Mirror of Maybe

"Really, Cornelius," frowned Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, "I do not find *that* an appropriate 'toy' for our students to be playing with."

The jovial Minister for Magic cast his eyes towards the other side of the school's Great Hall, where several students were taking turns standing in front of a large, freestanding mirror. Each one would enter a light trance for a few moments before staggering back a step and laughingly whirling away -- off to observe or interfere in whatever future moment they had witnessed. "What? Oh, pooh, Albus -- where's the harm? It only shows them a few minutes into their immediate future -- nothing earth-shattering at an end-of-year dance, I'm sure!"

And, indeed, for the two hours before the Headmaster had arrived, the mirror had been little more than a novelty, and hadn't shown the least sign of being dangerous. It had even spawned something of a unique game among the students, where each person who looked into the mirror immediately set out to either disrupt or enhance something they had seen. Mostly, it was conversations -- where someone would be speaking, and another student (who had just looked into the mirror) would sidle up behind them and parrot their comments, finishing their sentences or pre-empting what they were about to say.

Occasionally, it was actions -- and the Weasley twins, now in their seeventh and final year at Hogwarts, were having a hard time of it, with several of their jokes backfiring on them, until -- disgusted -- they had given up on theiir usual pranks, and turned to the mirror for the rest of their night's entertainment.

Dumbledore frowned again. "It might *seem* harmless Cornelius, but I have had some rather unpleasant surprises from various mirrors over the years. I have often found it better to be safe than sorry -- particularly with mirrors that are so completely unknown.

Where did you say it came from?"

"Right here in Britain my dear chap," Cornelius replied proudly. "Unearthed it at some ruined castle back in England that the muggles were going to dig up. Got to it just in time, too. You wouldn't *believe* some of the magical artefacts they found -- wouldn't have done at *all* for muggles to have picked 'em up and made off with 'em." He looked back at the mirror and motioned to it with his drink. "Good, solid, English craftsmanship in that mirror, Albus."

Dumbledore studied the ornately gilded edges of the mirror's frame, and the beautiful, intricate mouldings of its construction. "Hmmm," he mused, before finally adding, "I sincerely doubt that *that* mirror -- as finely crafted as it is -- was created solely for the purpose of entertaining children."

He turned to Cornelius Fudge and with a very serious demeanour added, "I'm afraid I will have to insist, Cornelius, that you remove it immediately."

"Oh, go on, Albus," the minister protested, "Surely you can't mean it -- why, look there -- even Harry Potter's going to give it a go!"

And indeed, as Dumbledore turned, with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, an enthusiastic fifth-year by the name of Ron Weasley was dragging his best friend towards the mirror...

----oo00oo----

"Oh, come *on*, Harry!" Ron wheedled, "It's *great*, really! All you see is what's going to happen in a couple of minutes -- it's heaps of fun! It's the first time I've *ever* been able to catch Fred and George at their own game! Just have one go -- if you don't like it after that, then you don't have to do it again."

"He shouldn't *have* to do it the first time," Hermione Granger said from his other side. "Nobody should be *forced* to do things they don't want to -- especially such a ridiculously childish thing."

"Yeah," Ron snapped, "and I notice *you* haven't tried it, either -- so I reckon you can't really say anything about it one way or the other."

Harry himself finally managed to get a word in edgewise, "Alright, Ron!" and he shook off the hand Ron had been dragging him along with. "I'll... I'll give it a go -- but just once! Okay?"

"Great!" Ron enthused. "You'll see... you'll love it!" and he dragged Harry onto the end of the line waiting to use the mirror.

"Yeah, whatever..." Harry agreed -- anything to shut Ron up about it.

While they were waiting for Harry's turn, Hermione whispered to him, "You really don't have to, if you don't want to, Harry."

"I know 'Mione," he replied in a low voice, "I... I don't mind, really. It's just that -- after the Mirror of Erisad -- and I know it was years ago now, but... well, people went *mad* in front of that thing, and Dumbledore hid the Philosopher’s Stone in it, and... well, I dunno..."

"You've had some bad experiences," Hermione said knowingly.

"Not *bad*, exactly..."

"Will you two stop whispering at each other?" Ron broke in irritably. "Look, even the *first*-years have all had a go, alright? The Minister for Magic himself brought it here! He wouldn't do that if it was dangerous, would he?"

Hermione and Harry just looked at him.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron muttered. "Alright, the man's an idiot, but the Auror's who work for him aren't, are they? *They* wouldn't have let it out of their sight if it was dangerous, would they? Weapons research 'n all, right?"

"Well, I guess..." Harry reluctantly agreed. Hermione looked dubious, but said nothing.

"Anyway," Ron continued, "it's your turn now, Harry. Just have a quick look..." and Ron pushed him forward.

----oo00oo----

Later, Albus Dumbledore wondered whether he'd actually had a moment of true foresight. But given the vagueness of the slow dread that consumed him, he rather thought it had more to do with the fact that it was *Harry* *Potter*, than with the spontaneous development of any prophetic ability in a man his age. After all, Harry did have a very... impressive... history of unusual and unexpected things happening to him.

As Albus watched -- unable to turn away -- Ron pushed Harry towards the mirror. Almost in slow motion, the Headmaster saw Harry turn, one hand reaching up to adjust his glasses, as he raised his eyes...

.. and was pulled bodily into the mirror's gleaming surface.

----oo00oo----

"Harry!" Hermione and Ron screamed in unison. Together they rushed up to the mirror, looking for some sign of their best friend.

But there was nothing. The mirror's surface had turned opaque. Now it showed only an indeterminate grey sheen with oddly sluggish swirls that twisted slowly just beneath the surface.

Yells and excited calls behind them gradually quietened as several teachers rushed over and ordered everyone to stay back and remain calm.

By the time Minister Fudge and Dumbledore reached the mirror, there was a circle of fascinated rubberneckers gawking at all the excitement. The headmaster merely cleared his throat, and a respectful path was opened for him. Standing near the mirror, Hermione and Ron were looking both fearful and hopeful as the Headmaster approached.

"Now, then," addressed the two fifth-years, "I saw what happened, but from a considerable distance. Could one of you please tell me the sequence of events from your perspective?"

"Sir!" Ron blurted, "We didn't do anything! I mean, Harry just... looked at it. He didn't even have his wand out!"

"Quite certain of that are you, Mr Weasley?" came a cynical voice to their left. "Personally, I find it much more likely that Mr Potter has once again decided that he needs to be the centre of attention, and -- as usual -- has gotten himself in over his head."

Professor Severus Snape's disdainful comment caused an outraged cry from Hermione as she appealed directly to the Headmaster, "Sir! That's not true!"

Albus looked over his glasses at the Potions Professor, "I'm afraid, Severus," he said, "that I must agree with Mr Weasley and Miss Granger in this instance. I myself was watching from across the room, and saw no wand in Mr Potter's hand."

"He may have concealed it from other's view, Headmaster," Snape suggested.

"Oh, Severus!" Professor Minerva McGonagall added her voice to the discussion. "Do be sensible. What possible reason could young Harry have for wanting to be pulled into a mirror? And even if he *did* have a reason, are you seriously suggesting that a fifth-year student is capable of casting that sort of spell? Why, without study and preparation, I doubt even Merlin himself could have cast such a spell -- and *nobody* knew Minister Fudge was bringing this ...thing, here tonight."

A sour look from Snape indicated that Professor McGonagall was entirely correct.

"Quite so, Minerva," Dumbledore agreed. "and, as we have now agreed that Mr Potter is very unlikely to have deliberately caused this, let us see whether we can discover a way to retrieve him from wherever he has gone."

Dumbledore and McGonagall studied the mirror closely. Albus also questioned Cornelius Fudge closely. However, it was with great kindness that he very deliberately didn't say 'I told you so' to the panicking Minister for Magic. Mr Fudge himself, was having visions of tomorrow's Daily Prophet headlines proclaiming "Minister makes Boy Who Lived Disappear!" and "Cursed Mirror at School Dance!" Had the Aurors cleared the mirror for public display? He couldn't remember...

Quarter of an hour later, every teacher at the dance had taken a turn inspecting the mirror. They had each looked into it's blank, grey surface, and each run their wands and hands over the frame, searching for any clue or sign of what may have happened. Even Snape had made a thorough inspection.

"*He* doesn't want Harry back," Ron whispered to Hermione. "Bet he thinks it'll make him look smarter than the others if he can figure it out," In return, she elbowed him in the ribs.

Finally though, even Snape had to admit defeat. Dumbledore had already begun trying to convince Fudge that it was vital for him to ask the Aurors and the archaeology wizards for *any* information or research they might have acquired regarding the mirror. The Minister, however, was hemming and hawing, and trying to delay the involvement of anyone from outside the school.

Ron -- who couldn't stop blaming himself for making Harry look into the mirror -- quietly approached the head of Gryffindor House, "Professor McGonagall?" She turned and looked up at the worried teenager. "Are... are they going to be able to bring Harry back?"

Minerva smiled. "Of course they are, Mr Weasley. It may just take them a little whi --".

"Professor!" several students yelled.

Every teacher present turned towards the mirror, just in time to see the sluggish swirls turn violent and sharp. Suddenly, the grey surface pulsed outwards in a silent explosion. Everybody jumped back, and several people covered their eyes and faces, expecting the worst. But when the worst didn't happen, arms were cautiously lowered, and they were greeted by the sight of an unharmed Harry Potter -- wand in hand -- staggering slightly in place, exactly where he'd been standing over twenty minutes before.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, and was about to run up and hug him when Dumbledore's hand barred her way.

"Everyone will please wait a few moments!" The Headmaster ordered in a loud voice that brooked no argument.

At the sound of Dumbledore's voice, Harry looked up, his eyes slightly unfocused. He seemed confused for a moment. "Albus?" he asked weakly. Several people blinked with surprise. Since when did fifteen-year-old students in fifth-year call the Hogwarts Headmaster by his first name?

But before an equally surprised Dumbledore could reply, Professor Snape stepped in to give the young man a severe reprimand. The wretched boy thoroughly deserved it for disrupting the dance, causing distress to both students and staff, fooling around with magic he knew nothing about, and for the absolute *cheek* of calling the headmaster by his first name... However he only got as far as "Mr Potter, *50* points from --" when Harry spun in place so quickly that the Professor's mouth snapped shut, and older man unconsciously took a half step backwards.

Harry's face was a blend of despair, hope, and utter astonishment as he looked Severus Snape full in the face. The intensity of that look made the Potions Master -- a man more than twice Harry's age -- almost squirm in public.

"Severus...?" Harry breathed the name out -- raw emotion edging the sound of it. Professor Snape had never before heard his name said in quite that way -- and he couldn't say what strange combination of emotions had caused it.

Unexpectedly, Harry's eyes widened as if some startling revelation had struck him. He whirled around again, with the same remarkable speed he'd used before, and caught sight of the mirror. A look of utter rage and hatred passed over his face, and he raised his wand and wrought absolute destruction on the object before him.

"Destructus Pyro Absolutum," was all he said. He didn't yell. He didn't whisper. It was spoken in a perfectly calm voice that nonetheless managed to resound in the room like a huge drum -- echoing impossibly low beneath the whispered background conversations. It resonated deep within the bones of every person present, and caused several people to shiver at the implied power behind the words.

Time seemed to stop. There was a moment of absolute silence. Then shards of glass exploded out of the mirror's surface. They reached a distance of slightly more than two feet, before halting, and then reversing their flight -- rushing back to slice into the ancient wooden frame that had once contained them. And everywhere the glass cut, the frame burned.

And burned.

In a matter of seconds, the entire mirror was reduced to mere wreckage on the floor, and it was obvious that within a few minutes, those remains would be nothing more than smoking, black ash. Already, tiny motes of soot were drifting upwards on the heated air.

The shocked silence in the Great Hall made it a simple matter to hear Harry's ragged words -- "Good riddance you piece of cursed crap."

..and then he fell bonelessly to the floor -- unconscious, with his wand still clutched fiercely in his right hand.

----oo00oo----

Harry awoke to the all-too-familiar scents of a medical facility. A deeply ingrained sense of caution allowed him to show no outward sign of his return to consciousness. With his eyes still closed, and his breathing slow and regular, he listened carefully for anything that would tell him where he was, and who was nearby. He heard voices, but they were muffled -- distant -- and he surmised that the speakers were in another room.

But those voices -- they belonged to...!

In shock, Harry's eyes flew open. Albus! He could hear Albus' voice! But... Albus was dead... wasn't he?

"...me, Cornelius," Albus' voice was saying, "but as the mirror has now been destroyed, I do not believe there is anything more to be done about it. But of course, if the Aurors are still concerned, they are more than welcome to come and sweep up what's left of it."

There was a reply by someone Harry surmised must be Cornelius Fudge -- that bumbling idiot who had once been the Minister for Magic. But Harry was no longer following the conversation. His thoughts were fixated on Albus' words about a mirror...

"The mirror..." he whispered. The one he had destroyed. The one within which he had lived over a dozen years of his life -- a life that had not really happened. All that he remembered -- all that he had experienced -- was now nothing more than a potential future that had been based on the reality of the moment he had entered the mirror.

Complex magical probability equations woven into the mirror had generated a possible future for him to experience. It was a life that *might* have happened -- or that *may* yet happen. And Harry swallowed. He remembered the mirror -- Hermione had... or *would* have... researched it. Its name had translated as "The Mirror of Maybe".

The same mirror that had returned a twenty-eight year old man to the body of a fifteen-year-old boy.

"But Albus," a woman's voice intruded on Harry's thoughts, "what if the mirror has left the boy with some kind of... side effects?" Ah. Minerva's voice. Concerned for him. Harry smiled faintly.

"An excellent question, Minerva. Well, Poppy?"

"Nothing that I can detect, Headmaster." Madam Pomfrey answered. "Shock, I think, and certainly exhaustion, but nothing more that I could find."

"But the *spell*," Minerva protested, "it was so powerful -- no fifth-year student should be able to make something like that work..."

Albus' voice replied, "Ah Minerva... so protective of him?" Harry could almost *hear* the smile on Albus' face. "You know that it could easily have been a one-time charge of energy -- simply a result of being expelled from the mirror. Such devices often have that effect, you know."

"But that *much* energy, Albus?" came the protest.

"How can we know until he wakes up?" Albus countered. "Certainly, if there *are* side effects, we will not discover them until then, at least." There was a pause. "Although, if he has suffered a severe enough shock, or the spell on the mirror was truly too powerful for him, then he may not be able to tell us much. The mind does not often remember things it truly does not wish to."

//I should be so lucky...// Harry thought with a pang.

"For now," Albus continued, "I do not think we can accomplish anything more tonight, and tired minds seldom provide useful answers. Harry is resting comfortably and is in no immediate danger. I, for one, am going to bed."

There was a general murmur -- some in protest, some in agreement. There seemed to be one or two people present who hadn't spoken before, and Harry absently increased his estimate of the number of people in the other room. The murmur died away as they departed, their voices dwindling with the increased distance. Harry closed his eyes and feigned sleep -- waiting for the last minute bed check Poppy would inevitably make. It was her habit, he knew, whenever there was a patient under her care.

She came and went, and he listened as she settled down at her desk in the next room. She would sit watch over him for a few hours, and then another would come and relieve her of the duty. But there would always be someone nearby until Poppy was sure her patient no longer required it. Poppy was like that -- always compassionate and dutiful. Over the years, she had... or rather, would have... saved his life many times. He trusted her skills as a mediwitch.

But could he trust her... trust any of them... with the truth about what had happened to him?

----oo00oo----

Careful not to sigh or change his breathing, Harry opened his eyes and stared at the darkened room in the Hogwarts' hospital wing. So much the same... yet still so different. It was home... but not. Twelve years had seen minor alterations in the decor, and in the equipment and potion ingredients. What he saw now seemed slightly... antique ... but not unfamiliar.

Letting his eyes unfocus slightly, Harry turned his thoughts inwards and considered his situation. Should he tell someone what had happened? Tell them who -- and what -- he was now? //No,// he thought. //even if I prove it to them, their subconscious minds will look at me and see a fifteen-year-old boy -- a child. Although... Albus might be able to accept it... might actually *believe* it deeply enough to treat me as an adult...//

Albus had always been a remarkable man -- unique in his understanding of humanity and magic. His loss had been a devastating blow for the forces of Light. A blow that Harry -- with his knowledge of the possible future, and an extra thirteen years of learning and experience behind him -- might actually have a hope of preventing.

And the thought suddenly stunned him -- he could *change* things! What he remembered was terrible -- awful -- a war they had eventually won, but at terrible cost to everyone on both sides. But now... now it was only possibilities... probabilities. If he could *change* it -- prevent it, or even alter it just enough...

//Hell,// he thought, //it's *already* changed. What I *am* now has changed it.// and he realised that the changes could only become greater. With every passing minute, reality was diverging from the possibility he had lived inside the mirror. *That* reality had been based upon who he was *before* he had entered it. In the unreal world *he* remembered, the mirror had continued to exist for many years, even though it's surface had turned a blank sort of grey colour. Yet, in the *real* world, Harry had used a spell that he should not have known -- or been able to use -- and had already destroyed it.

//I can save Albus...// Harry thought joyfully. //and Sev'... I can save Sev'... and I won't be such a fool this time, and I won't let *him* be such a fool...// The thought brought Harry to an abrupt halt. One of the main reasons for Severus' foolishness had been the discrepancy in their ages. Professor Severus Snape would currently be... he had to think for a moment -- 34 years old -- more than twice the age of Harry's body. And that body was still only 15... //Dammit,// Harry growled silently. And then... //Ah, shit -- what's the legal age of consent for boys in magical England?// He couldn't remember whether it was 16 or 18. //Hell, I haven't *needed* to worry for at least ten years!// Could Sev' accept him as he looked now? ...not likely.

Unless he could force Sev' to see past the young man's body and look at the adult mind inside it, Harry knew he would have no chance. He also knew that, aside from Dumbledore -- who might, or might not, be able to accept it -- none of the other adults in the school would be able to see past the youthful face. And Harry wouldn't be able to stand it... watching them continuously remind themselves that he was a twenty-eight year old man in a teenager's body. Watching them make the mistake of treating him like a child, and then having to remind them that he wasn't -- or at least... having to remind them until the day he slipped up, and drove it home beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never again be the innocent boy of average wizarding abilities that they had once known.

And *there* was another problem, and a rather severe one at that. He was dangerous now. His instincts and reactions had been honed by almost a decade of battles and fighting. If one of Fred or George Weasley's jokes took him by surprise -- or worse, if someone actually tried to pull some kind of prank on *him* -- he could easily kill one of these vulnerable children.

The thought was profoundly disturbing.

//And what about other people?// he mused. //I'm a danger even to adult wizards and witches.// It hadn't been a problem in the mirror -- everyone there had known exactly what he was, and had behaved accordingly.

Using a logical and dispassionate approach -- learned of necessity to keep his emotions at bay -- Harry rigorously and carefully reasoned it out: //1. I am dangerous. No getting around *that* -- I *had* to become dangerous just to survive... and to help others survive. 2. I could accidentally hurt -- or even kill -- any witch or wizard who manages to surprise me. Therefore, I need to convince them to be careful when I'm around -- and that includes the general wizarding population, not just here at Hogwarts. 3. They will only be careful if they really believe I am dangerous. 4. Nobody will believe a fifteen-year-old student is *that* dangerous, which leads me to... 5. I need people to see me as the twenty-eight year old man I really am, and 6. I can't stay at Hogwarts -- at least not as a student.//

Now *that* was food for thought. He couldn't remain as a student -- but what about as a teacher? Better yet, what about as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? All the gods knew there wasn't anyone who knew more about the subject than *he* did. Even the elite Aurors of this time would not have half his experience or skill. Better yet, Dumbledore was always having trouble filling the position -- so it was very likely he could apply for it without pushing anyone else out of the job. Well, except for Sev' who had always wanted it...

But then, Harry knew Sev' better than the man did himself. The Potions Master would never be *happy* in the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, and it *would* suit Harry's purpose right down to the ground. But he could not apply for the job as Harry Potter, or as a fifteen-year-old. Therefore Harry Potter would have to disappear, preferably without causing too much distress to the people he considered family, which most definitely included Sev', Albus, Ron and 'Mione, Sirius and Lupin, and of course, Hagrid.

He wondered how he was going to get in touch with Sirius, but then realised his godfather would most certainly come to Hogwarts when he discovered 'Harry' had not returned for the new school year.

And that was another thing... he would absolutely *not* be staying with the Dursleys this summer. He had too much to arrange to be bothered with those worthless muggles anymore. Certainly, *they* would not care if he disappeared. But he would need money... Would he be able to access his account at Gringott's? Albus had the key, and Harry was supposedly still a minor...

So many details... but in the end it didn't take him all that long to figure out a rough but workable plan. He didn't bother with the fine details -- life had taught him that fine details almost never survived their meeting with reality -- but the overall shape of the plan was sound, and there was enough flexibility in it to allow for surprises.

That done, Harry let himself relax into sleep, and as he rolled over onto his side, he reflexively murmured a proximity spell that would awaken him should anyone approach.

----oo00oo----

The next morning was a bit of a shock to Harry's system. The proximity spell worked exactly as it should, and awakened him when Poppy drew back the curtains to let in the morning sun. However, from there, it went rapidly downhill.

Several times he had to remind himself to address Poppy as 'Ma'am' or 'Madam Pomfrey', and *not* 'Poppy'. However, by the time Albus and Minister Fudge arrived, he had finally managed to put himself into the correct mindset for addressing them as 'Professor' or 'Sir'.

He stuck religiously to Dumbledore's idea that he might not remember what had happened to him the previous night. But experience with the Headmaster's keen insight had taught him that a blanket 'I don't remember' would be treated with suspicion. So instead, he admitted to a few half-forgotten impressions of time passing, and the sensation of strange grey glass pressing against him. It was enough to sound honest, but not enough to arouse suspicion.

He nearly blew it, however, the first time that imbecile Fudge called him 'Harry'. Poppy had been addressing him as 'Dear' all morning, and Albus had always retained the right to call him by his private name. But Fudge had *no* right...! Luckily, Harry had got himself under control with only a slight narrowing of his eyes. He had cultivated a carefully blank expression for too long for it to fail him now.

Brutally, he reminded himself that the people here and now had never heard the name 'Ash', and had no idea how insulting it was to use his private name without his permission.

After the early morning 'interrogation' as he mentally dubbed it, he was left with the impression that Albus knew something was not quite right -- but the canny old wizard didn't say anything, and allowed Harry to leave with nothing more than a reminder to see Madam Pomfrey if he felt the least bit unwell. Thankful for small mercies, Harry beat a hasty retreat.

After that, he returned to the Gryffindor tower, marvelling that he still remembered the way after all these years, and wondering how the hell he was going to cope with everyone *else* calling him 'Harry'. Everyone except Sev' that is -- he thought he just might break down and cry if Sev' if called him something other than 'Harry'. He wasn't sure he would be able to bear "Mr Potter" from Severus.

Thankfully, the end-of-year dance really *was* at the end of the school year. Today was the last day of classes, and nobody would be taking their lessons seriously -- not even most of the teachers. He only had to get through a single day as a fifth-year before they would all leave for the summer, and Harry could put his plan into action.

Unfortunately, the number of things he had forgotten about *being* a student at Hogwarts, took him by complete surprise. And it didn't help at all that he could barely refrain from gaping at Ron and Hermione -- they were so *young*!

But he was accepted back into the Gryffindor common room without reservation, and after he managed to convince his two best friends that he was fine, and he really *didn't* hold Ron responsible for what happened, he was then interrogated a few more times by everyone in else in the room -- all wanting to know what it was like inside the mirror, and what he had seen, and how he had managed to cast such an awesome spell.

Once again, Harry stuck to the 'vague-memories-but-nothing-solid' story, and was uncommonly grateful when 'Mione told everyone to leave him alone, and then dragged him off to breakfast.

Breakfast itself was full of unexpected pitfalls. Harry had no idea what the current state of the world's Quidditch teams was -- something he had apparently known yesterday -- and had to stop himself from absent-mindedly summoning several cups of strong, black coffee during the meal. Hermione looked at him strangely when he chose to have poached eggs with his breakfast, and he suddenly remembered that he'd only liked scrambled eggs as a child.

All in all, he managed to survive it -- barely -- but as Ron dragged him off to the first class of the day, there was only one thought going through his head -- //God, I need a coffee...//

----oo00oo----

Fortunately, he didn't have Potions today, and wouldn't have to face Sev' while he was still so emotionally unbalanced. He also had the convenient excuse of his 'incident' with the mirror upon which to blame any minor slip-ups. Even so, he found it very hard to react the way others obviously expected him to.

Take Draco Malfoy for instance. The teenager was rude and insulting to both Harry and Harry's friends -- but the first time Harry saw him, all he could feel was sorrow at the memory of Draco's death, and a sense of frustration for the stupidity of children who thought being in different Houses was justification for their current behaviour. He used the frustration to summon the appropriate responses, but they were half-hearted insults at best, and once Draco was gone, Harry even felt a bit of fondness for his Slytherin nemesis.

Seeing Draco made Harry remember an old saying -- that when you were without friends, the next best thing is an enemy who knows you well. When Draco had died, the young Death Eater had been without friends, but his enemy had been there for him, and Harry took bittersweet comfort in the knowledge that he had not failed Draco -- and that, in the end, Draco had not failed him either.

Perhaps this time, he would be able to save Draco too.

He would certainly try.

----oo00oo----

The day didn't really get any easier. Charms with Professor Flitwick was boring -- there wasn't anything he didn't already know, and couldn't do half-conscious with one arm hexed and a Death Eater chasing him. He actually had to stop himself from performing the lesson perfectly when he remembered that it would be out of character for him to get it right so easily.

Predictions with Professor Trelawney was hilarious. Even after more than ten years, he still remembered the woman's almost pathological fixation with his death. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that he *was* going to die -- at about the same time that he realised *everyone* was going to die, and that nobody -- not even Voldemort -- could cheat death forever.

Dying, he had reflected, was a natural part of life, and was only to be fought when it was inflicted upon those whose time had not yet come.

As for Trelawney's predictions, well... Harry simply had too much to live for to contemplate dying anytime soon -- or in any of the melodramatic and improbable ways she loved to ramble on about.

All in all, it was just too funny.

At lunch, he managed to slip away and visit Hagrid. The much loved half-giant was another who had not survived to see Harry's twenty-eighth birthday. But unlike Draco, Harry had not been there when he died.

Hagrid had been Harry's first friend in the world -- both wizarding and muggle. Before him, Harry's cousin Dudley had ensured that everyone was too frightened to be Harry's friend. Yet after him, had come Ron and Hermione, the entire Weasley family, Albus, his godfather Sirius, Remus, and so many, many more -- from all walks of life, and not only out of Gryffindor, or even from his own years at the school.

