for it, especially in summer, and when the owners are on holiday. I think I might become a burglar, just for the buzz of nosing round other people’s places.”

A sudden scrunching made them freeze; a car was meandering home. They drew back into the bushes, wet leaves smearing Harry’s collar. The car, sleek and dark, turned carefully in from Burrow Way and picked its way along the lane, halting briefly to avoid a squirrel. It swung sharply into a driveway, twin lamps arcing across them oblivious of their presence. There was a crackle of gravel and then silence. A security light flared; a clunk; and the flash-flash of indicators. Footsteps; followed by electronic beeps. The faint sounds were alien to Severus’s ear – Muggle sounds from a world he increasingly disliked. Then a heavy wooden door closed and they knew they were alone again. Alone except for squirrels.

After five hundred yards the new lane dwindled to a footpath, fenced at first, but soon bordered by yew hedges, professionally clipped. And suddenly the space expanded and they found themselves mere yards from the fairway of a golf course.

He knew it! Once again, after all these years, Severus knew the place! This was the golf course James had Apparated to, taking him under the Invisibility Cloak. Eighteen years ago. Eighteen years and one month, almost to the day! Haltingly he told Harry about it, and Harry didn’t hurry him or press for details, knowing it was a difficult moment, and an important moment to share. Severus spent over half an hour hunting around, trying to discount changes to the size of the bushes and trees in a mad attempt to locate the exact spot where he and James had sat. He couldn’t find it but he was sure this was the right golf course, even though other courses were marked on the atlas. The golf course was still not entirely dark. And it was not quiet – surely there was more noise than before; traffic noise. Proof if any was needed that the Muggle way of life was a blight.

Deep in thought they retraced their steps to Coomb Martin… And when they got back to Suffolk, and Harry fell asleep in an armchair before he had drained his second glass of mead, Severus spent a further hour studying the map.

“She called it Kingston Hill” he murmured. “It’s Coombe. Old McGonagall told me the truth; she genuinely didn’t know it.”

As if in agreement Harry gave an extra loud snore. Severus slid the atlas onto the coffee table and stretched himself out on the sofa. Within five minutes he was snoring too.

Chapter 2: Different Greens

16th to 17th July 1998

By Thursday evening Hermione had arrived at Lempaura. Harry was still there and the dinner-time conversation was dominated by the wizards’ tales of their visit to South-West London and the plan to go to Godric’s Hollow. Hermione had said little about her week which had been spent staying at The Willows and shopping with Nadine and Doon, and her reticence amused Severus. He guessed, rightly, that it had been fine at first and had then palled.

“This is interesting, Harry, but you’ve got to admit it’s not all that significant” she said, in answer to his Godric’s Hollow revelations. “The Coombe Hill house is more significant because it was clearly a Death Eater place. As was Myriad Mansion. Sev, yes, what about Myriad Mansion?”

“What of it? We can’t go there. The Ministry are still sniffing round it, hoping the owners will turn up.”

“I’m not suggesting you break into it. Far from it – I think that was really unwise! I’m just mentioning it because you seem to be overlooking it. It’s at the other end of the scale from Coomb Martin. Olive Green started off at one and ended up at the other.”

“Why all this obsession with Death Eater places?” Harry asked, annoyed that no one was interested in Godric’s Hollow.

“Simply because they are Death Eater places” Severus admitted. “I understand why Godric’s Hollow lures you, but Coomb Martin is more engaging to me than is Dumbledore Corner. Olive’s family were heavily involved in Voldemort’s plans. And where are they now – have they all died out? Who can I ask? Who can fill in the blanks?”

“I still reckon Dumbledore and Slughorn.”

“I suspect Horace will be as useless as Dumbledore.”

“Some of your old buddies? Before they croak it?”

“No, Harry–!”

“–Yes, Harry” said Severus, cutting across Hermione’s objection. “Yes, that’s possible. But few live long in prison, and I know that many are already dead. Venato, Feodor, and so forth are long dust. Bella was a survivor but I cannot expect any help from her. Lucius, though. He’s a possibility. In fact of the surviving Death Eaters Lucius and Axel are my best bets.”

“You mean you’re going to Azkaban to talk to them?” Hermione didn’t look happy about it.

“I haven’t totally made up my mind” Severus admitted. “I was hoping to ferret out enough by other means. But my old friends haven’t answered my owls. And it’s too soon to contact Olympe Maxime. It would be pushy and indiscrete. I’ll have to wait until our paths cross rather than approach the heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang directly. I don’t even know Stepanovich.”

Harry was lost. “I thought you wanted to know about Olive Green” he said.

“I do” said Severus. “I want to know all about her. Some of the answers will surly lie abroad. Sinistra, for example – there must have been a real Sinistra. Why did Olive make that choice of cover? And that poison – it’s not known in Britain. But maybe abroad?”

“You just don’t like being out-potioned.”

Hermione smiled a wry smile, knowing Harry was right. Then a thought struck her. “These old friends you’ve written to” she said to Severus, “One is Delia, yes?”

“Yes. And I don’t have time to go searching abroad.”

“But the other is Honor; and Honor lives in Britain.”

“But I still don’t know where – I’m relying on the owl to find her.”

“But you do know where she works” Hermione pointed out. “She’s still at St Mungo’s. Doon was telling me that Honor interviewed Emmeline’s son because he’s taking over Doon’s job when she leaves … Well?”

“How is Doon?”

“You’re procrastinating. Doon is blooming; but that’s not the point! The point is you could see Honor at St Mungo’s.”

Again for the umpteenth time Severus considered it. He had thought about calling on Honor at the hospital but didn’t want to risk a scene in a public place. “I just can’t help feeling it’s too much too soon” he said hesitantly. “She clearly doesn’t want to talk to me so she’d be even less co-operative.”

“Then why don’t I try? How about if I go and see her, and explain what it’s about?”

Severus gave it serious thought. Could Hermione be a mediator? She was exactly the sort of honest, clear-headed young woman Honor would approve of, and her friendship with him was also proof that he was a reformed character since his days of being the impetuous fool who took the Mark. “Very well” he said. “When?”

“Tomorrow? When you’re seeing Cuffe? Although why you need to crawl round Cuffe I don’t know!”

“I do” Harry said. “Sev says you were photographed when you were in some posh restaurant.”

“Yes, but Rita Skeeter’s not going to bother us – if you remember” Hermione added, giving Harry a meaningful look.

“A strangely naïve attitude for one so intelligent” Severus said to her. “Skeeter is not the only reporter.”

“Yeah, you know there’re plenty of others” Harry agreed. “Since word got out that I’m gonna be at Hogwarts, Ginny’s had her fair share of pestering – what’s it like being the girlfriend of a teacher? Will it be awkward during classes? What does Harry like to eat and drink? What brand of shirt is his favourite?”

“They’ve not published it–”

“–But they will.”

“This is why I want to see Cuffe” said Severus. “I’m being pestered too, to give interviews – and so far I haven’t agreed. I want to ask Cuffe – very nicely – to treat the changes at Hogwarts with the decorum they deserve.”

“You’ll simply put him on the alert, and his mob will be sniffing round all the more.”

“I won’t be heavy-handed about this!” Severus assured them. “A simple luncheon at my private house; but nevertheless taking place on my territory. I am the host; he is the guest – the dictates of good manners will put him on the back foot.”

“Newspaper men don’t have good manners.”

“It’s the best I can do, Hermione. And now is the time to do it – now while I am new, and while I am friends with the Minister. In just a few months the tide of my popularity might have peaked. I need to ride it while it’s high.”

When Harry left to fly back to The Burrow he assumed Hermione would stay overnight. But Severus knew she would not. He persuaded her to stop for coffee and when they were settled in the sitting room he asked about Nadine.

“She’s fine. Doon’s getting bigger by the day. We shopped till we dropped.”

“As long as Doon didn’t drop! I suppose you spent the time looking for maternity robes.”

“And clothes for me for school” Hermione said. “I got some smart robes for the classroom, and something less sombre for the evenings. Nadine was good at helping me choose.”

“And then you went home.”

“Yep. Showed Mum and Dad my new stuff. Then I popped in at the The Burrow, but they said Harry had gone to see you.”

“How was your reception there?”

“Molly’s a bit cool” Hermione said truthfully. “Not unbearable, though – nothing like that. I don’t think Ron’s told her about us. She just knows his being keen on me wasn’t reciprocated. Ron and I are okay together now. He’s going out with Melinda Bobbin, so that’s nice. Ginny was fine; we get on better now than in the days when I was best friends with Ron. Molly’s full of plans for Harry’s birthday. They like to do a party for him. It’s nice of them – they’ve always been kind. But I don’t really fit in there now, not like I used to. It doesn’t feel the same. So I decided not to hang around.”

“Poor Hermione. I’ve made you an outcast.”

“No you haven’t” she said, grinning. “I’m just me. I’ve always been just me. And if that means being a square peg in a round hole, that’s normal. Anyway, let’s get back to the task in hand before you go off the idea. Assuming I can get to meet Mrs Wilbin, apart from giving her your regards, what shall I say?”

They spent a while going over the points Severus wanted to raise. “It’s just a matter of what she can dredge up from her memory” he said finally.

He was thinking back, picturing them in the common room; the girls who despite age differences tended to congregate – wise old Olive; and from two years below her, Honor; and from one year below her, Charmian (or Cheryl as she was then); and one year younger, Delia. Why had they become friends? Were they really friends? Olive was so much older – she looked old. And knowledgeable. And sad. Damaged. What had she been searching for amongst those younger girls?

Laying back on the sofa, his slippers cast aside and his feet propped on the coffee table, he wrapped a protective arm around Hermione. She lay at right angles to him, staring at the ceiling, her head cushioned on his stomach.

“Okay” she said at last when in her mind she had run through various mock conversations with Honor. “I’m alright with that – I’m clear on what you want. By the way, Doon says Honor’s working the early shift so I’ll be able to catch her round about lunch time if I go this week. If she’ll see me we might pop into The Fwooper. But my main aim will be to talk her into seeing you. She might want to wait until August and see you at school. That would make it more official … Won’t it be great; Headmaster of Hogwarts! When do they start on your portrait?”

“On the Tuesday.”

“I can’t wait to see the Passing of the Key. I’m so glad you’re taking the Mantle. I wish we could watch your walk to the door.”

“I wish you could” he agreed. “All the staff must wait inside – it’s tradition.”

“Are you going to take up Minerva’s offer and move in ahead of August?”

“I’ll start using the office” he said. “And I might bring in a few books. That’s all. But you and Harry will be able to move into your quarters. There’s no need to wait for my tenureship.”

“Thanks. You quite like Harry now, don’t you. You get on well. He enjoyed sharing that trip with you – he said so.”

“If I’m honest I liked sharing it too. How about us going? Next weekend – next Sunday night, late.”

“Me?” Hermione groaned. “I don’t want to break into the Edgecombes.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. But if the weather’s good we could ride from Diagon Alley to New Malden and Coombe Hill. I’d like to show you those places.”

“Ride? Me on a broom? Do be sensible.”

“You on my broom.”

Hermione laughed and said “That’d make a good headline. Tell you what, though; I’d rather see Spinner’s End. It won’t be long before they pull down the old houses. You promised you’d let me see some of your past – your real past.”

“And I will keep my promise. But the New Malden adventure was also my past.”

“Yes, I know but … you know what I mean” she said, tapping a finger on his chest. “You know perfectly well what I mean. New Malden was just a couple of escapades. It was Lily’s home, not your home. I want to know about you – the real you.”

“The real me! The down-at-heel past of the boy from the slums?” He sighed and added “I assure you we will go to Snarebeck. We will Apparate; it’s too far for you by broom. But I’d assumed we’d do that by day, and you’re not free at the weekend.”

“No; it’d be too soon, Sev” she said sadly. “I really, really must have time at home. I really must. Last summer I just ‘buggered off’ and left my parents minding Crookshanks. They didn’t complain, but I know that’s how it looked – like I’d just skipped off.”

“You didn’t tell them you were hunting Horcruxes and rounding up the Dark Side.”

In the cradle of his arm she turned, reaching up and twisting a finger in his hair. “Tricky question, what I’ve told them” she sighed. “A very tricky question indeed.”

“Why would it be?”

Hermione took a deep breath and began to explain. She started with the fact that at the end of her first year she returned home full of eager stories about school, and Harry, and Voldemort, and the Philosopher’s Stone! “And silly little me – honest me – began to relate them” she said. “And then I stopped because I saw the looks on their faces. I saw the danger just in time. They though I’d been doing lessons and taking exams.”

“Which you had.”

“Yes, but my parents’ vague notion of a Dark side to magic – if they had any such notion at all – didn’t extend much beyond imagining the full body bind” she said. “Their idea of wizard criminals was of Mundunguses, not Bellatrix Lestranges. They assumed Hogwarts was about learning clever, useful things, and graduating at eighteen, knowing how to heal yourself if you burn yourself on a cauldron.”

“So after this Damascus moment you told them … effectively … nothing?”

“Just school stuff, year after year. No Basilisk, no diary, no Barty Crouch, no Death Eaters – none of it. Not a word of it.”

“Because they wouldn’t have let you back.”

“Back?” Hermione snorted derisively and assured him they wouldn’t have let her out of the door.

“And when you came home, out of the blue last year, in the middle of June?”

“I just said Dumbledore had died, it was a big shock but he was very old. But because of the upset the school had had to close a few weeks early. Then I went off to Ron’s – supposedly – leaving them to assume I was having a typical summer with my friends. And that got me out of answering more questions.”

“And by mid-August we’d got the job done.”

“Yes. You were in custody, so it made life easier.”

“Thank you very much.”

They laughed. He knew what she meant; she loathed every second he was under arrest but in reality it had simplified matters for her. Hermione – like himself – preferred to deal in realities. “But you do understand the problem now, don’t you” she said. “I’ve lied – by omission. And I don’t want to keep adding to it. And I don’t se how I can spring on them the news that I’m embarking on a love affair with the wizard who just happens to be my boss, and just happens to be twenty years older than me, and who just happens to be–”

“A former Death Eater, and the reason why the former Headmaster was found dead beneath Hogwarts highest tower. Believe me, Hermione, I do understand the problem” he sighed. “But you won’t keep me hidden forever?”

“No-no! Just give me time. Meanwhile, in the wizarding world we don’t have to be quite so hidden. I don’t see that it’s a crime if we’re seen together in a restaurant.”

“The papers always want something to talk about. They’ll make something out of nothing.”

“You mean they’ll damage your reputation?”

“It’s more a case of how your parents will react if they see our photo on the front page.”

“I rarely take newspapers and magazines home, and I never leave them lying around. My parents have never seen a Daily Prophet.”

“Are they happy you’re going into teaching?”

Hermione said they were, although they had reservations about the fact that as she was only teaching from the third year up she would be on a lower salary than Harry, and to begin with her pay would be restricted because she was sharing the job with Septima.

“Once Septima retires you’ll be on her pay scale.”

“I reminded them of that, and that got Dad onto the subject of pensions.”

“We don’t have any.”

“Yes, exactly!”

“It’s not the usual thing in the wizarding world” he said. “Witches and wizards are expected to save for their old age. They have a longer working life than Muggles. And better health. I won’t let you starve, Hermione.”

“I can hardly explain that, yet, can I. And they don’t all have long lives. Look at Septima’s sisters – of the five still alive two are still working.”

“By choice, not force of circumstances.”

The jangling of the doorbell interrupted her and made them jump. Hermione scrambled up and sat in the armchair, reaching for her cold coffee. Severus stood up as Jotto poked his head around the door.

“Professor Flitwick to see you, master.”

“Show him in.”

Filius trotted in carrying a parcel. His eyes fell on Hermione and he looked a little embarrassed.

“Hope I’m not intruding.”

“Good evening, Filius. Not at all. Sit down and have some coffee.”

“Thank you. Our robes have arrived, so I thought I’d bring yours over.”

“Oh; for the Mantling!” Hermione exclaimed. “Let’s see it.”

“It’s just white cloth.”

It was, as Severus said, plain white cloth, rather coarsely woven, and he soon had Jotto pack it away. In a very short while the conversation turned to teaching, because Hermione was feeling nervous about it. “You’ve had years of practice” she pointed out to Filius.

“You’ll be fine” he beamed. “You were a star pupil; why wouldn’t you be a good teacher?”

“I was a star pupil, but never a great teacher” Severus smirked. “Never intended to be a great teacher, not unless it happened by chance. I didn’t want to work at it – I hated the classroom.”

“That -is - rubbish!” Hermione said hotly. “Why then, if you hate class teaching, have you offered Harry help with his OWL and NEWT groups?”

“Because I don’t want him making an effing mess of them” Severus said. “I won’t help him out for long – just ease him in. I’d be doing the same for you, if you needed it; it just so happens I know you won’t. You’re a stickler for perfection. Harry’s more … free-wheeling. That’s fine when you’ve been round the syllabus a few times. But in the early days? No, it needs attention to detail – and Harry’s not famous for that. And I’m only helping him with the seniors. Don’t want the juniors under my feet.”

“You make it sound as though you can’t stand children” Filius said. “Were it true, that would be bizarre for a Head of a school.”

“What do you mean, were it true?” Severus asked.

“In a way I’m a bit the same” Hermione said ruefully to the little Charms professor. “I hope I don’t have too many Fred and Georges. I think I’ll be calling on Argus for the manacles.”

Filius laughed nervously and summoned his coffee cup. Severus certainly had had his moments over the years, but he had never hurt a student, except perhaps with words. And Hermione? She seemed too kind to be like him, and yet in several important respects she was very like him.

***

Barnabas Cuffe, the Daily Prophet editor, arrived punctually just before one, by Portkey to the back garden. Jotto showed him to the sitting room and Severus poured the drinks.

“Scotch?”

“Very civil, Professor. Thanks.”

“Do have a seat. Lunch won’t be long … We’ll, here’s to ‘civility’.”

“Ah” said Barnabas, taking a small sip, “I feel a request coming on. A plea for the Prophet to go easy.”

“What would be wrong with that?”

“If you’re seen dining out with a pretty young witch, what would be the harm in saying so?”

“Depends how you say it.”

“Facts; we just report facts. You were seen at The Catherine Wheel with Professor Granger. She looked radiant – she’ll love the photo.”

“Did Miss Skeeter’s side-kick take it?”

“Rita? No. She’s got another project on the go. Nothing to do with you. But we are interested in you. Let us do a proper piece. Interview you. I’ll send someone nice. Morag McAllister – she’s not doing foreign any more. How about her? Or Cedrella Mockridge – she’s nice. Freelances. Anxious to write you up from the woman’s angle. Witch Weekly are after her doing a feature. You’ll get nothing but adoration from Cedrella! Tell you what, how about Tuesday the twenty-eighth? She could be here at nine on the dot. Get it all done in less than an hour. She’s a quick worker.”

“Lunch ready, master” Jotto sang out softly, and the two wizards moved to the dining room, Cuffe’s eyes narrowing as he looked at Jotto’s clothes.

*

It was two o’clock by the time Honor Wilbin walked up from the laboratories, still clutching the note the receptionist had sent – There is a witch by the name of Hermione Granger asking to see you and waiting in the Foyer. Severus had explained that Honor was beanpole-thin, and had shown her again the one photograph he had – the one of Honor and Gloria on holiday together. He had also said that in those days Honor’s hair was worn cropped short but when he last saw her it was longer. Hermione recognised her at once. She also recognised someone else – walking out along the side of the foyer were a cluster of witches one of whom looked like Septima Vector. Her sister Matilda seemed to be supporting her. Hermione toyed with the idea of calling out hello but the group looked sad and preoccupied.

Suddenly a voice said “Would you be Miss Granger?”

“Err, call me Hermione” Hermione said. “You must be Mrs Wilbin.”

“I’ve heard Doon talk about you. You’re a family friend.”

Hermione said she was and that it was through Severus that she had got to know Doon and Nadine. “Thanks for seeing me” she added. “I won’t keep you long, but … where could we go for a quick, quiet word? The Fwooper perhaps?”

Honor warned her that The Fwooper and Quill was not what it used to be. She had somewhere more private in mind. “A Muggle café” she said. “Don’t drink the coffee – it’s foul. The hot chocolate’s passable.”

As they walked to the back-street café Hermione said “I believe I just saw Septima Vector.”

“You know her?”

“I’m taking over her job. We’re doing half and half this year, then she retires.”

Honor halted, glancing up and down the shabby road. “We’re not supposed to discuss cases” she said, “But, as you know her – Professor Vector’s sister just died.”

“Oh, no!”

“Well, she was the eldest. Agnes Rastwold. She almost made the six-score-and-four.”

She turned and walked on, leaving Hermione to ponder the ‘six-score-and-four’. It was a saying – a yardstick by which wizard lifespan was judged, the equivalent of ‘threescore years and ten’ in the Muggle world. Hermione was still thinking about it when a shop door rattled open and she found herself in a tatty café. It had formica tables fixed end on to the walls and greasy-looking black vinyl benches, some of which had worked loose and squeaked as they sat down.

A waitress took their order and when she shuffled away, having set down two mugs of chocolate, Honor said “I think I know what this is about. I suppose Sev’s complaining I’m ignoring him?”

“Well he’s not complaining, but he really does want to talk to you.”

“But the point is I don’t want to talk to him. After all this time what is there to say?”

“He wants to ask about a mutual friend – from the past.”

“Who?”

“Olive Green. The lady who became Aurora Sinistra–”

“Now hold it right there.” Honor was annoyed. “I knew this’d be it” she sighed. “You can tell him from me it’s pointless. I followed the trial. Every itty bit. I know what he said.”

“He spoke the truth” Hermione assured her. “I heard Olive say what her real name was, under Veritaserum.”

“You just don’t get it, do you” Honor said, sounding sad that Hermione could be so mistaken. “I know you don’t mean any harm, but please take a step back and think. Once upon a time Sev and I were close. It didn’t last. I’ve got a husband and a daughter, and a very demanding job. I don’t have time for wild goose chases.”

“If you’d really followed the trial you’d know just how treacherous Olive Green was” Hermione said firmly. “She even poisoned Severus.”

“Poisoned? Poisoned Severus? Severus is a potioneer!” Honor sneered. “He’s being canvassed to join The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. You can’t poison a man like Severus. Okay, he acted a bit odd and now finds it convenient to make out he was being poisoned. Well all I can say is in the old days he was just the same. Just as odd.”

“Odd? What do you mean? He isn’t–”

“Cagey. Slippery. Self-absorbed. Severus always did whatever Severus wanted. And he may not’ve come out with many bare faced lies, but he rarely told the truth. Not to me – not the full truth.”

It was difficult – Honor was right, and yet she was wrong. How could Hermione make her understand? She pointed out to Honor that she was the one who had isolated the poison. She admitted they didn’t know what it was and were desperate for clues.

“You don’t know what it is, and yet you’re convinced it’s a poison?” Honor said, and it was clear that she thought they were being less than rational.

“Sev tried it out last winter. It’s got befuddlement and confunding properties. It makes people hot-headed.”

“Oh yeah, he was hot-headed! And he didn’t have an Olive in his life back then. She’d already disappeared.”

“Err, you can’t actually know that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

With patience and polite logic Hermione advanced the argument that if Severus was keeping things from Honor she couldn’t have known who else was in his life. Listening carefully Honor showed the first sign of doubt. It caused an awkward silence during which they sipped their chocolate.

“Nope; I don’t like it” Honor concluded, talking more to her cup than out loud. “I concede the point, but I still don’t see a reason to bother now. The Olive I knew is dead. Aurora Sinistra’s real name might well have been Olive Green – she was a different Olive Green. Sinistra was a Death Eater. Like Malfoy. And like Severus. I can tell you, hand-on-heart, no way would Olive Green have been part of that. She hated Malfoy, and warned me what a nasty piece of work he was. But Sev and Malfoy were hugger-mugger, and he’d never hear a word against him. I begged him to split with Malfoy. I begged him to take care. Would he listen? Oh, no – not Sev. As I said he always did as he pleased.”

She was still rather cross but her face had softened. Hermione realised that Honor had been very fond of Severus, but Honor insisted again that it was a chapter closed long ago.

“I know that for you these sorts of Auror-style hunts are exciting” she added, “But I reckon you’re far more smitten by Sev than I was. Be careful of that. Don’t get carried away. Don’t get serious about him. He’ll break your heart.”

“Is that … how it happened…?”

“No! What? Him and me? He didn’t break my heart – never got to that. I see you don’t get what I mean. The thing was – there was no getting serious with the Severus I knew” she said. “It was like knowing half a person. He seemed to be there for me half the time. And the rest? There was obviously a lot going on elsewhere that he didn’t want me to know.”

“That must be when he joined the Death Eaters?”

“On reflection I’m sure it was – I didn’t know at the time. But there came a point … I remember saying ‘You’ve done what Regulus has done’ and he didn’t deny it.”

“You knew Regulus Black?”

“We were friends” said Honor. “And neighbours. That’s how I knew of Mr Snape’s Wiltshire shenanigans. Regulus was a relative of Malfoy. Regulus and I lived in North London, and even Sev lived not far away. Near here actually; handy for the hospital. Did he tell you he was a Healer? And did he tell you why he left?”

“Sort of; yes” Hermione said guardedly. “I would say I know pretty well all about it.”

“Then you’re very honoured.” Honor was surprised at how frank Severus had been and was wondering if he’d held much back. “He wouldn’t talk about any of that; not to me he wouldn’t” she said. “And he wouldn’t ditch Malfoy – ignored all my pleading. And that’s what I say in defence of the Olive I knew – she, bless her heart, had the goodness to speak the truth about the Malfoys. That served as a warning to anyone who would listen.”

“How did she know so much about them? Was she a friend? Or a neighbour? Or related?”

“Definitely not. You don’t need to be a buddy of Malfoy’s to know what he’s like. Come on – you know that. Wasn’t his darling little boy at school with you?”

“Well … yes.”

“There we are then. Father and son; they’re cast in the same mould.”

“You know Draco?”

“I work at the hospital. I see everyone. Anyone with two Knut’s-worth of judgement knows what the Malfoys are. Olive and the Malfoys – different sides; Sev and the Malfoys – same side. And now the world says Sev’s the good guy and Olive was bad. What’s going on, I ask myself. Be on your guard. Be sure, if you must get involved, that Severus has genuinely changed.”

Hermione wondered whether to tell her about Nobody’s Perfect, and how Lucius paved the way for Severus’s new career. She decided Severus would have to be the one to explain about that.

“I think there has been a major change” she said softly. “I will admit he’s a bit special to me and therefore I’m wanting him to be on the right side. But I can judge evidence too. Harry and I relied on him totally – he was our support in the most dire circumstances. Maybe you knew him too young.”

Honor agreed that was possible. “I visited him at Hogwarts” she said. “Twice. I got the impression that he hated children. Couldn’t understand why he’d gone there.”

Hermione nodded, wondering how to phrase her next revelation. “I actually think that’s fair comment” she said. “When you have to deal with children en masse – first-years and second-years – even I find it has its moments. As I said, starting next September I’ll be teaching; from the third year. And Sev won’t be teaching at all except for bits and pieces in NEWT classes. I think that will work well. Idiot second-years playing with cauldrons used to drive him to distraction. Hate them? I don’t know if he hated them, but he didn’t enjoy being responsible for a classroom full of youngsters. Especially ones that didn’t want to be there. You didn’t send your children to Hogwarts.”

“No. My girl’s at Hawby Towers.”

“Where Emmeline’s son went?”

“You know Emmeline Vance?”

“Of course” said Hermione. “Look, please – one last plea. Please come and talk to Severus – just see him, you’ll see a changed man. It needn’t take long – lunch, or just over a cup of coffee like this. He’ll see you anytime, anywhere – you just say–”

“And it really won’t achieve anything” Honor said, drawing the conversation to a close. “Can’t you grasp this – Sinistra is dead! Dead, dead, dead! And the Olive I knew died years ago; along with Cheryl Stevens – another school friend. I actually worked with Cheryl. Those poor girls were victims of the Dark Side, not part of it. Cheryl was a Muggle-born. Slytherin Muggle-born. Very clever one too! And guess who used to give her a hard time – Lucius Malfoy. And guess who used to keep her spirits up when she was down – Olive Green. Olive didn’t have a shred of pure-blood disdain. That’s why Malfoy and Narcissa and Alecto snubbed her. I’ve said it all now, Miss Granger. I’m all talked out. Just go and remind Severus of those hard truths and maybe this time they’ll sink in. Give him my regards and say that’s all I can do…”

Chapter 3: Softly, Softly Catchee Monkey

17th to 24th July 1998

By the time Hermione got back to Lempaura Barnabas Cuffe had gone and Severus was not in the best of spirits. He knew he would have to permit an interview; it was unrealistic to expect anything else. He was sad to hear of the death of yet another Vector sister.