But Hagrid had been the first -- and would always hold a very special pplace in Harry's heart.

"'ello Harry!" the huge Gamekeeper called as Harry approached. "What're yeh doin' out here? Not up to any mischief I 'ope?"

"Does it look like Ron and Hermione are with me?" Harry laughed.

Hagrid guffawed, "Like yeh need *those* two to t' get into trouble."

Harry explained that he'd simply come for a visit -- which pleased Hagrid no end -- and together they went inside for a cup of tea. The next half hour was spent doing nothing more than chatting about the school, and enjoying each other's company. It wasn't until Harry noticed that he would have to go soon, that he realised there was something he really wanted to do.

"Hagrid?" he asked slowly. "There's a bit of magic I'd like to do for you -- a... a sort of spell I learned."

"Oh, yeah?" Hagrid asked, "And yeh want ter show it to me? It must be pretty good then, eh?"

"Well," Harry replied, "it's not flashy or anything..."

"The hardest magic never is, Harry." and Harry was suddenly struck by how wise Hagrid sometimes was beneath the good-natured bumbling exterior. "What d'yeh want me ter do?"

Smiling, Harry replied, "Nothing, my friend -- just... be *you* for me."

Hagrid looked at him strangely, but Harry had already closed his eyes. The adult Harry who inhabited the teenager's body focused his thoughts inwards, reaching for that special magic that few humans were even consciously aware of. This was Heart Magic that Harry was practicing now -- the magic that was love, and fear, and joy and sorrow -- all the emotions that humans and non-humans shared together -- and all the power those emotions could generate. Such power could be wild or gentle, overwhelming or subtle. It could never be controlled with spells or ordinary magics, but only with its own power -- by emotion itself. In times of extreme stress, even muggles could access this power -- as demonstrated by the tales of muggle mothers lifting fallen trees off their injured children, and other apparent 'miracles' brought on by the extreme emotional state of the people involved.

But few in the wizarding world -- whether human, elf, gnome, or other -- had ever been able to do what Harry was doing now...

...for Harry was *deliberately* reaching for the magic -- calling it to him, not with extreme need or intense emotion, but with a with gentle love and a joyous friendship, linked to a profound sense of his kinship for the man sitting across the table from him. With delicate precision, he wove that sense of kinship into his own heart, and then into Hagrid's. And then finally, he released the magic, and opened his eyes.

Hagrid blinked. For a moment he had felt... something. "What did yer do, Harry?"

Harry smiled, and then thought of Hagrid and wished Hagrid could feel how much Harry loved him.

Hagrid inhaled sharply, and blinked in surprise. "Wha.."

"It a special spell, Hagrid -- only for the friends you love most in the world. All you have to do is think about your friend, and wish for them to know how you feel about them -- and then they do."

"You... then, that was how you feel... about me?"

"Yup." Harry grinned cheekily up at him.

Hagrid considered this for a moment, "Does it work both ways?"

"Yes." Harry told him.

Hagrid closed his eyes. A second later, Harry felt a wave of warmth and friendship, tinged with a certain amount of awe. Hagrid opened his eyes. "Did it work?"

Harry leapt up and hugged him. Somewhat embarrassed, but pleased nonetheless, the Gamekeeper mumbled, "I guess it did."

Afterwards, Harry reflected that now, even if he couldn't prevent Hagrid's death, he could still be *there* should anything happen to his favourite half-giant.

It had, perhaps, been foolish of him to cast a spell that Albus would recognise as Heart Magic. Indeed, there was no other kind of magic it *could* be. If Albus found out about it before Harry was safely gone tomorrow... well, there would be no leaving at *all*...

...and of course, Hagrid couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

But on the other hand, Harry suddenly realised that he didn't *want* this particular secret kept -- or at least, he didn't want it kept for more than a day or two. It would ease people's minds considerably to know that Hagrid had some kind of contact with him, and could vouch for the fact that he was still alive somewhere.

So it was with a much lightened heart that he rejoined Ron and Hermione -- who immediately demanded to know where he'd been -- and went off to their first class for the afternoon.

It turned out to be the last flying class for the year. Madam Hooch was an excellent instructor, and Harry's love of flying had not changed or diminished one bit over the years. However -- as with Charms -- the techniques she was teaching were quite literally child's-play to him now. At least... he'd *thought* they were, until he automatically tried a move that he'd made a thousand times before, only to have his broom lurch drunkenly under him. His lightning fast reflexes saved him from an embarrassing fall, but he still had to listen patiently as Madam Hooch explained the simple manoeuvre over, and over, and *over* again.

It had made his act as a fifteen-year-old more credible, but he'd worried about what went wrong for the rest of the class. Finally, he figured it out. Simply stated, his old Firebolt wasn't anywhere near as fast or responsive as the Cirrus 5 he'd owned twelve years later, in a future that had been based on probabilities. Thus, as broom design had improved, so had his reflexes and expectations. Now, twelve years in the past (from his perspective) his current broom simply couldn't keep up.

It was a similar consideration that smacked him upside the head that night in the boy’s bathroom.

Stripping off his robes, he casually turned towards the showers when he briefly caught sight of himself in a mirror. He'd imagined that he knew exactly what his body looked like at fifteen -- after all, he'd certainly seen it when he'd *been* a fifteen-year-old -- which was... now, he supposed -- or thirteen years ago, depending upon how you looked at it. Thinking about the circular time references was guaranteed to give him a headache, so he ignored it in favour of studying his new... old?... body.

For the most part, what he'd imagined was exactly what he saw. Everything he expected to see was there -- the shape of his younger face, the slightly leaner torso, the height he expected -- he knew he would grow only an inch or so taller over the next few months, and then no more.

At fifteen, his body was basically finished with all the changes it would inflict upon him -- a few more years would see him settle into a slightly bulkier chest, but he would always tend towards a certain trimness of waist, and a more supple strength, rather than large muscles.

It was what he *didn't* see that shocked him.

His scars were gone. Well, except for the one on his forehead of course. But the others... all vanished. And his tattoos -- god, he felt their loss like a knife through his heart. He'd had them done -- both of them -- when he'd finally realised *why* the Sorting Hat had had so much trouble trying to decide which House to put him in. In honour of the discovery of a *profound* self-truth, Harry had very carefully selected and patronised the wizarding equivalent of a muggle tattoo parlour. When he'd emerged, his robes had been covering a Gryffindor lion emblazoned on his chest, and a Slytherin snake twisting down his spine. They had been his constant companions for more than eight years.

He wanted them back.

It was also the *lack* of what he saw that reminded him so strongly of the trouble with his broom. Something else was missing from his body -- a less tangible, but nonetheless integral part of the man he had become.

At twenty-eight, he had been -- and presumably still was -- a master oof several forms of muggle hand-to-hand. He had spent hours practicing the moves over and over again -- knowing that if he screwed up in the field, he could end up dead -- or responsible for someone else's death. That practice -- so repetitive and exhausting -- had caused his muscles to develop in certain ways. His arms and legs had become *used* to certain movements -- particular techniques -- and moved through those motions with the ease of a train running on worn tracks in the ground. 'Muscle memory' it was called.

And now, like the expectations he'd had for his broom, it was all gone.

It suddenly struck him that he really had no idea what his current body was capable of. That frightened him somewhat, but he acknowledged the fear, and made a mental note to correct his ignorance as soon as possible. Now however, was not the time, and after a steaming hot shower, it was an exhausted Harry Potter who smiled and bid both Hermione and Ron a pleasant goodnight in the common room, before tiredly making his way to bed -- for the last time -- in the Gryffindor tower.

Lying there in the dark, Harry felt sorrow for the second loss of his childhood. He knew that if all went well, he would be seeing all of his most-loved friends -- those he considered family -- as soon as school began next year. But of course, they would not recognise *him*, and it would be hard on them -- not knowing where he was, and hard on him -- not being able to tell them. Yet at the same time, he was also well satisfied. There was so much *potential* in the world now -- so much he could *do* to help them -- to keep them as safe as possible.

But most of all, there was the sneaking, purely selfish happiness in his heart -- the knowledge that from this end of time he had *years* ahead of him to share with Severus Snape.

All he had to do was convince Sev' to love him again.

----oo00oo----

The next day dawned bright and cheerful, mimicking the happy pandemonium that was a school full of students going home for the summer. Ron and Hermione sat with him on the Hogwarts Express, and promised to write lots of owls and send plenty of 'emergency rations' in case Dudley was still dieting, and Harry's aunt forced Harry to once again eat the same meals as Dudley.

Harry couldn't make the same promise in return, because his uncle and aunt usually insisted that his owl, Hedwig, be kept locked up all summer. Of course, he also didn't want to promise, because he knew he wasn't going to be there anyway.

Finally, they arrived at Platform 9 and 3/4. Mrs Weasley was there to pick up her sons, and her daughter Ginny, while Mr and Mrs Granger smiled kindly at him, and Hermione hugged him tightly before waving goodbye.

The Dursleys were nowhere in sight.

//Wouldn't it be just like those muggles!// Harry thought in frustration. //The one time I actually *want* to see them, and they pick *today* to decide to abandon me. Bloody hell!//

Mrs Weasley, of course, absolutely refused to leave until she was certain his uncle hadn't got lost amongst the rest of the muggles -- there were so many of them at the station. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she was about to take him home with her own sons, when he spotted his uncle Vernon trying to hide behind a pillar. With relief, he led Ron's mum over to his uncle, just to prove that he really *didn't* need to be taken back to the Burrow.

Uncle Vernon, of course, was rude to Mrs Weasley, and couldn't get away from her -- and her 'unnatural' family -- fast enough. He dragged Harry along, and Harry allowed it, until they were out of sight of anybody who looked remotely magical.

Along the way, Harry was subjected to his uncle's displeasure at seeing him again, as well as the reason Vernon had been hiding behind the pillar. It seemed that -- to uncle Vernon at least -- so long as he could say he had actually *gone* to pick up Harry, then he felt that it wouldn't be his fault if Harry had not been *there* to be picked up. Vernon had actually been on the verge of leaving without Harry, when he'd been spotted -- much to his displeasure.

They reached the car in short order, and Harry got the usual orders about not touching anything in Vernon's nice new sedan, while Harry dutifully piled his belongings into the trunk. Harry was getting heartily sick of his narrow-minded uncle by the time they pulled away from the train station and headed for Privet Drive. He wracked his brain trying to come up with the reason he'd stayed with his uncle for so long the last time he'd been this age.

Sitting silently, and letting the hateful words wash past him, Harry bided his time until they were passing several of the quieter streets. He needed to get out of the car before they reached Privet Drive because he knew that the Dursley's house, and the surrounding neighbours', all had an overabundance of spells put on them. One set was from the Ministry of Magic -- to detect any magic being performed by underaged wizards or witches. Another set was from the Aurors, hoping to detect Voldemort's presence -- or even a few Death Eaters. Yet another set was from Dumbledore, which had more to do with protecting him than watching him -- but served the same purpose anyway. And a final set had been more recently layered on, by his godfather Sirius Black -- again for protection, but also incidentally keeping a subtle eye on him.

So in order to disappear successfully, Harry had to leave *after* they departed the train station, but *before* they arrived at Privet Drive. Hence, the reason he was waiting for an appropriate moment -- like now.

Harry jerked his head up, and proclaimed, "Oh, I feel sick... I think... I think I'm gonna throw up..."

Uncle Vernon couldn't pull over fast enough. "Get out! Get out, you filthy brat -- not in *my* car you don't!" and it was then, in mid-diatribe that Harry froze him.

"Don't worry, Dursley," Harry said in a perfectly calm voice, "the spell will wear off in a little while. I just need to keep you out of the way for a few minutes." Then he reached past his uncle's now-sweating face and into the man's coat pocket. With supreme confidence, Harry pulled out Vernon's wallet and rifled through the money in it. He carefully selected several notes, totalling a bit less than eighty pounds, and then replaced the wallet. Vernon's eyes bulged.

"No," Harry replied in response to the eye-bulging antics, "I am not robbing you -- though I doubt you'll see it that way until you get your money back ...which will be in a few days, by the way." He looked at Vernon's face and saw the eyes rolling with disbelief. "Alright then," Harry added, "consider it a small price to pay for getting rid of me forever." The eyes suddenly looked hopeful. "Yes, I said forever -- as in: I'm not coming back, and nobody will be bringing me back. I just need a little cash for a few days to get the rest of my life started." The eyes looked suspicious. Harry laughed, "No -- I'm not gambling or anything. I won't lose your money and come crawling back a week from now -- as if you'd take me back anyway." The eyes agreed.

Harry sighed. "Look Dursley," he said after a moment, "here's how it's gonna go. I'm taking your money and I'm leaving. You won't know where I am, and neither will anybody else. A few people might come looking for me, but just tell them what happened, and they'll go away. You might even see a few owls about, but they'll know I'm not there pretty quickly, and *they'll* leave you alone too."

"Think about it, Dursley," Harry grinned, "Don't you want me gone? God knows *I* want to be gone." Harry tucked the money into his pocket and began to get out of the car. He stopped for a moment, before adding, "Oh, and by the way, if you happen to feel like getting rid of any.. you know... 'strangers'... who ask about me -- you can tell them that 'Ash' knows where I am."

Then Harry walked to the back of the car and magically opened the trunk. He cast a size reduction spell, followed by a weight reduction spell, and proceeded to stuff all his worldly possessions into his pocket. Then he closed the trunk and went to retrieve Hedwig from her cage in the back seat.

He magically created several sheets of paper, and grabbed a pen from the glove box, before writing a note to Dumbledore:

Dear Headmaster,

I am leaving the Dursleys because I am sick and tired of being locked in cupboards, starved, and treated like a house elf.

I know it is dangerous away from the magical protections that you and the Ministry have provided for me, but please believe me when I say that I will be just as well protected where I am going. I will not be attending Hogwarts as a student in the new term, but I promise you that I will be well educated in magic when you next see me -- particularly in the offensive and defensive magics. (We both know that I will need *those*, don't we?)

I must ask you if you would please look after Hedwig for me. She knows I will not be here if she returns. I hope this is not a problem for you, but if it is, I would ask that you please give her to a good family.

I must go now, as the spell holding my uncle will wear off shortly, and I do not want to be here when it does.

Take care, and please believe me when I say that I am doing this of my own free will.

Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter.

P.S. Hagrid will be able to tell you whether or not I am alright.

Harry re-read it a few times, trying to decide whether he had managed to make himself sound like a teenager or not, and then decided to hell with it -- it was good enough.

That done, he folded up the paper and gave it to Hedwig. She was reluctant to leave him, but he finally managed to convince her that she really *couldn't* follow him where he was going. Eventually she left, and Harry hoped Dumbledore would take good care of her, no matter how long 'Harry Potter' had to 'disappear' for. He very much wanted to have her back when all the hiding and lies were over.

Harry was about to get out of his uncle's car for the last time, when he casually glanced over at his uncle Vernon -- still frozen with his mouth open, in the act of telling Harry to 'Get out!'. A thoughtful look came over Harry's face. Vernon's eyes watched him with fear.

"Mr Dursley," Harry began quietly, "considering that you didn't actually let me starve to death, or chain me to a wall or anything, and in light of the fact that -- willing or not -- you *are* lending me money, I guess I feel there's something I should tell you."

Vernon's eyes were watching him closely.

"I know you love Dudley, although I'm not convinced the feeling is mutual -- he seems too selfish, to me, to really love anybody but himself." Harry paused. "Anyway, I just though you should know -- Dudley isn't 'solid', or 'well-built', or any of the other lies you've been telling yourself. He's *fat*." The eyes bulged again -- this time with outrage. Harry continued. "He's so fat in fact, that all the blubber he's carrying around has begun to put a strain on his heart. If you don't show a bit of backbone and get him down to a decent size, he's going to have a massive coronary and die before he reaches his thirtieth birthday."

The pupils in Vernon's eyes dilated with shock.

"Now, I know you could tell yourself that I'm not a doctor, or a nurse, or even qualified in first aid, but I *am* a wizard," Harry wiggled his fingers, but Vernon's eyes never left Harry's face, "...and we have ways of knowing these things."

Harry got out of the car, and then leaned down so his uncle could still see him. "I just thought that... well... no father should have to bury his son... even though far too many do." Harry took one last look at the man who was his uncle by marriage. "Take care, Dursley. I sincerely hope we never meet again." and with that, Harry closed the car door and walked away.

He didn't look back once.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 2: Magic Makes the Man

Casually, Harry strolled away from his uncle's car. The last thing he wanted to do was attract attention to himself by running or looking furtive. Of course, in the wizarding world, avoiding unwanted attention would be impossible so long as his face -- whether disguised or not -- continued to display that notorious scar.

So, before he could do anything else, he had to deal with the mark on his forehead that Voldemort had so kindly bequeathed him.

The problem was, experience had taught him that the damned thing could not be hidden by magic. Even when he transformed into his animagus self, it was still there in the form of a stark white lightning-shaped patch of hair on his pelt. Glamours, and the usual cosmetic spells that witches used, also didn't work. It stubbornly continued to show no matter what.

Undercover work had been impossible for Harry until Robert -- Hermione's muggle boyfriend, and later, her muggle magician husband -- had pointed out to him that not everything needed a magical solution. After that, it had been simple.

Harry noted that his musings had now taken him well away from the car and his uncle. The freeze spell would be wearing off about now, and the thought of Vernon Dursley driving speedily away reminded Harry that it was time for him to go as well.

He looked around for a relatively private spot from which to apparate, idly wondering whether he should consider this some kind of symbolic moment -- the 'old' Harry Potter leaving his 'old' life behind. He decided not, since he wasn't really leaving anything but the Dursleys behind, and they had never been part of him any more than he'd been part of them.

//In fact,// Harry chuckled to himself, //give them twenty-four hours and I bet there won't be so much as a spot of ink on the floor to show I ever lived in that house.// But the thought didn't sadden him, since his heart had always belonged with Hogwarts -- and the castle itself would always welcome its 'special' children home.

The street he was on didn't have much available by way of places to apparate from -- at least not without alarming the Muggles -- but the next street over had a gnarled and venerable old tree growing a few feet away from a seven-foot-high brick wall. It wasn't perfect, but it would do, and as Harry carefully picked his way over the broken and root-riddled pavement, he unobtrusively walked between the large tree trunk and the dirty red-brown wall... and vanished.

----oo00oo----

Seconds later, Harry emerged from an alleyway not too far from an old and well-established shopping district. It wasn't anywhere near central London -- the risk of being spotted by a wizard or witch would have been much higher there -- but it was old enough that Harry had been fairly confident it was still here, even twelve years in the past... or present. Whatever.

He picked out a likely looking store, entered, and went straight to the directory board. //Bingo,// he grinned to himself, //They have exactly what I'm looking for...//, and then he went off to find the cosmetics department.

----oo00oo----

"Excuse me, miss," Harry said politely to the young lady behind the counter. "Could you help me, please?"

"Of course, sir," she smiled. "Which department are you looking for?"

Harry pretended embarrassment. "Uh... this one... actually." The smile became a surprised look -- you didn't often find young men looking for the cosmetics department. "Erm... well... you see," Harry stuttered, "my sister's got this really gross pimple, like, you know -- right here," and he pointed to his nose. "She won't even leave the house! So, anyway... she, um... she sent me to buy something that would.. you know, hide it."

Now the woman smiled knowingly -- such a nice boy, to be helping out his sister like this. Her brothers would have laughed and poked fun at her when they'd been that age. "All right then," she replied, "Do you know which brand and type of makeup she wants?"

"Um... not really."

The woman frowned. "Oh, dear." she said, "without knowing that, I'd have to see what type of skin she has -- colouring and so on -- before I'd feel right selling you anything. I'm afraid some of the better makeups are a bit too expensive to try guessing."

"No problem," Harry grinned, "We're twins you see. I have the exact same skin -- and Mary said if you had anything that could hide this," and Harry lifted his hair to display his scar, "then that was good enough for her."

"Well then," the lady replied -- all smiles again -- "Why don't you come right this way and have a seat?"

Some forty minutes later, Harry emerged from the department store sans visible scar and somewhat poorer than when he'd gone in. The makeup had been moderately expensive, but since the only other thing Harry intended to spend Dursley's money on was food (and coffee), he really didn't care.

But business had to come before coffee -- so Harry quickly found another vacant alleyway and apparated the moment he was out of sight. Even if somebody had been following him -- which was doubtful -- they would have lost him then and there.

He reappeared moments later -- this time at Heathrow Airport. Few wizzards or witches -- if any -- travelled by aeroplane, so this was one of the last places he was likely to be recognised -- especially now that his scar was well hidden.

He made his way down the busy rows of shops and eateries until he found a set of public toilets. He murmured a short spell to take care of any nearby security cameras, then pushed through the door into the men's room.

As with any public facility at a busy place like Heathrow, the turnover of people coming and going was very high. For Harry, this meant that when he entered one of the stalls, all he had to do was wait a few minutes, and nobody who had seen him go in would be there to see him come out. Thus, nobody would know or care if the boy who entered the stall didn't look a thing like the man who left it.

It was time for Harry to give himself a total makeover -- wizard-style!

----oo00oo----

Harry stood in the stall, facing the door and closed his eyes. What he was about to do wasn't all that difficult -- you just had to pay attention to the details.

The disguise he had chosen was in three parts -- the first part was a spell that would alter his appearance, while the second part would be the one to correct his eyesight. The third and final part would then be the spell that modified his voice.

However, it was the first part that would require the most effort.

The first spell -- like his overall disguise -- also came in three parts, and of particular importance was the last part, which provided immunity to anti-glamour magic and other prying enchantments. Unfortunately, the third part was also the only section he could not use to create his new face.

To get around this problem, what Harry needed to do was cast the spell -- without the anti-glamour protection -- and then cast it a second time -- with the glamour protection -- over the top of the original version. Then, by linking the two versions of the same spell together, the second one would be able to compensate for the weakness of the first.

"So..." Harry breathed softly, "time to give myself a new look."

Carefully, he imagined every detail of the features he wanted, and -- holding the image firmly in his mind -- quietly began murmuring the first partt of the spell.

Harry had learned this technique under Hermione's exacting tutelage, and had performed it in the field several times by himself. As he expected, it all went smoothly, and the whispered words quickly altered the way light was reflected from the contours of his face. If he were to stop now, with only this much of the spell done, he knew he would already look different. However, anyone who laid a hand against his cheek would immediately know that what they were seeing was not the reality.

This fragment of the spell was fairly common, as it was also the scrap of magic upon which most cosmetic spells were based.

Next came the second part of the enchantment -- the words that would allow his disguise to fool even a hand on his cheek.

With the same care he'd used before, Harry quietly murmured the words.

Now the spell would also mimic the physical sensations of his new appearance -- and would, incidentally, allow him to shave his new face without fear of needing a blood transfusion afterwards. In essence, this clever bit of magic translated the sensations from his real skin into the equivalent sensation on the new, magical 'skin'. It would make his new face 'feel' real -- even to him.

Harry opened his eyes, and ran his hands over a stranger's face -- now his own. Everything felt the way it should, and he could tell that the spell was settling in with easy familiarity. He would, of course, check himself over very carefully in the mirror before leaving the men's room -- it didn't pay to be overconfident, and the only reason he'd chosen a Heathrow toilet instead of a remote mountaintop, was because he needed a convenient mirror to perform that final check.

Absently, he scratched at the stubble on his re-shaped jaw and reflected that at this point only an anti-glamour spell would reveal his true features. But that wasn't good enough. He needed the disguise to be foolproof, even against that.

It was time to cast the spell again -- this time with all three parts.

The final words of the disguising spell were intended to 'graft' whatever he envisaged onto his body so that it would actually become part of him, like an arm or a leg. Since all anti-glamour magic assumed that disguising spells were not inherently part of whatever they were attached to, then none of them would work against the complete version of the spell that Harry was about to cast.

But in order to successfully attach itself to him, the enchantment had to have access to Harry's magic down at the level where his power became inherently interwoven with his physical self -- and that was a level well below anything Harry could consciously control.

However, it was not out of reach for his sub-conscious.

Thus, what Harry was about to do, was envisage something that his subconscious mind expected to see on his body. Then, the disguising spell would be able to use that subconscious belief in the reality of whatever he imagined, as a 'bridge' into the lowest level of his magical abilities.

But the catch, was that Harry absolutely had to envisage something that his mind expected to see.

This explained why he hadn't been able to make the first spell impervious to anti-glamour magic. The face he was now wearing was not the one he thought of as his, and without that subconscious belief that the illusion was real, there would've been no access to his lower-level magic, and the last part of the spell would have failed.

In the present time period, Harry knew that all three parts of the spell he was using could easily be found in any good wizarding library. However, the third part -- which was so vital to him now -- was considered a useless curiosity, since it only let you cast a glamour that showed what you already looked like. The innovative use of the spell in two parts had yet to be discovered.

//Necessity is the mother of invention,// Harry grimly reminded himself. It was amazing what people could come up with when they had to stay one step ahead of an enemy.

To complete the full version of the spell, Harry knew he could have picked pretty much any feature he liked -- other wizards he'd worked with had useed moles, or freckle patterns -- layering the fake features directly over the top of the real ones. Harry could have done that too, but instead, he had decided to put back the many scars he remembered acquiring during his years in the mirror.

His shock the previous night upon not seeing those scars, told Harry that his subconscious mind wouldn't have a problem believing the scars were supposed to be there. As well, he knew that a few old wounds would fit well with people's expectations of a War Mage, and several of the scars would be easily visible when he was wearing his habitual workout attire of loose shorts and t-shirt. There might also come a time when he would need the odd one or two truly scary scars to convince a young 'gung-ho' wizard that: "Yes -- you can be seriously hurt, or even killed, especially if you think fighting a battle is 'glorious' or 'exciting'".

It would, incidentally, also put a stop that ridiculously surprised look on his face when he next caught sight of his body in a bathroom mirror.

He debated with himself about whether to add his tattoos to the spell, but eventually decided that for once, he was going to allow himself the luxury of a purely emotional decision. He wanted his tattoos to be real, dammit -- even if he had to wait a few days to have them put back.

That decided, Harry carefully envisaged the map of hard-lived experience that had once marked his body, and then repeated the first two parts of the spell. He felt the magic take hold, and quickly pulled up his shirt to run one hand over a particularly nasty wound he remembered taking some years ago. It was easily visible, and felt completely real to the touch. //But I sure won't miss the way it used to pull at me,// he reflected -- the one good thing about having scars that weren't real was that he wouldn't feel them when he was working out.

//All right then,// he thought, //back to business -- let's finish it.// and he closed his eyes for a third time.