“I think that leaves four” he said. “Emily, Athene, Matilda and Septima. I’ll call on Septima – ‘out of the blue’ – ask how she is. Then I’ll be able to give my condolences. Now tell me what Mrs Wilbin had to say.”

Hermione’s near-verbatim account of her conversation with Honor put Severus in an even worse mood. “Honor’s wrong” he said grimly. “ ‘Olive was a naughty girl – she got caught and punished’ – Sinistra’s very own words. That Olive Green was the Olive Green. She’s as wrong about Olive as she is about Cheryl!”

“I messed it up” Hermione said, beginning to see flaws in the way she had handled the interview. “I didn’t’ think to say that. I’m sorry.”

“This mess is not of your making” Severus told her, angry with himself.

“What made you say she’s wrong about Cheryl?” Hermione asked. “Is there something about Cheryl you’re keeping to yourself? There is, isn’t there. Honor was right, then, about you keeping things from her.”

Severus got up and walked around the sitting room, thinking very fast. He stood by the window fiddling with the window catch. He knew he would have to make an admission – he couldn’t keep too much from Hermione. “She - did - have - just - cause; yes” he said, sounding as though each word was wrung from him. “I suppose I did keep back quite a lot. It was the time of my joining the Dark Side. But what you know, and what Honor does not know, is not only why I was sacked from St Mungo’s but that Lucius rescued me. He was a good friend in those days.”

“And Cheryl?”

“That is a secret I swore to keep. If I am given permission to break it, you will be the first to know. It doesn’t impinge on what we’re trying to find out. But Honor – giver her her due, was right about me – I did hide things. Now I’m reaping what I’ve sown. You won’t let me fall into the same trap, will you.”

“Don’t try swinging the responsibly onto me” Hermione warned him. “But if I think you’re in danger of it I’ll soon let you know. This is the very reason why you’re taking me to Spinner’s End – no more secrets! Let the real Severus Snape into the light – the light won’t blind him.”

“But the light will expose him. What if his Hermione hates what she sees?”

Hermione went over to him and nestled against his arm. “Trust me” she said. “Just trust me. Let’s do Spinner’s End soon. And in return I’ll do that broom ride to Coombe and Malden. We’ll make time at the weekend. But no burglaries! We just fly around and look. The Headmaster of Hogwarts should not be breaking into houses. Nor encouraging his Defence teacher to aid and abet him! … Now” she added with a return to what Harry sometimes called her McGonagall side, “How about we start on a family tree of the Greens and Grunwalds?”

“How about we cut the lawn with nail clippers? It would be marginally less dull.”

“Family trees are not dull and they can be useful. We know the last twigs – Axel and Olive. And we know she was related to two founders, so that gives us the roots. We’ve kind of got the two ends.”

Severus thought it a crazy idea. “It’s impossible” he insisted. “It’ll cover a thousand years. You try, if you like. But as like as not it’ll be too hard to work out – even for star pupil Miss Granger.”

Hermione was not to be thwarted and told him that star pupil Miss Granger would do her best with it. “And you’ll have to help a bit – later” she said, “When you’ve got the archives open to you. You can let me have the names of Olive’s parents. And during next term we might be able to trace further back.”

“I doubt it.” He was shaking his head and looking sceptical. “Axel was a Durmstrang student; I’m sure he was. It’s possible that none of Olive’s family were at Hogwarts. Dumbledore says there were no Grunwalds that he can remember. No. This might mean searches in other countries.”

“Well, what if it does? You think you’ll have to go abroad anyway, next summer – for help with tracing that poison. Perhaps we could do two lots of investigations.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. He always liked the fact that Hermione never thought any job impossible. “Yes, perhaps we could” he said. “I wish the research didn’t have to wait a year. I wish Olympe had got in touch. I need her to smooth my path to the other magical schools. I don’t know the new Head of Durmstrang, and I’d never heard of the school Sinistra said she went to. Minerva said it was Instituto Tortevalla; a little place on the Franco-Spanish border.”

“Nice place for a holiday. Pity we haven’t time now.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well. I might need a new triumph next year. When the world knows what a bad Headmaster I am.”

“They’ll know all too soon if you get caught for house-breaking” Hermione said sarcastically. Then she remembered what Honor had said about the Society of Extraordinary Potioneers. “Hey, Honor said you’ve been approached by that Potioneers’ Society. Are you going to join?”

Severus half-shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t see much point” he said. “All they do is dine out once a quarter. I might. It might be worth it. But it’ll be bottom of the list; running Hogwarts has to come first. You’re right; I’ve got to behave with more caution. From now on I’m not going to put a foot wrong. So when this wretched reporter-witch turns up she’ll find new-style Severus raring to go. I just hope she’ll believe in him.”

“Cedrella Mockridge?” Hermione said. “She’s seeing Harry too. Mocking Mockridge. She’s doing him the day before his birthday.”

Hermione left after dinner, but with a promise to make a long stopover the following weekend so that they could make the trips to New Malden and to Snarebeck. The night turned hot and humid, and Severus kept waking, finally falling into a troubled sleep at around four o’clock. He dreamed that he was carrying a bag of bones and was looking for a place to dump them. He was worried that the police would find his DNA on them and link him to a crime. Finally he deposited them outside the gates of a disused factory in Putney Bridge Road.

But I’ve never been to Putney Bridge Road, he said to himself as he stood in the shower next morning. And DNA? Deoxy? … Deoxy-ribo-nucleic acid. Well done, Severus – now explain what it is. Not a hope! Lucky then, that the Muggle police would have a hard time catching you, even if they had cause to.

He skipped breakfast, making do with grapefruit juice; and decided to visit Wychenden Hall. There was so much Honor didn’t know, and Cheryl Stevens’ re-emergence as Charmian Steel was a very big part of it. He suspected Charmian was also a major part of Olive’s re-emergence, and felt sad that he could not share this with Hermione. Or at least, not yet.

He was pleased to discover he could Apparate accurately to the lane that ran into Wychelm Woods. It was years since he had last been to Wychenden Hall, but except that the bushes looked a little taller the house didn’t look much different. It was a few minutes past ten when he glided up the lane. He wondered if he had left it too late; if Charmian would already be out. But a silver Mercedes sports was parked tonneau-exposed on the gravel, and through an open window he could hear voices. Taking cover behind a fir tree he waited to see what would happen.

With a sound of sticking paint the front door squeaked open and a man appeared. His clothes spoke of evening – a bow tie was draped around his neck, and a dinner jacket folded over an arm. He kissed Charmian and mumbled something about RB’s on Saturday night. She stood on the top step watching him go, lifting each foot alternately off the stone. She looked cold, her arms were folded tightly around her towelling tracksuit. “See yer” she called, waving her hand as he started the car.

He gave a lazy wave of goodbye and sped away. When Severus looked back the door had closed. He sprinted forward and pressed the bell.

“Forgotten some’ingh? Oh! Err–” Charmian looked thrown off balance.

“Good morning, Charmian” Severus said smoothly.

“Err … Hi … Err …

“May I come in?”

“Yeah, okay. Not long. I’m going out.” She didn’t look as though she was going out – she looked naked under the tracksuit and the bare feet were not ready for out. “Well, d’yer wanna sit down?”

“Actually no” he decided. “If you don’t mind I’d rather we went out. Could we perhaps take a stroll in the woods?”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I assure you – no tricks – I just want somewhere we won’t be overheard. And I thought a stroll would be conducive to conversation.” She still looked highly suspicious so he made a further offer. “Look; here’s my wand” he said gently. “You carry it. Now I’m unarmed. What more can I do?”

“Blimey!” Genuinely shocked, Charmian took the wand and examined it. “I remember this” she said. “Chinese circles. Ebony, right? “Nah; you keep it. Okay, I’ll trust yer. Just gimme a sec to get me shoes.”

They walked slowly for the first ten minutes, and without conversation. Numerous opening gambits ran through his head but he didn’t want to antagonise her; and he most certainly didn’t want to frighten her, even though it would be fun.

“I got your owls” she said at last.

“I didn’t get yours” he countered.

She let out a long sad sigh and said “I knew you wouldn’t take the hint.”

“It’s too important, Charmian” he said. “You know what I’m going to ask.”

“Don’t expect me to admit to anything.”

“This is all off the record. I just need to know – in strict confidence – any information you can give me about Olive Green.”

Charmian stopped, turning on him. “It can’t be off the record, can it” she said. “I followed your trial in the papers. Death Eater … Spy… They examined your thoughts! Your memories! Who’s to say they won’t need to do that another time? Who’s to say you won’t … you won’t ever… You don’t know all that’s in the future. At some point you might need to say more.”

“If I give you my word?”

“What’s it worth? The promise of a spy.”

She said it bitterly. She seemed very angry but perhaps it was because a thistle had worked its way under the cuff-end of her trousers. Stamping it into the earth she set off again, not fast but clearly not caring whether he stayed with her or not.

“Well, all this points to the fact that you know something worth hearing, doesn’t it” he said coldly as he followed the white trainers thumping through the leaf mould. “Let me make it easy for you. Ah … back in nineteen-sixty – seven? – eight? old and wise Olive befriended little first-year Cheryl. Nice Olive was one of the few Slytherin girls who would deign to speak to a–”

“–Mudblood! Yeah … Delia too; she was okay.”

Severus was thinking back again, picturing once more the common room and the coven of witches as he remembered them from his first year in nineteen-seventy – Olive and Charmian (or rather Cheryl as she was then), and Honor. And Delia. But not Lucinda and Gundrada; and certainly not Bellatrix, nor Narcissa, nor Alecto – they were part of a different set. He decided to play this interview gently with Charmian; to keep his voice soft and low like a friendly psychiatrist. “She befriended you” he said kindly. “Why?”

“Well it wasn’t like that, for a start!” Charmian snapped, determined to prove him wrong. “It wasn’t ‘hello, how are you, don’t mind we think you’re scum – I’m really nice so let’s be mates’.”

“Then tell me how it was. You got chatting. Girly giggles about girly stuff? I don’t remember you being part of Gundrada’s crowd, but you were part of Olive’s crowd – in a kind of a way.”

Charmian slowed almost to a stop, finally giving it proper attention. Eventually she was forced to draw a conclusion. “I think it was because Olive was on good terms with near enough everyone” she said. “She didn’t seem to like Narcissa Black, but she didn’t go out of her way to make enemies. She wasn’t even fussed about only talking to us in the House. McGonagall made her take care of Lily Evans when Lily got started. She showed her how to get to Diagon Alley, and how to get her school stuff.”

“Who did that for you?”

“Andromeda Black. The Blacks lived nearest me. By a whisker. After that came Honor. I wish it had been Honor. Andromeda was okay, but not that easy to get on with – but at least she spoke to me. Not like Narcissa – stuck-up cow!”

“So you and Andromeda found something to say to one another.”

“Yeah; she had plen’y ter say!” said Charmian. “Mainly about all the wonderful things in ‘her’ world. Dragons, and talking portraits, and Apparating. And Metamorphmagi! She reckoned her great-great-something-or-other – grandmother I think – was a Metamorphmagus. I’d never herda such a thing; but she raved about it.” Charmian turned impassioned blue eyes on him and added “They all did, Sev. They all did in their way. Different hair colour every day, just by thinking it. Better noses; better teeth. They all wanted to change something. Even Gunny, who was stacked like Raquel Welch! That’s what dawned on me; no one – no matter how great-looking – was satisfied with what life had given them. And that’s where I saw a gap in the market.”

“And you discussed all this yearning with Olive.”

Charmian turned and set off at a fast pace, as if she wanted to smack the ground for letting this interview happen. “Not to begin with, no” she said. “She saw me in Flourish ’n’ Blotts, one day; looking at the medical books. She’d left school by then and was at the Ministry. Magical Creatures. And she’d got bitten by a rat – a nasty bite in the fleshy part of the finger. It scared her – it went poisonous for a while. Took a lot of healing.”

“Norroveg’s Bane?”

“Oh, yeah; they’d done all that. All the standard stuff. I think that’s what’d got her rattled – that the standard potion wasn’t a clear-cut success.”

“She was rattled?”

“I’d say she was. Partly. I don’t think it was just a made-up thing for talking about bodies and Healing.”

“But that’s what you used to talk about – bodies and Healing.”

“Most of the time, we did. We’d meet for a coffee – here, and there – all sorts of places. Muggle places. She didn’t mind my world – she was at ease in it.”

“She didn’t want your meetings too easily observed – by our kind.”

Charmian slowed to catch her breath, knowing he was right. “I suppose not” she said, “Because finally she came out with the proposition. The big offer.”

“What she was really after?”

“Yes.”

“Then you do realise she must have engineered those meetings.”

“Yeah. I did get to think that, yeah. We’d bumped into each other once or twice, mainly while I was shopping. Then we got to planning the get-togethers because they were nice. It was nice to chat. I was battling through my NEWTs and preparing for St Mungo’s. She’d ask about my studies and my career. We usually talked careers – mine – hers – more of mine. Always more of ‘me’ than of ‘her’ – Olive always put you centre stage. She was selfless.”

“She was an actress.”

Charmian didn’t seem to hear that, or perhaps she didn’t want to. “Well, finally she spilt the beans” she said. “Azkaban had wrecked her looks. She hated it and wanted it put right. And she could pay!”

“You must have known she’d simply been courting you.”

“No, it didn’t feel like that” she insisted to him, shaking her head very definitely. “It really didn’t feel like that. It felt like she felt ashamed of being vain, but she’d come to the conclusion I could help her. Confidentially. But would I help – that’s what she wondered. There was no question of could I do it, it was would I do it? She trusted me to be able to do it. That was very flattering. You! You know how flattering that is! You know. You can do it too!”

“You didn’t simply put her back to how she had looked.”

“No. Like I said – who’s satisfied with what fate’s given them? Olive decided on a complete new look. Who wouldn’t?”

“Decided? Or had decided?”

Charmian’s forehead puckered in confusion. “Whaddyer mean?”

“Had she already decided on a radically different look, or did she come to decide on a radically different look?”

“Err…?” The frown deepened. “Dunno. Bit of both.”

“Didn’t you think this radical plan at all suspicious?”

“No. It’s what any woman ’d want. Women are brought up with the idea that how they look matters. It’s not the same for men – men are taught to focus more on earning power, and strength, and maybe sporting ability. Come on, Sev; you remember the customers! How many wizards did we have, compared to witches? Not many. And most of them were gross old farts with beer bellies. How many witches did you treat who looked pretty good already?”

Severus had to admit there was some truth in this, but he thought Charmian’s spirited tirade was largely defensive. Nevertheless he nodded, accepting it in part.

“And it’s the customer’s choice” Charmian added. “The customer pays; the customer chooses. She wanted different. So what? I was taken with the challenge of it.”

“She charmed you.”

“We all like our skills appreciated. Olive was tall, but now she wanted short – under five-and-a half feet. A big challenge.”

“An unusual choice.”

“Didn’t bother me. She’d been blonde; now she wanted dark hair; but with highlights, so I created strands of gold. She wanted eyes to match, and I gave them golden flecks. She wanted perfect skin – that was very important – flawless, unblemished skin – no bite mark from a rat. No prison pallor.”

“Where exactly was the bite?”

“Where a wedding ring would sit. The disease was finally beaten. It was just a scar. I got rid of it. Easy.”

“And it went? You’re sure?”

This angered Charmian. “Of course I am!” she flared. “Do you think I don’t know my job? I knew every inch of Olive’s surface. She wanted an all-year-round suntanned look without the tedium of lying in the sun. So I gave her olive skin – thought that was funny – Olive / olive skin. Get it?”

“Hilarious. So apart from that scar – which you removed – olive Olive was outwardly perfect. Unmarked.”

“You must have seen for yourself.”

“Not much of her” Severus said with a cynical leer. “Aurora didn’t expose herself. Nor did she create any pretexts for doing so; she was fanatical about not sunbathing, et cetera. I thought, latterly, it was because of the Mark.”

Charmian assumed correctly what he meant. “When you say mark, you mean Mark.”

He nodded, trying to contain his excitement at what might come next. He knew now that Axel didn’t have the Mark, but what about Olive?

“Olive Green did not have the Dark Mark” Charmian said very definitely. “If she’d had that kind of magical branding I’d have had to refuse the skin-work. Certainly at that stage in my life. But even now I wouldn’t have the courage to try to obscure a Dark Mark. I’d consider removing one, but it would mean deep surgery, and permanent disfigurement. Like a patched-up Splinch.”

“Have you ever been asked to do that?”

“What, remove a Mark? Yeah; once” she said, sounding half scared and half proud of it. “I wasn’t asked directly, but ‘Nobody’s Perfect’s’ been approached. Corrine came to me, all in a tizzy. Would we do it? Could I do it? When she went back and told him we’d have to near enough carve his arm to the bone he changed his mind. I think he thought we could surface-treat it – make it invisible.”

“Did he give his name?”

“He did. And you’ll know it. Igor Karkaroff…”

There was little more that Charmian could add to Severus’s knowledge of Olive Green. They had run out of forest and she was stumping up the hill beyond. It shielded them from the sun and its breeziness was a blessing because the day was hotting up. Near to the top she stopped, watching him struggling up behind her. “You’re getting outta condition.”

“I am not!” He stopped too, at that point, and looked around. The pasture was poor, the sheep rarely strayed to the top. “What’s over there?”

“Criggion hill. The Severn runs beyond it.”

“And there?”

“Welshpool. Wales over there. Wasser time? We might see a train.”

“Let’s sit down.”

“I don’ wanna get grubby.”

Severus laughed at her. “You can take people apart and put them together, but you can’t do a few cleaning spells?”

He sat down, spreading out his robe as far as it would go. Charmian placed her neat behind on a corner of it and thanked him. “Look! There it goes” she said, pointing.

They watched the tiny train rattling by miles to the north, pushing west to east along a track they could not see. Compared to the Hogwarts Express the carriages were garish. And the sound was mechanical; not like the panting breath of a steam locomotive.

“It has no soul” he sighed.

“Don’t you like Muggle trains?”

“I don’t like anything Muggle. Old telephones are alright. And radios. I like radios – fretwork cases.”

Charmian wasn’t listening. She was watching the train. “Shrewsbury soon” she said. “Then Wellington; or it might go north – Wrekin ’n’ Chester. Did you know that from there it’s only a stone’s throw to Birkenhead?”

“Is that significant?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen the Mersey. What a river that is! You can get the tunnel to Liverpool. And from Liverpool you can get anywhere.”

“Not now you can’t. You’re confusing it with romantic ideas about people setting sail for the west.”

“They did. In their thousands.”

“Sounds like you’re planning to do the same” he said, surprised. “What about your old mum? Would she make the journey?”

“She’s gone now. I’m a free agent. Last winter saw the end of me mum. She died about the time your case was being wrapped up.”

“Has England grown too small for you?”

“Maybe. Dunno.”

“Perhaps you should marry that handsome young gentleman” he suggested. “A line of nappies would anchor you here.”

“Gary? Marry Gary?” Charmian laughed and shook her head. “Nah. He’s just a bloke – nice bloke I can have a laugh an’ a bonk with. There are lots of Garys. They’d be Garys anywhere.”

Severus didn’t know whether to be shocked or admire her. “Well if you’re planning to ‘Gary’ your way around the world perhaps we’d better finish our Olive discussion” he said.

“Not much more to say. I worked on Olive at home.”

“Her home?”

“Yes. Her dad’s house. Posh place. A name instead of a number – Coomb something. I said to myself ‘I’ll have that one day – a house with no number’. Her dad paid me. Old guy.”

“What was his name?”

“Mister Green.”

“Very funny.”

“Well it was! I only knew him as Mr Green – Mr R Green.”

“And the mother?”

“There wasn’t a mother. Just father and daughter.”

“Mr R Green” Severus repeated, thinking. “Robert? Reginald?”

“I don’t know, Sev. Ohrr Christ; let’s think.” She bent her head and cupped her hands over her ears as if to blot out distractions. “Olive was Olive Sinope Green. That’s all I know” she said. “You can’t be right about her – you just can’t. It never bothered her I was Muggle. They paid good gold for the treatments – paid on the dot, whatever I charged, no quibbling. And she wasn’t Marked!”

Severus eyed her carefully, realising that whatever bits Charmian had lied about or glossed over or recast in a favourable light, this last part of her story was absolutely true.

“Sorry I didn’t answer your owls” she added finally, sounding guilty. “I still get twitchy about privacy. If it gets to be common knowledge I am who I am it might drive off the pure-bloods. There the best payers.”

“And in America they wouldn’t care?”

“They might not. They don’t have our class system.”

“Maybe they have their own.”

“Maybe. But it won’t be ours!” Charmian said with relish. “I wouldn’t need a Bertie to front for me, with his cut-glass accent and pedigree. And over there they wouldn’t be so hesitant about cosmetic treatments. Plen’y of money there too; could be a whole new market. A whole new life. A twenty-first century life.”

As Severus set off for home he realised that Charmian had truly outgrown England and that in a year or two she might have moved on. It was sad; he didn’t like changes. Spinner’s End would be going soon as well; Muggles would pull it down to redevelop that corner of Snarebeck. They had already made him an offer to purchase his houses. He would take every penny going, and yet he didn’t quite know what to do with the money. He had lived for a year without pay but once he started receiving his Head’s salary he would be wealthier than ever before. Hermione seemed oblivious of it. She never spent much – just robes for work, to start her off in her new job. His annual wine bill was likely to be higher than her clothing expenditure. Hermione was just about as opposite to Charmian as it was possible to be.

*

At dinner, almost a week later, Severus recounted the details of his visit to Septima, and gave a blow-by-blow account of his exchanges with Charmian. He also told Hermione the full truth about Nobody’s Perfect, and about its inception by a Slytherin student called Cheryl Stevens. Sharing the truth with Hermione was a strangely pleasant, unburdening experience. She was captivated by the history of Charmian, and by her involvement with Olive.

“Another one who believes in Olive’s goodness!” she concluded. “Olive Sinope. Her middle name reminds me of Voldemort’s mother. Curiously we don’t know much about Olive except that she was imprisoned, released, went back to school, left, and changed her appearance and her name.”

“And worked at the Ministry, and got bitten by a rat. And that all supposes that Charmian told me the truth.”

“And that Olive told her the truth.”

Severus nodded wisely and said “We know Sinistra was a liar; she was as twisted as a corkscrew. As for Charmian, I believe that by and large she told me the truth as she understands it. I could not honestly expect her to spell out that she undertook an undocumented ‘complete works’. That’s highly illegal, and she’s worried enough that I’ll use what I know against her. That’s why I didn’t use Legilimency. I didn’t see the point of strong arm tactics; not if softly-softly was going to work.”

“I notice you offered up your wand. That was risky.”

“A gamble that paid off. It won her trust. You have to remember that I know Charmian quite well.”

“Then you must believe her to be fundamentally good” Hermione concluded. “Sneaky maybe, but good underneath.”

Severus agreed that she was. “She cuts a few corners, and she’s very self-absorbed” he said, “But she’s no Bellatrix. Nor even a Skeeter. Charmian is simply out for herself, but she has no ambitions to be ruler of the world so she’d never turn to the bad. And she took great care of her mother – she’s kind to those who really matter to her. She’s dragged herself up from the bottom of the heap and made something of her life. Not an over-generous employer, but that’s because she likes to employ pure-bloods and get a bit of ‘own back’. In fact the more I talk about her, the more I sympathise.”

“Is she like you?”

He agreed there were similarities. Cutting corners – shortcuts to success – would have appealed to him too; and the need to extract revenge he could also understand. But that was where the similarities ended. Charmian was no bookworm; books and study were ever a means to an end. “The nightclubs of Chester are the high spots of her life” he said.

“Well, thanks to her there’s a little more to add to Olive’s file” said Hermione. “And that reporter-woman mustn’t see it. Are you going to keep it here while you’re having your interview, so that the file and the reporter are at different locations?”

It seemed a good idea but eventually he said “I think I’d rather move all the secret papers to the school, providing I can have access to the Tower. I’ll owl Minerva; perhaps see her for a handover meeting. The Head’s office has been unoccupied for a fortnight so if she forgot anything she’s had ample time to retrieve it.”

“What will you do about passwords?”

“On the door? Probably keep Minerva’s if it’s something sensible. But I’ll put a password on the filing cabinet” he promised. “It’ll be ‘innocence’. I’ll have the papers locked away before that press woman arrives.”

Chapter 4: The Castle’s Acknowledgement

28th July to 1st August 1998

It was an ominously thundery morning when Cedrella Mockridge arrived. She was slightly early for her appointment which had been moved to half-past nine, and arrived alone, carrying a camera and a Gladstone bag. Jotto showed her in. Severus shooed the maintenance elves out of the office and they left, taking with them swatches of velvet and carpet. Then he greeted Cedrella but couldn’t help casting a wary eye at the camera. “No photographer?” he asked.

“I’m freelance. I do my own. You won’t mind will you?”

She had a long list of questions and he didn’t want to answer every one.

“Is all this really necessary?”

“Well, I wanted to do an in-depth piece for Witch Weekly” she said. “Tell you what – how about if I leave that list with you, to think over, and collect the answers at a later date? The Prophet want a quick overview, but the magazine piece needs more working up. I don’t see any need to rush this.”

“I’d like to see your final draft.”

“Oooh dear – bit tricky for The Prophet” she said, looking doubtful. “I don’t work for them you see. They’ll just buy my notes. But I could certainly let you see the draft for the Witch Weekly piece because I’ll produce the whole article for them. It’ll go out under my name. Err, does that mean you’ll let me have a follow-up to today’s meeting?”

“Possibly. Is this how you’re handling the article on Professor Potter?”

“If he wants – yes” Cedrella said. “I’m always happy to do a follow-up. No point in rushing things.”

After some bartering they agreed a way forward, and then she proceeded with specific questions, letting her Dicta Quill note the answers, and drinking in every word, weighing him up as she did so. Her deep blue eyes reminded him of Corrine Butler. Finally she wanted photos.

“Can’t that wait until I’ve moved in properly?” he complained. “I’m not in my natural habitat yet.”

“If you wish” she agreed. “Then I’ll definitely need to see you in August. Can we pencil in a date now?”

The article, which appeared in Thursday’s Prophet, was hardly what he’d hoped for. Severus was annoyed.

“It’s not all ‘her’ though, is it” Hermione pointed out. “This is under that McAllister woman’s buy-line. Pomona said she buttonholed her in the greengrocers.”

She sat at the meeting table as Severus continued to stair down at the newspaper.

“It’s not the kind of thing I agreed to” he said angrily.

“Yes, but it’s not that bad. They’ve written far worse about Harry.”

“It makes me look a vain idiot. It mentions you; it links us.”

“We knew they’d use that. And what does it show? You showing me a piece of paper–”

“A photograph.”

“But no one can see it’s a photograph” Hermione said reasonably. “It looks like a piece of paper. It’s not as if they caught us holding hands.”

Severus sank into a chair, reading again the words published under the heading ‘Old Hands Rally to Hogwarts’ New Broom’:

Could ‘Radical’ be the personal motto of the latest Hogwarts incumbent? The Headmaster-in-Waiting, Professor Severus Snape, was at pains to stress it when interviewed this week. Getting to see him proved trickier than raiding Gringotts.

‘He’s a very busy man’, the Deputy Head kept telling us.

What he didn’t disclose was that Snape’s ‘very busyness’ mostly involved sitting for his portrait and being seen at smart restaurants with Junior Arithmancy Professor, Hermione Granger. Pretty eighteen-year-old Professor Granger, pictured below, is one of three startling new appointments at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

When asked how he felt about being the New Broom the famously acerbic one-time Head of Slytherin was uncharacteristically modest.

“Humbled” he said. “I tread in the footsteps of the illustrious. All I can promise is radical thinking, and – I hope – the energy of a man in his prime.”

The only radical thinking so far is Dumbledore’s garnet-and-gold soon to be ousted for emerald, but Snape insists his all-new Hogwarts is about more than just changing the curtains.

“In the fullness of time you can expect additional subjects – such as Law” he said. “And the introduction of cross-curricular project working when my new staff have found their feet. You must allow the staffing plan to settle down.”