Quietly, and with great care, Harry whispered the precise and complicated wording that made up the third and final part of the disguising spell. He felt a connection within his mind, and after allowing it to settle for a few moments, mentally 'pushed' at it to see whether everything was working. Sure enough, he felt all the scars tingle for an instant -- which told him the spell had been successful.

It had all worked perfectly.

The complete version of the spell was now layered over the top of the first one, and Harry quickly linked the two together, forcing the more powerful second spell to extend its protection over the weaker one.

Now all that was left to do was correct his eyesight, and alter his voice.

His eyes took a bit of fiddling to get right, and he would have to test his long distance vision once he was outside, but the odd thing was that it was actually easier to make physical changes to his eyesight, than it was to cast the disguising spell. He'd once asked Poppy why, if this was the case, he couldn't simply alter his real face and forego the bother of a disguise at all. Poppy had tried to explain it, but all he could remember was something about fiddling with unknown bits of his genetic code, and potentially serious side effects.

Apparently his eyesight was only easy to adjust because some horrifically short-sighted fellow had once worked out all the tedious details for actually doing it, and had then condensed all that work down into the tried and true spell that was now commonly used all over the world.

Harry had then asked about growing bones back, and being an animagus, and ton-tongue toffees, and...

"Ash, my dear," Poppy had calmly interrupted, "you're an excellent War Mage -- for which we're all very grateful. But you make a terrible patient when you're wounded, and I think it's safe to say that on some level at least, you and the medical field are completely incompatible."

It had taken a minute for Harry to work out that Poppy had pretty much told him to stop asking questions because he didn't have a hope in hell of understanding the answers.

What impressed him was that she'd done it so politely.

Smiling at the fond memory, Harry found himself staring down at his hands and the little bit of wire and glass cradled within them. He could recall seeing them on his dresser at Hogwarts -- uselessly gathering dust. Yet he'd been loathe to throw them away, and content to blow the dust off and occasionally hold them -- just as he was doing now. Such a small reminder -- yet they spoke so eloquently of a time in his life when bad eyesight wasn't a weakness too dangerous to allow.

Gently, he folded them closed and tucked them away in his pocket.

One day they would decorate his dresser again.

But for now, he had one last spell to complete, and after the effort of the first three, reciting the words that lowered his voice, was almost too easy.

----oo00oo----

Less than ten minutes after a teenaged Harry Potter entered an anonymous stall in a Heathrow men's room, a very different and much older man walked out.

Casually, Harry made his way over to one of the sinks and washed his hands. At the same time, he very carefully scrutinised his new face in the mirror. The man whose reflection stared back at him appeared to be in his late twenties with non-descript features that looked nothing like Harry's own. Each attribute -- nose, ears, cheekbones, chin, and jaw -- was significantly different from the original, but without being so unique as to appear startling or unusually memorable.

His jaw was more square than it had been -- but not so angular that he looked like a poster boy for the military -- and his new cheekbones were both lower and wider. Although his hair -- now brown instead of black -- was shorrt enough not to be a liability in close combat, he still retained the medium-length fringe as an additional means of covering up the scar on his forehead.

But it was his eyes that reflected the most striking change.

Green eyes were rare enough that Harry could not afford to retain his natural eye-colour. So now his irises were a rich deep brown that almost bordered on black. He had deliberately selected brown because it was so common -- and had chosen such a dark shade because it would assist him in hiding his thoughts and emotions. The dark hue allowed his irises to blend in with their black centres, making it hard to see any dilation or contraction of the pupils.

And finally, he had also changed the shape of his eyes so that they were a little wider, with a slight downturn at the outside of the right-hand one. He had very carefully pictured the tiny difference -- as he'd also done with his ears, cheeks, and eyebrows -- since a few variations from one side to the other made the overall face look a lot more natural.

Nobody's face was ever truly symmetrical.

Eventually, Harry determined that he was satisfied with his new look and moved away towards the exit.

If anybody had been watching him make his detailed inspection, they might have wondered about the careful scrutiny Harry gave himself in the mirror. But as it was -- with the security cameras disabled, and given the nature of public toilets where people paid scant attention and didn't stay long -- there was nobody who noticed, and quite frankly, nobody who cared.

----oo00oo----

Harry now felt far more relaxed about being seen in public. The muggle makeup was doing an excellent job of hiding his scar, and the spells he'd cast were taking care of the rest.

His next order of business was a very simple one -- he was hungry and he wanted lunch.

He unlocked an out-of-the-way airport cleaner's closet with a touch of magic, and once inside, re-locked it before apparating yet again -- this time to central London. He wandered around until he located an eatery that didn't look too expensive, and then proceeded to treat himself to a lavish lunch -- with bottomless coffee.

He read through a couple of muggle newspapers, lingered over desert, and thought about his next move. The money he'd borrowed from Dursley was nearly all gone, but the next stage of his plan should make him wealthy enough to last an ordinary wizard half a lifetime. Unfortunately, the plans he would need to put into action after he established himself at Hogwarts, were likely to be very expensive.

Still, the day wasn't getting any younger...

...he needed to see a goblin about some gold.

----oo00oo----

Standing in Gringotts' impressive entry hall, Harry was somewhat aware of his very casual appearance. He couldn't wear his Hogwarts robes, of course, so that left him head-to-toe in muggle shoes, jeans, and shirt. He knew he looked a bit out-of-place, but it couldn't be helped, and in this instance it didn't matter, as he was about to put into practice the old saying that it isn't what you know (or in his case what you looked like), but who you know.

He approached a counter with no one in front of it, and smiled at the goblin, who eyed him distastefully in return.

"Good afternoon," he said calmly, "I'd like to speak to Guilder Gringott, please."

The goblin looked shocked.

"How... you..."

"How did I know the name of the goblin who runs this branch -- the Head Office, by the way -- of the entire Gringotts banking consortium?"

The goblin before him blinked at the confirmation that Harry really did know exactly who he wanted to speak to. Nobody outside the bank was supposed to know the name of any goblin above a certain security level. The policy of blanket anonymity seriously cut down on kidnappings, extortion, and people begging for money or favours.

Harry allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards with amusement. "Sorry... can't tell you." he said, then added, "But I would be much obliged if you'd pass me up the chain of command to your supervisor. It's not you I really want to speak to, and we both know you don't have the authority to deal with the situation I've just created."

After a brief internal debate, the goblin said, "Please wait here," and scurried off to get his supervisor.

A few minutes later, an older and more elegantly tailored goblin appeared with the younger one trailing in his wake. After apparently sizing Harry up for potential threat, the senior goblin offered him the opening: "You have some business with the bank, I understand."

"Indeed," Harry agreed, "but not, I think, business that should be conducted on the main floor."

There was a moment's silence while each side considered the other. The younger goblin shuffled nervously.

"Would my office, do?" the supervisor offered at last.

"Perfectly," Harry agreed.

----oo00oo----

Once they were alone in his office, the supervisor took a seat at his desk and waved Harry into the chair on the other side.

Harry sat down, and waited.

Knowing vastly more about goblin etiquette than he had the first time he'd come to Gringotts, he now knew that the goblin -- having invited Harry into his office -- was presently obligated by his own customs to either wait until Harry spoke, or offer Harry his name.

If Harry spoke first, then the goblin would not be compelled to treat him as anything more than an annoying and potentially dangerous member of the public. If they exchanged names, then Harry would automatically gain a certain level of respect, and the supervisor sitting across from him would have to acknowledge that Harry was now his problem and couldn't be palmed off onto somebody else.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the goblin was waiting for him to make some kind of threat against Guilder Gringott, or the bank itself -- at which point the bank's private security would rush in, the Aurors would be summoned, and he would be one step away from being thrown into Azkaban.

The bank had never dealt kindly with extortion.

Unfortunately for the supervisor, Harry wasn't here for extortion, and wasn't about to speak first.

The silence stretched.

"Grabble Twovaults," the goblin finally said in a sour tone.

"War Mage Ash," Harry replied, and then had the distinct pleasure of seeing the goblin gape at him like a stranded fish. Although, with a mouth the size and shape of a goblin's, he looked rather more like an attacking shark.

The shocked goblin quickly got himself under control, at which point they did the inevitable dance back and forth about the fact that War Mages no longer existed, and how could 'Ash' possibly expect anyone to believe such an outlandish claim.

Ultimately, Harry ended the argument by deciding he wasn't going to get any further up the management ladder unless he laid all his cards on the table.

"Look," he said with a certain amount of frustration, "I'm here to make the bank a one-time-only offer for a single spell that will significantly increase the bank's chances of survival against Voldemort's forces."

Aside from the double-take that speaking Voldemort's name caused, Grabble's whole demeanour relaxed into one of easy competence as soon as he realised that Harry had just placed the conversation on a purely business footing. This was something the goblin knew how to deal with.

"Why would You-Know-Who attack the bank?" he scoffed.

Bluntly, Harry asked, "What would happen to the wizarding world if Gringotts' Head Office was destroyed -- and access to every vault underneath it was cut off for an indeterminate length of time?"

The goblin visibly paled.

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "It would destroy the magical British financial system, as well as severely cripple the rest of the consortium's branches across the world. There would be panic in the streets -- trade and commerce would fall apart -- not to mention the loss of faith that would occur in Gringotts as a secure institution. It would be a world-wide disaster from which the bank might never recover." Harry paused to let that sink in.

"But when you think about it," he added lightly -- just to grind the point home, "it's almost guaranteed that the bank wouldn't recover -- because Voldemort doesn't like goblins any more than he likes muggles, and the mass hysteria and confusion that would follow in the wake of the bank's collapse would be the perfect opportunity for his forces to march in and take over."

Then Harry added the final twist: "Of course, he'd probably need some kind of bank to finance his new world order -- so if you're very lucky, he might let Gringotts survive ...run by his Death Eaters, of course."

Grabble was actually shaking.

"Are you sure you don't want me do perform that spell?" Harry asked. "I mean... if I could figure this out, then you know it's only a matter of time before one of Voldemort's bright little Death Munchers does too... and after that... well..." Harry spread his hands to indicate that by then it would be much too late.

"Excuse me," Gabble's voice held quavering undertones. The shaky goblin went over to one side of his office where his unsteady hands nearly spilled a glass of water all over the expensive carpet. He returned to his desk and proceeded to drop some kind of tablet into the glass. It fizzed and burbled, and once the tablet was gone, Gabble gulped the whole thing straight down.

After that, he seemed somewhat calmer.

"Well," he began, "...erm... 'War Mage'... admitting that we may need to look at strengthening our defences -- why should the bank hire you when we have some of the finest offensive and defensive wizards and witches -- as well as the best curse-breakers in the world -- already on our payroll?"

"Because," Harry told him, "the only way your going to survive what Voldemort can throw at you is if an extremely complex and powerful defensive spell is tied in to the Foundation Stone at the heart of the bank." Harry paused. "You do know what the Foundation Stone is, don't you?"

Five minutes later Harry was sitting in the Managing Director's office, facing Guilder Gringott himself.

----oo00oo----

"~May you prosper in your business~," Harry said in passable goblin to the ancient wizened-up being in front of him. He wasn't going to play etiquette games now that he was finally talking to the person he'd come to see. It was strange, though, to be sitting across from someone he'd never met, but whose memorial service he had attended.

"~And may our business together also be profitable~," replied Guilder Gringott. It was obvious the old goblin hadn't expected a human to know the traditional phrase used to open important business negotiations. Courtesy indicated that Harry should now wait for his host to dictate the tone of their discussion.

"You claim you are a War Mage." Gringott stated in the human tongue.

The elderly goblin had obviously decided to take Harry very seriously indeed -- social chitchat would be non-existent. "What I claim," Harry replied calmly, "is irrelevant, except in as much as it indicates my ability to perform the spell I have offered."

"Hmm, yes -- so it is." sharp eyes weighed him carefully. "A spell you say must be linked to our Foundation Stone. May I ask how you come to know so much about what is purely goblin magic?"

"You may ask," Harry smiled briefly, "but I will not tell you. However, I assure you that I do know what I would be doing, both with the spell and with the Stone."

"The fact that you even know of the Stone's existence, tells me that this is very likely."

"May I make an offer?" Harry asked formally.

"Please," the curious goblin agreed.

"I will perform the spell this evening -- after the bank closes -- and in return the bank will arrange for me to have two free night's lodging -- with dinner and breakfast included -- at the Leaky Cauldron." Harry steepled his hands in front of his body. "You may then use the extra day and night to have anyone you wish examine the spell and try to duplicate it; nullify it; or break it. If, after that, you decide not to pay me for my services, you will then grant me access to the Stone so that I can remove the spell, and we will part company with no further obligation on either side."

Harry went on to finish with, "If, however, you decide to keep the spell, then you will pay me the sum I require -- in gold -- into a vault here at your bank."

"And the amount the bank would be required to pay is...?"

Harry reached for parchment and quill on the old goblin's desk. He wrote a figure on it and passed it across.

There were several zeros on the end of it.

Gringotts eyes narrowed. "You must think we're made of gold!"

"The price will be significantly higher if you come to me after this offer expires -- and no amount of gold in the world will help you if you wait until after Voldemort has come and gone."

Gringott considered it. "We can have anyone examine the spell...?"

"For one day and night," Harry agreed, "and if you decide not to go ahead with it, you'll only be out of pocket for the cost of two nights' room and board."

"What stops the bank from keeping the spell by refusing to allow you further access to the Stone?"

"If you don't pay, you mean?"

Gringott nodded.

Harry pursed his lips. "Would the fact that I had successfully cast the spell be sufficient proof for the bank that I really am a War Mage?"

Gringott inclined his head in agreement.

"Would you really want a Voldemort and a War Mage after your blood?"

----oo00oo----

It was a completely exhausted Harry Potter, with one hell of a concentration headache, who collapsed onto his bed at the Leaky Cauldron later that night. //God,// he thought, //I don't think I can move. I'll never make it down to dinner -- think I'll just lie here and starve to death.//

The Foundation Stone for a goblin business was literally the stone upon which the business was built -- both physically and magically. As the business grew in size and complexity, so too did the stone's power, and the number of spells it could sustain.

The Gringotts Foundation Stone was a pivotal node through which the bank's business was channelled and directed. Every branch of the bank had a lesser Stone embedded somewhere within its walls -- and much of the bank's communication streams -- both financial and general -- were channelled through the resulting network of Stones. Indeed, Harry knew that all goblin businesses used Foundation Stones -- and that the bank connected directly with the Stones of most of its goblin-owned clients.

But the Stone here in London was the main one for the entire Gringotts consortium -- and the sheer number and complexity of the spells flowing through it was beyond comprehension. Fortunately, he didn't need to comprehend it to work with it.

Actually, he didn't really need to work with most of it either -- which was a good thing since a very powerful goblin wizard had been called in to seal off the majority of the Stone's functions. They were taking no chances with the possibility that he might try to sabotage the Stone. But even so, Harry knew there'd been a lot of tension over the fact that the bank was letting an unknown mage anywhere near it.

It still didn't matter -- he'd had sufficient access for what he needed to do.

It had taken him just under three hours to complete the spell, and he'd had to stop and rest four times over the course of it. It wasn't so much that the spell took a long time to recite, as it was a matter of working out exactly which words to use. Unfortunately for Harry, the spell changed depending on the circumstances under which it was cast.

Goblin magic surpassed all others when it came to communication, finances, and other business-related applications, but it was woefully inadequate for anything offensive or defensive. This was why Gringotts employed human wizards and witches for skills relating to curse-breaking, defensive magic, and offensive active security.

As it was, Harry was pretty sure that right this second, Gringotts had dozens of goblin wizards huddled over their Stone, trying to figure out what he'd done. They would all be assuming that since the spell worked with goblin magic, then it would have to be a spell that goblin wizards could use -- if they could only figure out how he'd done it.

Unfortunately for them, they didn't have a hope in hell.

By definition, the word 'mage' implied someone who could use more than one type of magic. A 'wizard' or 'witch' -- human, goblin, or whatever -- could only use the magic typically found within their own species.

This didn't mean magic was somehow broken up into bits and pieces according to race. It simply meant that different groups had different ways of thinking, and had therefore developed different kinds of magic. Because a large part of using magic came from the mind -- and the intent of the spell-caster -- it was often difficult, if not impossible, to cast spells developed by any group that didn't think like your own.

Harry's talent -- his 'gift', if you will -- was the ability to understand, a little better than most, the way other people thought. He suspected that this was partially the result of his intense life-long desire to be liked. People tended to be drawn to those in whom they could see something of themselves -- particularly those who were 'like-minded'.

But for whatever reason, Harry had managed to learn enough non-human magic (Heart Magic included) to earn himself the title of 'Mage'. 'War Mage' simply defined his magical speciality -- the offensive, defensive, and occasionnally undercover magics that were necessary to survive in wars and battles.

What he had therefore done to the Gringotts Foundation Stone was a blend of complex human defensive magic, and his very simple, low-grade understanding of goblin Foundation Magic. Realistically, Harry's knowledge of goblin magic barely surpassed that of a novice -- and at that, it was probably as much as he ever would understand. But it was still more than most humans were ever likely to achieve.

All of which meant that even if Gringotts was desperate enough to reveal the Stone's existence to another human wizard, unless that wizard was also a mage, and also familiar with the two kinds of magic involved, then they wouldn't stand a chance.

Lying on his bed at the Leaky Cauldron, still fully dressed, and more than half asleep, Harry thought with amused satisfaction that there probably wasn't anybody else in the world who could do what he'd done tonight.

His amusement was short lived however, when the last thought he had before falling deeply asleep was, //God, please don't let them ask me to remove that spell...//

...he really didn't want another headache like this one.

----oo00oo----

The sound of water splashing in the next room woke Harry to the unpleasant sensation of an empty stomach and a full bladder.

He cautiously poked his head into the adjoining room to discover a modern wizarding bathroom, and a house elf who'd just finished filling the bathtub. When she finally noticed Harry, the elf squeaked in fright and disappeared. He felt bad about scaring her, but thoroughly enjoyed taking full advantage of the amenities -- especially the steaming bath water.

He ran a cleaning spell over his clothes before getting dressed again -- having decided not to bother re-expanding his school chest just to find a different set of muggle clothes -- and then went in search of his Gringotts-funded breakfast.

He had a very full day ahead of him.

----oo00oo----

Harry's -- hopefully -- last day as a pauper was spent visiting a variety of places -- both wizarding and muggle. Although he knew there was a chance that Gringotts would choose not to pay him, he also knew the probability was very high that they would.

The Goblin reputation for being tight-fisted did not extend to services they considered essential. If it was important for business -- then it was important to pay for the best. And for this kind of service, Harry was the only game in town.

So Harry took a calculated risk and gambled on the fact that tomorrow he would be a fairly wealthy mage, which meant...

...he spent the day shopping.

More specifically -- he spent the day ordering things that would not be ready until at least tomorrow, or even later, by which time he would (should) have the money to pay for them.

He had a very specific list to get through, some of which could be ordered today, and some of which could not. The list included: 1) silver War Mage cloak pin, 2) battle robes, 3) Auror’s wand holster, 4) selection of knives in steel, silver, and wood, 5) selection of potions in standardised vials, 6) sturdy leather boots and pants, 7) customised leather half-gloves, arm guards, and belt, 8) .45 calibre revolver with moon clips, ammunition, and loading equipment, 9) quick-release holster to suit gun, and 10) clothing and personal effects.

After Harry had finished writing the list, he'd looked at it for a moment...

//This is my shopping list!?// he thought incredulously. It was a far cry from the books, inks, robes and brooms that had occupied his thoughts as a student.

Part of him was a bit twitchy about what such a list said about his lifestyle, while another part of him couldn't wait to be clad once more in 'proper' War Mage attire.

Sev' had once told him that he was of two minds about the whole 'arsenal-as-clothing' thing. On the one hand it was comforting to have a wall of weapons next to you in dangerous situations, but on the other, it made undressing your lover a distinctly perilous business.

But they both agreed the leather was sexy as hell.

----oo00oo----

He decided to do as much of the Muggle part of his list as he could, before returning to Diagon Alley for the wizarding items.

His first stop was a muggle silversmith, where he ordered a War Mage cloak pin in pure silver. The so-called 'pin' was actually a disk three inches across, with a regular cloak fastener attached to the back of it. The design on the front was the historically accurate symbol for a War Mage. No muggle would recognise it of course, but many wizards would, and eventually Harry was determined that everyone in the wizarding community would know exactly what it represented. This emblem would be his ticket to ensuring that even the people who didn't know who he was, would at least know what he was, and would then take some care when interacting with him.

He'd agreed to pay double, but it still wouldn't be ready for three days.

After that, he visited a specialist muggle weapons store where he picked out the steel and wood knives he wanted, as well as a good quality whetstone to keep the steel ones sharp. The wooden ones would need a lot of sharpening too, since they were only blunt training dummies, but he would use the steel ones to do that later. The silver knives would have to be made by the silversmith, but first Harry would need to purchase the current knives, and then take one back for the smith to copy.

//Tomorrow,// he promised himself.

In the meantime the storeowner would hold the knives and whetstone behind the counter for him.

The revolver and its accompanying equipment were going to be a bit trickier. One could not simply walk in off the street and purchase a gun -- at least, not in England. And while he could easily have apparated to some other country, he could not presently prove that he was a British citizen, much less a foreign one, so no foreign dealer would sell him one either.

The conditions under which he'd been given his first sidearm were not ones he particularly cared to repeat, and the strings he'd pulled to legally purchase the subsequent ones were not yet available to him. For the moment, the gun and holster he wanted -- while plainly visible under lock and key in the store -- would not be his unless he stole them -- or unless he went to an illegal arms dealer, but Harry was loathe to encourage those vultures in any way, shape or form.

//I'll give it a few more days,// he decided. //Maybe I can come up with an alternative.//

That decided, he left and went in search of an experienced muggle leatherworker.

The half-gloves -- which left the tips of his fingers exposed for anything that needed a delicate touch, were not hard to order. He could have bought a mass-produced pair from the weapons store. But a custom-made pair would be more comfortable, and the padding he wanted was a little different from that used in gun-gloves because he also had to take into account the grip he used on his wand. Too much padding in the palms, and the gloves would bunch up uncomfortably when he grasped the smaller handle of his wand.

The arm guards were a different story. They had to be custom-made because he wanted them to hold two slender knives each, and the fastenings had to close a particular way to suit his requirements. In the end, he covered four sheets of paper with sketches before leatherman agreed that he understood exactly what Harry wanted.

The belt, he didn't even mention. He couldn't have that made until he could bring in a sample of the potion vials that were going to go in the small protected sleeves around the outside. The belt would also need a metal insert to support the weight of the gun and holster that he would eventually be adding to the ensemble.

If he'd actually had any money, his next stop would've been the largest muggle department store in London. However, boots, pants, other clothing, and personal effects would have to wait for another day. Besides, he was hungry again, and he could only afford a couple of sandwiches with the last of Dursley's money.

----oo00oo----

After lunch, and back in Diagon alley, Harry had three stops left to make: one for the potions, another for the Auror’s wand holster, and the last at Madam Malkin's for his battle robes.

For the potions, he actually had to go to Knockturn Alley. The small standardised vials containing the various brews had a dubious reputation as the bottle-of-choice for assassins -- but only because they were small and easily concealed. Harry would be wearing them on his belt -- all in plain view.

The other reason he had to order them from Knockturn Alley was that not all the potions he wanted were considered strictly above-board. Nice wizards didn't even know some of them existed.

----oo00oo----

Two minutes after entering the darker side of magical London, Harry knew he'd made a tactical error.

Dressed entirely in muggle clothing, he practically had a sign over his head shouting 'Mudblood -- please attack!' Cursing his stupidity, he debated turning back, but it was already too late. Two wizards dressed in dark robes were presently barring his way.

Quickly, Harry muttered the pre-battle spell that would alert him to attacks from behind.

"Lost, are we, Mudblood?" the taller one sneered.

"Why?" he replied calmly. "Do you need directions?"

His lack of obvious fear momentarily confused them. Harry used the pause to add, "Because, if you're not lost, then I think you should know that you're currently annoying a War Mage." He didn't usually offer warnings, but he felt it was only fair, because after all, he wasn't yet wearing his cloak pin with the War Mage insignia on it.

The two wizards blinked. A soft murmur rippled through the crowd that had gathered tightly against the extreme edges the alley -- close enough to gawk, but far enough away to run if it turned ugly.

Harry let his eyelids droop slightly -- it made him look bored, and faintly dangerous. "Well?" he drawled, "Are we gonna do this, or not?" He twirled his wand expertly through the fingers of his right hand.

The shorter one -- watching the wand spin so effortlessly -- was obviously having second thoughts. Harry gave him points for being more intelligent than the taller one.

Then Harry saw the other man's eyes flicker in response to something. Even if Harry's pre-battle warning spell hadn't alerted him, he would still have known what was coming because of that flicker. As it was, Harry's spell told him exactly where the curse had come from and precisely what direction it was heading. He simply leaned to the left and let it pass, while pointing his wand over his shoulder and -- without looking -- casting a tracer spell, followed by a nasty case of sneezing fits, back to the source. The tracer would ensure that the correct person got hit with the follow-up spell.

In the meantime, the original curse had hit the shorter wizard square in the face. //Pity about that,// Harry thought, //I'd rather it had been the other one. Oh, and speaking of...//

Mr 'Tall, Dark, and Stupid' had apparently found his wand, and managed to throw a second curse straight at Harry's chest. It was a medium level hex, and not really a problem. So instead of avoiding it or negating it, Harry decided to take control of it and promptly threw it back -- he was a big fan of letting people enjoy the full consequences of a self-made problem.

The poor fellow immediately fell over and started twitching uncontrollably on the ground. He didn't seem to be in any pain -- he simply couldn't control the spasms in every muscle of his body. He really was quite helpless.

Behind Harry, the sneezing fits continued, and in front of him, the shorter wizard had been unconscious since the first curse had hit him -- but his chest was still rising and falling, so he was still alive too.

It was obvious these idiots hadn't intended to kill him, and Harry was glad they hadn't been competent enough for him to consider killing them either.

In a move calculated to reinforce how completely unthreatened he was by this level of attack, Harry deliberately didn't bother to look and see who had attacked him from behind. Instead, he simply moved forwards and stepped over the two in front of him, silently signalling that he wasn't even going to bother calling for an Auror.

A wave of silence followed him up the street until he entered the shop with the battered sign that simply said 'Potions'.

----oo00oo----

Satisfied that he would be able to pick up every potion he wanted sometime next week, Harry departed the shady, closed-in little shop and made his way back up the alley.

He noted that 'Stupid', 'Shorty', and 'Sneezy' were no longer blocking the road.