To be fair Snape has carried out a reshuffle, but blink and you’d miss it. Dealt into the game are Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. Still in situ are Ravenclaw’s Filius Flitwick as Deputy, Hufflepuff’s Pomona Sprout, Slytherin’s Horace Slughorn, and many other old favourites left undisturbed. Reshuffled but not dealt out is Gryffindor’s Remus Lupin who retains the House headship but swaps Defence for Transfiguration – transformations, it’s rumoured, being one of his strengths.

Professor Sprout, now the only female House Head, must be feeling perplexed at the male/female balance.

“Not at all” she said. “We’ve got 7 wizard teaching staff and 7 witch teaching staff. If you include all staff we’ve got a total of 9 witch to 8 wizard. What’s the problem?”

But what about the House Heads? And what about the traditional Head and Deputy balance?

“You’re asking for Filius to be cast aside after a year? Preposterous and unfair” the Head of Hufflepuff replied. “And why do you think it impossible to run a school with both Head and Deputy being wizard?”

So, Professor, you approve of the new-look Hogwarts?

“Very much so; Professor Snape has my full support” Professor Sprout continued loyally. “But you’ve hardly given us a chance. Come back in a year and then you will see the new shape of Hogwarts.”

We’ll take you up on that, Professor. And for an in-depth look at the New Broom himself don’t miss Cedrella Mockridge’s article in Witch Weekly and Mage Monthly this autumn.

“It’s totally unfair!” Severus groaned. “The whole tone is–”

“But where are the lies?”

“ ‘Eighteen-year-old Professor Granger’ – it makes me sound like some Lothario. And it focuses on how young you are.”

“It’s my exact age. I’m not nineteen for another seven weeks” Hermione said resignedly. “They’re making the most of it.”

“Precisely! They’re making the most of it. ‘Mostly sitting for his portrait and being seen in smart restaurants’.”

“Do you want them to know what you’re really doing?” Hermione asked, giving him the sort of look she usually reserved for Ron and Harry. “Do you want her to tell the readers about your meeting with Charmian, and mine with Honor? Our conversations about investigating Olive Green? Be glad that they’ve picked on this … this … fluff.”

He sighed, knowing that what she said made good sense. When were newspapers ever fair to anyone? Snatching up the questions that Cedrella had left he began to pour over them. “I’ll never be able to answer these” he said. “Not honestly.”

Hermione took them from him, handing him a sheet of parchment and a quill. “I’ll read them out” she said. “You write down the answers. The HONEST answers. Then we’ll go through them and see what we need to tweak.”

“The honest answers?” He sounded uncertain.

“Of course! Don’t tell lies to me.”

Severus turned, looking over to the portraits above his desk. Most were snoozing but Dumbledore gave him a wink.”

“Not tired, Dumbledore?” he asked. “How about visiting one of your friends?”

Dumbledore took out a pocket watch. “I’ll join Elpheas for breakfast” he said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Hermione watched the old Headmaster leave his frame and then murmured “When were you happiest?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When were you happiest? I’ve started. Come on. When were you happiest?”

“Oh. Err…” Severus thought back. When had he been happiest? Not in his pre-Hogwarts days; certainly not! Nor once he began to have run-ins with James and Sirius – that had spoilt his middle years at Hogwarts. And the latter years were all work and exams and disappointments – not being Head Boy; Lily falling for James. And beyond Hogwarts? No, not once he got involved with the Dark Side because there were always too many dangers. They had been exciting years, at times, but never happy years. Finally Severus hit upon the answer and wrote it down – ‘During my first week at Hogwarts’. “Carry on” he said.

“What is your biggest regret?”

Joining the Death Eaters; revealing the prophesy; getting sacked from his first job; even damaging the mind of Felicity Gardiner – there were so many specific things. But was there an underlying theme? He wrote down ‘That I cannot foresee the consequences of my actions’ and bid Hermione continue.

“What do you still want to achieve?”

That was easy – inner peace; to be the hero; to get his own way without always having to fight tooth-and-nail. He wrote ‘Contentment’ and said “Next question”.

“How do you want to be remembered?”

“As the man who brought Slytherin House back into the fold.”

Hermione smiled as he wrote it and when he had finished she said “What is your greatest virtue?”

“Analytical mind.”

“What is your greatest vice?”

“Err, propensity to mistrust–”

“–Inability to commit.”

“That’s not fair, Hermione!”

“No – sorry – I suppose it isn’t now. Okay, propensity to mistrust. But that has been a strength for you, as well, at times … What vice do you find it easiest to forgive?”

“In myself? Everything.”

“In others.”

“Pride. I understand gluttony too, because I love the good things of life, but I have a poor opinion of people whose lack of discipline endangers their health. So, pride. I can always understand it.”

“But not James Potter’s–”

“But I understood Lucius’s, and Narcissa’s; and even Bellatrix’s.”

Hermione shook her head at that. Then she read out “What is your most marked characteristic?”

After a moment’s hesitation he wrote gravitas, then scratched it out and put solemnity.

“What is your greatest fear?”

“Impossible to answer” he said. “Losing the people I love. Losing my life? I fear death; I fear for my own skin. At one time I used to fear that I was nothing but a hollow man. Empty. Nothing inside me. Nothing to offer the world. That did change, though … I don’t know when. I don’t know what I’ll say to this.”

“We’ll come back to it. Next one. What do you value most in a woman?”

“Big–”

“–Be SENSIBLE–”

“–Devotion.”

“What do you value most in a man?”

“Loyalty. No. Critical friend; a friend is always loyal anyway.”

“What do you value about your friends?”

“Tolerance. That’s easy! Are there many more?”

“Just two” Hermione said. “What is your worst defect?”

“Err, we’ve had that. Propensity to mistrust.”

“So we have.”

Hermione looked back and they realised they’d misunderstood question three. Severus changed his answer to ‘anger’ and wrote ‘propensity to mistrust’ in answer to question thirteen.

He raised his eyebrows. “Last one?”

“What is your dream of happiness?”

He chucked the quill down angrily and rubbed his slim fingers over his face. Then he sat back, took a deep breath and answered.

“For you to be my wife. To make a success of this job. To be remembered as a hero. Never to look a fool. I don’t know what I want. I can always say what I don’t want, but rarely can I establish the positive. At one time … I quite probably … wanted to be Lord Voldemort.”

Hermione didn’t flinch; she didn’t even look surprised. “And now you don’t” she said levelly.

“He was never happy” Severus said. “Only in fleeting moments. All too fleeting – and so it would ever be. Voldemort never felt secure. He suffered agonies – physical and emotional. He might have caused them in others, but he was just as much prone to them. If he’d become Master of the World he’d have spent more time worrying about it than enjoying it. Who would want to be like that? I am at my happiest when we are alone together – talking, thinking, sharing a glass of wine, puzzling out a puzzle or arguing over a passage in a book. My dream of happiness revolves around you – your companionship … But I’m not going to write that down. It must remain secret for the present, and that is on your say-so, rather than mine.”

“That’s a small ambition compared to being Master of the World” Hermione said softly.

“Small ambitions are the worthwhile ones” said Severus. “It’s taken me forty years to learn it. Happiness consists of material security and companionship – hearth and home, and a friend to share it with.”

Harry, unsurprisingly, had found the questions easy. They talked it over late that night in Crawford’s Cottage, where Severus insisted on taking them so that he could buy Harry a birthday drink. The little public house was full of walkers; people with backpacks and boots, enjoying a late night beverage before they wandered off and set up camps. There was a variety of accents.

“Aussie” Harry said, listening in. “These are all holiday-makers. Muggles.”

“Well come on; tell us what you said” Hermione whispered.

Some of the answers were the same; Harry too had been happiest in his first few days at Hogwarts. Severus scoffed when he said his greatest virtue was being a tryer.

“I am” Harry insisted. “I didn’t take to academic work like you two did. I had to keep trying – that’s what I mean.”

“And what is your greatest fear?” Severus sneered.

“Letting people down. Letting people get hurt, if I can do something to prevent it.”

Hermione nodded; she felt the same. “I think I was happiest when the Court released Sev” she said. “It certainly wasn’t during our first year at school. I was miserable then, to begin with. I was miserable even at primary school.”

“But you love school.”

“Yes, but that always made me an outsider, Harry. You know, I’m beginning to worry about some of your answers. I hope you haven’t given too much away.”

“Like what?”

“Like what your greatest fear is?”

“Well I’ve been honest. That’s all” Harry said. “I’m not playing politics like Sev.”

“No, well you don’t have a school to run” Hermione reminded him.

Gradually the pub thinned out. The nylon backpacks were swung onto shoulders and carried away. Boots left scuff marks on the floor.

“I’m off home” Harry said finally.

“Grimmauld Place?”

“No; The Burrow, silly” he said to Hermione. “See you there tomorrow. Thanks for the drink, Sev. Makes a change from mead. I’ll see you at the Mantling. Are you back to Suffolk, meanwhile?”

“Yes. Two more nights, and then away until next summer. Happy Birthday for tomorrow” Severus said to him and they watched Harry weave a way through the Muggles and out into the dark.

Moments later Hermione drained her glass, and they too wandered outside, keeping clear of the other customers. The weather was still stormy and they agreed the campers would be in for a wet night. “Let’s hope for a dry day on Saturday” Hermione said. “You don’t want to get your robe wet, walking from the gate.”

*

Friday was tedious without Hermione’s company. Severus spent it rewriting his answers to the reporter’s questions, and thinking over the contents of a letter that arrived from Delia Dirac. Delia apologised for taking so long to get back to him and explained that she’d had been on holiday in Thailand. She’d found Olive Green’s address on a scrap of paper marking a place in her Transfiguration text book:

Coomb Martin, Coney Close, Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey, KT2 7HZ

She also said that Olive’s mother died of a bad reaction to a medicinal potion when Olive was a small child, and Olive never spoke of her family. ‘It was all too painful for her to recall’ Delia continued. ‘Sorry, I can’t remember any of the details about the Greens – I don’t think Olive said anything about them except that the post code was like her grandmother’s name. I joked about her having a post code, and she said it wasn’t something they ever needed to bother about, but if she needed to know it her trick was to think of her grandmother’s name. So I suppose the grandmother must have been Katie.’

Which makes her sound British, Severus decided. If KT meant Katie. And was the death of the mother so painful to recall? Perhaps. But then again wasn’t that a typical strategy for concealing facts? Hadn’t Aurora been expert at concealing facts and twisting the truth?

He skimped dinner and then regretted it, asking Jotto late at night for a cheese and onion sandwich.

“Yes, sir” said Jotto. “I get right away. But Kreacher always say if you eat cheese you dream.”

Kreacher it seemed was right because as a storm raged all night long Severus dreamt vividly. He dreamt that it was noon on August the first and rain poured in a torrent, turning his white robe dark. By the time he got to the main entrance he was black and dripping, and only Filius was white. He knocked, and the doors took ages to open as he stood there trying drying spell after drying spell, with Filius laughing at him. Then Minerva pressed a golden key into his hand which turned to rust, and his white robe was like an iron cloak, heavy and unyielding. ‘By what right do you claim the Headship?’ she asked, and he answered ‘By right of blood, and the power of my wand’ and Rita Skeeter’s green quill smoked as it raced across the parchment, indecent in its haste to capture all…

He woke. The sun was shining. It was a fine, dry morning. The dream was just a dream; the reality lay ahead.

It did look like rain by the time he got to the gates. It had turned humid again and there was a rumble of thunder. Filius and Aberforth were waiting for him – Filius dressed in white and Aberforth in black.

“It’s all sorted in there” Aberforth said. “Everyone’s got their places.”

“And Peeves?”

“The Baron’s got him in a headlock. Less than fifteen minutes to go. Shall we start?”

Severus nodded and Aberforth, legal owner of the castle since the death of his brother, placed his hand on the gates which swung open noiselessly. They walked at a steady rate towards the open front doors, Severus one pace ahead of the others. He felt ridiculous dressed in white. On a chain around his neck hung a pendant in the shape of the Hogwarts crest – a talisman from the governors. He could feel himself sweating where the chain touched his skin. Why did it have to be such a hot day? He looked up at the windows, wondering if he would see Hermione and knowing that she wouldn’t wave, but she would be smiling, hoping all would go well. Drops of rain began to fall, but they were few and they didn’t darken the robe. He wondered what the time was – the doors were still open.

Suddenly they slammed and he could hear the locking-bars crashing into place. It was time.

He waited for quiet, mounted the steps, took out his wand and tapped it three times by the keyhole, and the doors echoed with a deep booming as if a troll had beaten them with a club.

“As the appointed Mantle-Seeker I demand you ‘Open’ ” Severus called.

In a single thunderous crash the locking-bars withdrew and the doors swung wide. The three wizards entered, impressed at the sight that met there eyes. The entrance hall was lined with people; along each side and up the marble staircase stood the governors and staff. Harry stood near the top and Hermione was squeezing in between Hagrid and Wilhelmina. Beyond Harry, clustered across the topmost rows of the stairs were the house-elves and the ghosts. Every occupant of the castle seemed to be there, even Cuthbert Binns had remembered, and stood drifting slightly next to Horace and opposite Firenze who stood at the foot of the stairs. Midway between Cuthbert and Firenze, tucked against the bottom step lay two purple cushions.

Without a word Aberforth left them, sliding his thin frame into the narrowest of spaces next to Pomona and nodding to Minerva as if to say ‘begin’. She stood halfway up the stairs, wearing a purple robe embroidered with keys, her bony hands clasped around a small object from which a cord dangled. Severus and Filius walked forward until they were close to the cushions.

“Who demands entry?” Minerva asked.

“Severus Tobias Snape” said Severus, “Chosen successor to Minerva McGonagall. Professor of Magical Arts. Bearer of the talisman. Mantle-Seeker. Headmaster-in-waiting. And at my side my deputy, Filius Ragnuk Flitwick, Professor of Magical Arts, serving deputy to the Headmistress incumbent … Who demands proof?”

“Minerva Athenodora McGonagall” Minerva replied, “Obliged successor to Albus Dumbledore. Professor of Magical Arts. Mantle-Bearer. Headmistress incumbent … What do you seek?”

“The Mantle.”

“What will you pay?”

“It’s weight upon my back.”

“Then kneel you both, and make reply.”

Severus and Filius knelt on the cushions and bowed their heads. They couldn’t hear Minerva’s footsteps but suddenly the hem of her robe came into view. Her voice was not loud now but still it rang out clearly in the silence.

“Are you, Severus Tobias Snape, fit to undertake the Headship Mantle? Answer, or withdraw from the castle.”

“I am.”

“Do you give me your pledge to uphold student safety? Answer, or withdraw.”

“It is pledged.”

“Do you give me your pledge to foster their learning? Answer, or withdraw.”

“It is pledged.”

“Do you give me your pledge to uphold the Founders’ doctrine? Answer, or withdraw.”

“It is pledged.”

“Do you give me your pledge to yield to your deputy these powers and obligations, if incapacity strikes you before the Mantle passes? Answer … or withdraw.”

“It is pledged” he sighed finally, and Severus’s head bent imperceptibly lower.

“Filius Ragnuk Flitwick” Minerva continued, “Do you pledge yourself to be deputy to Severus Tobias Snape if the Mantle attaches to him? Answer or withdraw.”

“I so pledge” Filius said softly.

“Receive, then, Severus Snape, the key to Hogwarts School” Minerva continued, looping the cord over his head. “Know then the weight of the Mantle. Be affirmed Headmaster, successor in line from the Founding Four.”

As she spoke and placed the key around his neck, line by line – thread by thread – her robe’s gold embroidery unwound and snaked through the air, cleaving in two and sewing itself to the robes of Severus and Filius, which had both turned purple now, as Minerva’s faded to white. Filius’s robe took up the gold as embroidery but Severus’s sprouted keys – real keys of all shapes and sizes, gold, silver, bronze, and black iron. Leaning forward to look, Harry recognised them as the flying keys he had had to beat along the route to the Philosopher’s Stone.

Filius stood up – in his unencumbered robe it was easy and as Harry and Hermione looked they saw that Filius had a hand ready to assist Severus who was struggling to stand under the dragging weight of his metal-draped robe. So this was the Mantle – the burden of Headship. Severus was standing now, proving the Mantle was his by right. Did it require strength alone, or was it easier for some and harder for others, regardless of physical fitness? Filius did not have to bear the weight directly, but he had pledged to share it and had been accepted. It would pass to him, an inescapable burden, if Severus’s Headship ended without the governors choosing a successor.

The hallway was echoing to the sound of applause. There was a flash and a puff of smoke – a press photographer lurked in the crowds, his face obscured by a camera. A reporter was with him but it was not Rita Skeeter. Severus could not watch them; people were ringing his hand and saying congratulations, and a gradual drift was beginning through the Great Hall to the antechamber where the kitchen elves had set out a buffet.

More people were arriving; in the antechamber Severus could see Nadine with Doon and Nymphadora, Hestia Jones with Elphias Dodge, and the Minister with Pius Thickness and Percy Weasley. The house-elves had distributed champagne and Minerva called for silence.

“Do you all have your glasses ready?” she asked. “We come here today, to toast the next Head of Hogwarts. The last time this man was involved in a toast the result was the binding of the drinkers by a potion stronger than any body-bind spell. But this time we are safe – I’ve kept a careful eye on the champagne. So please take my lead in raising your glasses to Professor Severus Snape.”

More pledging, more applause. Then Severus spoke. “Thank you, Minerva, for those kind words” he said. “And my thanks to all of you for coming here to watch me take on, in its fullest sense, the burden of Headship. It is a burden I am proud to shoulder, and I look forward keenly to having this chance of furthering the school’s noble traditions.”

A further smattering of applause.

He had intended to circulate but it wasn’t easy. People kept coming up to shake his hand and look at the Mantle and ask about the keys. House-elves offered him food but he decided against eating. Instead he began to wander carefully from person to person and group to group. At times he looked across the room to note Hermione’s doings. She was circulating too, and although they were not together he could almost sense her thoughts. He looked for Rufus Scrimgeour, hoping for a confidential chat, but the Minister had been knobble’d by Horace. Hermione had moved from Filius and Pomona to Septima and Matilda. And Ginny Weasley had appeared beside Harry. They seemed to be arguing with Percy. Horace had moved on to Pius – perhaps now was the moment. Then another voice spoke.

“Snape?”

He looked round but the clunk of the false leg had given it away.

“Alastor! How nice to see you.”

“Well done, Snape.”

Alastor was digging a hip-flask out of his pocket.

Severus smiled as he watched Alastor unscrewing the top. “You don’t trust my catering?”

“Not likely! I’ve known you too long. We had some great moments, though, didn’t we. Remember when we spiked Pettigrew’s coffee?”

“How could I forget!”

“I hear the Ministry’s moved him to the Shack.”

“Yes, that was the deal” said Severus, “That when I’m away from my house for long periods he cannot remain there. He could return in the summer, but it’s only practical if I’m planning to be there for any length of time.”

“Not sure of next summer then?”

“I might want a holiday after a year of being Head. If Wormtail stops on at the Shack Harry will take Kreacher to Grimmauld Place. Ironic that he has two elves while I make do with one.”

Alastor gave a lop-sided grin and the talk turned to Sirius and Remus. Alastor was impressed that Severus was keeping the werewolf on the staff but in truth it was only because Severus didn’t want to rock the boat too much – he wanted a smooth takeover, particularly as he already had other developments planned – as yet unannounced. “Nymphadora isn’t so thrilled about it” he said. “Being a House Master means living in. She’d rather they had more of a private life.”

“Would you let her move here?”

“I’d be delighted, but she turned that down flat. I really cannot do more…”

Eventually Severus managed to catch Scrimgeour’s eye and they slipped off to the Headmaster’s Tower but found it not very private; the office was full of maintenance elves laying carpet and hanging curtains.

“Your bedroom done, sir” Jotto said, so they picked their way around pieces of furniture which were floating obediently clear of the floor, through the sitting room which had a wardrobe standing in the middle, and on to the bedroom which was mercifully clear and where two spoon-backed chairs stood either side of the fireplace.

“I hear it went perfectly” Scrimgeour said, pointing to the Mantle which was hindering Severus from sitting down. He kicked a pouffe-stool over and added “Drape yourself around that … Well, I suppose you’re itching to get going now. It’s rumoured you’ve got a few tricks up your sleeve.”

“You know my main idea” Severus said. “You know I want to introduce Law at Ordinary Level. But that is not for the first year; I have nothing radical planned for my first twelve months.”

“Nothing crazy like setting your elves free?”

Severus looked carefully at the Minister. Something lay behind this. “Certainly not” he said. “Why should you think so?”

“ ‘Clothes’.”

“I merely passed a remark about the sorry state of the house-elves’ appearance” said Severus. “I’m tired of the assortment of tatty table- and bed-linen that greets the eye of anyone who catches the chamber- and laundry-elves in the wee small hours.”

“So you’ve no plans to free them?”

“None whatever. But I have made a promise to free my personal elf when I am sure that the Death Eater threat is past.”

Rufus ignored the hint of an ongoing Death Eater problem; he seemed more concerned about Jotto as he asked “How do you expect he’ll react to the feeling of freedom?”

“He says he wishes to remain my servant” Severus said truthfully. “I cannot be sure of that, but I do believe it to be the case.”

“He won’t go on a crusade? Or set himself up as the rallying point for some kind of revolt? I don’t want all the magical non-humans going on the rampage.”

“If any such revolt occurs I will have done nothing to cause it.”

“So this, this – freeing – is going to happen any day now.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Well dammit man, you made a pretty neat job of rounding up the Dark Side.”

“Kind of you to say so, Minister” Severus said oilily, “But you know I didn’t sweep he board. I thought at one time I had all the dangerous ones, but you know Fenrir Greyback was never captured. If he can slip through the net, who else might have?”

“Well, that’s my pigeon, isn’t it” Rufus retorted. “You’ve got a school to run. Concentrate on that.”

“And Sinistra’s poison?”

“Take my advice; drop it. Recognise when you’re well off. Your job’s here, now. The other’s history, as far as you’re concerned.”

Severus wondered why the Minister was so hostile. Did he have his own analyst working on the poison? Perhaps he had co-opted someone from the Society of Extraordinary Potioneers. Or from the hospital? Well, if so it couldn’t be Honor; she had scoffed at the idea that the poison existed; and Severus never recalled her being a liar. But the last thing he wanted was to let the matter drop. He had been the victim, and he longed to be the victor. Unfortunately whatever he said only angered Rufus more.

“You’re seriously asking me to forget all about it?” he asked the Minister.

“Advising. Advising” Rufus said. “Don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. You had the best show-trial ever–”

“Show–? What are you implying? That it wasn’t real?”

“No! It was real – course it was. You could have been convicted. But think back. Pretty well from the outset, the Court was on your side. What Death Eater ever had that? You had a hearing in front of the full Council – and no Dementors in the courtroom! And now you’ve just been confirmed as Head – a stronger affirmation than ever Dolores managed. She never achieved access to the Tower. You’ve got a whole new career – a demanding career. Can’t you let the rest be?”

It sounded as though jealousy was part of the problem; Rufus was jealous of Severus’s new-found success, and perhaps he had other concerns too. But Severus decided to try one last gamble. “Letting go of it be comes hard when one was the victim for so long” he said, “Especially as we are speaking of the very witch who was assigned to be mentor to Harry’s mother. If you refuse what I’m about to ask, so be it – you are the Minister. But I feel I have a justification in asking for help to investigate the remaining Sinistra angles; whenever time allows.”

“What help? What do you mean?”

“I should like an opportunity to question a couple of those who remain. Sinistra’s brother is in prison. So is Lucius Malfoy. I would value putting a question or two to them before it’s too late.”

“I don’t see how I can permit that.”

“It is surely in your gift to give, Minister. It may not be strictly regular, but Dumbledore was allowed to question various prisoners over the years.”

“Dumbledore was after the worst Dark wizard history has known” Rufus pointed out. “And he didn’t go to Azkaban during the time we thought Voldemort was dead; only when there was a live, on-going problem. Sinistra is dead, her brother will never go free, no other relatives are known, and there has been no Dark activity since the Downfall. You have to accept that the relatives of Dark witches and wizards are not necessarily Dark themselves! Otherwise we’d all be in geol!”

“Agreed. But what harm would it do if I put a question or two to Grunwald?”

“Grunwald and Malfoy have been tried and convicted, and have undergone rigorous interrogation on a number of occasions” Rufus said meaningfully. “Aside from it being pointless legally, they are not in a state to be of much use to you. Malfoy was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

“I am a man of the world” Severus reminded him. “Whatever I see won’t shock me. Lucius and I know what we were. I’m not nosing in with the object of putting the Ministry’s methods on trial.”

A look of desperation crossed the Minister’s face; Severus could sense him weakening. “He’ll see himself condemned and you let off” Rufus said. “He’ll not give you anything. And don’t come bleating to me, seeking comforts for him. We pardoned Pettigrew because he ‘turned’ – very late, but he turned; and Potter pleaded for mercy. But don’t let Malfoy expect favours.”

“Err, does that mean yes?” Severus asked.

“Be ready on Monday!” Rufus growled back. “Nine o’clock at the school gates. First Monday in the month I do my rounds. You can tag along – keep it low key. And don’t think you’ll get your own way about everything. If you want my opinion it’s a damned funny way to start a Headship!”

Chapter 5: Selene’s Tears

1st to 3rd August 1998

When they walked back past the gargoyle Severus and the Minister found Harry and Ginny in the corridor.

“Professor Potter” Rufus said. “Been showing Miss Weasley your new classroom? Looking forward to next term?”

Harry said he was and that although it was a bit daunting Remus and the Headmaster would be giving him ample support. It was clear that Ginny wanted to talk to Severus; she was letting Harry and the Minister draw away. As Harry offered to show the Minister around his classroom she whispered “Sir; can you spare a minute?”

“We really ought to get back, Miss Weasley.”

“This won’t take long. I promise.”

“Very well. But my office is a bomb site. Let’s pop into a classroom.”

He leant against a desk and Ginny sat at another. She took a deep breath and came straight out with what she wanted. “It’s about Head Girl” she said. “Please don’t think I’m being big-headed or anything, but am I in the running for it? Is there any chance?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d rather not do it. Not be it.”

“Bit of a vote of no confidence in my leadership–”

“Oh no, sir; I didn’t mean that!”

“What then? I’ll tell you now” he added, “Yours is a name I have in mind. I also have others in mind. Why wouldn’t you want the honour? Too much work?”

“Yes, partly” said Ginny. “I’m not like Hermione – I can’t just … embrace it all.”

“You said ‘partly’. That means there’s something else. Come along; I want the full picture.”

Ginny sighed. “If I get it, people will say it’s just cos I’m a Weasley” she said. “It’s always ‘Weasleys’.”

Nodding wisely Severus agreed. “The past would point to that being so, but I assure you there is no way I would choose you for Head Girl because of your family connections. And if people thought that, it is a mark of how little they know me.”

“I don’t think they’d think that deeply, sir.”

“Perhaps not … Are you sure, Miss Weasley? Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does Harry know about this?”

“He does – he understands.”

He probably does Severus sighed, and he commented that Harry had made a similarly unambitious choice, and he would take Ginny’s wishes into account.

“Tell me this isn’t true” Hermione whispered sternly, when Severus found her a short while later.

“That Ginny doesn’t want to be Head Girl?” he said in his most innocent-sounding tone.

“You know what I mean! Tell me you’re not off to that awful place. You’re supposed to be sitting for your portrait.”

“That’s in the afternoon. But I think I might rearrange it.”

“I just can’t work you out sometimes” she said, exasperated. “You’ve had this truly magical day. You’ve coped with the Mantle. The ceremony went like a dream. You’ve got your Tower to sort out and a million things to see to before the start of term, and you’re spending a whole day–”

“Half a day–”

“Half a day at least – on an expedition guaranteed to depress you. Couldn’t it wait? Do you really need this now?”

“People die in Azkaban. Their lives fade away.”

“Which goes to show how distressing it is.”

“I’m a big boy now, Hermione.”

“But you don’t have a Fred-and-George personality; you don’t laugh things off. You put the shutters up – and it doesn’t always work.”

“Don’t nag–”

“How about if I come with you?”

“Scrimgeour would never agree to it. And, for the record, not would I” he said softly. “Must I remind you that the Sinistra legacy is mine to clear up? I’m allowing you the pretty bit – the family tree.”

“That’s a very sexist attitude! Minerva warned me about this.”

“What could she possibly have found to say–?”

“That you wouldn’t allow women in your Quidditch team. You think they’re too weak. Well I’ve got news for you. We are NOT weak. I’m sure she could bear the Mantle if she needed to.”

“I’m sure she could. Let’s go and talk to Septima. She looks as thought she needs company.”

Hermione was on the point of saying that was dodging the issue when she was interrupted. A hand clapped Severus on the back and a voice said. “Severus, old man!” Eldred Worple had appeared from nowhere. Hermione’s retort died on her lips and Severus gave her an evil smile. He hadn’t invited Eldred; he presumed Horace had. What a welcome diversion; how he would enjoy discussing his autobiography while Hermione threw murderous looks at him from a distance.

Hermione made a tactical withdrawal and went to talk to Septima, and from time to time Severus glanced over to her, in between telling Eldred that he had no intention of every employing a ghost writer, but just perhaps in five or ten year’s time he’d allow someone the favour of writing the story, providing he approved it. Ten minutes later a downhearted Eldred ambled on in search of another victim. Severus watched him go, and as he did so Septima approached, trailing Hermione in her wake:

“I’ll be off now, if you don’t mind” she said. “I just wanted to say congratulations.”

“And I wanted to say thank you for coming” he said smoothly. “I would have understood if you’d not felt up to it.”

“I know. But it’s best to keep going with things. But now I have things at home to do, and Berin is coming this evening. That’s my nephew – Agnes’s son. Well, I’ll be on my way. Good luck, Headmaster. See you next term.”

She shuffled away and Severus was aware that Hermione was beside him again.

“Agnes, I believe, is the only married sister” he said. “The others were all something grand – a lawyer, a Healer, a writer, a something at the Ministry, a tutor, and a teacher.” He moved uncomfortably, subconsciously adjusting the Mantle’s weight.

“Is it very heavy?” Hermione asked quietly.

He didn’t know what to answer. Yes? And have her think he was a weakling? No? And have her think it was nothing? How to be the hero; hadn’t that always been the puzzle?

“Heavy enough” he murmured. “Sufficient to remind me this will be no easy task.”

“Septima said you’ve got to wear it five and three-quarter hours, and then the keys Disapparate. I didn’t know inanimate objects could Disapparate.”

“Until the school clock says seventeen minutes to six. Then the keys obey an ancient charm of Rowena Ravenclaw’s and I store the robe in a cupboard, never needing it until I give up the Headship. But all the doors will open for me. I won’t be hampered as Umbridge was hampered. I’m glad you talked me into the Mantling. It’s the right way to become head of the school. The harder way, but the right way.”

“You’re just buttering me up now. Flattery won’t make me happy about this daft Azkaban thing.”

“Then I’ll tell you a secret. I’ll tell you who I’ve chosen for Head Boy and Girl.”

“Go on then.”

“Franklin Baddock and Edith Chittock. And keep it under your hat.”

They dined in the Great Hall, by which time the Headmaster’s office had its new furnishings. “Dark green carpet” Hermione said to Irma Pince. “But at least it’s not black. The sitting room’s the same. Have you seen it?”

“Not yet” said Irma. “Has he sorted out those books – that’s what I want to know.”

“He has. All the dodgy ones are up in the sitting room.”

“At last! And has he chosen a new password?”

“Not for the moment. The gargoyle still answers to Pikeman.”

“I think he likes it because it sounds prickly.”

At half-past nine Hermione was preparing to say goodbye because she was aiming to spend the next few days at home and her only definite plan was to be back at school three days before the start of the new term. Severus walked her to the gates, his wand casting a circle of light before their feet.

“Owl me if there’s any news” she said breathlessly.

“I will.”

“Owl me if you need me.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t owl me? Or you won’t need me?”

“Who knows?”

“Don’t make it bad for me, Severus.”

In the shadow of the wall he pulled her into a hug and said “Look, go home! It’s what you want to do – what you need to do. I’ll see you at the end of August. Stop worrying about me. Azkaban won’t break me. And Scrimgeour won’t sling me in a cell and throw away the key. Those days are gone. I’m a new man now.”

“But–”

He smothered the protest with a kiss. Hermione gave up arguing, and finally twisted away, headed for Berkshire.

*

He spent the next day answering correspondence while Jotto arranged and re-arranged the mounting number of good luck cards that kept arriving.

“You has many good wishes, master.”

“Can you read them all, Jotto?”

“All except this.”

He wondered whose it was. The card – a single postcard – was unsigned. But amongst the staff Sybill Trelawney was the fly in the ointment and the card’s hand-painted design pointed fairly and squarely to her. She had not attended the Mantling, nor dined in the Hall, and he decided that if she didn’t appear at lunch time he would look in on her in the afternoon.

“Three more, sir” Titcha said, bringing in three crest-embossed envelopes. “These is from the other schools.”

“From Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?”

“Hawby, Fagan, and Morne, sir. The British schools.”

Severus ripped open the envelopes. Dionysia Lovegood’s card said

‘See you in December, you old rascal. See if my spread can out do the Malfoys’.’

and the card from the Head of St Fagan’s, whom he didn’t know at all, limited its greeting to

‘Congratulations on your appointment. Looking forward to meeting you in December.’

“What’s all this about December?” he asked Titcha.

“Every year there is a four-Head meeting on the Sunday nearest the Long Nights’ Moon” the old elf said. “Is Hawby’s turn to host it. Then Mourne’s, then us, then Fagan.”

“I see.”

Mount Mourne’s card – a leafy view of the Isle of Innisfree, was signed Wilbert Slinkhard and the carefree scrawl above it said

‘The cream always rises to the top, I got made Deputy Head just a month ago. Beats working for a living doesn’t it, Sev! Our Head’s in Tunisia for the summer so I’m sending this on his behalf…’

“Wilbert Slinkhard is Deputy Head of Mount Mourne?” Severus said in disgust.

Jotto didn’t recall the name and asked who Slinkhard was.

“You remember him, don’t you, Titcha.”

“Yes, sir” said Titcha, his face breaking into a smile. “He write good books.”

“Good?!”

“Professor Dumbledore always say so. If you has wonky table, he will have book that can fit under fine! That’s what Dumbledore say.”

Severus chuckled and told Titcha to be sure to diarise the Long Nights’ Moon meeting. Then he scrutinised the chief kitchen elf’s menu plans for the autumn term, and that put him in a mood for lunch.

At ten to three he found himself summoning the silver ladder and riding it as it wound itself back up to Sybill’s tower. The suite was unlocked and deserted, a pack of cards abandoned on the sitting-room table. He looked at them; they were dog-eared and stained, but the designs although finely drawn were not an exact match with the good-luck card he had received. He wandered around the quiet rooms, touching nothing, and finally giving it up as a bad job. Sybill was not there so he could not speak to her. He returned to his Tower to sort out books and scrolls, and later to listen to Jotto reading a passage from a book that his mother used to read him when he was a small boy at 42 Spinner’s End. Jotto was struggling with some of the words.

“Odd-bod–, Oddi-bod–”

“Oddsbodikins” Severus said impatiently. “Rouse thee, old loon, and take from us this vile Toad – a criminal of deepest guilt and matchless resource.”

“You nearly word perfect, master. What does it mean – odds-bod-i-kins?”

“It’s just an exclamation. Like gadzooks. Like goodness gracious me.”

“Is very difficult, sir. Hard book for child.”

“Most of it is easy. I could read it when I was six.”

“You was advanced. But why must I read – why books? I can read recipes.”

“Do you not want to be as literate as the archive elves?” Severus asked him. “Do you not want to help with my secretarial work? If your reading is not good enough I’ll have to keep giving the plum jobs to Titcha. If you’re going to be freed, Jotto, you need all this skills you can muster. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“No, sir” Jotto said uncertainly, not liking to ask what it meant.

Dinner without Hermione was again dull, in fact the contrast with the previous day was marked. This was Severus’s second day as Headmaster and already he had his Tower organised. What did Dumbledore do in the holidays? How did he fill his time? Of course he had had the mystery of Tom Riddle to unravel. That kept him busy – interviews with old colleagues, visits to Azkaban.

And now I’m doing likewise, Severus thought grimly. Am I simply trying to out-Dumbledore Dumbledore? No, I doubt it. No one in their right mind goes to Azkaban without a very good reason indeed. Perhaps I should have accepted Hermione’s offer of company. She must have far fewer horrors in her past than I have. She’s plucky and strong. She’d be the right kind of company. Ah, Severus, were you not worried about looking a fool you could have had her support.

After dinner he strolled, side by side with Filius, up to the Astronomy Tower. The night was clear and they leant on the parapet looking at the stars. A gentle breeze plucked at their summer robes.

“Well you’ve done it” Filius said. “Head Master. You’re at the top, and in the top job.”

Severus looked at Polaris twinkling high above them. “Pity this tower has bad associations” he said. “I’d give anything not to have been Dumbledore’s despatcher.” He noticed Filius’s look of surprise and covered his face in a sneer. “Oh, don’t read me wrong” he said. “It’s my reputation I’m grieving for. Don’t think I’m suddenly all heart. But it was … a shabby deed. Plenty of others I’d rather have done in. The thing is to rise above it. To fly the flag, anew.”

“You will do that” Filius assured him. “You’ve got a good team; you know you have.”

“There are a few I wouldn’t mind losing from it. Hagrid and Trelawney. And a few I wouldn’t mind keeping, that I know I’ll have to let go in a while.”

“Only one, surely. Septima. And you’ve got Miss Granger to fill the gap.”

“Hermione. Her name is Hermione. No, Filius; you’re forgetting Horace and his rheumatics” said Severus. “I can’t expect him to carry the full load of a House and a major subject for much longer.”

“Ah; I see. Well, knowing you, I’m betting you’ve got someone in mind already.”

“Not exactly. But I am about to put out feelers” Severus admitted. “It won’t be easy. I need a good disciplinarian, a good potioneer, and – if it’s an ex-Hogwarts student tradition dictates that I choose a former Slytherin. Who is there? Good potioneers are few.”

Filius thought back, recalling Draco Malfoy, Doon Pilliwickle, Phoebus King and Faustina Barker; but even he had to admit that Draco would make a very poor kind of House Head.

“He’d certainly not be of the calibre I want” Severus sighed, “Even if he was old enough. Actually the same goes for Faustina; and for Doon – who, by the way, is married and due to have a baby in October. Phoebe King is too interested in catching crooks. No, it’s hopeless. There are potioneers, and there are Slytherins. But of the more acceptable Slytherins few have shown any indication of being potioneers. And of those rare few?” He shrugged and added “You know how demanding it is heading a House. You wouldn’t give it to a Faustina Barker. And it’s a live-in job. Who wants that?”

“Have you considered splitting up the ‘Potions’ question and the ‘House Head’ question?”

“I certainly have, but who amongst the current staff could teach Potions? No, I can’t do it that way either. Not unless you were to swap from Charms to Potions and I could find an inoffensive Slytherin who was particularly good at Charms. Delia Dirac teaches, but she lives in Holland. I can’t see her and her husband wanting to dismantle their lives and come back here. No, I’ve not got this one cracked, Filius. Not yet. You’ve not got any burning ambitions, have you, to move to another subject?”

Filius insisted he couldn’t do Potions and Severus accepted that he would have to leave him as he was. “I’ll thank my lucky stars you’re content to head Ravenclaw and keep Charms well under control” he said. Then he looked at him askance and added “It’s at this point you announce your imminent marriage and that you don’t want to live-in any more. And I groan as yet another problem lands on my plate.”

“No, no!” Filius smiled shyly. “Marriage? No. I did at one time carry a torch for Miss Sinistra, but…”

“Miss Sinistra?” Severus was tempted to laugh but then he remembered his own situation. “We all did, didn’t we” he said bleakly. “She had us all on strings. But I didn’t realise you…”

“No. Well; it didn’t … it was clear that the lady wouldn’t have been interested.” Filius was embarrassed now and wishing he’d not mentioned it. “She was always charming” he added, “But as an individual she hardly spared me a glance. In fact the longest conversation we ever had was the day of Doreen Gudgeon’s leaving.”

It was the day Dionysia Lovegood arrived. Severus fell to wondering about it. He also couldn’t help wondering about the extraordinary paring of Filius and Aurora. “Did you ever think she was married?” he asked at length. “Secretly married? Remember the ring?”

“Selene’s Tears” said Filius. He smiled at Severus’s look of astonishment. “An ancestor of mine made it” he said. “It’s Bladvar’s work. He used some of the stones he brought with him to buy his way into the Caves of Moraverh.”

“The ring has a name?”

“He called it Moon and Stars. The opal is the moon and the diamonds stars; I’ve even heard it said they are particular stars. But it was also known as Selene’s Tears because it was thought to be cursed. I didn’t like to believe it was, but in view of what happened perhaps that’s true. When I say cursed, I don’t mean evilly jinxed, I mean unlucky.”

“So the ring is – old? – famous?”

“Fifteen-ninety-nine it was made. Famous?” Filius shrugged. “Mmm? Yes and no. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of prized bits of jewellery. But in the Goblin world? Yes, it’s famous if you like, because the makers never forget their work. But the makers’ names are as famous as their works.”

It was a startling piece of luck that Filius knew about Olive Green’s ring. Severus ventured a further question. “I presume it was made for a witch” he said. “Or with the object of selling it to, or for, a witch.”

“Oh yes; it’s human jewellery” said Filius. “I believe Bladvar made it for a lady from Russia. That’s how famous he was, that people would travel a thousand miles to buy his craftsmanship.”

“And the name of the witch? Pardon my inquisitiveness, but in view of how Sinistra used it I’m keen to hear more.”

Filius smiled again, this time shaking his head. Severus didn’t understand.

“The original owner? They never say, do they” the Charms professor said. “If the buyer wants to flaunt it that’s up to them, but as far as the Goblins are concerned those matters are confidential. Anything to do with money is confidential, isn’t it. That ring must have cost a great deal, and few come by such wealth honestly. Anyway, it was designed as a poison ring, so it was meant either for suicide or murder.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.” Severus was running a finger repeatedly across his lower lip. He didn’t like to ask the next question but he decided he would. “Do you think you might be able to find out the buyer’s name? After all, you are family. And this took place a long time ago – it’s not breaking confidences now. It’s become a matter of historical interest.”

“You really want to know? I’ll try. I’m off to St David’s tomorrow, but I suppose I could hop across to Cornwall. I presume you want the enquiry kept discreet?”

“Please” Severus said. “It’s a bit of a fad of mine, trying to tie up the Sinistra loose ends. I’d feel a fool if people thought I was going overboard about it. But–”

“–But you can’t leave it alone. La belle dame sans merci still has you enthral.”

Severus nodded, giving him an odd sad smile. “In the same vein” he added, “When we have time would you mind if I took a look at that memory of yours from the day of Doreen Gudgeon’s party? I don’t want to pry into a private conversation, but that was the day Septima fell ill.”

“And you think it wasn’t coincidence.”

“I have a feeling that a poisoning took place, and I’d like to pin the substance down.”

“But the murderer’s dead” said Filius, “And the victim – if she was a victim – is alive and well.”

“But the poison remains. And St Mungo’s never discovered it” Severus pointed out. “They never even suspected it. I might be barking up a gum tree, but what harm can it do to check?”

It was almost eleven o’clock when he trudged up the stairs from the office at the end of the day. He found Jotto in the sitting room, perched on the sideboard by the open window and still reading.

“All is ready, master” the elf said. “I change towels in bathroom.”

“A bit quick off the mark, aren’t you? I’ve hardly used them. Where have you got to?”

Jotto held out the book, saying “I finish Gates of Dawn – the midsummer night.”

“Ah yes. It was a hot night. Hotter than this. The little animals couldn’t sleep. But come along, don’t let that stop you – I want you up bright and early, running my bath.”

“What time, master?”

“Eight o’clock. Good night, Jotto.”

The bedroom window was open too. So why had Jotto drawn the bed-curtains? But admittedly they were only the summer anti-midge nets. He had also lit a single candle and placed it well away from them, scared they might blow in the breeze and catch fire. He was a thoughtful elf and Severus realised he would be sorry to lose Jotto if he really did decide to leave. Severus ran his hand over his chin. A shave and a shower, he decided.

Jotto had not only changed the towels he must have cleaned the bath again because there was a faint smell of pine. And beneath that? Was there a trace of rosemary and eucalyptus? Had Jotto been sampling a Sylvan Wood body-wash?

Five minutes later as Severus slip-slopped barefoot from the shower and tucked a towel around his waste his thoughts had returned to the Astronomy Tower. He wondered whether Aurora has often stood looking at the stars. Or had she not bothered with such foolishness? Had she jumped on her broomstick and ridden away; thinking of the tower as nothing more than a launch pad? He picked up his wand, wiping it dry on a corner of the towel, then he aimed it at the bed-curtains. And then he froze; there had been a sound – a tiny giggle.

“Trahere” he said silently, and obediently the delicate nets swished aside, revealing–

“–Hermione!”

“Hello?” she said, sitting up. “Come on; hurry up. You’ve been ages.”

He smirked, thinking she might be complaining the opposite in a minute. “But why?” he asked her. “What was all that about wanting to wait? I’m not complaining, but why this, now?”

“Because you’re going to that awful place tomorrow” she said sternly, “So I thought you ought to have some happy memories to take with you.”

Severus didn’t hesitate; he strode forward, grinning and throwing aside the towel.

*

It was a sunless day. The boat he was in was pitching on an angry sea. Feeling seasick, he crawled ashore clutching feebly at sharp wet rocks. Evening was falling. Where has the day gone he wondered, as he began a long ascent of a high smooth-sided tower. Its walls afforded the smallest of hand holds.

“Come on!” Impatient, Rufus Scrimgeour shouted down to him. “Hang onto my mane if you need to.” And suddenly Severus’s field of vision was full of lion’s mane, fragrant and luxuriant; and he grabbed at it, wondering how the Minister had managed to grow it so long, so fast. As he caught hold of it he slipped. Rufus roared in pain. “Ten points from Slytherin!” he snarled. “I’m going to make Harry Head of Slytherin. He could do it, you know. The Hat seriously thought about putting him in your House. He won’t care if it’s bottom of the league.”

“Nor do I” Severus gulped, trying to breathe despite the cloying hair. “I don’t care that much any more. But the point is Harry was never in Slytherin!”

“But he could have been!”

Why didn’t the Minister understand? “But he wasn’t. ‘Could have been’ is irrelevant” Severus kept protesting. “He wasn’t. He never actually was a Slytherin. If you are, you are! And if you’re not you’re not! And there’s no pretending otherwise.”

“Lucius, then! I’ll put Lucius in place of Slughorn.”

“No! Don’t let him out of geol.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll kill me! I got him captured.”

“Then I’ll make Harry Head of the school. Don’t fret; we won’t have a gap.”

“Never mind any blasted gap!” Severus called in sheer desperation. “The point is, free Lucius and he’ll KILL me. I was supposed to be his friend, and I betrayed him. I got him captured. My potion got them all caught!”

“Severus! Wake up! Severus; Severus!” Hermione called even more sharply. “Wake up!” He woke. It was dark and he was lying tight against her. He had grabbed a handful of her hair. It still smelled faintly of rosemary and eucalyptus, and she was saying “Ouch! Leggo!”

“Sorry!” He shook his fingers free, then hugged her, taking a long deep breath.

“Bad dream?” she enquired coolly. “You were calling out something about being captured. I can guess what that was all about.”

“Captured? No, I … It’s going now” he said, as the last of the dream faded. “Let it go. Sorry if I hurt you.”

“I didn’t realise how dangerous it was, sleeping with you.”

He rolled over, sniggering, said “My previous girlfriends never complained” and was asleep again in minutes.

At first he fell into a deep sleep. Then hours later as the dawn strengthened the dream returned. He was walking barefoot along a corridor; the floor gritty and dusty, flaking in places into sharp shards. Either side of him the walls were nothing but bars, hands groping through them, skinny arms reaching out, trying to grab his robe as he dodged and weaved. He dare not look at the faces.

“Free us! Do not forget us!” the prisoners called.

“We were your friends!

“We are your brothers and sisters!”

“Touch us! He had come back for us!”

“Touch my hand, Severus! Give me hope! I don’t mind about your blood” a woman’s voice called. “You are a great wizard; you are his conqueror; you are the one who can carry the torch onward! His natural successor!”

“Help me, Sev! For old time’s sake. We’re cousins! Cousins, remember?”

“Severus? Severus? Don’t leave us. Even now Death is knocking at the Gate. Severus!”

“Severus!” Hermione’s voice brought him to his senses. “Sev, wake up. Shush, shush, shush; it’s alright.”

He woke again; his face against her breasts. “Give a chap a chance to breathe” he mumbled.

“Bad dream again?”

“Did I say anything?”

“Nothing I could make out. You were just thrashing about.”

“Hands. Clawing arms” he whispered. “Gone now. Hermione, is it my imagination or has a tapping noise started up?”

She sat up, listening. “Jotto, knocking at the door, being discrete” she said. “You told him to call you at eight.”

“Is it that time already? Blast!”

In response to his ‘come in’ the elf peeped around the door. “Morning, sir. Morning, miss” he said. “Eight o’clock, sir. Run bath now?”

Severus sighed and slid out of bed. “Yes, run bath now” he said. “And is that today’s Prophet? We’ll have a quiet breakfast in here and read the papers, and I hope I won’t be in them.”

The Prophet was full of holiday news. Hermione read it during the day while Severus was away. She also glanced through Mage Monthly which profiled Rolf Scamander, the new Deputy Head of St Fagan’s School. Then she went back to her file of notes about family trees.

The Olive Green tree was getting nowhere. Green was obviously a name that Olive’s father had adopted, dropping his family name of Grunwald. And sometimes to confuse matters Axel had given his own name as Blumwald. The genealogy book did not list Grunwalds, and Severus had made it clear that in his opinion the answers would lie overseas. He had told Hermione about Selene’s Tears and that it might have been made for a Russian witch, but they regarded that as a false trail because Grunwald and Blumwald sounded German. But in either case the answers seemed not to be in the British Isles and Severus didn’t want to widen the search until they had spare time, possibly next summer when he had established his reputation as Head and had set up normal working relationships with the Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

So for the moment her Green researches had ground to a halt. But the genealogy book had told her something of Severus’s past – in 1589 a Liam Prince had married an Aileen Cliodna Murrighan. Mr Prince, a native of Castile, had changed his name, adapting it from Guillermo Isidor Principio into something more acceptable in a Gaelic land, and had settled in Ballycumber and married a local girl. In 1590 the Princes had a daughter, Kathleen Isadora. And in 1592 a son, Brendan Iachimo, completed the family. And thus the Princes, who were traceable all the way through to Severus’s maternal great-grandmother, had established themselves in Ireland.

If only I could do the same with the Greens, Hermione sighed. Then a point about the ring occurred to her. Filius had said Sinistra’s ring was sometimes said to represent moon and stars, and quite often in the wizarding world the names of stars were used as names for people. What if the names of stars belonged to members of the Green family?

She pursued the idea for a while but got nowhere with it. The Black family were fond of using star names, and to a lesser extent so were some of the Averys and Burkes, but it was inconclusive. Also the pure-blood families intermarried so many times it was an impossible tangle.

Like trying to follow the weaving strands around a maypole, Hermione decided. I’ll have to give up until Severus can provide a name or two. Then we’ll have something definite in this mesh of possibilities.

Chapter 6: In the Wing’s Shadow

3rd to 5th August 1998

When Severus got back to Hogwarts he was too full of news to rush down to the archives, and by the end of the evening, as he finished off his tale of the day Hermione was fighting hard not to say I told you so.

The journey to Azkaban had been nothing like the dreams. They had flown in a Flying Tent, safely above the choppy sea and protected from Muggle eyes by a Disillusionment charm. They were a party of four – Severus, Rufus Scrimgeour, and two Ministry aides who cast Patronuses the moment they set foot on the rocky island. The fortress tower had two internal staircases, one spiralling up and the other down, and the Dementors kept away from them – their job being restricted to patrolling the corridors. The convicts’ cells were pitifully small, with narrow doors composed of floor-to-ceiling bars.

“No privacy” he said to Hermione, explaining what the cells were like.

They climbed into his four-poster and sat upright, cuddled together against a mound of pillows.

“I suppose there’s no one to stare in except Dementors” she said. “It must be awful; nothing to do.”

“Being alone with your thoughts – that’s the torture” he replied. “And no wand, of course, so no hope of spell-casting; but that power drains anyway. Most of the prisoners sit in a corner as far from the door as possible, and keeping silent. It’s as if they want to hide inside themselves. They don’t even look up as you walk by.”

“Didn’t Scrimgeour think it odd that you didn’t cast a Patronus?”

“Possibly. When we got to Lucius he took one aide with him and told the other to wait by the stairs. He said something about leaving me to it, and gave me a pointed look as he directed his Patronus away. I knew what he meant so I said ‘I have other means’.

“He knew you’d use Occlumency.”

“I’m well known for it now. He shrugged, said he’d be back in an hour and that I was to wait by the staircase when I was ready.”

“Why won’t you use a Patronus?”

“You know why – you guess why” he said to her. “It gives too much away. It suffers from the same drawback as the Animagus transformation – cannot be faked. I’ve not seen you cast a Patronus.”

“No. I’ve not. Not since my NEWTs” she said.

“Same reason?”

“Similar. It’s … You’ll know what is it – you’ll guess my Patronus.”

“Not Nymphadora’s bat?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Oh dear.” He was pleased and he was also sorry. If Hermione’s Patronus was what he thought it was, it gave away his Animagus form.

“The change started just before my finals” she said. “I talked the examiner into letting me cast it in private. Don’t worry, Sev. Even if someone saw my Patronus that wouldn’t tell them everything. They wouldn’t know which species.”

“That means you know the species, and you know it’s significant.”

“It does not! I don’t even know the genus. But I’m sure it’s not what anyone might assume; not Tegenaria in any form.”

“Ah!”

“I can’t believe I’d have missed seeing you if you were one of those. You must be something rarer, or altogether more subtle.”

He interlaced his fingers with hers. Her hand looked small and brown against his long, pale fingers.

“Oh yes” he said mockingly; “I’m something altogether more subtle. Thank you for keeping the secret.” To his knowledge no one, apart from Horace Slughorn, knew what animal he transformed into, and even Horace had never seen the full transformation. He didn’t want to say more about it so he returned to the subject of Azkaban and to the fact that Lucius was livid that he was Headmaster. “He’s positively seething” he said smugly.

“Scrimgeour was right, then – seeing Malfoy was pointless.”

“I think so” he agreed. “Seeing Rhodolphus was even worse. But seeing Bella was worst of all. She’s totally gone. Out of her mind; a rambling idiot. I knew it would happen one day.”

“You saw Bellatrix?”

“I hadn’t intended to, but I walked past their cell and I couldn’t help looking in. They’re in together. I didn’t know what to say to Rhodolphus. He suddenly realised who was looking at him and he yelled ‘How dare you show you’re Mudstained face in here?’ I won’t weary you with all the insults, but as I walked on he said ‘This time you’re the one that doesn’t belong. If I had a wand you’d never take another step’ so I didn’t even bother to try talking to him. I moved on and found Lucius.”

“So Rhodolphus was quite lucid.”

“Raving, but lucidly raving. He’s changed physically, but when you hear him you can recognise him.”

“And Lucius?”

“Same applies – physically changed, hostile, but in his right mind. He recognised me, and for the briefest moment he thought I might have arranged his release. The truth dawned and he clammed up, and when he discovered I had no news of Narcissa and Draco he grew abusive. I tried to hint that if he could give me information on Green it might lead to a new enquiry, and I might be able to put in a good word for him. It didn’t wash. There’s too much evidence on the Unforgivables. They’d never pardon those, and he knows it. He just said ‘Olive Green? That spiteful little fool? Don’t ever say her name to me again. And if you can’t get me out of here I’d advise you to get yourself out before they make you a guest of this hotel – a fate you so richly deserve’.”

“Very articulate.”

“Rekindled by his reservoir of hate.”

“Sirius said his mother kept herself alive by pure hate” said Hermione. “At the time I thought that was a dreadful thing to say, but maybe Sirius was simply describing the truth. Hate’s not a healthy emotion, though.”

“No. I don’t think it will sustain him long. The bitterness, though, is no surprise. In a way Lucius has lost the most.”

“What? How?”