He assumed that he now had some kind of 'reputation' in this part of London since nobody came anywhere near him as he made his way back along the broken cobbles. Then again, it could simply be that he currently looked like a very unhappy War Mage.

The potions shop had been unexpectedly depressing.

So far as Harry could tell, the dingy old shop hadn't changed (wasn't going to change?) in over ten years. It was exactly the same as he last remembered seeing it, and after he'd ordered his vials, he found himself absently wondering whether he should pick up some of the rarer ingredients that Sev' sometimes had trouble finding.

The acrid-tasting air had somehow become harder to breathe after that, and it was with relief that he finally returned to the brighter paintwork of Diagon Alley.

----oo00oo----

His next-to-last stop was also the most dangerous in terms of his disguise. To acquire an Auror's wand holster, he would need to show his wand to the wizard who was going to make it.

Each holster was uniquely crafted to suit both the wand and the wizard. He couldn't avoid confirming the fact that his wand was made of holly and phoenix feather, if he wanted a decent holster.

Ollivander -- who remembered every wand he'd ever sold -- wouldn't even need to ask. He would recognise Harry's wand the moment he saw it.

This was really the one crucial weakness in Harry's disguise -- there was no way he could alter or camouflage his wand.

However, so long as he didn't mention phoenix feathers, wands made of holly weren't too uncommon. But of course, he was going to have to mention phoenix feathers to the holster-maker. Thus, he would need a wizard or witch who tended to keep their mouth shut -- or who, at the very least, wouldn't be comparing professional notes with people like Ollivander or Albus.

Which meant a trip to see Gerrity.

Gerrity Smythes the Third -- who loathed his last name fiercely -- was a rich genius whose unpleasant disposition ensured he almost never had guests. The man really was brilliant, but treated other people like idiots because of it. He almost never went out -- socialising was beneath him -- and he generally had anything he wanted delivered to his mansion -- since shopping was a waste of his valuable time.

He wouldn't normally give another wizard the time of day -- but Harry knew the man's greatest weakness...

...Gerrity's hobby was the creation one-off unique masterpieces that nobody else could duplicate -- or in Harry's case, that nobody else would ever have the opportunity to duplicate.

Harry was going to offer Gerrity the chance to make an Auror's wand holster for the only human War Mage in existence. That he also happened to be the first human War Mage in over eight hundred years, and the only War Mage anybody in the wizarding world currently knew about, only sweetened the pot.

All Harry really had to worry about was not punching the snooty bastard in the nose before he got his holster...

...but then again, maybe Gerrity's younger self would be more tolerable...

----oo00oo----

He was wrong.

Harry couldn't believe it -- time was apparently going to mellow the man! The insufferable bastard was currently so obnoxious that Harry seriously wondered whether any holster was worth all the aggravation.

But his persistence and self-control didn't abandon him, and eventually Harry managed to get Gerrity's agreement -- although Harry did have to prove he was a War Mage by reducing a hideous statue in Gerrity's formal garden to a dusty pile of rubble.

The statue -- possibly one of Gerrity's ancestors -- had been charmed by an elven wizard two hundred and fifty years ago in such a way that it couldn't be destroyed. Whether this was because the statue depicted an ancestral hero, or whether the ugly thing was supposed to be some kind of punishment, was lost in the mists of time. All Gerrity knew was that an elf had done it, and since Harry was human, he would have to be a mage to un-do it.

After establishing that Harry was a mage, Gerrity was satisfied to take Harry's word on what type of mage he was.

Harry made a mental note to arrange references from Gringotts so he wouldn't be subjected to this sort of thing again.

As soon as the offensive wizard finished taking all the measurements and notes he would need, Harry grabbed up his wand, and gratefully escaped.

Unfortunately, he would have to return in six days to pick up the holster.

----oo00oo----

His battle robes were the last thing on the list that Harry could have ordered without having to pay immediately, but it was already quite late by the time he returned to Diagon Alley, and Madam Malkin's was closed.

Somewhat at a loss for how to fill in his evening, Harry returned to his room at the Leaky Cauldron.

Bored, and not knowing what else to do, Harry re-expanded his Hogwarts trunk and began methodically altering everything with "H.P." on it to display the War Mage insignia. He then added the name "Ash" below each instance.

It didn't take long since there was no point in altering things that obviously belonged to 'Harry Potter', such as his schoolbooks and clothes. //Hermione would instantly recognise this,// he thought wryly, as he held up a shirt that had been spot-faded by various potions he'd spilled on it. //I'll probably have to buy a whole new wardrobe, just to be on the safe side.// Well, it wasn't like he wanted to wear the things he'd owned as a teenager -- it was just that -- dammit! -- he had no appreciation for fashion beyond leather, cotton, and battle robes.

Hermione -- for all her academic intensity -- had a much better sense of style than he did. Hell, even Ron had better fashion sense -- and that was saying something for a guy whose closet habitually held nothing but Auror's robes.

Suddenly, Harry missed his two friends with all the intensity of the years that now lay between them. Their friendship would never be quite the same -- in or out of that damned mirror.

Alone in his rented and impersonal room, everyone and everything Harry loved suddenly seemed very far away. The Hogwarts term wouldn't start for months. How was he going to make it through the summer?

It was then that he felt a wave of friendship, concern, and worry, warming him from the inside out.

Hagrid.

With heartfelt gratitude for the perfect gift at the perfect moment, Harry sent all his joy and appreciation back.

He'd created the link between them so that he could be there to support Hagrid whenever the Gamekeeper might need him. It had not occurred to Harry that Hagrid would also be there whenever he needed someone.

//I'm such an idiot,// Harry smiled. //It doesn't matter how far away they all are, or whether I can be there with them -- they're still my friends, and I'm not all alone out here.//

It was with a considerably lighter heart -- and a stern warning to himself about wallowing in self-pity -- that Harry went to have dinner. He even lingered in the common room, soaking up the warm atmosphere of the old pub, and chatting with strangers about anything and everything under the sun.

His sleep that night was calm and restful.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 3: Tattoos and Interviews --

The following day was Sunday and Harry had no particular plans since most businesses were closed, and any that weren’t would require money he didn’t yet have. Gringotts, of course, was only closed to the

public. In reality the bank continued to transact business twenty-

four hours a day, seven days a week—administering the financial

needs of the wizarding world in every different time zone across the

globe. The goblins within the bank worked varying shifts, and their

continuous presence formed part of the bank’s ongoing security

measures.

Harry occasionally wondered whether Gringotts closed its doors simply to fit in with human business practices, or whether it was because

the goblins actually enjoyed running their bank without being

bothered by pesky customers. //Probably a bit of both,// was his

usual conclusion.

But none of that made any difference this morning since the bank was still closed, and goblin wizards were undoubtedly still poring over

the Foundation Stone trying to figure out what he’d done to it. So

naturally, Harry wouldn’t find out whether he was going to be paid

until tomorrow—which left him at something of a loose end today.

So he decided to indulge himself by lazing around in bed—reveling

in the rare opportunity to do absolutely nothing at all.

Harry was drifting comfortably in a light doze when an unexpected

surge of friendship and concern washed over him. The strength of the emotions pushed him into waking and then ebbed away—leaving Harry with a lazy smile on his face and the faint sensation of a friend’s

presence in his heart. He stretched and yawned, happily returning

Hagrid’s wake-up call and adding a tinge of sleepiness, love, and

reassurance to his response.

After that, Harry decided it was probably time to get up and have

breakfast.

Downstairs in the Leaky Cauldron’s main room, Harry lingered over

coffee while trying to decide what to do with the rest of his day.

Then he noticed a house elf unobtrusively tidying up the various

newspapers and magazines that had been left scattered across the

tables.

Half an hour later, Harry was once more ensconced in his room with a small stack of Daily Prophet back-issues, a couple of international newspapers, and half a dozen different magazines—none of which were current. The house elf had been confused by his request for old newspapers and journals, but since the Leaky Cauldron always bought a few papers for the customers to read—and people often left magazines lying about once they’d finished with them—there was no difficulty in supplying Harry with as much reading material as he

might wish. In fact, it turned out that the accumulated back-issues

were just lying around in a storage room, waiting for their monthly

pickup by a company which had ties to a muggle recycling business.

And so Harry spent much of the day updating himself on events that had occurred over the last couple of months. This not only gave him some idea of what was going on in the world, but also helped him to remember what had already happened at this point in history, and what had not.

Immersing himself in the articles and reports was also a tactical opportunity, and Harry used it to try and work out what was fact and what was fiction when it came to Voldemort’s activities. It soon became obvious that although the Ministry had finally admitted Voldemort was back, they were still trying to downplay his strength and influence. Harry wondered whether this was an attempt to prevent panic in the streets, or whether the Ministry genuinely believed

Voldemort was that weak and ineffectual. But unfortunately, he

couldn’t get the answer to that sort of question by reading

newspapers.

There were, however, a great many other questions that could be answered in such a fashion, and Harry barely noticed the hours passing as he methodically worked his way through the stack of outdated reading material. Thus it was no surprise that by the time Harry’s stomach reminded him that he really should’ve remembered to eat lunch, it was already mid-afternoon. And when a glance out the

window showed him a beautiful summer sky, Harry figured it was

definitely time for a break, and soon found himself heading out in

search of food and a change of scenery.

He would’ve stayed in wizarding London except for the fact that what little money he had left was all in muggle currency. So muggle London it was. And since there wasn’t much of Vernon Dursley’s ‘loan’ left,

Harry also took care to find a place where he could afford to buy

something simple and cheap.

He ended up with a plain sandwich and a crisp red apple. Nothing fancy, but still thoroughly enjoyable as he walked along the street absorbing the sights and sounds of London on a Sunday afternoon.

In fact, the exercise and the afternoon sun felt so good that Harry

continued walking long after the food was gone. By the time he

returned to the Leaky Cauldron, he was feeling pleasantly tired and

very relaxed. He’d been gone several hours, and had covered a

significant distance in both muggle London and Diagon Alley.

But it wasn’t until after dinner—and another wordless exchange of

emotions with Hagrid—that Harry finally realised why his

extended walk had done him so much good.

The reading he’d done that morning had ranged from international news items to sports, local events, political opinions, and society columns. All of which helped him get a better feel for when he was now that he was no longer trapped inside the Mirror of Maybe. But it wasn’t until he’d actually gone out into the world—the real

world—that the things he’d been reading about actually started to

sink in. The people he’d passed on the street—the look and feel of

the buildings—were not what he remembered from the mirror.

Especially in Diagon Alley. Gringotts was still there for one thing, and there was no sign of the damage he expected to see in any of the other buildings. What’s more, the few wizards and witches he’d

observed didn’t have that worn-down hunted look he’d become

accustomed to seeing. Everything was different, and yet subtly the

same.

He had, of course, noticed all these differences before now. But after immersing himself in so many newspaper articles and magazines, Harry no longer felt as though the changes were wrong—as though it was all some sort of mistake, or just a pleasant dream. Now his

surroundings were beginning to feel real to him.

He reflected on this as he was getting ready for bed that night, and decided that this was probably a good thing. His own personal history would always include the thirteen years he’d spent in the mirror, but he was now beginning to understand on an emotional level that it

really was his personal history, and not something he should

unconsciously expect others to remember or share.

As he allowed himself to relax into sleep, Harry’s final thought was

that he was finally beginning to feel like he was living in the

present, and not thirteen years in the past.

----oo00oo----

The next morning found Harry casually leaning against one of the

decorative columns outside Gringotts—hands in pockets—waiting

for the bank to open, and watching the passing traffic. He couldn’t

really do anything more until he either had his money, or knew he

would have to find an alternate source of funds.

At breakfast this morning—his final meal at Gringotts’ expense—

he’d been warmed once again by Hagrid’s affectionate regard, and had easily and freely returned it. Harry now suspected that Albus—

having failed in his initial efforts to find Harry yesterday—had

told Hagrid that he was missing, and then asked the half-giant why

Harry’s note said that Hagrid would know he was all right. After

that, Albus would have found out about the bit of Heart Magic Harry

had performed, and would also know that he couldn’t locate Harry

through that kind of link.

So now Harry would most likely be receiving breakfast-and-bed-checks every day. He didn’t mind, and was even kind of happy about it—since he was glad he could relieve their worries at least a little, and—if he was correct—it wouldn’t interfere with his daily activities. Albus—being the careful wizard that he was—would almost certainly have suggested that early morning and late night checks would be more welcome than random ones throughout the day.

That way, wherever Harry was, he would not be taken by surprise if he was in the middle of something important.

Harry’s summer wasn’t going to be anywhere near as lonely as he’d

originally thought.

Now, he only needed money to get all his plans underway.

In due course a goblin came and unlocked the bank’s doors, silently

indicating that Gringotts was now open for business. A few wizards and witches—who’d also been waiting—walked indifferently past him, and Harry smiled. There’d been only a few times in his life when everyday people had walked by without even noticing him. As a child he’d been the target of bullies, or ‘the Boy Who Lived’, and as an adult he’d been ‘War Mage Ash’. None of those Harrys had been the sort of person who could lean casually against a

column and have others stroll indifferently past.

Much of yesterday—before Knockturn Alley—had been the same, and Harry found that

while he enjoyed the anonymity, he also felt... well... a bit weird

about it, at the same time.

//It’s all in what you’re used to, I suppose,// was his last thought

before he pushed away from the pillar and entered the bank. His anonymity disappeared six feet in from the door.

“Ah, War Mage,” Grabble Twovault deftly intercepted him. “Please come right this way,” and Harry soon found himself seated once more in the goblin supervisor’s office. “Now,” Grabble stated brusquely, “under

what name would you like to open your account?”

----oo00oo----

By the time Harry left Gringotts, he was not only carrying a small

fortune in Galleons and Sickles, but also a similar amount in muggle

Pounds, as well as a Gringotts muggle Visa card and an American

Express card.

Grabble had tried to argue that Harry really shouldn’t carry so much in cash, but Harry had merely raised an amused eyebrow at him, and the goblin had abruptly changed the subject. Did Grabble really think a War Mage would be worried about muggers?

Harry had also managed to acquire a ‘summer job’. The bank now had him under contract to cast the same spell on eight more of their subsidiary Foundation Stones. Grabble had re-negotiated the price per Stone down to something that Gringotts could reasonably afford, and in return Harry would be able to take his time—spacing out the

spells so that he could do one every week or so.

Harry was happy to do the work for a much lower price since: A) the other Stones were much less powerful and would be easier to work with, and B) he was already familiar with the other eight nodes, since he remembered casting the spell on each of them from his time in the mirror. The only major Gringotts Stone that Harry had never worked with was the London one—and that was because Voldemort had destroyed it before anyone realised it needed protection.

The destruction of the Gringotts core Foundation Stone had been the crisis that triggered Harry’s abrupt introduction to goblin magic. The goblin community—still reeling with shock over the catastrophe—had appealed directly to the War Mages for assistance.

Upon seeing the wave of disaster that had rippled out from the rubble of the bank, the War Mages had given the request top priority. As a

result, Harry had been the first non-goblin ever to receive a crash-

course in Foundation Magic.

For two weeks, Harry had been inundated night and day with the goblin lifestyle, beliefs, language, and magic. It was then that he’d acquired his knowledge of goblin etiquette and customs. He’d even been the only human permitted to attend a memorial service for the goblins who’d been killed when the bank was attacked. The name Guilder Gringott had been mentioned many times, and later Harry had listened respectfully to stories detailing the ancient goblin’s life.

After that, he’d spent the next month secretly casting the same spell again and again, all over the world.

By the end of it all, Harry was a complete wreck with frequent

headaches—but all of the critical Foundation Stones—from a

variety of crucial businesses, and not just Gringotts—were solidly

protected. It took Harry nearly a week to fully recover from the

effort he’d put in—even under Poppy’s expert care. But he’d

counted himself well repaid when he finally heard the news...

...the goblins were going to allow their Stones to be used in the war

against Voldemort.

The Foundation Stone system was literally a global communications net that Voldemort would never be able to subvert or tap into. It had

been a priceless gift for the forces of Light.

This time around, Harry hoped they wouldn’t need it.

----oo00oo----

Harry spent the next few days paying for things -- all kinds of

things—from shirts and underwear, to floo powder and spell books.

He was determined to ensure he had everything he might need.

But he very deliberately bought frivolous things too. The spell

books, for instance—which Harry had bought because he could hardly remember a spell not connected with War Magic—were supplemented by novels. Harry loved a good mystery, and even the occasional well-written adventure story.

When he decided to subscribe to the Daily Prophet, he also indulged

himself in an annual subscription to “Quidditch World”. For now, they would both be delivered to the Leaky Cauldron, but later Harry hoped he would be able to have them sent to Hogwarts.

Of course, he also had to finish his shopping list—and the delayed trip to Madam Malkin’s was interesting in as much as the witch in charge didn’t know whether they even had the material Harry needed for his battle robes.

“Spell-fast?” the surprised seamstress repeated. “I... I don’t know

if we have any—I’ll have to look.”

Spell-fast was an exorbitantly expensive material, because—just as its name implied—you could weave spells directly into the cloth

and then ‘set’ the material so that the enchantments would never

change or wear off. For a War Mage, this was invaluable, since

several defensive and protective spells were standard for the outer

layer of the unofficial War Mage ‘uniform’.

The witch who’d gone looking for the material eventually had to ask

for help from one of her colleagues, and together they finally

managed to find a single bolt of it—high up on a shelf in the back

of the storeroom. It had probably been placed there to keep it safe,

and then forgotten about. Not many people could afford Spell-fast.

The robes themselves were an equal surprise for the staff at Malkin’s, since battle robes were a bit different from any of the standard ones. Whereas most wizarding robes were closed at the front, battle robes were open so that a wizard or mage had easy access to their weapons, and plenty of scope for rapid movement or violent action. Close-fitting and flexible clothes—in Harry’s case, leather pants and cotton shirts or t-shirts—were then worn under the robes, allowing the outer layer to be discarded if necessary.

In the end, Harry had been forced to create an illusion so that he

could show the seamstress what he was talking about.

----oo00oo----

The one thing Harry paid for that was pure indulgence, was his

tattoos. Harry had been pleased that the lifepaint parlour he remembered from the mirror was still there. He really wanted his tattoos back, and he didn’t want to spend the next week researching reputable painters.

When he walked through the door, he knew he was in the right place—it was clean to the point of being sterile, and there was a sense of

great beauty and pride in the sample illustrations that shifted with

subtle movement on the walls.

Harry’s only moment of doubt came when he realised that the master painter who’d done his tattoos during his time in the mirror, was still only an apprentice. But then he remembered the way the man had spoken of his old master’s amazing skill, and Harry decided it would

probably be safe to see whether the remembered tales were true.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the not-yet-master greeted him. “Were you

thinking of having some paintwork done?”

“No,” Harry replied pleasantly, “I’ve decided I want some paintwork done—two paintings, actually,” and he pointed up at two of the

sample drawings on the wall, “*that* one and that one.” The apprentice blinked. “That’s... an unusual combination.”

“Those are the two I want,” Harry replied firmly, “The lion on the

front and the snake on the back.”

“Well, since you’re sure, I’ll just go and get the patterns.”

Harry waited, looking up at the Gryffindor lion and the Slytherin snake. All the Hogwarts House devices were present, but to Harry, the lion and the snake seemed somehow more ‘alive’ than anything else on the wall.

The apprentice returned. “Now,” the young man smiled, “do you know what kind of ink you’d like me to use? They vary, you know, in their effects and duration. We use only the best inks on the market, and I can guarantee that your paintwork will last only as long you want it to—and will disappear complet—“

“I want Life Ink,” Harry stated quietly.

The apprentice’s mouth hung open for a moment. Then he

stammered, “Sir... are... are you sure? I mean... we do have ink

that will last years...”

“Life Ink,” Harry repeated. “Nothing else.”

The apprentice nibbled on his lower lip. “I... I’m not qualified to

use those inks, sir. I’ll have to get the master—and he’s busy

with another client...”

“That’s all right,” Harry assured him, “I don’t mind waiting.” And he

truly didn’t, because the use of Life Ink required the skill of a

master painter, and for a master... Harry would wait.

The apprentice however, was not quite so patient.

After half an hour of watching Harry sit quietly in a chair, the young man disappeared into the back of the parlour, only to reappear a few minutes later. Five minutes after that, the master also

appeared—wiping ink from his hands with a scrap of old towel.

The master approached, and Harry stood to greet him.

“My apprentice tells me you want paintwork done... with Life Ink.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

The old man looked at him thoughtfully. “Come back at closing,” he

finally commanded. “For Life Ink, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

----oo00oo----

Shortly after the parlour closed, Harry found himself lying shirtless on a raised and padded recliner. Many of his scars were thus revealed, but no mention was made of them. Harry knew that real scars would not have interfered with the paintwork, and he was confident

that his false ones would also be irrelevant.

“Do you mind if my apprentice stays to assist me?” the master

asked. “I promise you, he is very skilled. Someday he will be a

master himself.” The young man blushed at the compliment.

“No,” Harry smiled, “I don’t mind.” In fact Harry found it somehow appropriate that the man who might have done this one day, really would have a hand in it now.

They began.

In the muggle world, a tattoo was created by using a needle to push

ink into the flesh beneath the skin—deep enough to be permanent,

but shallow enough to remain visible. In the wizarding world, it was

applied with brushes—and with whispered magic breathed out over

the damp ink.

The pattern was applied first—a simple task, completed by the apprentice while the master checked his brushes and bottles one last time.

Once the pattern was set, it was the master’s turn—and Harry

almost shivered as the tip of the brush caressed his skin for the

first time.

Unlike muggle tattoos, wizarding paintwork really was more like a

painting. It was coloured and shaded, with the inks mixing directly

on the skin, like oils on canvas.

Harry felt himself slipping into a light trance—a state of timelessness created by the Life Ink itself as it began tying its dormant magic to his body—seeping into his pores and muscles, learning who he was, and why he was doing this—imprinting what it was supposed to be for him as it flowed over his warm muscles.... and Harry found himself being compelled to recall everything that Gryffindor meant to him—courage and fierceness; loyalty and the will to overcome; the love of friends binding them together; and most of all—the strength of a bright power that flourished in the

sunlight.

Those memories shaped the Ink, and it became his memories—a lion made fierce, and vivid, resplendent in its power and glory—a

symbol of courage, and a banner of Light.

----oo00oo----

Some indeterminate time later, Harry roused sluggishly from the Ink-induced trance.

The master’s whispering had stilled, and the apprentice was staring

at Harry’s chest with something akin to awe.

“Help me up,” Harry commanded roughly, and the apprentice did so, while his master washed the brushes and cleaned up.

Harry walked unsteadily over to the large wall mirror and carefully

inspected the work.

It was perfect.

Not quite the same as in his memories—but perfect nonetheless. Even his scars—false though they were—only served to enhance the illustration. They made the lion look battered—as if it had suffered for its pride, yet remained unbowed and unbroken. This was no young and foolish cub—but instead a seasoned veteran marked with experience. The image almost seemed to move, yet remained still -nearly done, but not yet... not yet.

Perfect.

Now completely awake, Harry moved respectfully back to the recliner and lay down again.

After a moment, the master spoke: “You know what happens now.” It was not a question.

“Yes,” Harry answered quietly. “Give me a minute,” and he mentally prepared himself for the final spell, which would alter the Life Ink from ‘paintwork’—which was temporary—into a wizarding ‘tattoo’ -which could never be erased. This was why it was called ‘Life Ink’ -for its ability to bond itself to a living thing for the length of

its wearer’s lifetime. But the final spell would be very painful.

“Now,” Harry said—and the master whispered the words. Suddenly the ink came alive, and like a thousand knives, sliced its

way into his chest. Harry clenched his teeth against the pain, and

forced himself to lie still. His hands gripped the edges of the

recliner with fierce desperation.

And then, as suddenly as it began—it was over. Harry let go of the

recliner with relief. His chest was healed, and the paintwork was

gone. In its place was his Gryffindor tattoo—restored to its

rightful position on his body. He could almost feel it purring and

shifting beneath his skin.

One down and one to go.

----oo00oo----

The master took a short break, while Harry recovered from having the first tattoo completed.

Shortly thereafter, Harry was once more lying on the recliner, but

this time its configuration had been altered so he could stretch out

comfortably on his stomach.

Before long, he felt the stroke of the master’s brush once again.

This time, when the trance came, it was Slytherin that the Ink pulled from his mind......lies and deception—when the truth was too dangerous; ruthless decisions—painfully made but rightly decided; fearful glances from those around—when complacency might have been fatal; strength that came when only despair was possible; and beyond all, the might of a dark power that thrived in the deepest shadows of the night.

This time his thoughts shaped a darker image—an emerald snake full of deadly grace and patient plans, hypnotic in its calculating

coldness, and brutal in its will to survive—a symbol of endurance,

and a banner for Dark things.

To this standard alone would the broken and downtrodden come—those who were too damaged to trust in hope anymore—and for whom bright joy was a strange language they no longer understood. But Harry

understood—and with that part of himself that had always been

Slytherin, he could still touch them, and they would see themselves

in him, and allow his protection.

In darkness, he could find the lost and despairing—and in darkness

he would gather them home.

----oo00oo----

When Harry next woke from the Ink-induced trance, he didn’t even bother with the mirror—the power of the memories, coupled with the perfection of the first tattoo told him all he needed to know.

“Do it.” he said, and rode out the pain as his second tattoo ate its

way into his shoulders and along his spine.

Slytherin’s symbol was once more where it belonged—twisting

faintly over his muscles, with the merest sigh of a sibilant voice

echoing in the air.

Harry had his tattoos back.

Somehow, he felt more... whole -- more complete—than he could

remember being since he’d destroyed the mirror.

----oo00oo----

Paying for the tattoos was more of a problem than Harry had

anticipated.

The master wouldn’t take his gold.

“It is you who have done me a great service,” the man argued, “Tonight I have painted my greatest works. I know I will not surpass them—nor likely paint another to equal them. I am honoured that you chose me—and that my apprentice has had the opportunity to see what is possible at the highest levels of our craft.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say to that. All he did know was

that it felt wrong not to give the man something, in return for the

exquisite tattoos now embedded in his flesh. “But surely,” he

protested, “if you have painted these, there will be others—and

you can’t give them all away—you’ll go broke!”

The master snorted. “Wizards who want Life Ink are rare enough,” he replied, “but as you must know, the Ink itself only comes alive

through the memories and emotions of the one who wears it. If the

canvas is dull, or without depth... then the true nature of the Ink—

the range of colour—the force of the image—can never be fully

realised.”

“You,” the master finished, “were a perfect match for the images you chose. Other patterns—with less meaning for you—would not have worked so well. It was the combination, you see, of your desires; the patterns you chose; the nature of the Ink; and my skill, that went into the creation of the work—and I do not think I will see such a

combination again in my lifetime.”