“Voldemort’s re-birth” Severus said simply. “That was his undoing. Until then he was the aristocrat, living on investments, no responsibilities – not real responsibilities. No need to soil his hands with work. Discrete donations directed to the right corners. Minister in his pocket. Always spoken of as respectable – even revered – and yet thought to be a dabbler in the Dark, a man with an intriguing past. It gave him a certain added sexiness. Lucius had it made.”

“I worry about you sometimes. You sound as though you’d have given your eye teeth to be him.”

“What juvenile wouldn’t?” Severus admitted. “But boys grow up. Eventually. But my point is this – when Voldemort was re-born poor old Lucius had to run his colours up the flagpole again or else risk Karkaroff’s fate. Life was no longer a breeze. His only hope, then, was that the Dark Side would win. And that he wouldn’t fall out of favour.”

“Well, I will never shed tears for Lucius Malfoy” Hermione said very crisply. “He got what was coming to him, and not before time. Let’s move on, to another pure-blood snob – Axel. I’m stuck, Sev. I need names.”

“He gave me one. Just one. Kristoforou” said Severus, showing her the note he had made of it. “Olive’s mother. Axel tends to speak of Olive being his sister but she was actually his half-sister. They had different mothers. As Axel started at Durmstrang–”

“You were right about that.”

“Naturally. As he started at Durmstrang” Severus said again, “His father fled to England, and at some point he – the father – met a lady called Olivia Kristoforou, and they married. Axel was allowed summertime visits. An uncle used to bring him. I suppose that’s another Grunwald, but I couldn’t get him to make it clear. He went off in reveries about the visits – the sun always shone, he said; the beech woods were like palaces of light.”

“Is he okay? He sounds a bit…”

“You mean is he cracking up? I don’t think so.” Severus gave it careful thought and added “I believe he still has a vestige of hope that the Dementors haven’t plundered. Possibly it’s because he’s been allowed to keep his sister’s ring.”

“That poison ring?”

“Yes. He still has it. He wears it – one bright spark in his cell’s squalid dust. He saw me looking at it and smiled. He said they debated and debated and decided to let him keep it.”

Hermione couldn’t believe it. “Why? Why on earth–?” she began, but Severus had a theory as to why.

“Paradoxically because of its great value” he said. “And because clever Axel won’t say who his estate should pass to; and Scrimgeour doesn’t want any trouble about it – any accusations of the Ministry ‘acquiring’ the precious thing by force. That’s what I believe. They checked it for hidden powers of course, and it passed every test.” He smiled slyly and added “I asked Axel if I might have it.”

“You never!”

“Why not? What was there to lose? Axel said ‘You get me out of here and you can have it’. I told him I couldn’t do that, but I’d make a plea of mitigation to the Minister.”

“Oh, Severus, no!”

“No, don’t get the wrong idea. All I meant was that on the way back I told Scrimgeour that Axel was being co-operative so if there was any chance et cetera, et cetera. That’s all Axel would expect.”

“And Axel was content with that?”

“He has to be” Severus said simply. “But yes, I think he does set some store by it because he said ‘In return I give you a gift – you can have all that Olivia left at school’. Then he sank into a kind of despair and huddled in the corner, stroking the ring and talking to it as if it was her.”

“Then I would say he’s cracking up.”

“I’m not so sure. I still think he’s in better shape than Lucius. Lucius is gaunt, eaten up by hate. Axel is merely miserable, like a man who knows he must wait and hates the boredom of it.”

Hermione lay flat, spreading her hair across the pillow to make herself cooler, as they lay half dozing and puzzling over the mental state of the mysterious Axel Grunwald.

“Even when Olive died he seemed curiously unperturbed, didn’t he” she said at last. “Olivia – he calls her Olivia, not Olive. I wonder why he’s let you have her stuff. Perhaps it’ll be rubbish, or lead us astray. Do you know if she left much behind? All I remember is a lot of wine and herbal tea, all full of that poison. Perhaps he thinks you’ll still poison yourself.”

“Possibly” said Severus. “But that’s not the impression I get. I think he’d prefer me alive in case I can get him released or spirit him away.”

“You won’t will you” she asked warningly. “You wouldn’t sneak him out in the hope it might point us to something?”

“I’m not clever enough to sneak people out of Azkaban” he said. “But even if I could, I didn’t get Axel arrested only to spring him. I wouldn’t even fall foul of Scrimgeour, pleading his case. No, I think it would be highly dangerous to release Axel Grunwald. But we’ll go through what’s left to us of Olive’s belongings. Minerva said the Ministry took charge of what was in the Astronomy Tower. Not the school equipment; but they took all the personal possessions and even the furniture. When we were flying back I raised the matter with Scrimgeour, and he agreed I could have what there was. It’s mostly furniture, books and paintings, he says. He’s sending it back – it should arrive tomorrow. Oh, and there’s a broomstick. He says it’s all jinx-free. I’d like you to try riding the broomstick.”

Hermione felt very doubtful about that. “Must I?” she said, “It had better be jinx-free. I’ll want it tested.”

“We can re-test it if you like” said Severus. “It’s been through the mill at the Ministry. I had a word with Kingsley before I left. He assured me all of Olive’s possessions have been very thoroughly checked. But if you don’t want to risk her broom I’d like you to practice with mine. My old Twigger’s quite reliable.”

“But why do I need to be able to ride?”

“Many strings to the bow. You never know when you might need it.”

Hermione sighed and snuggled down, feeling the sheets cool against her skin. “Alright” she said, “I will give it a try. Now come on, settle down. Put Azkaban out of your head for a while. Mmmmm – where’s that old reliable ‘Twigger’ you’re always boasting about…?”

*

The items from the Ministry arrived soon after eleven the next morning and Severus, who was bored by then from sitting for his portrait, went to watch the chamber elves putting the Astronomy suite to rights.

“I spent a few hours lounging on those” he admitted to Hermione, as the elves levitated sofas into place. “No, the bookcase goes in that corner” he said to the elves, “And that trolley over there, and there should be a portrait to go above each one. In each alcove – small portraits. Coffee table here, in between the sofas. What a beautiful telescope – that must go onto the roof … Where are the books? Is that it? Very well, you can start on the bedroom.”

“The question is does he know the layout of that room as well as he knows this?” Hermione wondered aloud.

He grinned and said “I don’t. Never allowed in there. I tried my best. Now, who are these two beauties?”

Sadly they had no idea about the portraits so they went to the observation platform and inspected the telescope. It was a lovely instrument but had no maker’s mark.

“You can see into Hogsmeade with this” Hermione said. “I can see men working on that old ruin next to The Hog’s Head. I’d better stop this or I’ll be accused of spying. Let’s go and do the bookcases. I bet they need sorting out.”

It didn’t take long to rearrange Olive Green’s books. Severus suspected that not all had been found because what had been returned were modern and consisted mainly of the works of Gilderoy Lockhart.

“What’s this then?” said Hermione, pulling out a Muggle book. It had a glossy plastic library jacket protecting the dust cover. She opened the book and read “ ‘Property of Wiltshire County Council – Devizes Branch Library. This book must be returned on or before the date marked below … ninth of January, nineteen sixty seven’ … Why would Olive want ‘The Looking-Glass War’ by John Le Carré? Hey, it was due back on your birthday. You were … eight.”

She thumbed through it and announced that it had a character called Avery. After reading for a few moments she turned it round, opening it flat to peer down inside the spine. Then she slipped off the dust jacket and checked inside. Tucked in the layers, between the publisher’s jacket and the brown paper back of the library cover, were a newspaper cutting and a couple of snaps. They were bad photographs, taken by someone who didn’t know how to use a camera. In one the subject was clear and the background blurred; in the other the opposite applied.

“Who took this of Draco?” she asked. “Colin Creevey? No, he’s got a good camera. Who else might have a camera – a rubbishy one?”

“I don’t know” Severus said, annoyed that he couldn’t remember. “I never noticed.”

“Yes, but people didn’t notice your camera, did they” Hermione reminded him, recalling his hospital days. “It’s not like the clumsy thing that Bozo chap uses. Where did you buy yours?”

“Fancourt’s. Diagon Alley. But these are Muggle photographs, or developed the Muggle way.”

“Fancourt’s. The instrument maker!” Hermione said, pointing to the picture that had the clearest background. “Isn’t that Fancourt’s? Isn’t that the edge of Eeylops, next door to it? And you know what; that man reminds me of Alastor. Couldn’t that be Mad-Eye, walking into Fancourt’s?”

Peering at the photo Severus nodded. “No big surprise” he said coolly. “Seven-Lock Trunk? Invisibility Cloaks? Where else would he get them? And he’s got a collection of Sneakoscopes and Foe-Glasses; not all of which are rubbish. We’ll show him these. See what he has to say. Ah!” He clicked his long, yellow fingers and added “Honor has a camera.”

“So she does” Hermione said, remembering the snapshot Severus had shown her. “Does she have a secret passion for Mad-Eye? Or for Draco?”

“She can’t abide the Malfoys” said Severus. “She wouldn’t get within a mile of them. And the photograph she sent me was properly in focus. Now, back to the matter in hand – do we have all of the items? Has Scrimgeour filtered things out? Olive Green had a lot of old books. Scrimgeour’s short-changed me. Or did Olive move them before she left the castle for good? Perhaps she took them to Myriad Mansion.”

“Very likely” Hermione said. “She didn’t bother with Lockhart because he’s not really worth it. And she didn’t bother with this old library book because it’s Muggle. And I bet that’s why the Ministry didn’t bother with it either. If this is their idea of checking, you’d better be careful on that broom. Now, what about this article?”

It came from an edition of the Daily Prophet published in April 1910 and reported the sinking of the Mandal-to-John O’Groats ferry, which was blown off course and went down in stormy seas off the Isle of Stroma. Only one man was rescued, a Sven Andersen from Oslo. His bride, Lara, was among the drowned. Distraught, he disappeared later that day and Catastrophe staff assumed he had Apparated to the Scottish mainland to see if his wife’s body had been cast ashore there. He was never seen again.

“What a sad story” Hermione said. “I wonder if it’s true.”

“You doubt it?”

“I suspect there are millions of Sven Andersons in Olso. It’s got as much credibility as you giving Hagrid the OWL and NEWT years.”

Severus looked at her, very annoyed, and pursed his lips. “Four sevenths” he said crisply. “That’s the proportion. I’m giving Hagrid from the fourth year up, as well you know.”

“Yes. But don’t think I don’t know why.”

“It’s up to me to manage the school. I’m the Headmaster.”

“I’m not arguing against it” she said. “I know it’s not my place to do that. I’m just saying I can guess what lies behind it. Brilliantly logical; just not very kind.”

“What would you have done?”

Hermione hesitated. She had never been happy with Hagrid’s teaching. “I’d have made sure he was okay about it, first.”

“And you assume I haven’t?”

Hermione had spoken to Hagrid about his change from ‘whole time’ to ‘four sevenths’. His response had been that the reduction in hours would give him more time to keep an eye on Grawp, and less spare cash to waste in taverns. He didn’t need a lot of money, he insisted; he lived by hunting when he couldn’t be bothered to eat at the school. But the reality was that his job had been sliced in half, and although he retained the seniors – arguably the prestigious end of the job – very few students studied Care of Magical Creature at NEWT level. Severus had pulled off a damage-limitation masterstroke – Wilhelmina would have the youngsters, the pupils who needed teaching; Hagrid would have the seniors, the ones already more skilled in, or attracted by, animal-handling.

“Hagrid’s got a heart of gold” she said. “He won’t complain – not to the Headmaster. And he won’t whinge behind your back. He’s loyal, Severus. He deserves…? I mean…?”

“What do you mean? Say it.”

“Whatever you have to do, do it kindly.”

At noon they set off for the Quidditch pitch so that Hermione could spend an hour flying. Once she’d got over her nerves she did reasonably well on the Twigger, and Severus felt instantly at home on the Kaltenschtick. “It’s a pity you don’t like this” he called out, swinging around on it and flicking back his hair. “It’s faster than my broom, and it turns tighter. Very good acceleration. Perhaps you’ll give it a try when you’re more used to flying. When we have time – weekends perhaps? – we could skip out to Hogsmeade.”

Over lunch Hermione seemed preoccupied and Severus knew why. The exam results were due any day and she was again going home; this time to stay there for most of the rest of the month, punctuated by trips to the Office of Armorials. They had discussed her plans and his advice was that she should base herself at home for a fortnight and return on the twenty-second. “We’ll have a celebration dinner at The Catherine Wheel” he promised.

“If there’s anything to celebrate.”

“There will be; most certainly. You’ll get good passes. You’d better, or I’ll sack you.”

“Thanks very much.”

“That was a joke, Hermione.”

“One never quite knows with you.”

*

Although Severus was sorry to see her go he was also quietly pleased because he wanted the school to himself. And now there was only Irma and Argus in residence, and probably Sybill Trelawney, all of whom were so reclusive that it was as good as having the school empty. But Severus also decided that it was high time he tracked down Sybill Trelawney. For someone who supposedly lived in the castle she had escaped his beady eye for too long.

It was past tea-time when he finished his second portrait sitting and made his way to the North Tower. As he flitted along the corridors he reflected on the fact that he knew very little about Sybill. Could she Apparate? Did she sneak out to the school gates and Apparate away in search of more sherry? Or did she ride off, Sinistra style, on a broomstick? Did she go shopping and return for dinner? Or had she gone on holiday – a week in a Blackpool boarding house, paying her way by reading the tealeaves? Perhaps she did a novelty turn on Central Pier. Perhaps she had a secret lover. “I think not” he murmured. “Perhaps she’s left. Well, it’ll save me the salary – I’ll not replace her. Dobbin can do it all.”

Sybill hadn’t left, nor gone on holiday. When he ascended the silver ladder and glided across the classroom he found her asleep in an armchair by the fireside of the room beyond. It was a tiny sitting room and it was a mess, books and crystal balls were scattered about and the rickety card table – that he guessed quite rightly doubled as a dining table – was strewn with blank playing cards. The unseasonal fire had made the room stuffy, and the perfumed air didn’t help; but his nostrils could still detect a familiar sherry-like whiff. “Professor?” he whispered.

She didn’t wake, but a voice answered him; a voice as angry as a hissing snake. “Leave her” it whispered. “She’s asleep!”

The voice seemed to come from Sybill’s hand. He moved her arm gently and found a miniature portrait, secured by a cord around her wrist. Carefully he detached it and looked at the miniature. Sybill muttered but did not wake.

Meanwhile the portrait face glared up at him through a tangle of hydra-like hair. “Put me back!” it hissed. “And don’t wake her. Can’t you see she’s asleep?”

“She’s pissed, more like.”

“That’s a gross slander, you foul-mouthed man! My sweet child does not drink. She lies awake at night, worrying. It’s no wonder she falls asleep in the day.”

“What on Earth does she have to worry about?”

“That blackguard whose Headmaster! He always was a nasty piece of work – she told me of his tricks. Now he’s spread his wing over the school. You’d worry too, if you had any sense! You’re a teacher too, aren’t you?”

Severus was quietly pleased. “Err, I’m starting a new job next term” he murmured smoothly. “But – forgive me – I think you must be mistaken. The person you speak of – he seems such a pleasant man.”

“Pleasant man? I can see you’re new! I hope your fortune here is better than poor Sybill’s. Is that why you sought her? For a reading?”

“I did want to make some enquiries of her, yes.”

“Perhaps, given Sybill’s–” The old witch hesitated, not liking to admit her granddaughter was drunk. “Perhaps I can help” she said at last.

“How?”

“I’ll help you read the Pentacle Deck.”

“Cards?”

“Of course. Take them off the table, and the cloth too. We’ll work in the classroom. Hurry up.”

It sounded amusing so he obeyed, gathering up the blank cards and the black tablecloth and carrying them through to a classroom table.

“Stack the cards” the little portrait commanded, “Fill you mind with one colour only and tap you wand on the stack. Then shuffle them.”

He chose black and the blank cards changed to a set of black-pipped playing cards, running from ace to nine, their backs patterned with carving knives. He made a thorough job of shuffling them and the portrait told him how to deal them out, building up piles at the points of the cloth’s red five-pointed star.

When all the cards were dealt the portrait spoke again. “Ace is high” it said. “None are court cards. Ace, nine, eight it goes. Start at the top, the point furthest from you. We’ll see what’s in your head, then we’ll move on. Prop me against your chest so I can see. And turn the cards face up.”

It took a long time because there were six suits – Hearts, Spades, Wands, Pentacles, Galleons and Crowns.

“Odd, but quite balanced” the portrait concluded. “Your upper left holds the Ace of Spades and the eight and nine of Pentacles, but your upper right has the Ace of Hearts and the seven and eight of wands. Your lower left holds the Ace and eight of Galleons, and your lower right the Ace and nine of Crowns. Your head holds the Aces of Wands and of Pentacles – you are a magical man and one who favours both the wand and other means. You have a temptation to use your powers arbitrarily – possibly regardless of hurt, so long as your will is satisfied – but the top Heart counters that appetite. You like money – see the high Galleons in your head and on both sides, but the Ace is low, as is the Ace of Crowns. You like money and status, but your greatest pleasure is in the exercise of your powers. You will not ride ambition purely for money, nor entirely for status. If high office were to curb your need of magic you would grow weary of it.”

“No point in striving to be Minister then.”

“Not for a man like you” the little portrait agreed. “Chief Auror would be better. It would keep your magic on the side of right. Does your Heart trouble you much?”

“Do you mean am I ill?”

“You know my meaning!” the portrait said fiercely. “You have a capacity for ‘inventive’ magic. But your Heart hinders. You would like to be free of that Heart – to be free to exercise your will without conscience.”

“If I cut out my heart I will die.”

The portrait agreed and said “It is that Heart that keeps you human. Learn not to despise it. What do knives mean to you?”

Severus couldn’t imagine what they could mean. “Nothing” he said. “I was a Healer … I enjoy good food. Could either be the connection?”

“I doubt it’s food. Healership? Perhaps. But you do not sense that is the answer. Did you ever use a knife as a weapon? A dagger perhaps?”

“I don’t go round stabbing people” he said, annoyed at such an idea. “I’m a potion-maker and a spell-caster. Cauldron, wand and mind are my tools.”

“Then we are done; I can tell you no more” said the portrait, “Unless you have questions?”

Severus sat and looked at the table. “You haven’t told me my future” he complained.

“That was not what this was about, but I have let you show yourself a thing or two. Have you learned much from this?”

“Yes, and no” Severus replied. “I have learned that what I always knew of myself – what I always thought of myself – is true. I must tolerate the burden of my Heart. I toyed, at one time, with other ambitions.”

“You put those aside?”

“I – ah!” He had a flash of insight and said “I sat forever on a knife edge. It was not a comfortable life.”

“The Spade and the Heart” the portrait said, observing the balance of the suits. “You speak of the edge as past.”

“The problem with edges is that one can fall from them” Severus said cynically. “I fell on the right side; I think it was by chance.”

“It’s never entirely by chance.”

“It doesn’t mean that I’m a saint.”

“Who of us is?”

“So” Severus concluded “I’m lumbered with the burden of my Heart.”

“I think you are” said the portrait, “Because, deep inside, it is your choice. I also think you must find a way to redefine it. It need not be a burden. You think of love as a weakness and a hindrance; but it is a source of strength. Harry Potter is teaching here, this year. Observe him. He has the strength of love; it has seen him through great battles, some of them even inside himself. Befriend him. He is a pleasant boy, young for you, but older than his years. You may grow to like his company. What do you teach – what subject?”

“It has in the past been Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts–”

“Wand and wandless as you said. Yet still you speak of the past – what of this year?”

“This year” said a voice from the doorway, “He is to be Headmaster. This, grandmother, is Severus Snape! Usurper! Eavesdropper! Trickster! Curse of my career!”

Severus rose, laying the miniature portrait on the table and giving Sybill a tiny bow. “It seems you are the one eavesdropping now” he said. “And yes, Sybill, as you so rightly point out I am Head Master. I even took the Mantle. Pity you missed it – it was a fine sight. Professors Potter and Granger, who were appointed at my express wish, can tell you all about it.”

“You took the Mantle” she said, her voice quivering. “That’s why you can summon my ladder.”

“Yes. The castle answers to me.”

“What do you want of me?” she asked fearfully. “You’ve come to throw me out. That’s it! You’re going to sack me, aren’t you.”

“If you carry on in this demented fashion I might have to consider it” he said testily. “But render you homeless for being drunk in the holidays? That seems excessive – excessive for the all-new Severus Snape. But I must warn you, Sybill, term-time is another matter. You may continue to live and work here as long as you behave yourself, and do not cause me grief. You will obey me – you will attend staff meetings; you will dine in the Hall; looking presentable and sober. You will not play silly tricks, or attempt petty revenges. In return, I will pay your salary, keep a roof over your head, and allow you to teach in the way you have always taught … Well? Is that insufficient? Have you nothing to say in return?”

“Th-thank you, Headmaster.”

“Then it just remains for me to thank you for your good-luck card” he added smugly. “An odd choice, but perhaps cards are not your forte. Have a word with your grandmother, here – she seems more expert than she pretends. And now, ladies, I bid you good day.”

I suppose I was a bit brutal, he mused as he wandered back to the Tower. But Sybill has to be warned; I won’t tolerate insubordination. Not even sneaky, underhand disobedience. I won’t have my authority undermined. And I won’t be known as the Headmaster who tolerates a drunk. I may be the all-new Severus Snape, but I’ll not be as soft as Dumbledore was thought to be. Well, that’s sorted out Sybill! Now for the elves…

That night he issued an instruction to the elves to attend a meeting in the Great Hall the following morning. By half past ten they had all arrived, crowding onto the two central house tables and along the innermost benches. Titcha was performing a head count. “All are here, sir” he announced.

“Excellent” said Severus. “I won’t keep you long” he said to the elves, “But I need you to know of a change I am bringing in, during next term. Dobby, Jotto, and Kreacher, step forward please … You three may leave, because what follows does not directly concern you. You may return to your duties. Titcha will advise you later of what is said here.”

He waited while they left and then continued, informing the Hogwarts elves that during the autumn they would come across uniforms – standardised clothing intended for the adult house-elves. There was a gasp and some worried muttering.

“Silence!” Severus commanded, pacing up and down between the rows of dangling feet. “Do not misunderstand this. I am not freeing you. I am not going to give you clothes. But you of your own volition ‘find’ garments to wear – warn-out towels and tablecloths. I will let you find something altogether better. There will be shorts, tops – summer and winter – plimsolls, and socks. You – the adult elves, the working elves – will all be dressed alike; all in black, with white socks. Name badges will be provided on your sweatshirts and T-shirts – here, on the left breast, like the school crest on my robes. Do you all see that?”

There was a chorus of yess and yessir, sounding like a whispered hiss.

“The name badge will be a plain oval field capable of taking colour” the Headmaster continued, “And you will have a choice of how to colour it. You must then embroider your name upon it. And that is essentially it. After this meeting I wish to see the chiefs of kitchen, laundry and chamber, and the quartermaster elf to discuss the division of duties. The introduction of uniforms will add to the work in the laundry and linen store, so we may need to re-think numbers. That is all. Are there any questions?”

Timidly an elf raised his hand and asked “Is Kreacher not part of this, sir?”

“Kreacher is not part of it because he is not a Hogwarts elf” said Severus. “He is Professor Potter’s elf so it will be for Professor Potter to decide about him. Jotto, similarly, is excluded. Jotto was a Hogwarts elf but Professor Dumbledore assigned him to me. That is why you find him here during the school year, and at my home when I am home. Dobby, as you know, is a freed elf, and he was also not a Hogwarts elf. He works here because he chooses to, and he tends to be wherever Professor Potter is, or wherever Professor Potter requests him to be.”

“Is you sure you is not freeing us, sir?” a more forthright female elf asked. “ ’Tis a bad disgrace to be freed. Is you sure, sir?”

“It is not a disgrace to be freed, but it is not a matter to be embarked upon thoughtlessly” Severus replied. “But no! I repeat I am not freeing you; not by intention and not by accident. Jotto found clothes without it breaking his enchantment. You can do the same. I want you smart and presentable. Most of you are not seen, but Titcha and Jotto are certainly seen; by my visitors. But whether something is seen or not it should be in good order. A uniform gives an immediate impression of orderliness. It supports discipline, method, and organisation. Hogwarts is to run like a well-oiled machine – it is to look efficient as well as to be efficient. And you will be warmer and more comfortable when properly clothed and shod. Any more questions?”

“Does we have any choice of colour, sir?” a tiny voice squeaked.

“Not an unlimited choice” Severus replied. “Madam Malkin and I agreed the colours because I do not want bright, garish displays. So don’t expect tangerine and turquoise – Hogwarts is not a fairground. But aside from black, grey, and white, you will find a generous range of rich hues. I’ll leave you to discover them. If you later regret your choice, you can change it. The charm works in a similar way to the robes’ house insignia, and the colour can be altered once a month … Any more questions?”

“When is this to begin, Headmaster?”

“As I said, during the autumn term” he replied. “The uniforms will probably start arriving shortly before Hallowe’en. You will all be snug and warm by winter.”

Chapter 7: Klotho Karme

30th August 1998

“Snapdragon” Harry said to the gargoyle and the stone creature sprang aside, revealing the spiral staircase.

The door at the top was different to Dumbledore’s. Dumbledore’s had been a warmer, redder wood, and the brass door knocker had been Griffon-shaped. Severus’s door was oak, dark – almost black – and with furniture of black iron. Harry lifted the snaked-shaped knocker and let it fall, and the solid clonk enveloped him. The door opened and Jotto led him to the sitting room. Severus was lying stretched out on the sofa – his habitual late-evening pose – hands behind his head, ankles crossed. The flickering firelight was warm but the lines in his face showed up sharp and hard.

“Come in, Harry. Sit down” he said. “If you would like a drink Jotto will get whatever you want.” He sounded tired and unhappy.

Shaking his head at Jotto, Harry lowered himself into a squashy leather chair. “Whassup?” he asked. “You look like you’ve had bad news.”

“I have” said Severus. “It’s been a totally crappy weekend. How has yours been?”

“So-so” said Harry. “Ron and Fred and George were going for a drink in The Hog’s Head with me, but when we got there it was closed. Aberforth’s ill.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a cold. Rosmerta says he runs the place single-handed, so if he’s ill he has to close up. Hey, remember the old burnt-out house near his place? It’s for sale.”

“I didn’t know. Didn’t see it advertised.”

“It’s got a board up. So what went wrong with your weekend?”

“You mean apart from Hermione having her nose stuck in a book all the time?” Severus ran his mind back over the last two days. “I popped into Olivander’s. I got that right – no children there on Friday – the first-years were all done. Marvellous! We got chatting about this year’s pupils, and then about the past, and I casually dropped Olive’s name into the conversation.”

“And?”

“Damned all” the Headmaster sighed. “He recalled, vaguely, a country bumpkin of a child, whose father had a German accent. Unless it was Russian. Or Norwegian … Olivander has no idea. He said there were lots of émigrés from the Grindelwald days; Olive’s father could be one of those. He bought her wand, paid cash, and the two were never seen again.”

“No reason why there should be, really” Harry said reasonably. “You were getting your hopes up too high if you expected much from Olivander.”

“But he’s very old” Severus pointed out. “He’s been around forever and he sees everyone, unless they have a foreign wand. Hermione has a theory that if Olive’s father was an émigré the Ministry might have a record of his arrival. But I don’t want her to charge in, asking questions. Opportunities have to evolve. We might come across one of our old contacts and be able to raise the topic casually–”

“Like you did with Olivander?”

“Exactly! We don’t have the right to conduct a blatant interrogation.”

“You’ve asked Scrimgeour, though.”

“Well … yes, in a way I have” Severus said with a shrug. “He knows what I’m after finding out. When I said old contacts I was thinking of that couple in the Armorials Office, or Kingsley.”

“Or Mad-Eye?”

Severus almost erupted. “Don’t even mention him! I had enough with his owl, yesterday!” Harry looked puzzled and Severus added “I leant him some photographs. He’s lost them.”

“How?”

“The most stupid way possible. He had his pocket picked at The Fwooper ’n’ Quill, Friday night. He hadn’t even looked at them! Why did he have to go for a drink? He doesn’t even drink – not what the pubs sell.”

“We don’t go there ourselves” said Harry. “Not late, of a weekend. Too dodgy. It’s alright if you don’t carry much money, but there’s all sorts get in there close to midnight. If Ginny and I go for a drink we’re gone by half nine.”

Severus looked bewildered. It sounded as though the tavern had changed a lot since the days of his Healership. “What goes on later on?” he asked.