Eventually, they agreed that Harry could pay for the cost of the Ink

itself—Life Ink was fairly expensive—but to Harry, it was

little enough in return for the beauty that now graced his skin.

----oo00oo----

About a week after Harry had his tattoos replaced—and after he’d

already done another Foundation Stone for Gringotts—he returned to the Leaky Cauldron to find Hagrid enjoying an ale and chatting with

the other patrons.

Harry nearly had heart failure, imagining that Dumbledore had somehow figured out who he was and sent Hagrid to get him—that is, before

he remembered that Hagrid had always been a regular at the Leaky

Cauldron, and was probably just in for a night at the pub.

Actually, it was a wonder Harry hadn’t seen him before now. By this stage, the other regulars at the Leaky Cauldron were used to seeing Harry walking around dressed in his War Mage apparel. It had caused a bit of controversy the first morning he’d appeared with his

new cloak pin prominently displayed on his pristine battle robes.

Harry had eventually been forced to produce the official documents he’d acquired from Gringotts, which advised all and sundry that—in the bank’s opinion—‘Ash’ was most definitely a genuine War Mage.

Still, it was better than being required to prove his claim by

blowing up statues.

The staff at the Leaky Cauldron were even somewhat chuffed with the idea of a War Mage staying with them—or rather, they had become chuffed after Harry made it plain that his behaviour wasn’t going to

change just because everybody now knew what he was.

And of course, the free publicity when the Daily Prophet found out

hadn’t hurt either.

The Leaky Cauldron had been unusually popular after the wizarding newspaper published its article on him—or rather, on as much as they could find out about him, since Harry had declined to be interviewed. By now, there probably wasn’t anybody in the entire wizarding world who didn’t know there was a War Mage staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London, England.

On the one hand, this annoyed Harry because every time he appeared in public, he was secretly—and sometimes openly—stared at. But on the other hand, Harry now had what he wanted -- everyone knew what the War Mage insignia looked like, and—thanks to the Daily Prophet’s historical research -- everyone knew roughly what a War Mage was.

Including Hagrid—who was now looking at him with open curiosity. Harry decided then and there that it was time to start interacting

with his friends as ‘War Mage Ash’.

He gave Hagrid a half-smile and moved to join the Hogwarts gamekeeper at the bar. Hagrid looked surprised, but shuffled over to make room.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Harry asked politely.

“Wouldn’t ‘ve made room for yeh if I did,” Hagrid replied with a

chuckle. “I’m Hagrid,” and he stuck out a meaty hand, before proudly adding, “—gamekeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft ‘n Wizardry.”

Harry shook the proffered hand with an easy grin on his face. “Ash,”

he replied, “and you probably already know I’m a War Mage.”

“It’s a bit hard ter miss,” Hagrid agreed, eyeing Harry’s pin and

battle robes. Harry ordered an ale for himself and another for Hagrid, who accepted it with surprised thanks.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” Harry laughed, “I already knew you were the Hogwarts gamekeeper when I came over.” Then, in response to Hagrid’s curious look, he added, “I asked around.”

It was obviously going to be Hagrid’s night for being surprised. “Yeh

asked about me? What for?”

“Well, not you, specifically,” Harry answered, “just anybody who

could tell me a bit about Hogwarts.”

Hagrid looked at him suspiciously. “What d’yer want to know about

Hogwarts for?”

Harry blinked. Of all the expressions he’d seen on Hagrid’s face, suspicion had never been one of them. Then he remembered—Quirrell had once tricked Hagrid into betraying a secret right here in this pub. Experience had made the gamekeeper wary of strangers asking questions—particularly questions about the school.

Harry’s face made no response to the suspicion in Hagrid’s voice, as he candidly replied, “I’ve heard there might be an opening for a Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. I was thinking of applying for the job—if it’s still available.” //*Please* let it be available,// he prayed. He hadn’t been able to find any advertisement for it in the Daily Prophet, and he hadn’t yet figured out how to

approach Albus about applying for it.

Hagrid’s suspicion instantly disappeared, and with a very pleased

look he said, “Yeh’d want the job? Really? The Headmaster’s had a

terrible time trying t’ find someone for it. He’d hire yeh like a

shot! -- what with you bein’ a War Mage ‘n all.”

“Wait! Wait!” Harry laughed. “I haven’t made up my mind yet—I said I was thinking about it—not that I’d decided on it.” He didn’t want anyone thinking he was too eager for the job. Hagrid’s face fell with disappointment. Quickly, Harry added, “Before I could possibly make up my mind, I’d need to know more about the school—what it’s like—the attitude of the students—whether there’s a

code of conduct I’d be expected to work under—that sort of thing.”

Harry then finished up with: “Until I know something more about the place than just its name, how can I know whether I want to work there? That’s why I asked around for someone who could tell me about the school—and everyone said I should ask you.”

Hagrid looked pleased that everyone had thought of him, and then

proceeded to do his absolute best to talk Harry into applying for the

job.

Several hours later, Hagrid finally left, but not until after ‘Ash’

had promised he would write to the Headmaster immediately.

Harry had thoroughly enjoyed his evening—discussing Hogwarts in detail, and from a perspective he’d never considered before—that of a prospective employee. It had been a fine conversation—Harry almost felt he was back at the castle already—and he was now much more confident about being ‘Ash’ around his friends. The pleasant evening would also serve as a buffer for any small mistakes Harry made. In those crucial first days—when he would not be expected to know much about the school or its inhabitants—he would almost certainly slip up and mention something he couldn’t possibly know. He now had the escape of saying, ‘Oh, Hagrid must have mentioned it,’ and the longer he stayed with the school, the less he would need the excuse. Eventually, people would expect him to know things just because he’d been there awhile.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he had unconsciously assumed he would be staying at Hogwarts for a very long time.

The thought didn’t bother him at all.

----oo00oo----

A short while later, Harry was seated at the small writing desk in

his room—quill in hand and parchment before him...

To: Albus Dumbledore,

Headmaster,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

From: War Mage Ash

Dear Sir...

By the time Harry was finished, it was well after midnight, and he

Folded the letter into its envelope with a great deal o

f satisfaction.

His application wasn’t very long, since he didn’t have

any referees other than Gringotts—and he certainly couldn’t

include a personal history. But if Hagrid’s impression was correct,

Then it wasn’t like he would have any competition for the job.

In fact—remembering some of the absolutely hopeless DADA

teachers who’d held the job before, Harry half suspected that they’d

also been the only ones to apply for the position at the time.

Albus would never have hired them if he’d had an alternative—or at least, Harry certainly hoped not.

And of course, if those nincompoops were a reflection of the quality of people applying for the position before it gained a reputation for being cursed, then Harry had a much better chance of being hired now that the job was believed to be somehow tainted with misfortune.

//Although,// Harry recalled, //Remus was among that lot too—and there was nothing second-rate about his teaching.// But then, Remus was a werewolf, and once that information had become public, he hadn’t been allowed to remain at the school.

For himself, Harry was going to have to hope that Albus was desperate enough for a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, to hire a War Mage with no background, who wouldn’t talk about his past, and whose allegiances could not be proved one way or the other.

Well, there was nothing he could really do about it—so he sealed

the letter with wax—magically impressing it with the War Mage

insignia—and then left the sealed missive on the desk where he

could easily pick it up in the morning and take it to the post office.

----oo00oo----

The next day, after paying for his letter to be delivered by standard owl, Harry cast a notice-me-not spell over the knives on his arm guards, and a few more to cover his wand, the potions on his belt, and the other knives in his boot-tops. Then he made his way out into muggle London.

The notice-me-not spells would not make his weapons invisible, but rather, would simply encourage people to ignore them—as if they were irrelevant or unimportant.

This would have varying results on wizards and witches—and none at all on elves and other non-humans—but would be almost one hundred percent effective on muggles. Which meant Harry could walk freely

around in the muggle world without being instantly arrested.

He knew he still looked a bit strange—but realistically, no more

so than many others who dressed entirely in black and wore heavy

coats or cloaks all year ‘round. He was quite sure his battle robes

weren’t nearly as conspicuous as the muggles with purple hair and

piercing all over their faces.

Harry was back in the muggle world because there was one part of his War Mage outfit that he still hadn’t managed to acquire—and that

was his gun. He couldn’t think of a way to legally purchase one, and

he really didn’t want to involve himself with an illegal arms

dealer.

That really only left him with the option of stealing one, which—

while not a preferred course of action—was at least do-able and

wouldn’t involve criminals or other people who could be traced back

to him.

So, resigned to a bit of thieving, Harry went to another muggle weapons store -- not the one where he’d purchased his knives—and asked to see a variety of guns. Among the sidearms he asked to see

was the Smith and Wesson .45 revolver he wanted.

Revolvers—unlike automatics and semi-automatics—were not prone

to jamming, which was what happened when a projectile would ‘stick’ and have to be manually cleared before the gun could be fired again.

Also—with the use of moon clips to hold the bullets in their

circular formation—Harry could reload the revolver almost as fast

as changing clips in an automatic.

But best of all, a revolver was perfectly suited for one unique requirement that only a wizard would have—Harry could change the type of ammunition he was firing without having to worry about the bullet that would be left behind in an automatic pistol if he wanted to change clips before the clip was empty. When Harry changed clips in his revolver, all the casings—whether fired or not—would be immediately swapped out, with no worrying about whether there was still one more round of the previous ammunition to go. Harry needed his gun to have that capability because—like his knives—he

intended to carry silver, steel, and other types of enchanted

ammunition to suit whatever a given situation required.

Thus, when the storeowner showed him the various weapons he’d asked to see, Harry appeared to pay no more attention to the one he wanted than to any of the others. However, while he had the Smith and Wesson in his hands, he unobtrusively placed a locating spell on it.

He did the same thing to several boxes of ordinary ammunition, and to the appropriate loading equipment that was on display towards the back of the store. The loading gear would allow him to make his own unique projectiles.

And while he was doing all this, he took very careful note of how

much each piece of equipment cost.

Later that night, once more ensconced in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry cast his summoning spell. Keyed in to the locators he’d placed on the various items of equipment, it all worked perfectly. Without the locator spells, Harry would have had a much harder time of it—perhaps even summoning nearby items instead of the specific ones he wanted. Once he had everything present and accounted for, he cancelled the locator spells on them, and picked up a letter he had previously prepared. It bulged with money—several thousand pounds in fact—and he quickly sent it off—back to the approximate spot where the

missing gun had once lain.

Tomorrow morning, the storeowner would find the letter in place of

the missing gun, along with an itemised list of what Harry had

appropriated, and a note that would literally turn to dust after the

storeowner had read it.

The note simply said:

Dear Sir,

My apologies for taking these items illegally, however I assure you

that my need was great and they will not be used for any criminal

purpose.

My work is very much to do with the military, and even if you knew my name, you would not find any record of me.

I hope I have paid you in full, although I leave it up to you whether

to show the list and the money to the police.

In the unlikely event that the police do manage to find some trace of me, rest assured that shortly thereafter they are unlikely to say

they remember finding anything. They will not be harmed—but I

assure you that your stock will never be recovered.

Then, the last thing Harry did before going to bed, was to magically

erase the gun’s serial number, and cast the ‘notice-me-not’ spell

over the revolver and everything associated with it.

----oo00oo----

Before breakfast the following morning, Harry finally strapped the last piece of his War Mage outfit to his left leg. With his wand holster on his other leg, he walked around the room, trying to get used to the balance, and giving a small jump every now and then to see whether the gun and his wand were both securely held in place. If everything was correctly put together, then Harry should be able to

do somersaults without anything falling out or shifting position—

but he would have to try that later, since his current room wasn’t

big enough for acrobatics.

Harry had decided to spend the rest of the day in or near the Leaky

Cauldron. The owl carrying his job application should be arriving at

Hogwarts as part of the morning post, and Harry hoped that Albus

would reply to it as soon as possible. Realistically, that meant he

was unlikely to receive an owl before tomorrow at the earliest, but

still...

He knew he was being ridiculously anxious, but he had several good books to read, and nothing more urgent to follow up. So Harry settled in for the day, taking advantage of a holiday of sorts, and opened up his “Quidditch Today” magazine, with a reminder to buy himself a new broom—because Ron would recognise his old one anywhere, and

probably even by touch in the dark...

----oo00oo----

Harry spent the next three days worrying about whether the owl had made it to Hogwarts at all.

When he finally did receive a reply, it did nothing to alleviate

his concern. It was simply a ‘thank-you-for-your-application’

response, with a ‘we-will-get-back-to-you-shortly’ statement tacked

on the end of it.

Could somebody else have applied for the job? -- Somebody without a mysterious background—who had friends and verifiable character references?

Realising that the stress wasn’t helping him, Harry resolved to stop worrying, and start doing something about getting his fifteen-year-old body onto a decent fitness regime. He hadn’t forgotten his mental note to discover what this body was capable of, and he had the rest of the summer to correct any weaknesses or problems he might uncover.

And—as an added bonus—physical exertion was a great way to

relieve tension.

Well, so was sex, of course, and at fifteen, Harry’s body was more than willing to indulge in that kind of stress relief. As a twenty-eight-year-old War Mage, who’d been actively involved in a war—Harry was certainly no stranger to sex. The combination of violence, fear, and death didn’t do much to encourage celibacy or self-denial—particularly when it came to another human touch, and a little shared comfort amidst the chaos.

Added to that, Harry’s War Mage training had drummed it into him that sex was as much a part of life as eating and sleeping. Denying or ignoring it, wasn’t going to make it go away, and sexual frustration—like any other kind of frustration—could cause emotional outbursts that were dangerous—especially if you happened to be a War Mage.

But of course that didn’t mean Harry was going to run out and have sex with anything that moved. It simply meant that he wasn’t going to ignore or trivialise any of his body’s physical needs—or, for

that matter, any of his emotional needs.

Harry knew himself well enough to understand that—for him at

least—sex with a stranger was actually less satisfying than being

alone with his fantasies. That said, there wasn’t anybody Harry

currently felt that kind of sexual/emotional connection with, except

Severus—and at present Sev would probably knee him in the groin

if ‘Ash’ tried to kiss him.

Thus, Harry resolved to enjoy himself in the bathtub as much as his younger body might want, and to work off any residual tension through physical training, good diet, and mental relaxation techniques.

So, while he was waiting for Albus to get back to him, Harry went out and joined a muggle gym. The training he could do there would help

build up his strength. He also joined a martial arts dojo in order to

test his current hand-to-hand technique, and hopefully begin re-

imprinting his muscle-memory.

That would probably have been more than enough, but on his way past a dance school, he stopped to have a look inside, and eventually

emerged with a third membership, which would assist him in

improving his agility and endurance.

He didn’t actually have so much tension—sexual or otherwise—that he needed all the exercise that three different memberships would give him. But after all, he couldn’t really put the rest of his plans into motion until he was back at Hogwarts—and it was much too soon for Voldemort to put into action any of the crucial events that Harry was determined to prevent. All of which meant that he could afford to be patient—and should use the current downtime over summer to read, relax, and get into shape for the coming school year.

Oh, and he definitely had to figure out how he was going to get Severus back. That wasn’t going to be easy because the prickly, defensive sod had emotional barriers a mile wide, and Harry didn’t particularly want to repeat the unpleasant circumstances that had led to their becoming lovers the first time around.

But he couldn’t seem to think of any brilliant plan for Sev’s

seduction right off the top of his head. In fact the only thing that

did occur to him was that it would really help if he and Severus

were working together—like, say... if he actually got the job of

Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts...

//If only Albus would hire me...!// Harry complained silently to

the world at large.

----oo00oo----

A week after he joined the gym, the dojo, and the dance school,

Harry received an owl advising him that he had an interview in three days time with Headmaster Dumbledore for the position of Defence

Against the Dark Arts instructor.

Thus, it was with butterflies in his stomach that War Mage Ash

apparated to Hogsmede, and then used the walk up to the castle to

calm his nerves. He could not afford to screw this up—and he

didn’t know how on earth he was going to convince Albus that he

wasn’t a Voldemort spy or sympathiser.

He couldn’t lie about his background, because it would be too easy to be caught out—especially with Albus. That meant he was going to have to refuse to answer questions about his life at all—and that he also couldn’t share his experiences, or point out what he’d done in the past—or... future? //God, that’s confusing,// Harry silently reflected. So basically, he was going to have to play the part of the mysterious War Mage who’d appeared out of nowhere with no childhood or history.

Yet somehow he still had to convince Albus to hire him.

Walking along in the bright sunshine—and focused on the upcoming interview—Harry hadn’t the faintest idea that he would later come

to regard this as one of the most bizarre afternoons of his life.

----oo00oo----

Hagrid spotted him as he neared the castle’s entrance, “’ello Ash!”

the good-natured gamekeeper called. “Welcome t’ Hogwarts! You goin’ t’ be our new Dark Arts teacher, then?”

Smiling broadly, Harry replied, “That’s what I’m here to find out—I’ve got an interview with the Headmaster in quarter of an hour.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d better not keep yeh then. Do yeh know how t’ get to his office?”

“No need,” and Harry glanced around Hagrid’s broad chest. “I think

this kind lady might be here to see me in.”

Hagrid looked around and noticed Professor McGonagall. “Oh! ‘Scuse me, professor, I didn’ see you there.”

“Quite alright, Hagrid,” Minerva McGonagall replied while stepping

around him to see the War Mage she’d heard so much about. Introductions were quickly made, and Minerva tactfully excused them from Hagrid’s presence, before leading Harry off into the school.

Harry felt a pleasant sense of homecoming as he stepped over the

threshold, and couldn’t resist resting one hand fleetingly against

the ancient stones.

If Minerva noticed, she didn’t mention it.

The school seemed different without all the students in it. Harry

didn’t find it unpleasant—merely quieter, or perhaps ‘emptier’

would have been a better term—as if the school was sleeping over

the summer, the way some animals did through the winter.

Minerva was happy to expand his knowledge of the school by giving him a brief history of its founders, and although Harry already knew most of it, he encouraged her by making the odd comment and asking an

occasional question. This served to deflect her from asking him

questions, and also allowed him to start feeling his way into the

role of potential teacher and co-worker.

In short order they arrived at the Headmaster’s office, and Minerva

used the word ‘jellybean’ to open the door, she turned to him with a

polite smile and said, “Just go right in—he’s expecting you—and

don’t worry about getting lost on your way out—I’ll be back when

you’re ready to go.”

----oo00oo----

The first thing Harry noticed was Fawkes sitting in bright splendour

on his perch in the corner.

//Oh, bugger!// he thought with alarm. He’d forgotten all about the phoenix that was so often in Albus’ company. //Will Fawkes know who I am?// Harry was well aware that a dog’s sense of smell would be able to tell that he and Harry Potter were one and the same -- if the dog had scented ‘Harry PPotter’ before he’d disguised himself. Would a phoenix have some similar ability? After all, Harry’s wand had one of Fawkes’ tail feathers in it. //Please, please, please... don’t give me away,// he mentally begged the bird, //Too much depends on it—Albus’ life depends on it.//

He couldn’t tell whether Fawkes heard him or not, but after some odd looks and a lot of restless feather-rustling, the phoenix apparently

decided to ignore him and went back to preening its spectacular

feathers.

“Well, --“ a familiar voice surprised him from behind.

Harry’s War Mage reflexes had his wand pointing right between Albus’ eyes before Harry even realised who it was.

Dumbledore blinked.

Harry had the sinking feeling he’d just blown his chance of a job. “Ah... Sorry about that...” Harry mentally cringed -- //*Sorry* for

nearly attacking him? -- oh that’s going to go over

well.// “It’s... a War Mage thing,” he offered lamely, “...the

reflex, I mean...”

“Mmm,” Albus agreed, looking at him with an inscrutable expression. “Well,” he repeated, “as I was going to say, you seem to have earned the Fawkes stamp of indifference.” Harry couldn’t tell whether this was good or bad, but the amused glint in Albus’ eyes seemed to say it wasn’t too disastrous. “Please don’t be offended,”

Albus continued with a smile, “Fawkes is a phoenix, you see—and he only just immolated himself yesterday, so he’s a bit vain at the moment. He will doubtless greet you more properly once he recovers from his fascination with his new feathers.”

The Headmaster then moved sedately over to a well-stuffed armchair, and motioned for Harry to join him. “Sit, sit...” he advised, “make

yourself comfortable. We have a lot to discuss, if I’m to discover

whether you will make a suitable addition to our staff.”

“Or whether your staff will make a suitable fellowship for myself,”

Harry added with more self-assurance than he was feeling.

Albus smiled brightly, replying “Of course... of course.” and Harry was heartened by the impression that he’d managed to say something right.

Then Albus proceeded to pour tea for both of them and asked Harry a lot of seemingly unrelated and unimportant questions, such as, ‘Do

you enjoy a good bubble bath, or are you a bath-salt sort of fellow?’ After admitting that he preferred bath salts, but would put up with a bubble bath if there was sufficient reason (like a naked Sev in it), Harry grew increasingly bewildered by the nature and number of the bizarre questions.

Eventually, Harry realised that he had embarked upon a journey of

Dumbledore’s making, and the only way he was going to make it

unscathed to the end, was to sit back and enjoy the ride. He took

hope from the fact that at least he was still here and not outside

on his way back to Hogsmeade.

By the time Dumbledore—“please, call me Albus”—had finished

with his questions and was explaining what was expected of a Hogwarts teacher, Harry was quite enjoying the complete surrealism of the

conversation.

However, it was all he could do not to laugh aloud at the sight of Albus very seriously telling him about treating students with patience and respect—and at the same time happily biting the heads off small teddy-bear shaped biscuits.

Half an hour later, it was with a certain amount of awe that Harry

realised he had—sometime during the interview—allowed himself

to be talked into following the Hogwarts Headmaster into a larger

room so that they could play a wizarding version of hopscotch

together. Wizarding hopscotch was much harder than the muggle version, because all the squares were different sizes, and were not necessarily all connected to one another. Technically speaking, you weren’t supposed to be able to complete the game without using magic.

Albus was certainly using magic. He was currently balanced on one foot—his wand waving enthusiastically about—while confidently proclaiming that age and experience would give him the advantage, and he would win in the end!

Harry didn’t doubt it—although he would have argued about it being age and experience that was giving Albus the advantage. Harry

wasn’t allowed to use magic—which, in his opinion, meant that

Albus was cheating outrageously. After stating as much, Albus had

countered with the fact that a War Mage should have better than

average balance, and much better physical fitness and coordination.

So, if he couldn’t put up a decent showing at something as simple as hopscotch, then what kind of a War Mage was he?

So in order to prove he was a War Mage, Harry soon found himself standing on the smallest and most distant square—on tippy-toe no less, because the square was so small—and telling Albus to get off the returning squares because he was getting a cramp in his leg, and there would be mayhem done if he lost because Albus was cheating even more disgracefully than when he’d convinced Harry to agree to the ‘no-magic-for-war-mages’ rule at the start of the game.

Eventually, Albus did win—but not by much.

----oo00oo----

Later, after they’d both made complete fools of themselves at

hopscotch, they made their way back to Albus’ comfortable office. This time however, the Headmaster made no move towards the two armchairs they’d previously occupied. Instead, he went straight to his desk, and—with a jolt—Harry remembered that he was supposed to be in the middle of a job interview.

Feeling the loss of camaraderie keenly, Harry sat quietly down in the opposite chair—the large scroll-covered table now separating him

from Albus’ company.

“Well,” the Headmaster began seriously, “now that we’ve covered the important things, I really have only one more concern that I feel may prevent me from accepting you as our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Harry felt lost again. //We covered the important things? When!?//

But if Albus was happy, Harry wasn’t going to argue—and he knew

that this was the important issue anyway—convincing Albus that

he wasn’t one of Voldemort’s supporters.

“I know,” he replied slowly, “that you must be wondering about my

lack of personal history and about my... allegiances... but...”

“What?” Albus interrupted, “My dear boy—good heavens no! You are certainly no Death Eater, and most unlikely to ever become one.”

Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. “No, no,” Albus assured him—eyes crinkled with amusement at Harry’s mistake. “I meant that I am concerned about your somewhat... sudden... reaction to being surprised. You see, we do have a number of... ehm, lively students here at Hogwarts, and it would be quite unfortunate if anything rather... permanent... were to happen to them. I’m afraid the School Board would take a very dim view of it.”

“Oh.” Harry said. It took him a few seconds to cope with the fact that the problem he’d prepared himself to deal with, wasn’t a problem at all—and instead, he now had to come up with a solution for a reaction he couldn’t change, and which might be enough to stop Albus from hiring him.

//Well,// he thought, //if I can’t change, then the students will have to change.// The only plan Harry could come up with on the spot, was a more intense version of his original idea, which had worked so well on the general wizarding population. In order to get the average wizard or witch to take a little care in their dealings with him, he’d simply ensured that everyone knew he was a War Mage, and that everyone had a rough idea of what a War Mage was. That was enough for most people, and more than enough for many. The formless worry about what vague horrors he might be capable of made some folk

extremely nervous in his presence.

But to solve Albus’ dilemma, Harry would have to ensure that the

students had first-hand knowledge of exactly how dangerous it would be to surprise him. He had to thoroughly drive it home that they

must not play pranks on him for any reason.

In short, he would have to scare the living daylights out of them. He discussed his idea with Albus, and was relieved when the Headmaster agreed that his plan would probably work—making him an acceptable candidate for the DADA position.

“But it will rather alienate you from the student population,” Albus

had added with some concern.

“Don’t worry,” Harry replied, “I can work on that afterwards. It’s

the initial impression that’s most important, and that’s what will

stay with them, even after I cease to be quite so terrifying.”

That settled, they went on to discuss other things such as pay and conditions. Harry expressed an interest in a quiet and out-of-the-way

suite of rooms, and Albus agreed that it would probably be for the

best—however the castle currently had nothing appropriate. “That’s all right,” Harry replied, “I’m all paid up at the Leaky Cauldron until the end of summer anyway—and I still have some commitments to the bank that would make it more convenient for me to stay near Diagon Alley until the start of term.”

So they agreed that Harry would relocate to the school only a day or two before the first day of the new term, and that quarters would be prepared for him in one of the quieter sections of the castle—

rather close to Severus’ rooms as it turned out, because Severus

Snape also liked his privacy and quiet—which cheered Harry

immensely, but would undoubtedly annoy Severus a great deal.

And so, several hours after the very odd interview began, it finally

ended with Ash’s signature on the teaching contract, and a hearty

welcoming handshake.

“Well,” Albus grinned at him, “now that that’s all out of the way,

I have a personal question I’d like to ask you, if I may.”