“Party scene” Harry said. “If you’re young – late teens, twenties – and want to know where the best parties are, word gets put about there. We give that a miss cos there’s drugs and all sorts.”

“Can’t the Ministry clean it up?”

“Not that much gets traded in the pub; it’s just where you get the knowledge. Law Enforcement try and mingle, but these kids know their own set.”

“I expect Alastor was reliving his Auror days; deluding himself he was on the heels of some villain” Severus said scathingly. “Anyway, his play-acting has lost me some knowledge. He used to be sharp; he’s getting past it.”

Harry didn’t quite know what to say to that. It was hard to defend Alastor, but he was very fond of the old Auror and didn’t want to hear more criticism.

“Well, that aside” said Severus, “Let’s talk about something else. I want your help, Harry. I can’t think what to get Hermione for her birthday. So – ideas, please. What sort of things do you get Ginny?”

Harry shrugged. “The usual” he ventured, “Perfume, or chocolates, or a piece of jewellery. If you want something out the ordinary don’t ask me.”

“I see you’ve been shopping.”

“Oh, what, this?” Harry glanced down at his new maroon robe. “Ginny made me get clothes for school – for work” he said, correcting himself. “I got this colour to prove to Ron it looks okay. He always hated it.”

“That’s because it doesn’t look well with red hair.”

“No, I s’pose not.” Harry hadn’t given much thought to which colours did and didn’t suit people. He was surprised Severus thought of such things. Then he had a brainwave. “Why not ask Dumbledore’s portrait?”

“What?”

“For advice about the present.”

“Yes, I might do that. I might” Severus said, weighing up the idea. “But Dumbledore lived in a different age, and I’ve never known him buy presents for – well – anyone. Only Septima, in latter decades.”

“Okay … Why not get Hermione an owl?”

“She lives at the school; we have the school owls.”

“Not all year, you don’t. I’ve always thought she could do with an owl. She Apparates to a Post Office to send letters.”

Severus thought about it. Since the death of his mother’s owl in the previous year he had always used Post Office owls, when school owls were not available. “So do I” he said, “I send Jotto to post things for me.”

“There we are then” Harry said happily. “Either you could buy her and owl, or, if you think of something better let me know and I’ll hint to her that you could do with an owl. Christmas present!”

Finally Severus sat up, swinging his feet to the floor, an intent expression on his face.

“That really could be a very good idea” he agreed. “I’ve thought about giving her a broom, but it seems ridiculous to by a third broom. And to make a gift of a second-hand broom looks–”

“Mean?”

“Quite.”

Harry walked over to the fireplace to look at the Kaltenschtick. Severus had had it fixed above the mantle shelf, in the way that some Oxbridge University rowing blues hang up trophy oars. He reached out and stroked the handle. “So this is the broom you inherited” he said. “I wouldn’t mind a go on it.”

“I wouldn’t mind a try of your Firebolt.”

Harry looked round, thinking he was joking, but Severus looked as though he meant it. “Race you round the Quidditch pitch tomorrow, then?” said Harry. “Before breakfast?”

“Done!”

Grinning, Harry turned back to the Kaltenschtick. “It’s at times like this I miss Fred and George” he admitted. “They were a laugh. Ron, too, of course. But Fred and George were particular fun at broom games. Well, hope I’ve solved your problem. I’ll be off unless there’s anything else.”

“No, that was it, just about.” Severus said it reluctantly. He didn’t really want Harry to go but he was at a loss to know how to keep him. “I take it your room is comfortable.”

“Yeah; fine.”

“And Remus? Kreacher remembering his potion?”

“Yeah– You know he is.” Harry sat back down, wondering what was behind all these questions. “Is there something wrong?” he asked. “Are you worried about next term?”

Severus didn’t answer directly but he did mention an immediate concern. “I had that reporter here again today. Cedrella Mockridge. She’s doing her Witch Weekly piece. Severus Snape, centrefold. She promised me I’d like it this time. What do I do if she writes something awful?”

“Dunno. I’m in the same boat aren’t I” said Harry. “What can we do but ride it out? Isn’t that what Dumbledore would do?”

“I feel oddly powerless.” As he said it he realised it was because of the loss of Lucius. In the past he could always have called upon Lucius to put the word about if anyone looked likely to criticise him. Not that anyone was likely to criticise him. And in his days of being Voldemort’s spy it didn’t matter if there was the odd adverse comment – it merely ‘proved’ his Dark credentials. Now the boot was on the other foot; he had a reputation to protect and everything to lose. Perhaps the answer was to marry Hermione as quickly as possible. But she would not be rushed; he would be overstepping the mark if he expected her to wed before the summer recess. She hadn’t even continued their intimacy – she had kept to her new suite when she returned to the castle, and spent most of her time sorting out books and papers, and having meetings with Minerva and Septima at Minerva’s new cottage. “The trouble with being Headmaster” he concluded, “Is that the man at the top cannot have friends.”

“Yes he can” said Harry. “There’s Hermione and there’s me. Err, d’you mind if I change my mind about that drink?”

Jotto got them elderberry wine and they sat drinking and thinking, not minding the silence. Eventually Severus spoke about the latest information on Olive Green’s opal ring, asking if Hermione had mentioned what Filius had found out about it.

“She certainly told me” said Harry. “But you know Hermione; she went into information overload. Let’s see – she said the ring was made for someone called Klotho Karme, from Riga, and was passed from daughter to daughter. Klotho is a Greek name, she says, and Olive’s mother was Greek so Hermione’s hoping they’ll be a connection. Trouble is this Klotho witch lived in about sixteen-hundred, so it’s centuries back. So the Green family tree’s still got a big hole in it.”

“It’s more hole than tree” Severus said ruefully. “I told her it was an impossible job. She spends half the time looking up the meanings of names, half the time reading a Muggle book of Olive’s, half the time trying to do the Green tree, and half the time preparing for school. I’ve never known anyone cram so much into a life. Oh, and in her spare time she’s even sketched out part of my family’s tree. Did she tell you?”

Harry was amused at Hermione’s ability to make a whole consist of five halves. “Yeah” he said. “She thinks she’s traced a chunk of your mum’s side in the fifteen hundreds.”

“Hermione is a born organiser” said Severus. “Give her any data and she will impose order on it. She ought really to have a Ministry job. I’ve been selfish talking her into teaching; the disorderliness will get her down.”

“I wouldn’t worry” said Harry. “If it does she’ll do something about it. But she loves the subject. Wait and see – you might be surprised.”

“She doesn’t hate me for encouraging her here?”

“Hate you? Are you mad? You’re Mr Numero Uno for giving the elves proper uniforms. When are they due?”

“Round about Hallowe’en. That’s the target date Madam Malkin and I agreed on. She gave good discount as it’s such a large order, and she’s even supplying the footwear. Ah, the contracts, Harry!” he added in despair. “The contracts, the orders; the accounts – tedium with a capital T! Dumbledore left most of the admin to Titcha. I’m going to do the same.”

“I never thought of accounts.”

“You wait till you need supplies.”

“I won’t need much” Harry said, not realising what was involved in running a school. “Students have to supply their books. I’ll bring in, say, a Sneakoscope and a Foe Glass – demonstration purposes – but a lot of the practicals will be wand work. Hagrid says he can get me the odd creature.”

“Odd being the operative word” Severus mumbled grimly. “But he can’t expect to supply them all. And that aside, there will still be supplies you must draw on – timetables and schedules. The teachers’ stores are not stocked by magic.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“And the constant throughput of food and cleaning materials” Severus grumbled. “Things even I never considered – fuel … bedding … candles… And on the night of the Sorting the chamber elves dish out the scarves. There is so much going on that no one ever sees. How Dumbledore ran the place without admin staff I just don’t know, because I’m damn sure he didn’t do the work himself. I wondered how he spent his time, but I’m sure he didn’t spend it paper-shuffling. Minerva did a lot for him; Filius does for me.”

“As well as teach and run a House?”

“Yes. Deputy is the worst job of all. We make the best use of Titcha, and I’m training Jotto to do more. If needs be I’ll co-opt another elf.”

That reminded Harry of a point he wanted to check on. “These uniforms” he said, “Are the elves alright about them? Dobby says one or two are worried.”

“There frightened I’ll set them free” Severus explained. “Free by accident. Actually so is Scrimgeour – he called in this morning.”

Hesitantly Severus outlined the Minister’s visit and Harry realised that it was mostly responsible for the Headmaster’s deep gloom. Rufus Scrimgeour might have started off on the subject of elves and clothes, but their meeting had progressed to other matters. And by the time Severus got to the end of the tale even Harry was annoyed with Scrimgeour and his scheme for a ‘Museum of the Downfall of the Dark’. “Scrimgeour’s tried to use me in the past” he warned Severus. “He wanted to make Harry Potter into a kind of poster boy. This sounds similar, except he’s using us both.”

“Perhaps he is, but in itself the museum is not a bad idea.”

“Depends what he puts in it.”

“And where he sites it” said Severus. “I don’t think the Ministry is the place for it. I think it should be at Hogwarts. Scrimgeour wants it in a room off the Atrium. He wants the glory under his roof. He says more people will see it.”

“Yeah, well … could be that’s true” Harry reasoned. “Who comes here but students?”

“Influential visitors; governors; parents–”

“But you’re not gonna open the doors to all and sundry.”

“But neither is the Minister. Who goes to the Ministry except when they have to?”

“Separate building, then” said Harry. “Like the Quidditch Museum.”

“But think what he wants to show the world” said Severus. “The remains of the Horcruxes, the armorials, all the paraphernalia he can lay hands on, wax models of us wearing replica Orders of Merlin … All very flattering, but we are Hogwarts teachers. The whole concept of a museum honouring The Downfall of the Dark belongs here! At Hogwarts!”

“Yeah, it does in a way” said Harry. “Dumbledore drove it forward; and Dumbledore and Hogwarts were almost inseparable. But, to be fair, at the end a lot of what happened was nothing to do with the school. We found the armorials at Grimmauld Place, the locket Horcrux was hidden there, you did all that potion development there and here and various places, and the bee-keeper suits came from Roger. And the Horcrux ring and cup belonged to the Gaunts and Hepzibah Smith.”

“They belonged to the founders. Hogwarts founders.”

“Yeah, but they’d passed them on – within their families – not given them to the school.”

“The portrait was in the school – the monks’ portrait. The Ministry retrieved it from Myriad Mansion, but Olive Green stole it from the school. Actually” Severus added thoughtfully, “I think that portrait is what’s started Scrimgeour off on this idea of a museum. That’s why he gave in when I asked to visit Azkaban. I wondered why he talked himself into it. He might even be thinking that a museum will give him a pretext for taking that poison ring from Axel.”

Harry was giving the matter very serious thought now. “I agree one hundred percent that the portrait should come back” he said, “But I can’t help feeling that the case for a museum, here, is not clear-cut.”

“But in a showdown with Scrimgeour–?”

“–I’d back you” said Harry. “I know what Scrimgeour’s like. And it’d be dishonouring Dumbledore to let the Ministry win. Hey, a showdown! You could duel for it.”

Severus gave him an evil smile. “I think not” he decided. “I might be tempted to use one of my spells on him. And then he might start to wonder if the Dark is really downfallen.”

Finally Harry went off to bed and Severus took a last look around his Tower suite before turning in. The office looked beautiful. The new furniture was dark brown oak, polished to a mirror-like shine by Jotto’s loving attentions. And the leather skivers on the desk and meeting table were like green forest pools. Soft candlelight was everywhere, drawing gleams of gold from the spines of the books.

Most of the portraits were dozing but Dumbledore’s watched him with amusement. “All set for the Feast?” he asked.

“I know what I’m going to say.”

“Looking forward to a school year outside of the classroom?”

“I’ll be in classrooms some of the time” Severus replied. “I’m taking Lupin’s classes on the Friday and the Monday, and Harry’s OWLs and NEWTs. I don’t know how you didn’t die of boredom, Dumbledore.”

“Ha-ha; you wait and see. Maybe a new Tom Riddle will appear.”

“Don’t wish that on me. But talking of Dark Wizards have you heard the name Klotho Karme?”

“I think so. Wasn’t she a poisoner? From – Lithuania? – Latvia? Let us ask the others.”

He woke the other portraits and asked them. There was a general murmur of negatives but Phineas Nigellus said Karme was a spider Animagus and he thought there was a Slytherin connection.

“The difficulty is” he said in his reedy voice, “There are so many connections with the house of Slytherin. Gaunt, Black, Malfoy… If you think of Salazar in isolation his line ends with Gaunt. I suppose technically it ends with Riddle. But Salazar had an elder brother, Balthazar. If you think in a broader sense, you admit to many Slytherin branches. Not all with the surname Slytherin, obviously.”

“And they kept intermarrying and re-intermarrying” Everard said, stifling a yawn, “Especially at that level of second and third cousin. Very unhealthy! That’s why they had such trouble producing heirs. Those pure-blood families who regard themselves as noblest are like fish in a pool drying in the sun.”

Severus was thinking of Olive Green’s argument with Bellatrix. “Sinistra boasted of being related to two founders” he said. “Slytherin must be one of them. I believe Ravenclaw is the other. Rowena; have you nothing to say to this?”

Rowena Ravenclaw looked awkward. Finally she said “Morwenna, yoounger daughter of my sister, wed Balthazar.”

“Why ever did your family allow that?” Helga Hufflepuff asked sharply, and Rowena gave her an angry stair and flounced away.

“No; don’t go” Severus called, but too late. “Blast! Why did you have to upset her?” he flared, rounding on Helga.

“She’ll be back” Dumbledore said gently. “But I think I can venture a guess. If you remember Rowena’s own child was illegitimate. It brought shame to the family. It also made it difficult for the witches to find husbands. Rhonwen’s youngest daughter Igraine married the ancestor of a friend of mine, Almeric Doge.”

“Rhonwen?”

“Rhonwen was the sister Rowena mentioned just now. Almeric took her third daughter Igraine without dowry; a gallant gesture. Balthazar did the same with the middle daughter Morwenna. And Remiglius Vector had similarly done without a dowry when he married the disgraced Rhonwen, the witch disowned by Julian Peverell.”

“Oh yes. Very noble of Vector” Phineas sneered. “His family benefited in later generations.”

“He could hardly have foreseen that” Everard remarked. “Vector wasn’t profiteering by choosing a Ravenclaw bride. Nor was Doge. Quite the reverse – they were noble gestures.”

“Rhonwen wasn’t disgraced because she had consorted with a Peverell” Phineas snapped. “Salazar had not caused the split at that stage; nor had he become obsessed with Dark magic. Peverells, Gaunts and Slytherins were as well thought of as Vectors and Ravenclaws. And quite rightly.”

“Yes, they were” said Dilys. “They were not associated with Dark magic. But you have to admit that Julian Peverell had still fathered a bastard child, and disowned her, and deserted her and her mother. Those were not noble actions. The Ravenclaw girls made good marriages thanks to Vector and Doge.”

“And Balthazar Slytherin.”

“Yes, yes; very well, and Balthazar Slytherin” Dilys conceded. “But when Salazar let himself be seduced by the Dark, Balthazar sided with him.”

“You expect him to desert his own brother?” Phineas asked derisively.

“If he turns to evil ways, yes I do.”

“Besides” Phineas added, talking over her, “It was only quite some time after the founding of the school, that opinion hardened. That gradually gave rise to two camps; those supporting Salazar’s concerns and those who thought he’d overreacted. That was all it was – a question of over-reaction.”

“Salazar got cranky, and ran off the rails” Armando said derisively. “Face facts, Phineas.”

“Who are you calling cranky, Dippett?”

“I agree with Armando” said Dumbledore. “Salazar suffered the usual malady of old age. Persecution complex.”

This sparked a chorus of objections and approvals. All the portraits were wide awake now and the exchanges were getting heated. Severus left them arguing and climbed the stairs to the room above. The fire in his sitting room had all but gone out and Jotto arrived to attend to it, pattering out from the tiny anteroom that he and Titcha shared.

“Is you needing anything, master?”

“Only a gag for Geriatrics Anonymous.”

“Sir?”

“No, nothing at all” Severus said, smiling quietly at his own joke. “Be off to your bed.”

“Yessir. I finish book, sir.”

“What next, then?”

“Master Harry give me ‘Hunt for Red October’.”

“What? Show me.”

Jotto brought it to him. It was a dog-eared paperback that the Dursleys had, in a moment of monumental foolishness, once bought for Dudley because he said he liked the film. Severus read the notes on the cover and flicked through the pages. “You’ll struggle with this” he said. “You don’t have enough experience of Muggle life and Muggle politics. Try it if you like, but I think you need something else.”

“Miss Hermione say so too. She offer me ‘Lion, Witch and Wardrobe’.”

“I think that will probably be better.”

“And Master Harry say I could have ‘Notes From A Small Island’ if I not like this.”

“What’s ‘Notes From A Small Island’?”

“I don’t know, master. What should I do?”

“Try this. Then, if you’re floundering, try one of the others. Put them to the test; make a decision.” Jotto looked at him, unsure. “I am not ordering you to read any particular book” said Severus, “But I am ordering you to read something.”

“Yessir.”

“Goodnight, Jotto.”

He handed back the book and continued upward. At the top of the higher flight he looked down. The firelight played on the leather Chesterfields, and again on the spines of the wizarding books. Jotto had drawn back the curtains to keep the sitting room from overheating and the diamond panes twinkled. He could see as far as Hogsmeade, lights winking golden in the dark. Tomorrow was August Bank Holiday so perhaps that was why some folk were up late.

And after the bank Holiday comes the start of term, he said to himself. Old students, and new students. Old staff and new staff. And, in a sense, I am both.

Chapter 8: The New Celebrity

1st to 18th September 1998

Severus could hear the room a-buzz with sound as he waited in the antechamber. He looked down at his robes and picked off a single ginger hair. How had Crookshanks got hair on his black dress robes? “I’ll murder that animal” he murmured, then, as he heard Pomona call for silence he strode forward, through the door, and in.

“–rofessor Severus Snape” Pomona was saying.

A roar erupted from the Hall. The Slytherin table was palpably shaking; students were clapping and cheering and stamping their feet. At the other tables there was polite applause but the Slytherins were going wild. Not since the eighteen-hundreds had there been a Slytherin Headmaster, and it was hard not to break into an idiotic grin as he walked forward and took his place. He raised his hand, and gradually silence returned.

“Thank you” he said with a pretence at being taken aback, and the students who knew him laughed at the show of diffidence. “After such a welcome it is difficult to know what to say. Thank you, Professor Sprout, for the introduction. I believe that almost everyone here knows me and almost everyone here will recognise even the new faces amongst the staff. I will deal with those introductions when the Sorting is completed, so let me call upon Professor Flitwick to bring in the first years. And let the Sorting … begin.”

It took a while. There were thirty-nine first years and unlike Severus’s mock modesty they all looked genuinely shy and were unsure of what to do. Nine went to Gryffindor, seven to Slytherin, eleven to Ravenclaw and twelve to Hufflepuff. When they were seated Severus stood again and introduced himself for the benefit of the first-years. Then he turned to his right.

“Professor Hagrid you will know already, from your trip across the lake” he said. “Next to him is a face that most find instantly familiar – Professor Potter joins the school, teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Next to him, re-joining us in a permanent capacity, is Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking the lower school for Care of Magical Creatures. Stand up please, you two, and take a bow …”

When the welcomes were complete he ordered the feast to begin. At times he looked along the table. Harry was wearing green velvet and chatting to Hagrid. Hermione in blue was talking alternately to Irma and to Remus – it looked as though they were competing for her attention. Even Sybill had put in an appearance; she looked shivery in a robe of silver-grey that was too thin for the time of year. Septima had already swathed her lower body in a horse-blanket skirt but she looked as robust as Table Mountain compared to willowy Sybill. She sat with her sister, tall and shrewd Matilda.

A princely turnout, he decided.

When the puddings were almost done he rose to his feet again and called for silence. “I have just a few notices to give out” he told them gravely, referring in a cursory way to a note he had scribbled. “The rules remain as always – no magic in corridors – no magic of any kind that is not authorised by a member of staff. Staff – it goes without saying – are to be obeyed at all times. Prefects are to be obeyed at all times. Safety is paramount, and discipline is its agent. And on the point of safety I must inform you that there is a list of devices and substances that are banned at this school. A long and growing list. Copies of it will be posted on the notice boards in the House common rooms. Study it carefully and be sure you abide by it. Anyone who disregards it can expect punishment … Quidditch tryouts will take place in the third week of term. Anyone interested in playing for his House team should give his name to his team captain … And finally there is just one other thing I wish to say.”

He laid aside his note and lent forward, gazing at them intently. The Hall became totally silent, everyone knew that something very serious was about to be announced.

“This school had received a lot of publicity of recent years” Severus said solemnly. “Those of you who read the magical press will have seen the names Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape appear many times. You may also have seen reference to our Houses – to Gryffindor and Slytherin – and to the attributes of those Houses. Now you are allotted to a House. Some of you might be wondering what that will mean. What will the House be to you, and what must you be to it? The founders of Hogwarts established four schools, contained within one building. But those four schools have, over time, grown and fused, and have become one giant family. Families will quarrel and disagree, and sometimes they don’t even like each other very much. But they are still a family and they must at times of need be ready to stand shoulder to shoulder. The pinnacles of Hogwarts greatness occur when members of different Houses work together. So these are the watchwords for your time here – ‘work’ and ‘together’. Remember those – ‘work’ and ‘together’. And now I bid you … good night.”

***

Despite his end-of-August gloom Severus could not have wished for a better start to his Headship. Nothing out of the ordinary was reported at the first staff meeting, and his write-up in Witch Weekly ‘Enlightening the Darkness’ was far better than the Daily Prophet article in July. Jotto had pasted both into a scrapbook. At times Severus opened it to admire the photographs; Cedrella had been clever with the those – one at the desk, quill poised above a work rota (‘the captain at the helm’ she had said of it); and one of him in his favourite armchair, but not lounging – he was slightly forward and slightly to one side, a cup of coffee steaming on the table by his knee. He was in the act of speaking – explaining something. The black eyes stared out from the page, commanding attention.

“Read it to me, Jotto” Severus demanded gently.

“I read you my book, sir. I have tricky bit to ask about.”

“No; later. Read this now. I want to hear how you say it.”

And so (was it now for the fourth time?) Jotto began again, carefully hiding a smile.

As I set off for Hogwarts I tried to recall what my daughter had said of Professor Snape because I was never at Hogwarts in his day. Horace Slughorn was my Potions Master, and he was Head of Slytherin too – and he’s still there, still doing those jobs. So from where has Snape leap-frogged? And what might Snape be like?

“He was the scariest teacher in the school” my daughter said. “You could never get away with anything. He was fiercely proud of his House. And a stickler for rules. Watch out for the haughty stare and the coal-black eyes.”

Or had she said cold black eyes?

A smartly clothed house-elf showed me to his sitting room. Not to his office because Snape was seeing the Minister. No, I was permitted the sitting room – I was in the inner sanctum straight away. What struck me about it was the absence of paintings but I remember I had passed one on the way up so I took a second look. It’s at the top of the stairs, a new-looking watercolour of sailing boats on a river. Boats, buildings, trees, even gulls, but there are few people in the picture, and they are tiny, dark, and indistinct.

I settle myself on the sofa and am offered a drink. Coffee, or Ogden’s or Corrigan’s, or umpteen other things. I suppose it’s no surprise that a Potions Master has a soft spot for beverages. But the Waterford crystal was something else, and the firmly-buttoned Chesterfield was reassuring by the time the Corrigan’s hit home.

As I sit and wait I can’t help being impressed Everything about the room spells luxury – from the tome-lined walls, to the cut-glass tumblers, to the Kaltenschtick Max slung on the chimney breast like the oar of a Cambridge blue. And yet Snape never went to a Muggle university; nor is he famed for being a sportsman; not in the wizarding world. He’s famed for being a Death Eater, a secret agent, an acerbic House Master, and latterly an implacable Dark-Wizard hunter. He’s famed for playing a long and devious game. A Slytherin game.

Is that why he’s not here? Am I being stood up? Is he really seeing the Minister?

Just as I begin to wonder, Snape arrives in a swirl of black, apologises for making me wait, folds his long limbs into a chair, and accepts a cup of coffee which he puts to one side. I’ve just given way to a second Corrigan’s and it’s going down a treat – it’s like Christmas come early. But Snape is more cautious. I’ve fallen into his trap; I’m on the Irish, he’s keeping his head.

Oh bother! Never mind. Take a breath and make a start.

The Slytherin colours are omnipresent so I start by enquiring if the Slytherin mind is in the ascendancy at Hogwarts. He denies it.

“Look at my teachers” he replies reasonably. “Harry Potter, ex-Gryffindor; Hermione Granger, ex-Gryffindor; Remus Lupin, ex-Gryffindor from my own Hogwarts days; and Rubeus Hagrid – a Gryffindor heavyweight if ever there was one! Do you really think Harry Potter would want to join some Slytherin club? Do you think Miss Granger would? They know there is a balance at Hogwarts. It’s an intentional balance, and balance is a point we’ve already covered.”

I ask about the re-appointment of Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank and am told this is part of the radical thinking at the all-new Hogwarts.

“Dumbledore tended to overload the teaching staff” Professor Snape says kindly. “Rubeus still has gamekeeper duties so it’s simply not fair to expect him to carry a full subject-load. He will retain the OWL and NEWT years, and Wilhelmina will cover the juniors.”

Not fair? I gulp a mouthful of liqueur, wondering if I’ve misheard. My daughter joked of phrases like ‘Detention’ and ‘Five points from Ravenclaw’ but ‘Not fair’? No, she hadn’t mentioned he said things like that. I search deeper:

Let’s learn a little bit about you, Professor, because you’re conspicuously inconspicuous.

“I’ll try to make myself transparent” he assures me. “What would you like to know?”

(1) When were you happiest?

“During my studentship – particularly pre OWL and NEWT – even I don’t like that much work.”

(2) What is your biggest regret?

“That I cannot always foresee the consequences of my actions.”

(3) What do you still want to achieve?

“To make Hogwarts whole and one.”

(4) How do you want to be remembered?

“As the man who did it.”

(5) What is your greatest virtue?

“Analytical mind.”

(6) What is your greatest vice?

“Shortness of temper. I’m particularly bad at suffering fools.”

(7) What vice can you most easily forgive?

“Pride.”

(8) What is your most marked characteristic?

“Solemnity.”

(9) What is your greatest fear?

“Being misunderstood.”

(10) What do you value most in a woman?

“Clear-thinking, augmented by tenderness.”

(11) What do you value most in a man?

“Critical friend.”

(12) What do you value about your friends?

“Tolerance.”

(13) What is your worst defect?

“Predisposition to mistrust.”

(14) What is your dream of happiness?

“Material security, and a friend to share it with.”

A surprising answer, that last one. It doesn’t sound like the secret dream of the average Dark Wizard. But then again secret dreams are … secret. Perhaps I’m hoping for too much candour.

I didn’t understand his reply to question three and I say so, and he promised to explain it, and I watch and listen, trying all the time to puzzle Snape out. Most say he’s a changed man. Perhaps he is. He’s a hard man to read. Snape is a man, in all senses, in the middle. He’s young, not yet forty, and yet the face is lined and shows if not age at least experience. (Some would argue too much.) He was a Dark Wizard, now he’s not – he’s implacably the reverse. He’s known to be a gourmet, and to possess velvet dress robes; yet there is a sense of Spartan self-denial about Snape; a hint of the archetypal scholar for whom poverty is a virtue. On this summer’s day he’s in pristine black – a plain cotton robe he might use for teaching in the dungeons.

“A working robe for a working man” he says, opening his hands in a gesture of frankness. “When it comes to work you will find me dressed for work, not in battle colours. House rivalry has its place – it can be a spur to excellence. But it’s the mother of division and has spawned misunderstandings. That is why Hogwarts needs to be made whole.”

Do you mean you are abolishing the Houses?

“Absolutely not” he assures me. “But what do you know of the Houses? What do you really know? What – for instance – would you say is the foremost virtue of Gryffindor House?”

Easy – ‘Bravery’ says I. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Permit me to correct you” Professor Snape says gently. “Chivalry is the foremost virtue. The selfless aspect of innate courage. And Ravenclaw?”

I had to get this right – it was my old House. ‘The transcendence of the pursuit of knowledge’.

“Indeed. Knowledge above all else.”

Phew! Got one! No prizes though for Cedrella; merely the next hurdle to jump.

“And Hufflepuff?”