They had already covered the fact that Harry was not at liberty to discuss his past, so Harry wasn’t expecting to be blindsided when he curiously replied, “What would you like to know?”

Suddenly quite serious, Albus looked him directly in the eye and

said, “Where’s Harry Potter?”

----oo00oo----

The question caught Harry completely off guard. “Er...”

“His uncle,” Albus stated, “reports that Harry said ‘Ash’ would know where he was. I do not believe your appearance in the wizarding world shortly thereafter is much of a coincidence.” Then the Headmaster sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his chest and waited.

Harry wondered what had possessed him to tease fate with that off-hand comment to Vernon Dursley. “I’m, uh... rather surprised Harry’s uncle remembered that bit of advice.” he began cautiously.

“Oh, you know...” Albus waved his right hand absently, “a little

memory charm can work wonders.”

“Ah,” Harry replied, thinking fast.

“And then,” Albus continued, “there is the matter of a small bit of

Heart Magic Mr Potter seems to have performed before he left—something which I would have said was quite beyond him at the time.

But not, I think, beyond the abilities of a mage such as yourself.”

Albus then looked at Harry over the top of his glasses, “You can

perform Heart Magic, I assume?”

Harry gave a little half-smile. “It’s one of my abilities, yes.”

“Mmm,” Albus agreed, and then went back to waiting.

Harry decided to tell the truth—or a version of it, at any rate. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you where he is.” Albus’ eyes narrowed. “But,” Harry reassured him, I can tell you what he’s doing.” Harry paused, wondering how much to give away, before he eventually settled on the words: “He’s learning to be a War Mage.” //Which is true,// Harry thought, //since I’ll never stop learning magic, and every new skill teaches me how to be a better War Mage in some way.//

Albus’ eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying there’s a school for War

Mages?”

Harry winced. “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly, “actually there is—

but I’d rather you didn’t tell anybody about it, since it’s supposed

to be a secret.” Then he sighed. “When the circle finds out I’ve told

you -- which they will, eventually—I’m probably going to be in a

bit of trouble.”

Albus digested that. “So,” he said slowly, “you’re saying that

your ‘circle’ offered young Harry the chance to become a War Mage,

and that he agreed, and left of his own free will.”

“That about sums it up.” Harry nodded. It was, in fact, pretty much

what had actually happened to him in the mirror, so it was true if

you looked at it from a certain perspective. “If it reassures you in

any way,” Harry added, “I can definitely tell you that he was happy

he didn’t have to spend summer with the Dursleys.” Carefully, Harry

added, “I don’t think he was very happy living with his muggle

relations.” //Understatement!// Harry’s thoughts screamed.

“No, he was not,” came Albus’ sad reply. “But it was the best I could do for him at the time.” Harry’s heart went out to the old wizard sitting across from him. It had obviously been a very painful decision, and one Albus had repeatedly examined with uncertain hindsight. “But I had such hope, you see,” Albus went on, “that when he finally came to Hogwarts we would be able to make up for it all—that he would find some measure of happiness within these walls,

which we could not give him beyond them.”

“I don’t think,” Harry responded, “that he was at all pleased to be

leaving you—or his other Hogwarts friends—behind.”

“But you still don’t believe he would have stayed,” Albus added

shrewdly, “even without the Dursleys.”

Harry’s answer was a single word: “Voldemort.”

“He left to protect his friends?” Albus asked, seemingly unsurprised

by Harry’s willingness to say the dark lord’s name.

“And himself,” Harry answered. “He will need what the circle can

teach him—you know Voldemort is obsessed with him—and you

cannot protect him forever.”

“Which,” the Headmaster finished, “a school full of War Mages will

most certainly be able to do, at least until he can do it for

himself.”

“The school is smaller than you might think,” Harry commented, “Mages are quite rare, after all—but, yes, where he is now—he will be

as safe as he possibly can be.”

“We cannot write, or ask you to pass messages to him?” Albus asked.

“No,” Harry replied, “I’m sorry.”

Albus sighed. “What is, is,” he said, “and we must endeavour to make the best of it.” Fawkes chose that moment to fly over and alight on the desk between them. The phoenix ambled over to Albus, who allowed his arm to be used as a perch, and then absently stroked the bird’s fiery plumage with his other hand. Decorative little sparks

rose up to dance on the air.

“I’m glad he’s all right,” Albus finally admitted, “and I even understand the reasoning behind his decision—but I do wish we had more than a scrap of Heart Magic to rely on for our assurance of his

well-being. This will be a difficult burden for Hagrid to bear—and

I hope his role in it all will not be discovered too soon.”

Harry hadn’t thought of that—what it might be like if the world

discovered that Hagrid still had some form of contact with him. He

sincerely hoped his good intentions with respect to the Heart spell

would not end up being the burden Albus expected it to be.

“Mr Potter’s friends,” Albus lamented, “are going to be quite upset when they discover he’s gone.” Then the Headmaster looked suddenly tired as he added, “—and I’m going to be absolutely buried in

owls when the rest of the world finds out!”

----oo00oo----

After Harry reassured himself that Albus would not publicly implicate him in the disappearance of ‘The Boy who Lived’, he asked the Headmaster if there were any other questions he would like answered. //Better to deal with them now,// Harry thought, //so I won’t be caught out like this again later.//

The canny old wizard tilted his head to one side in thought, and then said, “Are the War Mages going to join our side against Voldemort, or is your separation from them an indication that they’re going to

support him?”

Once more taken aback, Harry realised that since Albus didn’t know

why the mage circle was so secretive, it was a perfectly valid

question.

“No,” he asserted, “the War Mages will absolutely not be joining

Voldemort.”

“Which doesn’t mean that they’ll be joining our side either.”

Harry sighed. “You’re right—it doesn’t. At present, they don’t think he warrants the circle’s intervention. After all,” Harry added cynically, “it’s not currently all-out war, is it? And the wizarding world managed to take care of the problem by itself the last time.”

“A view you don’t agree with?” Albus suggested.

“No,” Harry confirmed. “By the time it gets to all-out-war, it’s too late—and sometimes it never becomes open war—yet the results: the destruction, the suffering—are still the same. Now is the

time to be doing something about it -- before it becomes a long,

drawn-out disaster that affects us all for years to come.”

Albus blinked at Harry’s eloquence, then grinned. “I couldn’t talk

you into joining a little group I know of, could I? A War Mage would

be invaluable to them.”

Harry knew the Headmaster was referring to the Order of the Phoenix—Albus Dumbledore’s personal group of informants, Aurors, and researchers, whom he had deemed worthy of trust.

“I’m sorry,” Harry replied, “but I don’t think my immediate goals would be completely compatible with another group just now.”

Albus looked disappointed.

“But someday,” Harry added with an impish grin, “I’ll probably ask

you to join me.” Albus looked both intrigued and amused. “Well, then,” he said with

raised eyebrows, “I shall await the day!”

And that was the end of Albus Dumbledore’s questions.

----oo00oo----

However, as the Headmaster was showing his new Dark Arts teacher to the door, Harry realised there was a question that he really wanted to ask.

“Albus?” he stopped in the middle of the room, causing the Headmaster to turn back and face him. “How did you know? -- That I’m not a spy, I mean—and that I won’t support Voldemort or his cause?” Harry had been so worried about that—both before and during the interview.

The Headmaster grinned wickedly. “Why, good sir!” he exclaimed,

“I could never have beaten a Death Eater at hopscotch!”

At which point Harry cracked up completely, because the mental image of Lucius Malfoy hopping on one leg over the squares of a hopscotch

game, was simply too funny for words.

Of course Albus would never lose to a Death Eater! No Death Eater

would have agreed to play! If there was one thing Harry had noticed

over the years, it was that evil—in all it forms—always took

itself way too seriously. Harry was quite willing to bet that every

wizard or witch who’d ever gone bad had been constitutionally

incapable of laughing at themselves—or of enjoying the simple

pleasure of doing something ridiculous, just for the fun of it.

At that moment, Harry understood precisely why Albus would never be a mage—the Headmaster’s understanding of humanity was simply too profound. It wasn’t possible to be so deeply immersed in human

behaviour, and still have room for the radically different world-view

of other species.

Finally, Harry got his laughter under control. “You knew I was a War

Mage all along!” he accused.

“Gringotts’ letter, and your startle-reflex were more than enough,”

Albus smirked.

“And the bubble bath questions?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d agree to hopscotch right away—so I

sort of had to... build up to it,” Albus explained proudly. “Did a rather good job of it,” he added, “even if I do say so myself.”

And then Harry lost it a second time. All that craziness—just to find out whether he was on the side of Light! And the ‘important things’—when Albus said they’d already taken care of them! Oh, he’d been royally done over—and he’d even enjoyed it! Harry was going to remember this day with great fondness for a very long time!

Once Harry had calmed down again, Albus rounded out his reasoning with the happy explanation that: “Of course, Fawkes’ willingness to ignore you helped as well. If you’d been any kind of a threat, he would never have disregarded your presence while I was in the same room.” Then he added, “Although... you did cause me a bit of worry when you had your wand pointed at my head. But after all, it wasn’t

like you actually blew me through the wall or anything—so I

thought I’d take a chance.”

“You won’t regret it,” Harry promised.

“I hope you don’t either,” Albus replied mysteriously, “since you

haven’t actually met any of our students as yet.”

----oo00oo----

It was a very relaxed and relieved War Mage who strolled along behind Professor McGonagall as they returned to the main entrance. The head of Gryffindor House was only too pleased to hear that they now had a Dark Arts teacher—“It’s been something of a worry for me,” she confided along the way—and she wasted no time in offering him any assistance he might need, confidently adding: “—and do please call me Minerva. It doesn’t pay to stand on ceremony when we’ll be working together against so many students.”

“Don’t you mean with so many students?”

Minerva looked at him. “Oh dear,” she said, “you haven’t done a lot

of teaching, have you?” Then she smiled, “Well, never mind—I’m

sure a War Mage will manage somehow.”

“You know,” Harry told her, “Albus said something about being

prepared to meet the students too.” He looked at her carefully, “I’m

beginning to think I should be worried.”

“Not... worried... exactly.” Minerva’s tone failed to reassure

him. “Think of it as more of a... challenge.” And then they were once

Chapter 4: Back to School

Over the next few days, Harry spent a great deal more time in the gym than he did in the dojo or the dance school. Martial arts and dancing required a certain level of concentration, whereas much of what he did in his gym workouts was simple repetition designed to build muscle tone. That meant he could keep his body usefully occupied while his mind tried to figure out what on earth he was going to teach in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Initially, he was at a complete loss as for what to do -- so he broke it down logically, concentrating on what he already knew.

There were seven years of class to teach -- which meant seven different levels of skill and ability. There were also four Houses -- but from memory, Harry could recall that double-period classes were shared between two Houses. Thus, while he might need to deliver some lessons up to four times a week, there would also be some where he would only have to present them twice.

He was going to need some indication of what each year had already learned, since his own memories merely covered the classes he had attended personally, and were hazy at best due to the length of time that had passed since he'd actually been a student.

As well, it would be good to have some idea of whether there was anything in particular that the school required him to include in the lessons. He rather suspected there wasn't, since he did remember that the classes he'd attended had been as different as chalk and cheese every year. Each DADA teacher he could recall seemed to have a different set of textbooks and a different idea of what their students should be learning.

In some ways this fact made it harder for him, since having a standard set of textbooks would have meant a lot less preparation and a lot less worry on his part. But in other ways it made it easier, because he would be able to teach what he thought they needed to know -- and after being taught by War Mages in the circle, Harry really did think there were some fundamental problems with the way Defence Against the Dark Arts was being presented.

Three days later -- after taking his time and letting the problem percolate for a while -- he'd pretty much decided on a course of action. It was then that he was abruptly and painfully reminded that he had bigger things to worry about than teaching class to a bunch of school students.

----oo00oo----

Walking back to the Leaky Cauldron after a satisfying workout late in the day, he was just passing a small alleyway between buildings when a stabbing pain shot through his head. The unexpectedness of it -- coupled with the fact that there wasn't anything he could attack or defend himself against -- made him quickly duck out of sight into the alley. There -- in relative privacy -- he could double over in pain with one hand pressed heavily against his throbbing scar, and lean gratefully upon the cool bricks for support.

//Son of a bitch!// he cursed through the blinding headache. He hadn't suffered this kind of agony in years -- not since he'd killed Voldemort and obbliterated the man's presence from the world forever. //I'd... forgotten...// his pain-fogged thoughts were vaguely aware that for this level of hurt, Voldemort was probably in the process of killing someone -- slowly and painfully.

After what seemed an eternity, the gasping War Mage was finally released. Harry consoled himself with the knowledge that whoever it had been was now dead and no longer suffering. Collapsing onto the dirty concrete, he breathed deeply -- mentally willing himself not to go into shock, or to let the agonising reminder of his link to Voldemort cause him to lose his lunch.

//I'll have to do something about this,// Harry ruefully acknowledged. It was just dumb luck that he'd been alone this time, and in a relatively isolated place. //If I'd been anywhere near Albus...!// Wordlessly, Harry berated himself for not realising that his link to Voldemort would still exist. //I should have known,// he thought angrily. //I should have remembered...//

But the key to his problem was easily dredged up from that self-same memory, and after pulling himself into some semblance of order -- and ducking into a public restroom to retouch the makeup on his scar -- Harry quickly made his way back to the privacy of his room at the Leaky Cauldron. Once there, he could perform some damage control so that similar incidents in the future would not be so debilitating.

As soon as he was safely alone in his rented room, Harry knelt down in the middle of the wooden floor, and turned his thoughts inwards toward the link he shared with his enemy. It was a pity he couldn't simply destroy the connection -- but Harry knew that wasn't possible because it had become an integral part of his magic, created at the same moment Voldemort had tried to kill his infant self by using Avada Kedavra on him.

The baby Harry -- not even aware of what was really happening -- had felt his life draining away and had latched onto the nearest source of power in an instinctive attempt to pull strength back into his body.

The source of power he'd tapped into had been the killing curse itself.

To this day, Harry had no idea how he'd managed to tap into another wizard's spell when he'd been only a baby. He could easily do it now of course -- the process worked on a similar principle to the ability he'd demonstrated recently in Knockturn Alley. In that instance, he'd taken control of a mid-level curse and thrown it back at the wizard who'd cast it. And while connecting to a spell was a bit different from simply controlling it, neither skill was all that uncommon. In fact, with the right training, most wizards and witches would be able to do it. But as a baby? -- no, that had been a surprise.

But the real shocker had been that he'd actually survived doing it.

Normally, connecting to a spell like Avada Kedavra would only have made it work more efficiently -- essentially giving it free access to his life force by allowing it to bypass his body's innate resistance to harmful magics. Merely controlling the spell would not have had this effect, but it also would not have given him access to the magic that the spell was made of -- the very magic that baby Harry had so desperately tried to use to sustain himself.

Had he not connected to the spell, it would still have overwhelmed what few natural defences he had, but it would've had to work much harder to do so. That was why a child trying to perform Avada Kedavra would be lucky to give someone a nosebleed. Without an adult's strength of will behind it -- coupled with an adult's power and an adult's deeper understanding of exactly what death meant -- then the natural resistance of another wizard or witch's magic would be enough to confound the spell, or at least prevent it from actually causing death. Less damaging curses -- like petrificus totalis -- which temporarily petrified the body but did no real harm -- were easier to cast since they were not intended to cause permanent damage, and thus, the body's full range of natural defences was not brought into play.

This explained why muggles were easier to kill using Avada Kedavra than wizarding folk. Muggles had no inborn resistance to magic at all -- which was also why some wizards believed muggles were inferior, and why others treated them like children who had to be protected from all forms of magic.

But what the baby Harry had done went one step further than magically connecting to the spell -- and that extra step was something neither Harry, nor anybody else, had ever been able to repeat. In essence, Harry had linked himself through the spell back to the one who'd cast it. Thus, when he'd tried to pull power from the curse, he'd actually pulled it from Voldemort himself -- with the result that he'd absorbed some of Voldemort's magical abilities (such as Parseltongue), and had accidentally created a permanent connection to the very man who'd tried to kill him.

When Voldemort had instinctively tried to pull away, the dark lord's desperate retreat had torn a kind of 'hole' in his magical self. Through this 'hole', the evil wizard had bled out his power until he'd very nearly died from it. When he eventually stopped the loss of energy, Voldemort had been left with the magical equivalent of scar tissue in the place where the tear had once been. That scarring had disguised the fact that he and Harry were still connected. Harry felt intense pain whenever the dark lord killed someone, or used his magic in a way that sponsored more suffering and death. But because of the scarring, Voldemort could not sense him in return.

Had Voldemort not been satisfied to let others do the majority of his dirty work, Harry would have been in near-constant pain for a large part of his life. But as it was, he only experienced the occasional bout of agony. Even so, he could not destroy the link, because any attempt to get rid of it would undoubtedly tear the same kind of 'hole' in his own magic as the one that had nearly killed Voldemort. The only way he would ever be truly free of the dark lord, was if one of them died.

But he could 'squeeze' the link -- pinching it off to the point where the pain it transmitted was minimal and manageable. He would still know when Voldemort was doing something particularly horrific, but it would be the pain of a mild headache -- not a blinding migraine. And for a mere headache, Harry could hide the effects and carry on as if nothing was wrong.

Thus, he carefully built up magical walls around the link -- speaking aloud the spell that would bind those walls tightly together -- bearing down and compressing the connection until it was hardly there at all.

After that, there was only one more thing Harry needed to do -- and he immediately staggered up and went in search of the wizarding equivalent of aspirin.

----oo00oo----

With his connection to Voldemort under some semblance of control, Harry could now return to his plan for not making a fool out of himself in front of every student currently enrolled in Hogwarts.

Minerva had been as good as her word, and had owled him the dates for the pre-term staff meetings. She'd also sent him his orientation package, consisting of a lot of information he already knew; a list of the other teachers at Hogwarts; and a map of the commonly used school areas. His Marauders' Map -- wherever it had disappeared to after the fake Mad-eye Moody had 'borrowed' it -- left Minerva's version for dead, and Harry uncaringly tossed the official map into the rubbish bin. If anyone asked, he would claim he'd memorised the silly thing so he didn't have to carry it around. He still remembered more about the school's layout than was actually on the discarded bit of paper anyway.

Of more practical interest was the remarkable lack of anything resembling a plan for the DADA course structure. He didn't even receive a history of what the students had previously studied. An owl back to Minerva soon confirmed that -- apart from the record of student grades -- there was very little in the school archives that detailed what had actually been taught. So Harry effectively had no idea where the students were up to in their studies. The disastrous run of DADA teachers -- who had variously been: killed while working for Voldemort, magicked into forgetting everything they'd done that year; summarily removed by the school board; kidnapped and impersonated so that they never actually did any teaching; and just plain declared missing under mysterious circumstances -- had not left behind much in the way of documentation.

Well that suited Harry just fine, since it meant he could reasonably justify starting the whole thing from scratch and doing it the way he thought it should be done.

After that, he took the next couple of days off from his physical training in order to patronise several wizarding libraries around London, as well as several magical bookshops.

The libraries were interesting in that it turned out several public muggle libraries actually had wizarding sections. Those sections functioned somewhat like the Leaky Cauldron -- invisible to anyone without magic. Thee librarians were then wizards and witches who could assist both muggles and magical folk with whatever searches they were interested in.

The bookshops were harder to find, and Harry finally decided that the best of them was "Flourish and Blotts" -- the same bookstore in Diagon Alley where Hogwarts students had been purchasing their schoolbooks for untold generations. The second-best bookstore in Britain turned out to be in Hogsmeade -- not surprising since the town was composed entirely of wizards and witches and would therefore have a larger customer base than bookshops in mixed muggle-wizarding areas. But the "Script 'n Scroll" didn't stock quite the range that "Flourish and Blotts" did, and Harry eventually ended up back where he'd begun his search -- in Diagon Alley.

What he was looking for were books he could use for his DADA classes -- preferably well-written books that described the basic dark arts curses and spells, along with their counter spells, and any other successful defences. The various librarians and storeowners had looked at him strangely when he'd asked for advice on Defence Against the Dark Arts books -- why would a War Mage be reading those? -- but they were all more than helpful once he explained about his upcoming position as the Hogwarts DADA instructor.

Gilderoy Lockharts' books were still quite popular, and although Harry thought the man was a reprehensible crook who'd simply written down other people's experiences and then claimed they were his -- well... if the books were accurate and well-written, then he still felt obliged to consider them.

It turned out that they were accurate, but well written was debateable. There was a lot of self-aggrandizement in them, and you had to wade through some pretty melodramatic rubbish to find the useful bits. Still -- they at least had useful bits, which was more than could be said for some of the supposed dark arts defence tomes.

Unfortunately, they were also quite expensive -- and Harry still didn't like the author.

Eventually, Harry managed to find another writer by the name of H.A. Staesafe. The H.A. stood for "Helen Angela", and from her writing it seemed that Ms Staesafe really was a little bit of hellion and a little bit of angel, all rolled into one. She had a down-to-earth style of prose, and a no-nonsense approach to her subject. Her books were not overpriced, although some people might have said they were a bit boring. But Harry felt that -- as the teacher -- it would be his job to hold his students' interest, so he didn't count that against them. She'd only written five books in her Dark Arts Defence series, and they varied in skill level as she herself had gained experience with what she was writing and researching.

After lightly skimming through each book, Harry decided that one of them covered enough material to be useful for both third and fourth year -- which gave him a textbook for six out of the seven years he would be teaching. He wished she had a sixth book that he could use for seventh year, but he was eventually forced to settle on another author, with a slightly more flowery style, who filled the gap at the higher level that Helen Angela couldn't.

Thus, he now had his required textbooks for the upcoming year, and from their content, he could easily work out the dreaded syllabus that had seemed so impossible to write only a few days before.

----oo00oo----

After completing his plans for the DADA course structure, Harry took himself off to "Flourish and Blotts" to warn them about ordering enough of his textbooks to supply an entire school full of students. Harry had no idea how many students there were in each year, but fortunately, the wizard behind the counter told him that approximate numbers were always forwarded to the shop by Hogwarts. Therefore, so long as they knew which books to order, there wouldn't be a problem with the numbers.

It was a well satisfied teacher-to-be who was just leaving the bookstore when he heard a familiar voice further down the street.

"Ah, Ginny, you've got no appreciation for the true beauty of broom design!"

Ron Weasley's younger sister rolled her eyes at him and replied, "I appreciate it just fine, Ron -- but as soon as I'm old enough, I'm going to apparate everywhere, and I really don't see the point of wasting money on something you can't even use over most of England because the muggles might see!"

"That's not the point!" Ron argued, "What you don't understand is that..." but then Harry lost the conversation as they wandered away from the display window full of brooms, probably on their way to meet up with friends.

It would've been so nice to casually walk up and join in the conversation. But he couldn't -- and it was going to be weird enough being their teacher without confusing himself further. They were not the adult friends and comrades he remembered, and it would only complicate things if he acted like they were.

With a sigh, Harry momentarily wished he could really go back in time and find whoever had made that stupid mirror. But as Albus had said -- "What is, is -- and we must endeavour to make the best of it."

//And speaking of the best of it...// Harry suddenly perked up as he recalled that Ron and Ginny had been looking at brooms... and Harry needed a new broom -- so...

A few minutes later, he was happily standing amidst every make and model of broom on the market. "Ahh..." Harry exhaled in contentment. To his eyes, the brooms were all very old models, and some of them even classics -- but the smell of the wood and the shine on each pristine handle... the feelings that welled up in him were literally timeless. //Some things,// Harry smiled, //really don't change.//

He only achieved a moment or two of solitude with which to appreciate the sensation of being surrounded by the untouched new sweeps, before a saleswizard approached and nervously asked him if there was anything the War Mage needed help with. It didn't take Harry long to completely win over the anxious young man -- especially since the other wizard was astounded by Harry's grasp of broom dynamics. Harry however, had to remind himself several times not to discuss innovations that had not yet been invented.

Ultimately, Harry settled on a "Skyfire Two" which -- while not the fastest broom on the market -- was no slouch either. It was also far more manoeuvrable and responsive in tight situations than his current Firebolt, and would continue flying even with half its twigs burnt away. It was a good compromise design, and Harry knew it wouldn't suffer from any of the quirky little problems that had plagued the later models of Firebolt at the end of their design run.

Even so, the Skyfire was pretty expensive, since it was one of the latest models, and not yet in full mass production.

----oo00oo----

Coming out of the broom shop, Harry was still distracted enough by the sight of the sleek racing sweeps, that he only just managed to avoid knocking over a young witch who was also staring at the display window.

"Excuse me..." he began, before realising that the young woman he was apologising to was none other than Ginny Weasley!

"Oh, no problem," smiled the girl who had once had a crush on him all the way back in his second year at Hogwarts. "I really shouldn't be standing here like a zombie anyway. It's just..." and she trailed off as she finally noticed the War Mage pin on Harry's robes. Her eyes grew huge, and she stuttered, "I.. you... you're... you're him! I mean..." and then her mouth snapped closed and she flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm the War Mage everybody's talking about," Harry finished with an amused grin. "Don't worry, I get that a lot -- and I'm not offended or anything. Actually, I believe I was the one apologising for nearly running into you."

Relieved, Ginny smiled again and replied, "Well... um... I... I'm really not supposed to be standing here by myself anyway. Mum would have a fit if she knew I'd ditched Ron -- he's my brother you see, and we're kinda supposed to stick together."

Harry frowned. At fourteen -- or was it fifteen by now? -- he would've thought Ginny was old enough to be out in Diagon Alley by herself during the middle of the day. "Is there some reason you... 'ditched'... him?"

"Oh, you know," Ginny waved her hand with all the disdain that only a teenaged girl could manage, "he was just being a guy," and then she realised what she'd just said. "Oops... I mean, not that you -- I mean guys -- are all that bad... Some of you are even kinda cute..." at which point she turned a brilliant shade of scarlet and finished with: "...and I think I'll shut up now."

Harry laughed. "I take it he's like me -- completely hooked on brooms for no apparent reason."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah! And I really don't get it! I mean -- what's the big deal?"

At that moment Ron came pounding up the street, puffed and out of breath. "Ginny!" he cried, "Are you out of your mind?! You know we're supposed to stick together!"

Ginny made a face at Harry, who stifled a grin of his own. Curious, Harry said, "If I might ask -- why is it so important that the two of you stay together?"

Ron suddenly realised that his sister had been talking to the stranger standing next to them -- and then he noticed the War Mage pin and battle robes. "...oh my god!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Ginny interrupted him, "it's the War Mage -- I already did that. Get over it."

Harry did his best to keep a straight face while Ron sputtered in outrage at his younger sibling. Ginny ignored him and turned to answer Harry's question. "Mum said we could only go out by ourselves if we stayed together. With You-Know-Who so active, and all the things that have happened -- well... it's just better to go out together."

And Harry suddenly looked at the passers-by with whole new eyes. It was true! Everyone in Diagon Alley was together with at least one other person, and some of them were plainly shopping in groups! Harry hadn't noticed the subtle tension before, because to him -- after the destruction and fear that had permeated the world he remembered -- the current atmosphere was almost like a happy holiday. But Ginny's words had plainly shown him that the wizarding world was a long way from happy or on holiday.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked.

"Nah," Ron assured him. "But... y'know... Mum worries."

Harry decided that he really needed to know a lot more about the status of the wizarding world than he apparently did -- and right in front of him were two excellent sources of information. "Look," he said, "my... work... has left me a bit isolated from things happening in Britain recently." Which was not entirely true, since he'd been reading the Daily Prophet for a while now. But the newspaper wouldn't give him a feel for the fears and attitudes in people's homes, or on the street. "Would it be too much of an imposition if I asked you to fill me in on what it's been like here lately?"

Ron was only too happy to remain in the company of the totally awesome War Mage, but Ginny was more wary -- making vague noises about having to get home. So Harry casually mentioned that he was going to be their new Dark Arts teacher come September, and offhandedly advised them about buying their new textbooks. After that, Ginny was satisfied -- and Ron ecstatic -- to accept his offer of a free bite to eat at the very-public ice-cream emporium in the middle of Diagon Alley.

Once there, Ginny indulged herself in two of her favourite pastimes: gossipping and vanilla milkshakes. Ron was thoroughly bored with the gossip, but Harry distracted him with the new broom he'd just purchased, and continued to pump Ginny for information while Ron admired the broom, ate his hot fudge sundae, and surreptitiously looked around to see whether anybody he knew could see him sitting with the War Mage.

Amused, Harry wondered how it was possible for Ron to think 'Ash' was so cool when he'd already witnessed Harry deliberately vying with Ginny to see who could make the loudest 'slurping' noises at the bottom of their respective milkshakes.

----oo00oo----

Later, after Ron and Ginny really did have to go home, Harry reflected upon what he'd learned.

The situation was about what he'd expected, which was good because he'd been a bit worried about his ability to judge it accurately. Once he'd realised that people were travelling in pairs and he hadn't even noticed, Harry had seen legitimate cause for concern in that area. Fortunately, it wasn't a problem and he wouldn't need to change any of his upcoming plans.

He also spent a bit of time pondering the strangeness that was a teenaged Ronald Weasley. The strangeness was not in Ron himself, but in the way Harry now felt about him. He'd been worried that he would slip up and start treating Ron and his younger sister like old friends -- but it hadn't been a problem at all. In fact, from what Harry could tell, it wasn't ever going to be a problem either. Ron and Ginny didn't just look very young -- they actually were very young.

Talking to them had been like... well... like talking to teenagers!

It occurred to Harry that he'd half expected a twenty-eight-year-old version of Ron who was acting like a teenager. The person he'd met today was a fifteen-year-old Ron who really was a teenager.

The difference was both subtle and obvious, and Harry wondered how many years it would be before age and experience would give him back his best friend.

----oo00oo----

//Well, that's one year less, at any rate,// Harry mused a few days later as the 31st of July came and went. He was now 29 by his own reckoning -- and 16 by everybody else's.

It was kind of sad not being able to celebrate it with anyone, but Hagrid's morning and evening check-ins that day had carried a whole new layer of tangled emotions, and Harry just knew that no matter how long it took until he could show his true face again -- there would always be at least one present waiting for him, for every missed birthday.

He didn't really have time to dwell on it though, since there was now only a month until school resumed, and the first staff meeting was hard upon him.

As he was leaving the Leaky Cauldron to attend his first meeting as a teacher, Harry wondered whether it was possible to be over-prepared for this sort of thing. But since he had no idea what actually happened in a pre-term staff meeting, he was comforted by the fact that he could at least say that he knew what he would be teaching during the upcoming year.

At this first meeting, it would be important to establish positive relationships with the other teachers -- and one of the best ways Harry could tthink of to achieve that, was to firmly distance himself from the idiots (Remus excluded) who'd held the position previously. From that perspective, it really wasn't possible to be over-prepared.

Apparating to Hogsmeade and walking up to the castle was both uneventful and enjoyable. This time he was met by Madam Hooch, who guided him through the various corridors until they reached a large room in the administration wing. There was a solid-looking oval table at the far end, with several mis-matched chairs around it. A variety of coffee tables, foot stools, armchairs and sofas were scattered throughout the rest of the room. A large fireplace opened up the left wall, while the entry to a small kitchenette was visible off to the right.

"Welcome to the staff lounge," Madam Hooch said as she moved past him and waved Madam Pomfrey over to join them.

Severus was nowhere in sight, and neither was the Headmaster. But except for Filch -- who was not a teacher -- and Hagrid -- who taught Care of Magiccal Creatures, and was off somewhere on Hogwarts business -- everyone else was already assembled. Madam Hooch introduced "Poppy, our mediwitch", who promptly asked him whether he had any medical conditions or ailments that she -- as the resident nurse -- should be aware of.

He assured her he didn't.

After that, they did the rounds of every teacher present, and 'Ash' turned on the Gryffindor charm. He smiled at everyone and did his best to seem calm and confident. Albus had taught him a useful trick for situations like this, and it was a simple matter to subtly turn each conversation back onto the person he was with, so that they ended up doing most of the talking. Then all he had to do was nod, and interject the occasional comment.

Albus had once stated that he'd never met a human -- witch or wizard -- who didn't enjoy having someone listen to them. Thus, Harry made an excellent impression on everybody there -- especially Professors Trelawney and Binns, who were rather more used to people cutting them off or ignoring them. Fortunately, the other teachers didn't let them monopolize his time, so he wasn't stuck with the two most boring people in the room for the entire half hour until Albus arrived.

"My apologies, everyone!" Albus called out as he bustled into the room. "Terribly sorry -- some pressing business came up and I really couldn't put it off." Severus Snape followed him in, and after Harry's heart stopped doing flip-flops, he wondered whether Albus' pressing business had something to do with information Sev' might have acquired in his role as a spy among the Death Eaters.

But for the moment, Harry was not within their circle of trusted confidants, and so he was not to know.

Albus made the introductions between 'Ash' and Severus, and Harry's "Pleased to meet you, Professor," evoked a cold but courteous nod, followed by a brief acknowledgement of his existence with the words: "War Mage."

For once, Harry was glad that someone did not know his real name, since Severus would undoubtedly have called him 'Potter' otherwise. He could live with 'Mage', 'War Mage', 'Ash', or 'Harry' -- these were all things Sev' had called him on many occasions, depending on the situation -- but there was no way he could have lived with 'Potter' -- not from Severus.

As he watched the older man turn away, Harry wondered whether the potions master felt any significance at all in their first meeting. From the sour look on Sev's face, Harry suspected that the only 'significance' their meeting held for him was that he'd once more been passed over for the DADA job he so desperately thought he wanted.

As they took their seats around the table -- and the ghostly Professor Binns floated through the table to his chair -- Harry managed to acquire the seat next to Sev' without making it look like anything more than an accident. He was quietly hopeful that when Severus discovered he'd lost the DADA position to someone who was actually competent and experienced, it would at least provide him with the consolation of knowing that he hadn't been unjustly passed over as he had been in other years.

Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way.

As the meeting progressed, it became apparent from Sev's general demeanour that he hated the fact that Ash knew what he was doing. Harry suspected that he also wasn't too pleased that the new DADA teacher was obviously getting along so well with the rest of the staff.

It eventually occurred to Harry that the potions master viewed Harry's competence as a sign that the DADA position was slipping further and further out of reach. So long as Albus kept hiring idiots, there was always the possibility that the Headmaster would come to his senses and eventually give the job to Severus. With some surprise, Harry realised: //No wonder he disliked Remus so much when Remus was the DADA teacher!// In later years Harry had assumed that Severus was nicer to the werewolf simply because Harry liked him. That view had obviously been simplistic.

The resentment for Ash's popularity was more straightforward. Severus was not naturally a cheerful or outgoing person. In truth, he was dour, introverted, sarcastic, cynical, and generally disillusioned with life. Added to that, he was unwilling to suffer fools gladly and only too willing to let them know it. In short, while most of the table had great respect for his skills as a potion-maker -- and a faint sense of dread for the sharp edge of his tongue -- nobody but Minerva and Albus held any real fondness for the man.

Aside from those two, the others at the table had never managed to see past the forbidding exterior down to the person who was also intensely loyal, fiercely protective, serenely happy alone in a potions lab, and whose heart contained enough courage for twenty Gryffindor lions.

But it was the unnoticed and unspoken loneliness in Severus Snape that Harry ached to erase.

The rest of it he wouldn't change for all the gold in Gringotts.

----oo00oo----

The meeting itself was interesting enough so that Harry could distract himself without too much difficulty from the fact that he was calmly sitting next to the man he fully intended to have as his lover.

He was familiar with each teacher present, and had interacted with them as an adult many times in his personal version of the past. What made the meeting fascinating for him was discovering just what the professors actually did when they weren't standing in front of the students.

It turned out they did rather a lot.

There was, of course, the expected juggling of schedules and timetables. But there were also a lot of other things Harry had never even considered. For instance, there was the matter of balancing the Hogwarts OWL levels against the results of other schools. Were last year's OWLS too hard, or too easy? What was the acceptable level for a passing grade? What did the school board have to say?

Then there were the questions about students who weren't keeping up. Would they need extra tutoring? Was it a personal problem? Did anyone know the student or their family outside Hogwarts?

After that, there were discussions about whether it was still safe to allow sixth and seventh year students to visit Hogsmeade on the weekends. Would parents prefer it their children were kept closer to the school? Should the school's security be re-evaluated again this year? Which new books in the library should be relegated to the restricted section for safety reasons?

This was then followed by questions such as: What new books should the library purchase? What furniture needs to be replaced? What repairs does the castle need? Can we afford to buy new school brooms this year? What about other new equipment?

And finally, there were the questions that simply blew Harry completely out of the water. These were discussions on topics he hadn't realised the teachers were even aware of. In particular, one of these was something of an eye-opener for him personally...

Apparently the faculty was well aware of all the popular and supposedly 'secret' places that the older students used for romantic trysts. Harry had half-expected that, but what he hadn't known was that there'd been an ongoing debate for many years on whether or not to allow the students to continue their illicit encounters in these semi-private places, and whether or not that obscure little book in a back corner of the library -- the one that contained the anti-pregnancy spell -- should be moved into the restricted seection.

A couple of teachers believed that every out-of-the-way nook and cranny in the castle should simply be sealed off, and that 'that book' should be donated to some other library. Cynically, Severus pointed out: "You'll only force them to find places we don't know about -- and I'd rather not be teaching whole new generations of Weasleys before I absolutely have to."

Harry -- knowing that where there's a will, teenagers would always find a way -- was hard pressed to keep a straight face. On the other hand, part of him was also a bit miffed with Severus for assuming that Ron would be so irresponsible. But grudgingly, Harry had to admit that his best friend had always liked women just fine, thank you very much, and well... Harry was quickly coming to understand that -- from the staff's perspective at least -- it was sometimes hard to view teenagers as responsible young adults when your first impression of them was formed by rowdy eleven-year-old first-years.

Eventually, the argument for leaving everything the way it was won out -- but not before Harry discovered that it was standard practice to place monitoring spells in each known rendezvous location, so that if things progressed beyond a certain level, the nearest teacher would be alerted.

Harry was inordinately glad that he hadn't known about that while he'd still been a student. It was embarrassing enough years later!

Shortly thereafter, the strange thought occurred to him that some of the other teachers at the table -- those who'd also attended Hogwarts in their youth -- had probably suffered the same embarrassing surprise prior to their first year of teaching. Interestingly, this concept momentarily made Harry feel like he really belonged there -- sitting at the table as one of them.

It also caused his lips to twitch with amusement as the image of a teenaged Minerva McGonagall smooching her sweetheart in the astronomy tower flashed before his eyes.

----oo00oo----

Hours later, it was a somewhat overwhelmed Harry Potter who bade the other Hogwarts teachers good evening, and started back towards Hogsmeade.

Looking back on the meeting, he was: 1) grateful that -- as a new teacher -- he hadn't been expected to say much; 2) astonished by the range and diversity of the things the staff had discussed; 3) pleased with the initial impression he'd made on most of the professors; 4) severely disappointed in Sev's first reaction to him; 5) determined to overcome Sev's prejudice; and 6) completely clueless about how he was going to do it.

All-in-all it had been a rather tiring day, and the things Harry had thought were important -- like his course syllabus -- had turned out to be only a drop in the ocean. Minerva had accepted the carefully-prepared syllabus -- given it a quick once over -- and then simply filed it away in her bulging set of notes with the comment: "I'll let you know if there's a problem." -- which Harry took to mean, "So long as Albus doesn't object, there won't be a problem."

By the time Harry arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron, he'd more or less decided that staff meetings were worse that mission briefings, and he was glad he would be apparating to New York tomorrow so that he could enjoy a solid bit of spell-casting on the next Stone in his contract with Gringotts.

----oo00oo----

The days passed, and Harry attended three more staff meetings at the school. He still hadn't managed to make any headway with Severus, but it wasn't as if they had much opportunity to socialise -- especially since they were planning the upcoming term right alongside every other teacher in the school. Oh sure, there was a bit of mingling before and after each meeting, but Severus was never early, and always left as soon as he could. Even so, Harry was fairly certain that Albus had begun to notice Harry's habit of 'accidentally' sitting next to the potions master at every meeting. The Headmaster didn't mention it -- but Harry suspected that this was only because he didn't yet know why Harry was doing it.

Severus had certainly noticed -- but after only four staff meetings, he was still attributing it to coincidence and his own bad luck.

Harry was hoping that his lack of progress in getting Sev' to like him would change once he was actually living at the castle. After he moved in, there would be more opportunity for private discussions and time spent in each other's company -- especially since they were going to be the only two people residing in that out-of-the-way, quiet corridor where his rooms were being prepared.

And speaking of those rooms... Harry was pretty well convinced that Albus still hadn't told Severus about his new neighbour -- and Harry was equally convinced that Albus very probably wasn't going to tell him. In odd moments, Harry wondered whether Albus felt this was simply the best course of action for all concerned -- or whether the Headmaster thought it mmight be amusing to let Severus find out on his own. Quite possibly, it was a combination of both.

By and large, Albus Dumbledore was a kind, wise, and compassionate man. But over the years, he'd given Harry sufficient reason to suspect that there were some situations where his quirky sense of humour was more than a little twisted.

But whether the potions master knew or not, Harry was under no illusions -- it was still going to be an uphill battle convincing Severus Snape to have anything to do with him.

----oo00oo----

A day or so after he finished the last Gringotts Stone, Harry was officially notified by owl that his rooms at the castle were ready for occupation.

So, with the cheerful thought that the summer was done, and he could finally get on with things, Harry used a couple of size- and weight-reducing spells on everything he'd acquired, and shoved it all into his pockets. He then gave the rented room and its attached bathroom a final once over, before happily returning the key to Tom, who was serving downstairs behind the bar.

A few early-morning breakfast regulars waved him off with the words: "Don't be a stranger!" and moments later he was on his way.

----oo00oo----

A short while later, as he was walking happily up from Hogsmeade in the morning sunlight, Harry idly reflected that apparating -- while faster and more convenient -- just wasn't the same as taking that long, leisurely ride on the Hogwarts Express. The train would be leaving platform nine and three quarters the day after tomorrow, and he hoped Hermione and Ron would be all right without him.

----oo00oo----

Two days Later...

"Come on, Ron!" Hermione cried, "the train's leaving!"

"But he's not here, 'Mione -- Harry's not here!"

"I know that!" she yelled, "But you won't find him by standing on the platform while the train leaves without you! Come on!" Then she jumped off the carriage and grabbed him, physically pulling him aboard.

Seconds later the whistle blew, and the Hogwarts Express was on its way.

In the last carriage, where Ron was still looking back at the platform, Hermione laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and consoled him with the words: "Don't worry Ron -- if anyone knows where Harry is, it's Dumbledore -- and we'll be able to ask him in just a few hours."

"I know," Ron agreed, "but it's just... we didn't even notice 'Mione! We didn't even know he was gone until a month ago! How could we not notice?"

"Ron," she berated him, "we both know he always spends the first part of summer with his relatives -- then you come and rescue him, and he stays with you at the Burrow until we all meet up in Diagon Alley." In a softer voice, she added, "We both assumed his uncle was forcing him to keep Hedwig locked up. He's done it before, and if he was keeping all the other owls away like he's always threatening to do..."

"...then we couldn't have known..." Ron finished. "I know that up here," he said, pointing to his head, "but in here," the finger moved to his heart, "I still feel like I should've known!"

"...I know," Hermione quietly agreed, " -- me too."

----oo00oo----

An hour before the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was very carefully selecting his most intimidating War Mage garb. Albus was going to introduce him to the students as soon as the sorting ceremony was finished, and he had to look as scary and dangerous as possible.

That fact was, however, that Harry wasn't feeling very scary and dangerous. Nervous and unwell was what he was feeling! He was about to go and scare the life out of a bunch of children, and somewhere deep down, he just knew that Albus wasn't going to stick to the script. The Headmaster had been way too agreeable about the plan, and while Harry firmly believed that Albus agreed with the general idea, he was almost certain the old wizard had decided to implement his own personal version of it.

After he finished dressing and checking the makeup over his scar one more time, Harry took a last, sweeping look around his new rooms. They weren't large, but they were very comfortable -- even cosy. It was still debateable whether Sev' had noticed him moving in -- since Harry hadn't yet met up with the potions master in the corridor itself. In fact, for all Harry knew, Sev might have assumed he was living in the owlery! But owlerys aside, Harry felt right at home the moment he'd finished unpacking. Of course, he hadn't completely unpacked -- his 'Harry Potter' belongings were stiill safely hidden away in his sealed trunk. Of all the things that could identify him, the only one he'd re-enlarged had been his glasses. He'd promised himself that one day they would sit on his dresser at Hogwarts again, and even though he currently kept them locked up in the top drawer, it still pleased him to know they were there.

"Time to go!" the clock in the main room shouted.

"It's show time," Harry added in a fateful voice.

----oo00oo----

Harry waited in a shadowy corner while Minerva created some semblance of order from the excited first years. After they all disappeared through the ornate doors into the dining hall, he waited another few moments while the doors swung shut. Then he took up his own position on the spot the first-years had just vacated, in readiness for the doors to swing open a second time. That would be his signal to enter, and it would be triggered by Albus' introductory speech for the new DADA teacher.

----oo00oo----

After what seemed like an eternity -- //How many first years were there!?// -- the doors finally began to open -- but this time they were so slow and ponderous that they looked like they were underwater. It was then that Harry realised his edgy state of nervousness had unconsciously pushed him over into quick-time.

Quick-time was a bit of a misnomer, in that -- to the one experiencing it -- time actually seemed to slow down. But in reality, Harry's perceptions and thought processes had kicked over into high gear, so that everything around him only seemed slower. This heightened state of awareness wouldn't allow him to move or react any faster than he normally could, but it did permit him to make very complex decisions in almost no time at all. In dangerous situations, this gave a War Mage the advantage, because they could easily consider every angle of a situation, and still make their resulting action look like a split-second decision, or an instinctive response.

Many people -- muggles and wizard alike -- had reported the same 'slowing-of-time' an instant before disaster struck. Of course, time didn't really slow -- the viewer's internal clock simply sped up in an effort to provide that person with enough time to decide what to do. But for most people, the effect only lasted seconds.

A War Mage could hold that heightened state for up to an hour.

Watching the dining hall doors creep gradually open, Harry decided that if he was nervous enough about Albus' intentions to slip into this state, then he was probably justified in staying this way until he knew exactly what Albus had planned.

The doors finished their painfully slow journey.

With steps that felt natural, but seemed to take far longer than they should, Harry strode forwards into the dining hall.

----oo00oo----

He entered the room in slow motion, feeling the slight billowing of his battle robes as they swirled sluggishly around him. The torches on the walls went out as he passed, and the overhead candles dimmed to pinpoints. For Harry, noise and activity seemed distant as his hyper-aware mind searched for potential threats. Shadows and strange shapes danced in his wake. He took absent note of the sea of faces staring at him -- but none presented any danger -- and he could only imagine from their wide eyes and fearful looks, what kind of dark figure he currently presented.

He was clad all in black, starting with the leather boots that came up below his knees -- each with their own knife handle peeking over the tops. Then his supple soft-leather pants clung tightly up his legs, highlighting the holstered wand on his right thigh, and the revolver on his left. They, in turn, were connected to the belt full of miniature potion vials secured around his waist -- centring on the War Mage insignia stamped across the silver belt buckle. He wore a short-sleeved silk shirt above that, and it rippled and reflected dark shadows with every measured step he took. His arm guards -- with their twin knives secured on the outer sides -- ended in the sturdy leather gloves that left his fingertips exposed to the air -- and framing it all like a billowing dark wave, the open cut of his battlerobes made a shadowy backdrop upon which his silver cloak pin glowed and shimmered.

Even in quick-time, where sound was muted and blurred, Harry could tell that silence followed him as he passed up the tables to the front of the hall -- and from the stunned and apprehensive looks on the faces of the younger children, he was obviously making a powerful impression.

Just as he'd intended.

----oo00oo----

At the end of his grand entrance, when nothing untoward happened, Harry silently apologised to Albus for his suspicions, and let go of the quick-time -- dropping instantly back into ordinary perception. Suddenly, everything sped up, and he became acutely aware of every little sound caused by the breathing and shuffling of hundreds of people sitting in the same room together.

He now had a speech to make about the dangers of surprising a War Mage -- and also about the risk you ran if you tried to sneak around when he happened to be nearby. "Be it on your own head," was the message, and "you'll spend a lot of time in the hospital wing," would be the result of ignoring it.

Everybody listened very seriously, and Harry was satisfied that they all understood the gravity of the situation by the time he took his place for dinner at the teacher's table.

----oo00oo----

Harry was pleased to find that the place reserved for him on the raised dais was towards the end of the table between Madam Hooch and Severus. Hagrid was on the opposite end entirely, and -- apparently unmoved by Harry's entrance or his speech -- gave him a happy wave as Harry sat down. The potions master occupied the last position on their end of the table, because it was the one closest to the side door, and sometimes he liked to leave early. Harry rather thought that Albus -- having noticed Harry's tendency to sit next to Sev' during staff meetings -- was unobtrusively willing to indulge him, at least until the Headmaster figured out what was going on.

If he hadn't done so already.

//And if he has,// Harry pondered, //does that mean he's giving me tacit permission to continue?// He decided it didn't really matter since he didn't need Albus' permission for this, and he wasn't going to give up regardless of what Albus thought.

He was unsuccessfully trying to draw the hostile potions master into a conversation -- and wishing he knew more about potion-making so he could at least talk to the man about something he enjoyed -- when the side door slammed open and a ked'rallirri leapt through it.

Ked'rallirri were both fast and deadly. They had been cross-bred millennia ago from a combination of cat, snake, and bird. Their bones were hollow like a bird's, making them very lightweight and hence, incredibly fast. They retained a few feathers, forming a crest down their skull and backbone, but were mostly covered in tough scales. Their front and back paws held poisonous, retractable talons. They were hunters through and through, and some forgotten race of elven-kin had once bred them as guard-animals -- chaining them down and using magic to control them. These days, they were nearly extinct, and very rarely seen.

None of this crossed Harry's mind as he instantly slipped into quick-time and kicked over the table in front of him. Then -- after pushing Severus to the floor and out of harm's way -- he leapt over the fallen table, drawing the hunter's attention to himself, and expertly ducking at the last minute as it went sailing overhead into the centre of the space between the high table and the rows of students.

Harry's memory was now informing him that Ked'rallirri were highly resistant to magic, and if he wanted to kill it as quickly as possible, the approved technique was to get under it and stab upwards with a spear -- letting the beast's own forward momentum push the spear through the tough scales and into its heart.

The thing made another pass at him, and he spun quickly, adding a spectacular leap over the animal's back. It twisted at the last second, trying to follow him up into the air, and by doing so, exposed its underbelly.

Still in the air, Harry let fly with three of his knives. He added a dwarven spell that the squat miners used to force their picks into the most resistant stone, and cast it onto the knives while they were still in flight.

The Ked'rallirri was fast, but not that fast. While attempting to avoid the first and second knives -- which Harry had deliberately thrown wiide -- it positioned itself perfectly for the third one. The first two knives embedded themselves half-way into the stone floor, while the last one made a satisfying 'thunk' as it buried itself hilt-deep into the animal's chest -- right over the heart.

Harry landed, breathing hard, crouched beside the dead Ked'rallirri with another knife in one hand, and his wand in the other.

No other danger presented itself, and he confidently dropped out of quick-time.

Sound and motion resumed their normal flow.

There was stunned silence.

Harry blinked in surprise. He would have expected at least some panic and screaming...

"Holy shit..." came one student's hoarse whisper into the hushed hall.

Confused, and trying to catch up with the situation, Harry holstered his wand, and re-clipped the knife to his arm guard. He turned back towards the destroyed shambles that was his end of the staff table, only to see Severus still picking himself up off the floor. It was then that Harry realised the whole fight had only taken a second or two from start to finish. He had ended it before anyone had been given time to panic.

Albus arose from his position at the centre of the teacher's table, and gravely announced, "And now -- thanks to our practical demonstration -- I shall assume that you are all fully aware of how to behave around our new Dark Arts instructor." He peered gravely at the shocked student body over the top of his glasses. "Any student," he intoned, "who is thoughtless enough to ignore this demonstration will not be punished -- since the consequences of their foolishness will be taken as punishment enough."

Astonished, Harry stared at the Headmaster. He was pleased to note that the other teachers were every bit as surprised by Albus' announcement as he was.

"Good god, Albus!" Minerva exclaimed. "Don't tell me you let that thing in here just to make a point?!"

"It was a point that had to be made, Minerva," he replied seriously. But then he looked at her sadly, and added, "I am surprised, however, that you would believe me capable of actually letting a dangerous animal into the school." and then he gestured at the dead carcass on the floor. Harry turned back towards it just in time to see the 'Ked'rallirri' dissolve into a mis-matched pile of branches held together with strips of old cloth. "There was never any real danger," Albus explained.

//Oh, yes there bloody-well was,// Harry seethed.

While Madam Hooch and Severus were trying to restore their end of the table -- and their dinner -- to its pre-demonstration condition, Harry calmly and quietly walked up to Albus and said, "Headmaster -- a word in private, if you wouldn't mind..."