Err … trickier ground. Helga Hufflepuff famously said she’d take the rest, so her criteria have never been clear cut. ‘Hard work’ I venture. ‘Staying power’. Miraculously he agrees. But he puts it into other words.

“Dogged persistence, despite scant recognition. Loyal devotion. And Slytherin?”

You answer that one, Professor; you’re the one being interviewed.

He chuckles politely – carefully – and says “The cunning mind. The ability to use knowledge; to make bravery second to one’s continued survival; to resort to indirect and, some would say, wily methods at those times when the above-board would lead to disaster.”

Wily? Is that a new way of spelling wicked?

He smiles again and puts me right. “Unfortunately because the cunning mind baulks at artificial boundaries it sees little need to shrink from investigation of anything. Including, obviously, the Dark Arts. That has led to a false association of ideas between Slytherin House and evil itself. That is a dreadful misconception. It is simply not true that all who are Sorted into Slytherin House are prone to evil, anymore than it means that all who are Sorted into Ravenclaw are razor-sharp, or those into Gryffindor are chivalrous. People are rarely all one thing, and certainly not all the time, or in all situations. So I will be looking to foster a new understanding of the strengths of all of our pupils. And I will be looking for a whole-hearted contribution from everyone, towards weaving the rich tapestry that Hogwarts should rightly be.”

A tapestry?

“A tapestry. Not a patchwork blanket such as on my bed when I was a boy. Tapestries interlock, patchworks don’t.”

And what of the Slytherin devotion to pure-blood?

“We live in a different age to the noble Salazar” Professor Snape reminds me. “Nowadays, wizards and witches are rarely captured and burnt at the stake, so we must temper our fears with common sense. Magical ability arises as spontaneously in the human population as does different-coloured hair and eyes, and we would be fools to cast aside such potential. We should nurture those talents – Dumbledore believed that, and he was as pure-blood as could be. I am half-blood, and so is Professor Potter. Professor Granger – I’m sure she won’t mind my saying – is Muggle-born; but it didn’t stop her being the highest-scoring pupil throughout her student years, as well as winding up Head Girl. If you think that because I headed Slytherin ‘prejudice’ is my byword then you have not understood me at all.”

I asked him about the elf; was it policy now to free all the Hogwarts elves?

“Do not mistake uniform for clothes” he says curtly.

He doesn’t want to elaborate, so I asked instead about his early life because Snape seems to have sprung full-grown from his teenage years, and there are no parents around to give us clues of the precocious child he must have been.

“I didn’t excel at primary school” he says coldly. “I didn’t fit in to Muggle life. I came to life here. Only here.”

Only here?

“I don’t mean I hated every moment of my childhood, but as I said my happiest times were the early days here, before the cares and responsibilities of adulthood intruded.”

It’s not enough; I press for more.

“My parents were apt to quarrel” he says eventually. “Life was hard and money was short. For me life blossomed when I came to this castle – that was their gift to me. If anyone is under the illusion I am some noble son of Slytherin they are mistaken. Nobility isn’t inherited in that way; nor is it bought with gold. Nobility is born of wisdom; and wisdom is forged in the white-heat of study. I came here to study. I’m still learning.”

But was there absolutely no Snape, pre-Hogwarts? If there was I never found it. He had grown tired of being transparent; it was time for me to pack up and leave. All I could take away of Snape the boy was that his bed once had a patchwork blanket.

And so reluctantly I bid Professor Snape good day, feeling in some sense privileged, but in many ways defeated. He has illuminated his teaching ethos and his plans, but the man himself has barely emerged from the shadows. And I think that’s how he wants it. His courteous elf walked me to the gates, and I left the lair of the new master that now reins over Hogwarts, vowing never again to knock back two Corrigan’s before lunch.

So from Death Eater, to Spy, to House Master, to Dark-Wizard Hunter, and now to Headmaster – Professor Severus Snape has weaved quite a rich tapestry so far. But is the final picture still to emerge?

*

“Are you thinking of running for Minister” Nadine asked him when she saw Severus on an afternoon in the middle of September.

She had invited him to tea, partly because she wanted to see him and partly because Severus had asked for her help with hiding Hermione’s birthday present. It was a little owl that he had bought from Eeylops and it was currently flying around the house.

“I don’t know why you should say such a thing” he said to her. “You haven’t got a window open, have you?”

“Yes you … no, I haven’t, and yes you do know what I mean!” she said. “That Witch Weekly article was pure politics. ‘Magical ability arises as spontaneously in humans as does different hair colour – we would be fools to cast aside such potential…’ You said you had no head for politics.”

“I haven’t. That is simply what I believe.”

“You, Mr Snape, believe in proper wizarding pride!”

“Yes! But for all wizards” he said sleekly. “I never have seen the point of excluding Muggle-borns; not if they’ve got real talent. Dumbledore thought the same. I have no time for fools, nor for idlers who squander their art. It’s ability that matters, not blood. I do, however, value the traditional wizarding life. That’s pride, if you like. That is why I love Hogwarts. Inside that castle I can pretend the Muggle world doesn’t exist. That is why I like my house. It’s remote. I can live the wizard life there, almost as well as at Hogwarts.”

“Do you think Hermione will be content to live the wizard life?”

Severus was almost sure that she would. “She is very traditional in her outlook” he said. “Don’t you think she’ll be happy there? Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss this; I came to discuss her birthday. It’s fortunate that it’s on a Saturday.”

The smooth start to the term had made it easy to accept Nadine’s tea invitation, and Severus realised that in trouble-free times he was likely to have a good deal of spare time if he arranged work matters sensibly. He had taken up Harry’s suggestion of giving Hermione an owl and had purchased it on the understanding that Nadine would hide it for him until Saturday lunchtime.

“Don’t be late. I’m off to Septima’s in the afternoon” she warned him.

“I won’t be late” he promised. “Hermione’s going to The Broomsticks. She’s seeing Harry and Ron, and one or two of the staff said they would call in. She’ll be amply occupied while I’m moving the bird to the school.”

“What if she finds it?”

“Too bad. But I won’t let her into my room. She intends seeing Harry and Ginny in the evening. My appointment with her is late – just before midnight.”

“Is that when–?”

“Yes.”

“You are going to free him?”

“Yes. I want it to be just the three of us.”

“Hermione won’t keep it a secret.”

“That doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to make a big thing of it.”

“That means you’re not sure about it” Nadine said shrewdly.

No, Severus wasn’t altogether sure about the freeing of Jotto. He was going ahead with it partly out of duty but mainly to impress Hermione. His reservations concerned the fact that the Dark Side might not be totally vanquished, and that it would be an act that would annoy the Minister. Nadine knew most of what he was feeling, and at that moment she was partly amused and partly annoyed.

“You made that promise to Jotto” she reminded him.

“And I fully intend to honour it” he insisted. “I always have.”

“There’s been no Dark activity since the death of Voldemort. We’ve all checked the papers, day after day. You – Harry – Hermione – me. Even Doon.”

“Doon?”

“She wouldn’t start the baby until she was sure you’d made things safe. She’s as cautious as you are.”

She drained her cup and offered more, but a third cup was too much for Severus. He declined, but accepted more crumpets.

Nadine was in a cavalier mood about authority. “Stuff Scrimgeour!” she said. “Why worry about upsetting him? You’re your own boss. Anyway, what if a Dark supporter creeps out of the woodwork? So what?”

“It probably won’t matter at all” Severus murmured, licking butter off his fingers. “If Jotto was to be captured and tortured there’s nothing he could say that isn’t already in the public arena.”

“Severus!”

“Well, that’s what it comes down to” he said simply. “I thought you understood when you said ‘so what’. Don’t you grasp the full meaning of the house-elves’ enchantment? They are physically unable to give away the secrets of their masters. Free them, and you enable them to say anything. Only their own restraint – loyalty, courage, whatever – holds them back, if they choose to let it.”

“You mean if Jotto was interrogated now, asked things about you, he would not be able to give away secrets to save himself? He could not elect to betray you?”

“That’s what I mean; yes” Severus said unemotionally. “He would have no such choice. It’s not an option.”

“He’d have to endure – any thing?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think you should free them all, now. Right away. The whole lot! Does Hermione know this?”

“I’m sure she does.”

“So why isn’t she banging a drum about it?”

“Because she and Harry, and all the other Gryffindors have an underlying confidence in their ability to protect the innocent” said Severus. “That’s why they haven’t thought to start a mass campaign for the end of enslavement.” Severus noticed Nadine’s pinched face. She looked sad and disappointed. “I can’t hide the truth from you” he admitted. “There’s no point. The bottom line is I’m out to make a good impression on Hermione. To win her heart.”

“You’ve done that!”

“To keep it, then. Not to lose her. I always intended to free Jotto. It’s a duty – I believe in duty. I will do it. I’ve delayed because it suited me to delay. Now I’m going ahead–”

“Because it suits you to go ahead.”

“I never pretended to be Mr Wonderful.”

“If Hermione understood this I don’t think she’d be impressed at all” Nadine told him stoutly. “If you’re worried about losing her I think you’d better re-think some of your actions. Too much expediency and not enough valour … Crikey, Sev! I never thought I’d be saying that to you; not after the Downfall of the Dark.”

Severus smiled forlornly and finished his crumpet. “The point is you can say it” he said. “You dare to say it, and I dare to listen. Don’t give up on me, Nadine. I’m not all bad. And now I had better relieve you of this owl and hide it until tomorrow.”

Chapter 9: Jotto’s Decision

18th September to 31st October 1998

Harry, predictably, took a subtly different view to Nadine when they discussed the matter of house-elf liberation. Severus gave him a suitably watered-down version of Nadine’s feelings but Harry could read enough from what he said.

“It’s not quite like that” he said in reply. “I know the enslavement is very strong – strong enough to make Dobby injure himself. But there came a point at which Dobby disobeyed. I realise he’s unusual, but he was still under the enchantment.”

“What are you saying?”

Harry thought about it, wondering how to explain. Then he said “Lucius was a powerful wizard, wasn’t he.”

“Yes. There is nothing timid about Lucius.”

“And that’s what counts when casting spells. Which means he exercised a strong enchantment. But Dobby disobeyed when he really wanted to. He had to punish himself, but he disobeyed.”

“You mean he had a vestige of free will? So my elf, under torture, is not guaranteed to hold true.”

“I mean it’s not certain. Nadine’s got a black-and-white view of this, but she’s never had a house-elf has she. It’s complex. They obey; but at times they don’t. At times – extreme times – they choose.”

“I see.”

“Some elves want to remain loyal” Harry said, reassuring him. “Look at Winky – she wouldn’t have a word said against Barty Crouch.”

“Exactly. Blind devotion. The classic house-elf response.”

But Harry was shaking his head. “I question how blind it is” he said. “I think the devotion is partly down to enchantment and partly down to being earned. If elf owners are good, basically good, they will win loyalty. If they are cruel they risk losing it no matter what they do, magically, to enforce it. If it was just like a well-cast spell bad owners would get total obedience. But what’s the reality? Disobedience followed by self-punishment. Not what an owner wants at all.”

“So free will is at work, for certain elves, and under certain circumstances.”

“I think it’s got a place” said Harry. “Elf rights is dear to Hermione’s heart – it’s a subject we’ve thrashed out. Ron would never listen, but she and I have batted it about. She has to think about what I say because I own an elf. I’ve got the experience of owning Kreacher, and having won Dobby. And Hermione’s not blind, we’ve both seen how Jotto behaves to you. You’re not very polite but you’re actually quite kind to him.”

“Am I?” Severus raised his eyebrows, amused and said “I must rectify that.”

“In material terms, yes, you’re kind to him” said Harry, “And in what you actually get him to do.”

“This is very didactic of you” Severus told him. “This is not the Mr Potter I used to see in class.”

“No … well … let’s say it’s down to having my own classroom” Harry grumbled. “I find myself explaining more and more. Putting things into words that were once … mostly instinctive. Mind you, I’m having to ration the words! All the kids want to do is make me chat. About Voldemort; about good and evil… It’s all important stuff, and I’d like to have proper discussion about those issues. But I keep having to tell them they’ve got to think of the exam.”

“Precisely.”

“It’s hard keeping them at it” Harry admitted. “You know I might set up a discussion group in time, because good and evil – deciding what that means and where you stand in relation to it – is all part of defence against the Dark. Well, I think it is.”

“Don’t get them into the touchy-feely realm too soon” Severus warned. “They mustn’t think they can give a ten-page discourse on ethics and get through that way. They have to answer the questions.”

“Yep, I do make that point” said Harry. “Now what time are you going to give Hermione her owl? Only I’ve got her owl treats, and it’d be a bit of a give-away if she got those first.”

Hermione’s birthday celebrations were deliberately low-key. Many of the staff were fond of her and had been so for years, but some had very different feelings. Sybill Trelawney had disliked her ever since she stormed out of Divination, and Rolanda Hooch was annoyed that there seemed to be some special relationship between Hermione and the Headmaster. So Saturday’s plans included seeing Hagrid and Peter in the morning, a lunch-time gathering ‘with the boys’ at The Three Broomsticks, afternoon tea with Septima, Pomona, Minerva, and Nadine, and an evening hot chocolate with Harry and Ginny.

Because Severus didn’t intend to see Hermione until very late in the day Harry was in a fix when they met at lunchtime. He brandished his present but said she mustn’t open it until bedtime.

“That is ridiculous!” Hermione said, taking a Gillywater from Ron. “Thanks, Ron. Look at this! I can’t open it until tonight.”

“Until you go to bed” Harry added.

Ron suggested it was bed socks but Hermione disagreed. “I don’t think so” she said. “It’s–”

“No. Don’t squeeze it!” Harry said fiercely. “You’ll bust it. Just be patient. Women! How did you get on at Zonko’s, Ron?”

Ron, who had just been about to hand over his present, found himself sidetracked. “Fine” he said. “Fred and George ’ve got no worries there. You know it wouldn’t surprise me if Zonko’s didn’t close for good.”

“Why? I thought it had picked up again. It seemed okay last summer.”

“Nah, it wasn’t really” he said to Harry. “Remember Dad and I came back to check it out? They haven’t even got anything as good as Decoy Detonators. I think it’s the son running it now, and he doesn’t speak much English.”

Hermione’s ears pricked up like a fox terrier. “What does he speak?” she asked. “Where’s he from?”

“Dunno.”

“Right. I’m going to find out.”

“Oi! Come back!” Ron called out. “What about this?” He watched, amused, as she hurried away. “Same old Hermione” he said. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper and reminded Harry that Fred and George were once more contemplating buying Zonko’s shop premises. “If business is declining they could get it for a song” he murmured hopefully.

“They’d have to build the trade up again.”

“No problem! With the school close by? Easy. And it’s much better placed than that dump next to The Hog’s Head. Right in the heart of the village. That’s why I can’t understand what’s gone wrong with Zonko’s. Remember how it was all boarded up the winter Katie Bell got hurt?”

“Do you think they were on the Dark Side? Or being got at, like Madam Rosmerta was got at?”

“Don’t know. I always liked old Zonko. He seemed alright.”

Harry reminded him that Professor Sinistra had seemed alright and they spent a few minutes discussing Dark magic and Ron’s job.

“I bet you can’t tell if a kid’s a budding Dark wizard” Ron said glumly. “All the stuff you did–”

“Me?”

“You, when you were a kid. Pre-eleven.”

“It was mostly self-protection” Harry said, thinking back and hoping that was true. “Except Dudley at the zoo – I couldn’t call that self-protection. I was just pissed off with being shoved around. Didn’t mean to hurt him; not really.”

“Right” Hermione said again, plumping back down in her seat.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes. His name’s Bardhylus Zograf and he’s from Bulgaria. He’s minding the shop for his uncle, who’s not very well. Got high blood pressure.”

“How comes he told you all that?”

“Because I said I knew Viktor Krum.”

“Of all the sneaky tricks” Ron began. “That Snape’s been a bad influence on you. Is this Zograf related to the Bulgarian Keeper?”

“He says not. He says Zograf is a common name in his country. I think that’s what he meant” Hermione added, looking doubtful. “His English is not very good, and my Bulgarian’s no better. Now, what were you yelling as I went out?”

“Oh yeah; this.” Ron handed over Hermione’s birthday gift; it was inside a Honeydukes bag.

“The wrapping gives it away a bit” she said. “Oh – Ron – thanks! Forbidden Fruits! And Nutty Professor!!!”

“Had to be that one, didn’t it” he sniggered.

Harry looked at the boxes of chocolates, which proclaimed themselves to be part of something called Quartet.

“Connoisseur Quartet!” Hermione said proudly. “New this autumn. They’re doing mini boxes of their most popular flavours. There’s Forbidden Fruits, Snuffle Truffles, Avalanche, and Nutty Professor.”

“I don’t know why they called it that – that’s a Muggle thing.”

“Probably because they’re so near the school. It worked, didn’t it!” Ron said. “Made me choose it for you. Drink up. It’s Harry’s round.”

As Harry squeezed past a fat, old wizard to get to the bar Ron brought Hermione up to date with family news. “Bill and Fleur are expecting their first” he said.

“Are they? Wonderful! Harry never mentioned it.”

“And Percy’s going out with a girl called Audrey. Met her at work. Audrey Yaxley. Toothy and specs. Lovely!”

“I’d probably like her. Fred still dating Angelina?”

“They’re engaged now” Ron said, sounding rather glum. “Unofficially. They’re going to kind of formally announce it in the spring. I think the idea’s to have a party round May Day. Mum said she’d organise it.”

“That’d be nice. Your mum’s very kind.”

“Gives her the chance to boss everyone.”

“What about George? Any witch in his life?”

“Core! None who look like that” Ron said, as he saw Harry chatting to a gypsy-like woman who was buying a cherry soda.

Hermione turned around and looked. The witch was about Nadine’s age. She had a mass of tumbling, reddish hair that reminded them of the Minister’s lion-like main. Her blouse billowed full sleeves, and a half inch of lace showed beneath a tiered skirt.

Ron sniggered again and said “Her slip’s showing. Dare I tell her?”

“It’s meant to, Ron. And yes, if you want to get your face slapped.”

“I think I’ve seen her before. Diagon Alley, maybe.”

“I’m not surprised. Will you put your eyes back in and answer my question?”

“Eh? What was it?”

“George – any girlfriend?” Hermione said, exasperated.

“Oh, yeah. Stacks of ’em.”

“Answer me properly.”

“I am. I mean it. Loads of ’em.” Ron sounded far more proud of George than he was of Fred. “Mum says he ought to find himself a good woman and he says ‘Okay, one day; when I’ve done all the bad ones’. He only says it to annoy her; he’s more into music than girls. Remember Lee Jordan? He’s with The New Hobgoblins – plays alto saxophone. Fred and George go to a lot of their London gigs. George says it’s a good place for Tentacular Pods. If Dad knew, he’d do his nut.”

“Still doing the Skiving Snackboxes then” said Harry, returning with a laden tray.

Hermione had put on a very disapproving look, and even Harry had reservations, now, about the Snackboxes.

“Too right, they are!” Ron said. “If the can get a shop near Hogwarts – if they could get near to any school – they’d be richer than Gringotts.”

They were soon joined by Filius, Remus, Hagrid and Jeremiah, and the conversation turned inevitably to school, until Remus asked Ron how his job was going.

“Fine, yeah” said Ron, pleased that he’d asked. “It’s a bit far from home, but I’m based at the Ministry so I go there and then on. Do most of it by Apparition, but carrying my broom for later.”

“What exactly do you do?” Filius asked.

“I’m learning to track kids doing underage magic” Ron explained. “There’s a lot of flying involved. My sector’s the fenland borders. Like I say it’s a long way from home, but that’s better than spying on your neighbours.”

“So you work with Mafalda Hopkirk.”

“Only to clock in. She’s strict about time-keeping. Funny old girl, she is. I thought she’d be young but she’s more like Professor Vector’s age. Her brother works in the Office of Armorials.”

“Shrake Azure” Hermione murmured.

“Lorchan Hopkirk” Ron said, correcting her.

“No-no; his work name is Shrake Azure.”

“Sounds like you know him.”

As Jeremiah said that Harry caught Hermione’s eye. “Erm, yes” she replied, “I’ve seen him once or twice … but–”

Harry took it as a cue. “Can I just check with you, Jerry” he said, butting in as if something had occurred to him, “I keep meaning to ask because this is bugging me. You live in a windmill, right?”

“I used to. I’m in a house now – ordinary house.”

“And you’ve got television and everything.”

“Not everything. I wouldn’t want everything. Television, fridge, DVD player, phone; that’s all.”

“And what do you do about bills – electric and phone?”

“Pay them. It’s no problem.”

“Yes; Tonks’s first flat was in a Muggle house” Remus said, and to Harry and Hermione’s relief the conversation turned again, to the subject of how to live cheek-by-jowl with Muggles.

“Was there a point to that?” Hermione asked as she and Harry walked up the road together.

The pub lunch was over. Filius, Remus, Jeremiah and Ron had gone, and now it was just the two of them as Hermione set off for her afternoon at Septima’s house.

“You know what went through my mind” Harry said. “I didn’t think you’d want people knowing that you’ve spent time at the Ministry, making enquiries.”

She knew he was right and she apologised, admitting she had been incautious. “Too quick to correct people” she sighed.

“Too quick to correct Ron” said Harry. “Anyway, as it happens I wanted to hear Jerry’s answer. It was a genuine question. I’ve been thinking about what to do about Grimmauld Place. I don’t want a load of Muggle stuff, and I don’t want to undo the enchantments. So I think I’ll just limit it to a DVD player – get a battery one. And maybe a CD player. We can have a wizarding wireless and do without a phone – Ginny isn’t used to it anyway.”

“I wish Lempaura had a phone.”

“Yeah; a really old-fashioned one!” Harry said gleefully. “I can just see Sev speaking into one of those candlestick things.”

The afternoon at Septima Vector’s house was nice. Septima had made a birthday cake and all the witches enjoyed pigging out. Nadine kept off the subject of house-elf enslavement even though she was dying to mention it. Instead she asked Hermione about Lempaura, implying it was a gloomy house that needed a woman’s hand.

Hermione checked that no one was listening and said “I want grander curtains – velvet, maybe. Apart from that I don’t have lots of plans. I like it as it is. Gloomy is fine. I love old books! That was the thing I fell in love with first at Hogwarts – the library.”

“For Doon it was the candles. I think I was the same. When the baby’s born they’re going to have its name put down for Hogwarts straight away. I hate saying ‘its’!” Nadine said. “I wish we knew if it’s boy or girl.”

“Have they decided on names?”

“Yes. Grace Phyllida Justine or Jasper Walfred Severus.”

“Really? Severus?”

Hermione was pleased that ‘Severus’ was amongst the names but Minerva interrupted. “What’s happened about your Witch Weekly interview?” she asked. “We’ve seen Severus’s, and Harry says his is due in October. But when do we get the woman’s angle?”

“November” said Hermione. “What did you think of the Headmaster’s?”

“Very … slick” Minerva said, choosing the word carefully. “Despite what he said, I thought for one moment he was contemplating abolishing the Houses.”

“He’d never do that” Pomona assured her. “He’s proud of being a Slytherin. And he adores tradition.”

Hermione fell silent, sipping her tea. They were right and they were wrong. Severus would not abolish the Houses, but he regretted their existence. Other schools had House systems that were not based on character traits. Some even sorted their students at random. But for the Hogwarts system he and Lily might have been in the same House, or James and Sirius might not have been together, or might not have been in Lily’s House … There were myriad possibilities giving myriad futures. But Severus would not be the man who abolished Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin, because they were intrinsically linked to the founders. He would work with the limitations of the system he had, unless it became impossible.

Transparency. Hermione heard Nadine say it – Severus had promised transparency and the reporter had thought he’d provided it for a time, and then grown tired of it. Hermione smiled as she reached for one last slice of cake – transparency in the sense of being clear, nothing hidden. But, Hermione reflected, some objects were made transparent to hinder their visibility. It was a subtlety lost on Cedrella Mockridge; at least Hermione fervently hoped that it was.

*

At five minutes to midnight Severus floated the birdcage, draped in a cloth, to Hermione’s room. She was delighted to have an owl and named him Oncus because he had a very hooked bill. Crookshanks was not so delighted but Oncus showed that cats and even Kneazles were little worry to him.

“And now for my next surprise” said Severus. “This is not for you, Hermione, so sit over there and watch. Jotto, come here please.”

Hermione sank into an armchair, her eyes fixed on the small squashy parcel Severus was holding. Jotto stood, looking tiny in front of Severus, a vulnerable child facing a stern father; and Severus began, slowly and theatrically, to open the mystery package. It contained a green scarf, striped slivery grey.

“This was my very first school scarf” he said, holding it out. “This was my first-year scarf that appeared as if by magic, draped over my clothes on my first morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I now present it to you, Jotto. Take it and accept the freedom your loyalty and devotion have earned. Now you are free to go where and whence you please. Or, if you choose, you can remain in my service. Perhaps (a glance at Hermione) I should say in our service.”

Jotto reached out, took the scarf and wound it round his neck. “Thank you, master” he whispered. “Is rather long for me … Oh! … I is free … I feels it go! What is I to call you now, if not Master?”

Hermione got up and stood side by side with Severus, holding his hand, and Severus looked from Jotto to her and back again, uncertain of what to say.

“ ‘Professor?’ ” she suggested.

Jotto thought it over. “No, they is many professors” he said. “Master’s name must be Master. There will not be another master – not even if I leave here. No man now can be ‘master’, only ‘employer’. Master will always be unique.”

“Where will you go next?”

“To my room” Jotto told her. “Is late – I sleep now.”

“No, I don’t mean now. I mean tomorrow. Or whenever. Do you have plans?”

“Oh yes” said Jotto, sounding very decided. “Tomorrow I is in Headmaster’s Tower. Next day too, and, barring errands, every day till end of June. Then I go to Suffolk. Then, next September, back here.”

“You’re staying with us?”

“Yes, Miss Hermione. Master say I can. That is what I choose. That is my choice.”

He Apparated away to his bed in the Headmaster’s Tower and Severus and Hermione were left alone, still holding hands, feeling confused and pleased, and a little unsure of matters.

*

In the curtained privacy of the four-poster Hermione awoke. “What’s the time?” she whispered.

“Mm? The time? Probably between four and five” Severus said sleepily.

“Don’t you think you should get back to your room?”

“Mmmm … yes. In a little while.”

“This’ll be noticed, Severus. People aren’t stupid, you know.”

“Marry me, then.”

“That’s about the most unromantic proposal a girl could ever receive!”

“I’m not good at that sloshy, sentimental stuff.”

“Then why were you moved to tears when Jotto said he’d stay? It’s no good pretending; I know you were.”

He smiled but refused to comment, even though Hermione rubbed her knuckles across his bare chest, forcing him to wake up properly.

“Heavens; you’re bony!” she said. “Like a washboard. And why do you cling on to those dreadful old vests and things? And while I’m on the subject–”

“–Oh, no–!”

“–Why do you keep old pairs of pants that are no better than rags! And old nightshirts!”

“Reminds me what it’s like to be poor” he purred. “People are too quick to throw things away. Anyway; what should I wear in bed, if not nightshirts? The pyjama coat Honor bought me?”

“Did she?”

“Yes. Christmas present … Hermione? … About Christmas. I think I ought to be at the school on Christmas Day, but–”

“Come to my house, Boxing Day.”

“Do you think that’ll be alright?”

“I’m going to owl home and find out” she said. “But I bet they’ll say yes. They’ll be eaten up with curiosity. But I think I ought to kick you out of bed now. And no more monkey business until New Year.”

“Oh, Hermione. How cruel.”

But in Hermione’s view they had already taken too many chances. “We said we wouldn’t risk a scandal” she reminded him. “The shop is shut now until–”

“Until when?”

“Until I think the time is right.”

“Alright, then. But go back to sleep. Just another half an hour, then I’ll sneak back to my room.”

Hermione was soon asleep again, but Severus was wide awake. He lay there, thinking, running his mind over the Green family tree that Hermione was trying to construct.

At the top of the tree she had written Morwenna Vector, born 909, daughter of Rhonwen Ravenclaw and Remiglius Vector. Then she had drawn a double line connecting Morwenna to Balthazar Slytherin, born 880, elder brother of Salazar Slytherin, and noted their marriage as occurring in 925. Lying there in the darkness Severus could recall the words of Wyvern Vert at the Office of Armorials:

‘In 925 a branch of the Slytherin family married into the Ravenclaw-Vector pedigree … It wasn’t until 929 that a design for the new coat-of-arms was agreed.’

This, then, was a significant event – it was where the Slytherins joined the Ravenclaw/Vectors so it must be the precursor to the armorial changes. It was presumably what had led to the revised coat-of-arms being hidden in Grimmauld Place; the secret instructions for locating Myriad Mansion. But Myriad Mansion was the property more correctly called Ravens Craig – the property that Septima said her ancestors had been cheated of. What had Septima said all those long years ago?

‘It was supposed to have a library of a thousand rooms’ and ‘I’ll deny you the house seven times seven ages.’

Septima had treated it as a joke. But was it a joke? Myriad Mansion – Ravens Craig – had been hidden, and was now revealed – it was a real place. But then why hadn’t it reverted to the Vectors after seven times seven ages? What were seven times seven ages?

“The years of our days are six-score-and-four” he murmured. That must mean seven ages equates to seven times 124 years. If he could work it forward from round about 929 … call it 930 to make it easier…

The effort sent him to sleep and he didn’t wake until just past six and hurried to the gargoyle, the mathematics long forgotten. In the safety of the Head’s Tower he lazed in the bath until breakfast time and took breakfast in his office. But then he dug out the Sinistra file, thinking again about the family tree and about Hermione’s comments. She had made use of ‘Nature’s Nobility’ when working on the tree’s ‘roots’ but had halted at 1174 with the marriage of James ‘Bradford’ Peverell to Berengaria Vascona because Severus wanted her efforts directed to recent times. Unfortunately there was less data available for the ‘twigs’ – all that she had was what Lorchan Hopkirk had sent by owl and what Eeoto had provided from Olive Green’s registry file.

Hermione, diligent as ever, had done her best with the twigs – the bottom of the tree showed Olive Sinope Green, born 1951 near Devizes, Wiltshire, and above that was mystery man Gustavus Ranald Grunwald. He had been born in 1899, in Lübeck, and at some time and place his son Axel must have been born. But by 1946 everything had changed because by then Gustavus Grunwald was residing in London, and had changed his name to Ronald Green. And by 1948 he was married again, to a lady called Olivia Asterope Kristoforou. In mid-June 1951 their daughter Olive had arrived.

“The problem is Gustavus changed his name” Hermione had moaned. “It messes up the trail. And his family didn’t bother with coats-of-arms and things – well the Greens didn’t – so there was only the immigration record that Lorchan could lay hands on, and the cross-reference on it to the application for change of name. He couldn’t find any trace of that Kristoforou witch so she might have come in illegally. There aren’t any wizard Kristoforous in Britain so she must either have arrived from abroad or been an existing resident who changed her name unofficially. You still reckon she’s dead?”

Yes, Severus said to himself, sitting there in the silence of his office; it’s still my favourite theory that Olive’s mother is dead because Minerva said so, Delia said that Olive said so, and Charmian never met her. But I do wonder. And now I wonder about the seven times seven ages, and I wish I hadn’t stopped you working on the roots. Seven times seven ages gets us to the late seventeen-hundreds, and there is a big gap between 1174 and 1899, and I have brought your researches to a halt.

At times he also wondered about searching the churchyards in Devizes for evidence of Olive’s mother, but he knew that was a potty idea. The Greens hadn’t stayed in Devizes, they had moved to Coombe Hill. Olivia could be buried anywhere, or she might not be dead at all. She might have gone abroad or even changed her name again.

It’s what my own ancestors did, he mused as he slipped back into the office after seeing Madam Hooch. Guillermo Principio arrived here in 1588, and soon transformed into Liam Prince. I wonder what drove him here. Sounds like he arrived with the Armada. Plenty of Spaniards did that. But why join the Armada? A quest for treasure? Adventure? No, he settled here – not much adventure in that! Or maybe he was old. Or injured. Had to settle down. “We all have to stop running eventually” he murmured sadly.

“You’re getting middle-aged, Severus” Dumbledore chuckled.

Severus turned to the portrait. “No grey hairs yet, though” he smirked. “And I can outdo Harry on a broomstick. Provided I’m flying his Firebolt, and he’s on one of mine.”

All the former Heads laughed, and Dumbledore enquired what Severus intended to do with the Twigger. “Keep it” he said. “Give Hermione the Kaltenschtick and keep the Twigger. I thought about buying her a new Twigger but the later models are hopeless and her flying’s not the best. She needs a well-behaved broom–”

“–Not a piece of high-priced nonsense–”

“–Exactly, Dumbledore. I asked Rolanda if she’d give Hermione flying lessons. Nothing much, I said; just a brush-up – but we both know how much is needed.”

“Was she pleased?”

“Hermione? No. Rolanda? Likewise. I managed to irritate two witches in one go. Quite a good morning’s work. I think I’ll give Hermione the broomstick for Christmas – the connotations will amuse her.”

When he spoke of his ‘seven times seven ages’ notion to Hermione that night she was not impressed. “Does that mean you believe in prophesies as literal truth?” she said, “Because I don’t. Divination isn’t cut and dried. And I believe your opinion of it is lower than mine, and I believe Dumbledore’s was too. Don’t tell me you’re going all mystical now.”

“I am not going all mystical” he assured her, “But you have never been caught up in a prophesy. I have! I treated it in a cavalier manner and the result was disaster. I’d like to say it’s drivel. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of me says it’s drivel. But there is a part of me that wonders.”

“It’s isn’t that the prophesies are real” Hermione sneered. “It’s how people react to them.”

“Well, we’ll see” he snapped. “We’ll see when you get to seventeen-hundred-and-whatever, and see what happens to the tree.”

“Ah! This would be the tree that’s too long to map. The job you didn’t want me to bother with.”

“Precisely” he said with as much menace as he could muster. “It is your destiny to finish it.”

Hermione gave him an ironic smile, slammed Nature’s Nobility onto the meeting table and bent to the family tree once more.

*

The term proceeded well. The elf uniforms began to arrive in the last week of October and by the weekend the ‘clothing’ was almost complete. There was a Hogsmeade weekend on the day of the Feast and Ron met Harry and Hermione for a drink. He’d already heard about the elves.

“He’s not freed them” Hermione insisted to Ron, as she folded closed a letter without explaining its contents.

“That’s right” said Harry. “Sev knows what he’s doing. How did you get to hear about it?”

“Mel told me. She found out from Madam Malkin. All black. Like orcs she says.”

“What’s that mean?”

“She’s very into that Tolkien stuff.”

“So you’re still going out with Melinda, then.”

“Yep. Still going strong” Ron said to Hermione. “She saw Severus the other day. He called at the shop. Had a chat with her dad.”

“Probably negotiating a new potions contract.”

The Three Broomsticks was so crowded that Ron said he’d give Hogsmeade a miss on days when the students were there. “I thought I’d do some early Christmas shopping” he said mournfully, “But all these kids get on my wick, now. I never used to mind when it was us.”

“We ought to meet again in the holidays” Hermione suggested. She studied her diary. “How about Monday the twenty-first? Sev’s got a governors’ meeting so we could go anywhere without bumping into him.”

“Have you gone off him? I see you’re getting letters from secret admirers.”

Hermione tried not to blush. The letter was from Viktor Krum and all it said was that he didn’t know a Bardhylus Zograf, but there had been a Quirinious Bardhylus Kadar three years above him. “Don’t be silly, Ron” she said. “I want to get Sev’s present when he’s not around.”

“What you gonna gettim?”

“That’s the trouble. I just don’t know. He’s got everything. I think it’ll have to be underwear.”

Ron laughed and almost spilt his drink. “Why Y-fronts?”

“Because he insists on hanging on-to-the-most-clapped-out-old-stuff-you-could-imagine!” Hermione muttered emphatically. “Don’t ask me why. There’s a sort of hair-shirt aspect to Sev. And they’re going to be boxers, not Y-fronts. And then there’s his birthday in January. How inconsiderate having the two things so close.”

“I’ll just note that down” Ron said. “Hermione - says - Sev’s - inconsiderate. He’ll be dead chuffed when I tell him.”

“Yes, very funny. He’s not that inconsiderate. He’s giving Remus time off at Christmas, if he can, so Remus and Tonks can be together.”

“I notice you say ‘if’ he can.”

“Well it depends how many Gryffindors stop over, doesn’t it. No, I suppose you wouldn’t know that. Well that’s how it’s decided – by how many stay at school. Someone’s got to keep an eye on them. Anyway, come on; how about the twenty-first? We can still meet up at lunchtime.”

“Yeah, let’s” Harry said. “If the Cauldron’s too crowded we could give that new sandwich shop a try. I fancy going there cos you can get anything.”

“That’s true” said Ron. “George asked for a sesame bap with pheasant and pineapple, and got it. And Fred asked for fried Nogtail with redcurrant-rum sauce. The woman said he could have it if he’d pay for it, but she always needed a week’s notice about anything tricky. She really meant it!”

“She didn’t.”

“She definitely did!” Ron insisted. “She charges twenty Galleons a round for non-standard fillings.”

“So what did Fred have? I presume he didn’t starve.”

“Peanut butter with apricot jam” said Ron. “Dad says it’s a good diet for a heart attack. I’m gonna try the peppers ’n’ olives in chilli-mushroom sauce – Mel says it’s a dream. Shame I won’t be able to stay long. I’ll need to be shopping.”

Hermione, scandalised, pointed out that by then Ron needed to have most of his presents bought and wrapped up. “I’m thinking ahead to January” she snapped, “And you’ve got far more to get than I have.”

“Don’t remind me. I dunno why you fuss though. They’ll still be three more days.”

“Only two for me. We’re going to the pictures on Tuesday.”

“Are we?” Harry asked innocently. “What we seeing?”

“Severus is taking me to the pictures” Hermione said, correcting him. “Septima wanted to drag him off to ‘The Winter’s Tale’ but he’s already promised we’re going to see ‘Lawrence of Arabia’.”

“What’s that?”

Harry had heard of it but couldn’t explain it.

“A classic” Hermione told Ron. “There’s a little cinema we know that specialises in cult films. It’s about a colonel in the army who gets the Arabs to rise against the Turks in World War One. Lawrence is famous. Seven Pillars of Wisdom–”

“Sounds dead boring.”

“No, I don’t think it is” Harry said. “Don’t let Sev fix up too much stuff. We’re going to Godric’s Hollow on the Sunday. He promised me–”

“We might need a day’s rest after seeing my parents–”

“No! He promised me!” Harry told her sternly. “I’m not letting it get dragged out. Otherwise it’ll be January, and snow, and harder than ever to see anything – the old gravestones are not easy to read. Christmas Day, Boxing Day, and then it’s my turn. No excuses.”

Chapter 10: An Unexpected Friendship

26th November to 26th December 1998

On Hermione’s advice Severus decided to order a selection of beverages to take with him to Maplewaltham. Food or drink would be better than a personal gift she advised, so on the Thursday before the second Quidditch match he set off at a brisk pace for Hogsmeade. An inch or two of snow was lying in the lane, and when he got to the village the street was glistening greyish-wet, and the leaden sky seemed almost low enough to touch the rooftops. But warm light spilled from the shop windows and a flower seller hunched under and awning was doing a good trade in pot plants. Near to him a group of wizards were struggling to erect a Christmas tree. An old wizard was watching them; it was Elphias Doge. He turned and spotted Severus. “You’ll have to lend them your Hagrid” he said. “Sad isn’t it that so few of us can do good levitation charms.”

“Elphias! Can I buy you a drink?”

“You’re not going to that Hog’s Head place, are you?”

Severus was; he was taking a flask of potion to Aberforth. But Elphias wouldn’t patronise The Hog’s Head so Severus decided to drop the potion off and meet Elphias at The Three Broomsticks. Minutes later they were settled at a table and browsing Madam Rosmerta’s menu. “Steak and kidney pudding” Elphias decided. Then he wrapped his hands around his mulled wine and said “I saw your piece in Mage Monthly. Sounded good.”

“Better than The Prophet, wasn’t it” Severus said happily. “But you got into The Prophet. They were championing your new book.”

“It’ll be out before Christmas” Elphias said, sounding relieved about it. “ ‘Albus Dumbledore: the Man and the Magic’. Had to get it out before that Skeeter woman put her two Knut’s worth in.”

“She’s writing about Dumbledore?”

“It’ll be an awful pack of lies” said Elphias. “You know her. Remember ‘Armando Dippet: Master or Moron’? That should have been strangled at birth. I’m surprised she’s taking so long, though. She must have hit a snag. She’s taken to pestering old Bathilda and the poor old thing’s on her last legs.”

“Can’t you put a stop to it?”

“It’s awkward. Bathilda won’t say it’s a nuisance, so–?” Elphias shrugged his shoulders, looking helpless. “Skeeter would say it’s Bathilda’s choice that she gives interviews. I can’t actually prove it isn’t.”

Madam Rosmerta came and took their order, and Severus asked her to bring two more drinks. He watched her go and said “I didn’t realise, Elphias, that you were at school with Albus.”

“We were the same year” the old wizard said casually, and went on to explain that when they left they were all set to go on ‘the tour’ – the typical world tour that privileged young men and women took prior to settling down to their careers. He also explained why it never quite took place as planned. “Tragic family, the Dumbledores” he said. “Skeeter will twist it all of course – the death of Ariana; the arrival of Grindelwald.”

“What do you mean – the arrival?” Severus was astonished to learn that Albus Dumbledore had been a friend of Gellert Grindelwald. “But he was a Dark Wizard” he hissed, looking around to make sure they were not overheard.

“Yes, it turns out that he was” said Elphias. “Don’t forget Albus knew him when he was young. When they were both young. I think Gellert kept the truth from him in those very early days. He probably made it look as though he wasn’t Dark in the sense of liking to hurt people, merely in the sense of the overall solutions he supported. Many of us could be accused of that.”

“What do you mean?”

Elphias sipped his wine for a while, wondering how to answer. “There’s always been a tension between us and the world of Muggles” he said lightly. “Bound to be. Albus and I often griped about it. It irked us. We were mindful that we must keep ourselves undiscovered. We were brought up that way. Mind you, we knew we could – we knew we were brilliant. Well, Albus was brilliant. Gellert? I think he was not so confident about insulating himself. I think he’d had bad experiences of Muggles. Albus had too, but I didn’t know that then; he never told me. But Gellert? I don’t know what they spoke about, but whatever it was it seemed to … to bond them. I should have seen it coming. I was a fool.”

The food arrived and halted the conversation. Severus’s brain was working overtime. It sounded as though the youth Dumbledore had shared some of the concerns that had actually plagued the youth Severus. His solution had been to join the Death Eaters. What had Dumbledore’s been? Why did Elphias make it sound as though Dumbledore and Grindelwald had become bosom buddies? How could Dumbledore have befriended a Dark wizard? “Didn’t you ever get to go on that tour?” he asked finally.

“Oh yes” Elphias said, as if it was as usual as going to a Quidditch match. “Yes, I went; Albus didn’t. Curiously symbolic. In more ways than one we parted. That’s what happens when you’re young. One moment someone’s so much your friend that you’re inseparable; the next, all change. You know how it is. You haven’t kept the same friends all your life.”

“Mine tended to get killed off” Severus said dryly, “Or put in prison.” But he knew that he probably wouldn’t have stayed close friends with his school chums even without the rise of the Dark Side. Lily Evans was the friend he would have kept, had she been his to keep.

Elphias was giving him a sad little smile. “I would have stayed travelling all my life if my parents hadn’t fetched me back” he admitted. “Russia. China. I was in South America when they caught up with me. All seemed fine to me, but in Europe and the Far East it was a different story. Not long after I came home Europe began its slide into chaos – politically, and then economically. And then politically all over again. Well, it wasn’t really addressed from the first time around. But you know that – you know history. I’m not sure that wizards ever helped that.”

Not knowing what Elphias meant Severus ventured a guess, saying “Are you implying Dumbledore meddled?”

“Not in the direct way that some did, but he certainly got sucked into the ideology of the times” said Elphias. “Unfortunately the politics of the Muggle world have knock-on effects in our world. And vice-versa. By the time it was truly over millions were dead, and he and Gellert were parted forever, and we were all an awful lot older and a good deal wiser. Albus and I were certainly wiser. I’d got Gellert in perspective, and I suppose he had too. He only saw him once after that.”

Severus looked up in surprise. “Gellert was dead” he said.

“No” said Elphias. “Dumbledore let people get that impression; but no, he wasn’t actually dead. He was conquered; vanquished. He died, physically, a few years ago. In Nurmengard. Dumbledore was warned he was near the end, and went to see him. Said a last goodbye.”

There was something about the way Elphias said it that made it so poignant. Severus felt he was sailing into dangerous waters. He concentrated on his food for a moment and when conversation resumed he deliberately chose a new tack, asking if Elphias remembered Olive Green.

“Who’s she?”

“The witch who called herself Aurora Sinistra. She was a student, years above me. Dumbledore let her come back to Hogwarts after a spell in Azkaban.”

“Did he?” said Elphias. “Well he must have thought her innocent.”

“He got that wrong.”

“We all get things wrong from time to time.”

“Did you ever meet her – as Olive?”

“I can’t see how” Elphias said, puzzled. “I rarely came to the school. But what you said just then was typical Dumbledore. He was full of those kind actions. He had a great capacity for forgiveness.”

*

As November turned to December and the watery, slushy puddles hardened and were more frequently dusted with snow Severus grew less and less easy over the things Elphias had told him. He had come away from that meeting with a strong suspicion that Elphias, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald had been very close. Emotionally close. Far closer than he liked to think about. He decided against sharing this suspicion with Hermione because he didn’t know how she might react and he didn’t want to risk tarnishing her memories of the great man. He dreaded to think what Elphias might be about to reveal in his book. And even worse was the prospect of Rita Skeeter’s revelations because if she got so much as a whiff of romance she would be sure to speak about it in the most scornful terms her quill could devise.

These are different times, he kept telling himself. People are open-minded about such things.

But he feared they were not. The hard core that overlapped with his world-view were the people who cherished traditional ways and tended to be old fashioned in their thinking. And he had traded on being ‘The Dark Wizard whom The Great Dumbledore had found trustworthy’. If Dumbledore was toppled from his pedestal – if he was even rocked on it – it would not be good for anyone basking in reflected glory.

It was not easy to hide these fears from Hermione. Doge’s book appeared on the bookshelves and she bought a copy. It didn’t make any startling revelations of the kind Severus feared, but it did sound like someone writing about a lost and cherished brother. The startling revelations it made were about the other members of the Dumbledore family.

“It’s all very sad” Hermione said to him. “Now I understand more why Aberforth is so difficult. He didn’t like his brother. And then when you have such a serious falling-out I suppose you never get over it. Albus was very clever, wasn’t he. Very clever indeed.”

“I expect he was a complete pain in the arse.”

“Like Harry’s dad? Well, now you know why Harry wants you to see those graves. Some of them relate to the Dumbledores.”

“I don’t need to see them now. We’ve got all the names in this book.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I think you should keep your promise about it.”

Severus nodded and went back to drafting his stewardship report. He had the governors meeting in a fortnight’s time and he had to report on staff, students, funds he had received and expended, and the state of the accounts. He foresaw no difficulties; attendance was at record levels, discipline was slightly better than in past years, the staff were on track to complete the syllabus, and no one had a bad write-up in the press.

He also had the dinner at Hawby Towers to look forward to. That was only one night away and he was keen to meet the other Heads, and to see the school that Dionysia Lovegood ran. As for Christmas? He was ready for that too. After changing his mind more times than he had changed his socks he had decided to give Hermione the Twigger broomstick, so he had warned her to expect something that was not new.

“I haven’t got you anything special” she replied. “But it is something you need. Something of use.”

“A crystal ball? One that works?”

“Ha! If only. No, none of us can see the future, Sev – not in any accurate way.”

“What about Sybill? Once or twice she’s made a prophesy.”

“Yes, I don’t understand that” Hermione admitted. “But I bet if you asked her if the First Year will be full next time she wouldn’t have a clue. I wonder why we’re so popular?”

“You can’t understand me being more popular than Dumbledore?”

“Well – be honest – can you?”

In fairness to Hermione it was a fact that Severus could not fully understand, and it entertained his mind off and or for the next few weeks. He even discussed it with Harry.

“I think it boils down to simple curiosity” he concluded finally, as he and Harry set off for the Shack in the middle of Christmas morning. “They want to see what Snape is like as Headmaster, and they want to be taught by Harry Potter. Our novelty value might dwindle in a year or two. I don’t think we can bank on record rolls every year.”

“Hogwarts has always been the most popular though, hasn’t it” Harry said, remembering his first trip to Madam Malkin’s robe shop. “Madam Malkin assumes anyone new is going to Hogwarts.”

“Yes, Hogwarts has always been tops” Severus said happily. “And therefore commands the highest fees. I think its popularity was down to Dumbledore, particularly from the nineteen-fifties to the eighties. Latterly it dipped a bit at times – the Basilisk didn’t help, and nor did the truth about Lupin.”

“No one need have known if you hadn’t said.”

“Unless they found out the hard way.”

“Well … he’s back now” said Harry, “And there’s no Padfoot and Wormtail stirring things up.”

They continued on in silence. Harry was beginning to regret mentioning that Severus had given away Remus’s secret. It had happened a long time ago and he should let it drop, especially as Severus had been fair about this year’s Christmas leave arrangements. Because there were hardly any students stopping over Severus had allowed Remus time off from first thing on Wednesday through to early on Boxing Day, the only stipulation being that he return by half-past nine on Boxing Day so that there would be three House Heads at the school while Severus was away at Hermione’s house and then at Godric’s Hollow. Harry was glad that Remus was taking a break because he had looked unwell, particularly as the term drew to a close.

He made a comment about Remus looking tired and Severus agreed.

“Werewolves are not long lived” he said. “I’m sure Tonks knows the score. Fortunately as werewolves age they grow less dangerous. It has always been a source of wonder to me that Pettigrew was content to be the friend of a werewolf. He’s so timid, in some ways. I’ll never understand Peter Pettigrew until the day I die.”

*

Harry spent the afternoon with Ginny. He returned to find Severus and Hermione in the Head’s Tower, having fallen asleep on the sofa while listening to Jotto reading from Bill Bryson’s book. Crookshanks was sprawled across them both.

“Too much wine” Jotto explained, as he let Harry in. “Master will say book is boring, or I read it too flat, but I know is too much wine.”

“Then get them playing Monopoly or something. Like we did with Peter this morning.”

“How many people you need?”

“From two to … I dunno” Harry said honestly. “Four’s okay – we made a foursome with the guards. If they’re not interested I’ll let you read to me. Have you got to that bit about sand? It’s brilliant. Hang on, I’ll read it to you. Err, chapter eight.”

The sound of Harry’s voice eventually woke the others and they went down to see Irma and Argus for tea while Harry had tea in the Hall and chatted to Hagrid. During the evening Hermione slipped away to The Burrow. She came back late, clutching a box about twice the size of a toaster which she hid in her wardrobe.

“I got Sev’s birthday present” she whispered to Harry at breakfast next morning. “Fred got it for me. Remember the Weasleys’ old radio? I said I wanted one like it. It’s nineteen-thirties style with a walnut case. Beautiful!”

“But what if Sev doesn’t like it? He’s funny about modern things.”

“It’s not a sixties tranny, Harry. This is a piece of perfectly reproduced Art Deco! Fred got it from the magical instruments shop. Dean Thomas makes them.”

“It won’t work here.”

“It’s not for here. It’s for home. Lempaura. Now all I need is to get Sev to get the phone connected. There’s a phone line to the house, but BT disabled it. I’m sure they can re-enable it.”

“So let me guess” said Harry. “Next year’s prezzie is a candlestick phone?”

“I wish I could get one of the authentic ones” she sighed. “I doubt they’d work with a modern line. But you can get a good facsimile. Perhaps I can transfigure it then, to make it look like a very old one.”

“It’s a shame the instrument shop doesn’t do phones. You’d think if they’d invented radios they would have invented something like the telephone.”

“Perhaps they think they’re too Muggle. Ooh – no more talk of phones, here’s Remus; so Sev won’t be far behind.”

They said good morning to Remus and then watched a tense-looking Severus take his place beyond him. He looked very formal in a new black robe and polished shoes. Hermione was taking him home after breakfast, to meet her parents. As breakfast drew to a close they could hear Severus reminding Filius that he would be out for the day, but reachable via Jotto.

“Going somewhere nice?” Filius asked.

“Just to friends. You know – Christmas. One has to do the rounds. And tomorrow likewise; and then it’s back to the old routine…”

The day at Maplewaltham didn’t go badly but as Severus and Hermione had suspected her parents were on their guard, trying to size him up. They played Monopoly in the afternoon and Severus did not do well.

“You’re not used to this” Hugo observed.

“Afraid not” said Severus. “I’m a fair hand at chess. As a child I used to play Gobstones. Has Hermione told you about that?”

“Yes. It sounds horrible.”

“It’s great fun when you’re five years old.”

Eventually they took a break from the game and Mrs Granger disappeared to make tea. Severus stood up and stretched, then he picked up the TV Times. “Goodness me! It’s all films” he said.

“Yes, it’s always like that now” Hugo replied. “You get a few good nature programmes and comedies, but there’s always a lot of films.”

“Do you go to the cinema much?”

“Sometimes. We saw Jurassic Park at the multiplex. Trouble is so did all the kids in Reading. We were packed in like sardines.”

“That’s the trouble with popular films. Perhaps you should try something … less … trendy?”

“He means more elitist, Dad” Hermione snorted.

Severus smiled and didn’t deny it. “Hermione and I know of a good little cinema that specialises in old classics” he said. “That’s where we saw ‘Lawrence of Arabia’. And they’re going to do an Ealing Season in February. We’re hoping to make time to see ‘Passport to Pimlico’ or ‘The Lavender Hill Mob’.”

“Ah! They don’t make films like that any more! Where is this place?”

“Miles away” Hermione assured her father. “Apparating distance.”

As she was describing just how impossibly long it would take her father to drive to the Hoddleston Plaza two things happened simultaneously; her mother returned with tea and cake, and there was a loud crack that shook the branches of the Christmas tree. Jotto had demonstrated the art of Apparating. Mrs Granger was so shocked she dropped the tea-tray.

“Sorry to interrupt you, sirs and misses” Jotto said, “But I has an urgent message for Professor Snape.”

Severus glared at him. “It would have been more polite to knock at the door” he muttered fiercely. Then he turned to her parents and said “Sorry about this. I’ll take my elf outside.”

By the time they returned Hermione had repaired the china and cleared the spills. “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing Severus’s pale face.

“You must excuse me but I have to return to the school” he said to everyone. “Jotto, you go now – to my office. Hermione, I’m sure you will want to stay here. There is no need to spoil your Christmas festivities. But would you all please excuse me right away.”

“But what’s wrong?”

Severus looked at her and then at her parents. “An acquaintance of ours fell ill this afternoon” he said to the Grangers. “No one at the school. More an acquaintance of mine, really.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can–?”

“No, Hermione. You stay here. Return as planned. I’m sorry to put a dampner on the day.”

He shook hands hurriedly and was gone, and silence fell in the Granger household. Finally Hermione went to the kitchen and poured out more tea.

“Do you know what’s up?” her mother asked.

“It can’t be much” Hermione said. “He doesn’t need the staff back immediately. Do you mind if I skip the cake? I overdid it a bit at lunch.”

“I’ll wrap you some up to take back.”

“Thanks, Mum. I’m putting on weight; that’s the trouble.”

“You always said school food was good.”

Hermione agreed it was, but it also occurred to her that she’d been living on Hogwarts fare for seven years and had never had a weight problem. So what was suddenly different? An awful possibility struck her – could she be pregnant? No, not possible; Severus had made the batch of contraceptive potion himself, and he didn’t make mistakes with potions. Unless? Unless it was a trick to hurry her up the isle? No; he’d never do such a stupid thing! And he had never shown the slightest sign of wanting children. But he was devious; he knew how to get what he wanted, and he’d tolerate minor inconveniences to achieve long-term goals.

Were children minor inconveniences? And was she sure that she wanted to have any? Was she ready for motherhood? Not yet. And would he ever be ready for fatherhood? Trying to put these worries to the back of her mind Hermione plucked up the courage to ask her parents what they thought of Severus.

“I think we need to think about that” her mother replied. “We’d got used to you seeing boys like Harry Potter. And like that Ronald Weasley. This man’s nothing like them.”

“No” Hermione agreed, “He most certainly is not.”

End of Part 1

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