Albus simply nodded and preceded him out of the hall.

----oo00oo----

At the Gryffindor table, Seamus Finnigan was quietly muttering, "We're doomed -- we're all doomed..." and that seemed to be the general consensus of opinion for everyone present. Even the Slytherins looked worried -- and some of them had Death Eaters for parents!

Ron Weasley was white with shock and was telling a pale Hermione, "We... Ginny and I... we met him over the summer -- had ice creams with him, even... and we... we were just sitting there!... no warning... no thought... we... we could have been killed!"

"But I liked him!" wailed Ginny from further down the table.

Sitting across from them, Neville Longbottom was shaking and saying, "We... we're all gonna die... aren't we? I know we are... How... how am I gonna explain this to Gran? -- after I'm dead?"

It was Hermione who eventually pulled herself together long enough to put some perspective back into the conversation.

Swallowing, she said, "It... it can't possibly be as bad as it seems..."

"No -- it could be worse!" Ron interrupted. But his words only served to annoy Hermione, giving her the impetus to continue in a much firmer tone.

"Stop that, Ron!" she ordered, and then looked around the table. "Has it occurred to any of you that Dumbledore hired him? I mean, do you really think the Headmaster would let him teach here if he was really dangerous?"

"Really dangerous!?" Seamus exclaimed, "As opposed to what!? -- the monster he killed?"

"Well, it doesn't look like much of a monster anymore, does it?" Hermione demanded. And everyone unwillingly glanced at the bundle of wood that Hagrid was rather quickly removing from the hall. "In fact," Hermione continued, "if you remember what Dumbledore and Professor Ash both said, then we only have to be careful about surprising him. My guess is that he can't help it. If someone, or something, sneaks up on him, then he probably attacks before he's even realised who it is."

"Oh, well, that's makes everything just fine, doesn't it?" said Lavender Brown from three seats away. "That's perfect for people who clomp down the hallways like an elephant -- but what about those of us who don't? What if we accidentally sneak up on him? What if he's busy with something and just doesn't notice us?"

Hermione replied, "I doubt a War Mage is going to be that oblivious -- even if he was really focused on something." Several people started to object, but Hermione overrode them. "But," she finished, "if you're really so worried, then you can all do like I'm going to do -- and find something to wear that will make a noise whenever you move."

Several people blinked. "Something that makes a noise?" Seamus asked. "Like what?"

"Well," Hermione replied, "I was thinking of the bracelet my mother gave me for my last birthday -- it's in my trunk -- and it's got these tiny bells on it. I should think that would do the trick."

"Seamus and I aren't going to wear bells!" Ron's outraged voice exclaimed. Seamus himself -- along with every other male who'd been listening -- loudly agreed with him.

"Fine then," Hermione replied in a superior tone, "Just make sure you don't surprise our new Dark Arts Professor."

The boys at the table all looked at her helplessly.

After a few moments, Neville's frightened voice whispered to her, "Hermione? Do you have any spare bells?"

----oo00oo----

Meanwhile, the object of so much discussion had followed Albus Dumbledore into an unoccupied room a short distance away from the dining hall.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?!" Harry ranted at the Headmaster. "That was an incredibly stupid idea! Do you have any concept of exactly how dangerous that was!?" Albus stood calmly in front of him and let Harry get it all out of his system. Eventually, the words, "Somebody could have been killed!" seemed to make an impression -- but not the one Harry expected.

With a look of surprise -- swiftly followed by understanding -- Albus' face then settled into an intense look of compassion and sympathy, which finally undid the last of Harry's anger. The young War Mage -- now more confused than angry -- made one final demand: "Why, Albus? Tell me why did you did it! It wasn't necessary -- they already understood..."

"Not all of them," Albus replied very gently. Then he sighed. "Ash," he explained, "no matter what you might think, I did not go into that hall tonight with the intention of springing this... demonstration... on you. Please believe me when I say that I was, in fact, fervently hoping it would not be necessary at all. However, I had to be prepared."

Then he added, "While the rest of the hall was watching you, I was watching them -- and yes, a great many of them were every bit as intimidated as we might have wished. But some of them... Ash, there were one or two who were obviously thinking it might be a challenge to surprise you -- and others who -- while sufficiently awed -- didn't seem to make the connection that your skills might be dangerous to them." And at this, Harry remembered Hagrid's attitude -- as if Harry's scary War-Mage routine was very impressive, but not relevant to him. "An then," Albus concluded, "there were one or two of our more cynical students who were simply not the slightest bit impressed by our theatrics."

"Some of the Slytherin kids," Harry guessed.

"And one or two Ravenclaws," Albus nodded. "They tend to be very analytical, you know -- and it wouldn't surprise me if severall of them knew what we were trying to do the moment you walked into the hall."

Harry saw Albus' point, and even understood that -- for the demonstration to work properly -- Albus could not have told him about it in advance.

Then he remembered: "You didn't even tell the other teachers!"

"No," the Headmaster agreed. "But they have known you for over a month now, and you've done an excellent job of charming them into the palm of your hand. I dare say they will recover from the shock quite rapidly, and will soon relegate it to the appropriate level of importance."

Harry groaned. "And in the meantime," he whined, "they're going to think I'm worse than Mad-Eye Moody!"

Albus quirked an eyebrow at him. "You know Alastor?" he asked in surprise.

"By reputation only," came Harry's sardonic reply -- which was true since the infamously paranoid Auror had been kidnapped before he'd managed to teach even as a single class at Hogwarts.

"Ah," Albus commented. After a moment, he added, "For what it's worth, Ash, I apologise for the necessity of my actions. I hope you understand that I would never do such a thing unless I felt I had no choice."

"No, I do understand, Albus. The apology is unnecessary." Then Harry straightened up and said, "We should probably be getting back -- or they'll all think I really have killed you."

"In a moment," Albus replied, "but first, I think we should talk about why you were so upset with my actions."

Harry just looked at him. "You're kidding, right? You have to be kidding me."

"Not at all," Albus replied mildly. "Naturally, I expected you to be unhappy with me -- but your reaction was far more extreme than I would have anticipated."

Harry knew Albus was trying to make some point or other about his behaviour, but the younger man was still too unsettled to be playing mental games with the canny old wizard in front of him. "Look, Albus," he replied, "if you have something to say -- say it. At the moment, I'm not in any condition to try figuring it out for myself."

Albus looked at him very carefully. "I think," he began, "that you were just as frightened by my 'trick' as the students."

Harry frowned. "Well, of course I was!" he asserted. "Albus, it was dangerous -- someone could have been hurt!"

"Actually, you said 'Somebody could have been killed'."

"So?" Harry retorted, "It's true."

"Is it?" Albus asked. "Is it really?" Harry knew he must have looked quite confused at this point. "Ash," Albus continued, "was there ever a moment when you didn't know what you were doing? Could those knives of yours really have hit a student by accident? It seems to me that the first thing you did was get Professor Snape out of harm's way, and then you presented yourself as the next target. Even in my office, during your interview -- you never hurt me, and I took you by complete surprise then as well."

Astonished, Harry thought about it. Had anyone really been in danger? He knew there'd been a chance that the fake Ked'rallirri could have knocked one of his knives off course -- but by then the knife would have lost much of its momentum, and was likely to be tumbling uncontrollably. It would have been incredibly bad luck for a student to suffer a wound that Poppy could not heal up in seconds. The Ked'rallirri itself had never been a real threat -- Albus wouldn't have let his pretend-monster actually hurt anyone. //So why was I so angry?// he wondered.

Finally, Harry admitted, "I was frightened -- but I don't know why."

"I believe you were frightened of yourself," Albus answered. "-- frightened by how dangerous you can be when you must -- and frightened by the very skills you have acquired as a War Mage."

Harry blinked. //Frightened of myself?"// It was a strange thought, yet, it felt like the right answer.

"You must overcome this fear," Albus admonished him, "for while it is prudent to be careful around others, being fearful will only serve to isolate you, and perhaps even bring about the very thing you are afraid of."

Harry considered it. There was something in Albus' words, and he would have to think carefully about it at a later time. "I'll work on it," he agreed, but for now, there was just one more thing he really wanted to hear: "But promise me, Albus, that you won't do this again!"

Gravely, Albus replied, "I swear that I will not do it again during this school year." Then sadly, he added, "You know I cannot promise you more than that. If you remain a teacher here the year after -- well, the new first-years..."

"I can live with that," Harry nodded.

"Will you be returning to the dining hall with me?" Albus asked.

Wryly, Harry replied, "I may have to scrape my dinner off the floor, but I'm damned if I'm going to bed without supper at my age!"

"You!?" Albus laughed, "What about me? I'll be lucky if Severus hasn't stolen mine in recompense for the loss of his!"

Harry laughed -- that would be a very Snapish thing for the potions master to do -- and it was with some cheer that they both returned to the dining hall.

----oo00oo----

As it turned out, Severus hadn't stolen Albus' dinner -- the house elves had supplied replacement meals, and helped to clean away the mess.

There was a certain amount of relief that rippled through the students when -- unharmed -- their Headmaster resumed his seat at the High Table, and although Madam Hooch was obviously having a bit of trouble with her perceptions of him, she gamely attempted to involve Harry in conversation. That, of course, went down very well as soon as one of them mentioned brooms. But it did nothing for Severus, who ate his meal in silence and refused to be drawn in.

Once they'd finished eating, the older man finally responded to Harry's attempts at communication with the words, "War Mage -- the next time you feel compelled to knock me over and throw my dinner on the floor, I would greatly appreciate it if you would try to restrain yourself."

"Fine," Harry muttered, "Next time I'll just throw you in front of the attacking monster."

Madam Hooch covered a laugh with polite coughing noises.

----oo00oo----

At the end of the meal, Albus rose to make his annual announcements and warnings. There was the usual bit about the Forbidden Forest, and not using magic in the corridors, but when the Headmaster announced the Quidditch trials in the second week of term, the Gryffindors -- who had all noticed Harry's absence by now -- were starting to look more than a little worried.

It was then that Dumbledore dropped a small bombshell on everybody...

"And for my final announcement -- before we all retire to our beds -- I would like to reassure those of you who are concerned over the whereabouts of young Mr Potter." At the Gryffindor table, Ron and Hermione were suddenly riveted by the Headmaster's words. "You may rest easy in the knowledge that he is both safe and well, however it is my sad duty to inform you that he will not be attending Hogwarts with the rest of us this year." There was general muttering around the hall as students started speculating wildly about what had happened to 'The Boy Who Lived'.

A few accusations were levelled at the Slytherin table, but when Ron looked over, he managed to catch Draco Malfoy in an unguarded moment, and could tell that Harry's pale-haired nemesis had no more clue about what was going on than anybody else. Then Draco caught him staring, and the confusion transformed itself into a smirk.

"We're going to pound you Gryffindorks right into the Quidditch pitch!" he called out.

The Gryffindor table groaned as they realised that the best seeker they'd had in a century wasn't going to be on the team this year -- and that on top of the fact that their best beaters -- Fred and George Weasley -- had graduated last year!

Harry watched Severus out of the corner of his eyes and saw a twitch of amusement at the corner of Sev's mouth. //Oh, really?// he thought -- his own lips twitching in similar amusement. //We'll just have to see about that, won't we?//

"That will be quite enough of that," Professor McGonagall announced as she surged to her feet next to Albus. "Quidditch is a team sport," and she glared at the Slytherin table, "and the loss of one or two players only allows new talent to be added to the game." All the Gryffindors perked up at this, and looked hopefully at the new first-years -- who looked nervously back.

"Just so," Albus agreed while Minerva resumed her seat. "and I would also like to remind everyone here that good sportsmanship is a quality that is essential for anyone who wishes to play for our school teams." Then he looked pointedly at the Slytherin table and ominously added, "-- for any of our school teams."

Draco did not look the least bit repentant for the 'Gryffindork' comment.

----oo00oo----

Shortly thereafter, Albus led them in the Hogwarts school song, while Harry pretended he didn't know the words.

Then the students finally left for their respective dormitories, leaving the teachers to chat amongst themselves and retire to their own beds.

The main topic of conversation was probably the same for both students and teachers alike -- where was Harry Potter?

"Albus," Minerva began, "what do you mean when you say Mr Potter is safe and unharmed? Why isn't he attending school this year?"

The other teachers were similarly concerned.

With You-Know-Who so active, they were all worried over the whereabouts of the young man who had defeated him the last time.

Harry himself, was somewhat resentful about their attitude, since nobody had asked him whether he was willing to go up against a powerful madman just so they could sleep better at night. In fact, he'd always found the wizarding world's expectations more than a little insulting -- as if his life was somehow less important than everybody else's.

However, at least a few of the teachers present seemed to be genuinely concerned, and Harry was gratified to note that for all Sev's supposed dislike and cynicism, the potions master seemed to be among those who were actually worried about him.

Albus reassured everybody that yes, he was absolutely certain that this was for the best, and no, he couldn't tell them anything more. Yes, he did have a method of ascertaining that Harry was all right, and no, he wasn't going to tell them what that was either.

Hagrid remained silent throughout all this, and disappeared off home before all the questions ran out. Harry himself left when Severus did, silently apologising to Albus for abandoning him to his worried faculty.

----oo00oo----

A few minutes later, Harry found himself walking tiredly along behind Severus, hoping that the initial furore over his disappearance would not descend upon the school for at least one more day. It was going to be tough enough teaching his first classes tomorrow without all the song and dance that a media frenzy would generate. Today had been hard enough!

As they both turned into the isolated corridor that housed their respective quarters, Harry had to sternly remind himself not to let his old habits walk him directly into Sev's quarters by mistake.

Then, tired as he was, he barely missed running into the back of the other man's robes when the potions master abruptly stopped and turned to face him. The expression on Sev's face said that he'd only just realised he was being followed.

"And where," an irritated Severus demanded, "do you think you're going?"

----oo00oo----

Chapter 5: First Lessons

----oo00oo----

Harry sighed. Why did he have to deal with this now? If he'd given the situation even a little bit of thought, he would've held back out of sight until Severus had entered his rooms, after which, Harry could have made his way to bed without any more confrontations or surprises.

//On the other hand,// Harry thought, //this is my home now too -- and I'm damned if I'm going to sneak around pretending I live somewhere else...// so he calmly answered Severus' question with the simple statement: "I'm going to my rooms, Professor."

"Well, if you thought you would find them by following me," Severus snapped, "then it's my sad duty to inform you that my quarters are not located near the other staff suites, and you are heading in the wrong direction entirely."

Harry resisted the temptation to sigh again.

"My quarters are also in this corridor, Professor," he replied. "I asked for rooms in a quiet and isolated location. Given tonight's 'demonstration', I'm sure you can understand why."

Severus blinked, "There must be some mistake..."

"I moved in two days ago." Harry assured him. "I should think I know the way by now."

"No, no -- you must be mistaken -- I would have seen you -- I would have been informed..."

Blandly, Harry replied, "An oversight on Albus' part, I'm sure..."

Severus frowned at the mention of the Headmaster's name. "An oversight..." he repeated slowly. His eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps," Harry suggested lightly, "it would be easiest if we simply went and looked. Then, if I'm mistaken, you can point me in the right direction -- and if I'm not, you'll be able to see for yourself which door is mine."

The potions master could obviously find no fault with such a simple solution, and so -- with a look of faint dread on his face -- he followed Harry silently down the corridor.

Harry knew that the few other doors in this corridor opened onto bare, cold, musty spaces with no water, bathrooms, heating, or other amenities. They were simply used for storage, and often not even that. Some of them were completely empty except for the occasional cobweb. Severus' rooms were by far the largest of them, and Harry was pretty sure it had taken a lot of effort some years ago to make them habitable. Right now, Severus was undoubtedly thinking that similar work would need to be performed to make any of the other rooms liveable -- and surely he would have noticed that, since it was only a few doors away.

Harry, however, was quite certain that Albus had ordered the work done behind a sound-proofing spell -- and if Sev' were to corner the Headmaster about it, Albus would undoubtedly claim that it was done that way purely so that his temperamental Potions Master would not be disturbed.

Harry doubted Severus would believe that, any more than he did.

Three doors down from Severus' apartment -- and on the opposite side of the corridor -- Harry stopped in front of a plain, but solid, wooden door.

"Open," he said, and then stepped aside, gesturing for Severus to enter.

"Open!?" Severus exclaimed in astonishment. "That's your idea of a password!?"

Harry snorted in amusement, "Well, of course, it won't work for everybody," he replied. "A student could stand here yelling 'Open!' at the top of their lungs all night, and it wouldn't do them any good."

"A claim I devoutly hope you will not be testing," Severus said sourly.

"I dare say that I would probably answer the door after a couple of minutes," Harry mildly agreed. "Would you care to reassure yourself that I have not simply unlocked a storage cupboard? You are more than welcome since we have, in effect, become neighbours."

As the older man turned to look through the door, it almost seemed as though he was drawn in by a kind of horrified fascination -- one that was entirely dredged up by the word 'neighbour'.

Once Sev' had passed him, Harry quietly followed. He stopped just inside the door, allowing other man to have an unrestricted view of the entire room.

Harry, of course, had brought very little with him. All the furniture in sight belonged to Hogwarts, as did the few rugs, tapestries, and pictures adorning the floor and walls. The only thing he'd really indulged himself in was the bed, which was not visible from this room, and which he had purchased himself because there were just some things he wouldn't compromise on if he had a choice. Elsewhere in the main room, there was also a bookcase with Harry's few novels and spell books on it, and a pair of battered and overstuffed armchairs in front of the fireplace. With a gesture and a soft murmur, Harry unobtrusively lit a small spark in the hearth, and allowed it to build up gently to a soft glow.

Harry's apartment was an odd combination of lighting effects -- the traditional sconces hung on the walls, but many of them were unlit. He only needed a few of them scattered throughout the room to provide enough background light for general purposes. For more intense work lighting -- or to create a pleasant decorative effect -- Harry preferred the small globes of directed light that the Elves commonly used. They were partly chemical in nature, but the light they emitted was considerably enhanced with the use of spells. Harry had scattered a dozen or so of them around the room, and several of them were actually on the floor, pointing upwards so that objects above them were lit from below. It was a lighting effect that Severus was unlikely to have seen before.

The potions master himself was now carefully studying the various knickknacks and furnishings. They were all old, and somewhat the worse for wear. Harry had only asked Albus for the absolute minimum in furnishings -- but he had also requested free access to the many storage areas around the castle. As soon as he'd arrived and unpacked his few belongings, Harry had then gone down to the kitchens and secured Dobby's assistance in rummaging around through room after room of discarded and broken property. The enthusiastic house elf had been only too happy to help, and together, they'd found all kinds of interesting odds and ends with which to fill Harry's quarters. Of course, most of it was damaged in some way -- but it served to fill up the empty places on the shelves and bench tops, and gave the place that lived-in look that, by rights, it should not have had.

While Severus was studying Harry's decor, the War Mage was studying him. Standing by the door, watching Sev's silent examination, Harry momentarily felt the ridiculous urge to call out: 'He followed me home, Ma -- can I keep him?' But at this stage in their tenuous relationship, he knew that doing so would probably alienate the other man for life -- if not longer.

So instead, Harry simply soaked up Severus' presence, and enjoyed the opportunity to stare unreservedly at the man in the middle of his living room. With a sense of contentment, Harry leaned against the edge of the open door and observed the long planes of Sev's face; the way he stood; the slope of his shoulders; the motion of his long, elegant hands; and the way his robes draped themselves down his body.

Severus was taller than Harry by several inches, and he moved with a graceful economy that Harry knew had been hard won. Harry could recall Severus telling him that as a child he'd been clumsy -- the result of growing too fast, and having to constantly remind himself that he was taller than he thought he was -- with both a longer stride, and a greater arm-reach. Sev' had also admitted that at the time, it had seemed to take forever before his elbows and knees were finally where he expected them to be.

No wonder the man habitually strode everywhere with such force and speed -- he had probably begun the habit simply to enjoy the feeling of balance and agility after being heckled as a 'klutz' for so long. Then, as time progressed, it would've slipped easily into his unconscious as his usual walking pattern.

//And, of course,// Harry smiled, //with his height and that 'glare' -- the way he moves is also quite useful for intimidating people -- his students not least among them.// And then Severus turned, and Harry found that he was now the one being stared at.

After a moment, Severus Snape grudgingly admitted, "It would seem that I was the one who was mistaken -- you do, indeed appear to have quarters in this corridor."

"Are you sure?" Harry teased, "You haven't seen the kitchen or the bathroom yet," and then some fragment of deviltry made him add, "Oh, and of course, there's a bedroom you should most definitely have a look at, too."

Severus blinked, looking momentarily non-plussed. Then he frowned slightly. "I see no need for sarcasm," he said resentfully, "I was in error -- I have admitted it -- let that be the end of it," and hhe abruptly headed for the door.

"What?" Harry asked, "No, wait -- look, I'm sorry -- I didn't mean it like that," and he barred the exit with an upraised arm. "I just... I know you've had this place to yourself for a long time, and... and I just wanted you to know that I'm not going to be... well... blowing things up, or developing experimental weapons in here, or anything like that. I value my peace and quiet just as much as you do, and I'll do my best not to disturb you."

Poised in front of Harry's upraised arm, Severus Snape raised a disdainful eyebrow at him. "As you have already stated that you moved in here two days ago -- a fact I was completely unaware of until tonight -- I see no problem with continuing as we have begun -- in which case, both of us should achieve as much peace and quiet as we might wish." Then Severus glanced down at the arm barring his exit, and then back up at Harry. The eyebrow raised itself again in an unspoken question.

In reply, Harry reluctantly removed his arm and watched as Severus strode quickly back down the corridor to his own rooms. Feeling like he'd seriously screwed something up -- but couldn't tell quite what it was -- Harry decided that he really needed a hot bath followed by a good night's rest. He'd figure out all the rest of it tomorrow.

Hagrid's warm touch in his heart a few minutes later, only served to relax him further into the hot, soapy water.

----oo00oo----

It was an irritated and confused Severus Snape who arrived back in his own apartment.

He was irritated because his much-valued privacy was apparently of so little account that nobody had even bothered to tell him he was getting a 'neighbour' -- and he was confused because he couldn't understand why Albus would do this to him. There was no doubt in his mind that the Headmaster had deliberately 'forgotten' to tell him about this, and also no doubt that it was much too late to change it now, and he would just have to live with it.

But if he was honest with himself, Severus Snape was also confused by the man who was now living just down the hall from him.

Ash -- a War Mage.

A Mage.

Severus had not missed the little thread of magic that had so skilfully lit the fire in the hearth. With no wand in his hand, and hardly a sound to activate the spell, Ash had worked a very subtle and useful bit of magic. Severus was intensely curious to know just what species he'd learned it from.

Humans needed wands to properly focus their magic. Without a wand, they still had magic, but it was unpredictable and impossible to control properly. Children were taught to channel their power through their wands so that as they grew older, the habit would become ingrained, and they would no longer cause impulsive bursts of capricious magic whenever they felt strong emotions -- be it happiness, sorrow, fear, or even love. In this way, an adult wizard or witch would have full and conscious control over their magical ability.

How then, did someone learn to think enough like a non-human -- any non-human -- to be able to use other forms of magic? And where would he have met non-humans who were willing to teach him? Who was this man living virtually next door to him?

Severus had expected the Mage's apartment to give him a few clues with respect to these questions. But instead, he'd been greeted by a room that gave absolutely nothing away.

The Mage's apartment had been full of mis-matched and damaged cast-offs. Taken individually, each one was a piece of junk that should have been thrown out. Yet when viewed all together -- and especially under those odd little directed lights -- the total effect was one of warmth and colour. The scruffy odds and ends all blended smoothly together to create a welcoming home that looked as if its owner had been living there for a number of years.

But upon closer inspection, every piece of furniture and decorative memento had obviously come from the school. There was absolutely nothing of the man's personal history or experience in any of it.

Staffroom gossip held that the Mage had arrived in Diagon Alley with nothing but the muggle clothes on his back -- and it appeared from the look of his rooms that this might well be the case. Another man -- faced with the same situation -- would probably have bought new things, even though they wouldn't have had the same worn, homey feel to them. Or else, he might have chosen to leave the walls bare until time and experience naturally accumulated whatever was missing.

But the War Mage had done neither of these things.

Instead, he had chosen to submerge himself in the lengthy and very personal history of Hogwarts itself.

Each worn out tapestry -- each dented knickknack -- had its past use and abuse clearly stamped upon it's surface. There was even an old cauldron on one of the tables -- punched inwards on one side -- that Severus himself had used as a student -- and that had been wrecked when the potion of a neighbouring boy had exploded next to it. Severus had been surprised to see that old cauldron, and strangely pleased that it was once again in use -- even if Ash did only keep rolled-up parchment in it.

But the point was, that like everything else in the room, you could tell that the cauldron had been used -- that it had a history -- and in lieu oof his own past, the War Mage was using the accumulated experiences of each item to embed himself into the school's history.

Any student who walked into Ash's apartment would not feel like they were in the company of a man who had simply appeared out of nowhere and taken up residence. Rather, they would feel like they were with someone who belonged at Hogwarts -- and who had been there for quite some time.

They would be much more inclined to trust him in such surroundings.

Severus wondered whether that result was intentional, or merely a side-effect.

Looking around his own quarters, the potions master noted that even his furnishings -- while of impeccable quality -- did not exude the same sense of welcome, or of being so very much tied into the school's daily life -- and he'd lived here a lot longer than two days!

Severus pondered all of these things as he got ready for bed, and made a mental note to see the Headmaster as soon as possible tomorrow. Since Albus had seen fit to dump this mystery next door to him, then he was most definitely owed at least some explanation for it.

As he lay on his bed in the darkness, Severus found that his half-asleep brain began to imagine the most unlikely things about the man with no apparent past. Old wives tales sprang to mind, wherein babies were kidnapped and raised by faeries -- and foolish impossibilities flitted through his thoughts -- such as tales of human-elf half-breeds who looked like ordinary wizards but were proficient in both Elven and Human magics.

But as he drifted further away from consciousness, one thing kept coming back to him...

...that almost ...flirtatious... comment that Ash had made about Severus viewing his bedroom.

For a moment, Severus had almost imagined...

And then sleep claimed him, and the impression was lost to dreams.

----oo00oo----

Harry's first day of classes did not start a well as he'd hoped.

To begin with, when he entered the dining hall that morning, he was greeted by the sight of a temporary barricade that had been erected over the two knives he'd left embedded in the floor. People had apparently been tripping over them.

With a face that would have put a muggle fire engine to shame, Harry immediately pushed the barricades aside and bent down to retrieve them. //Ly'haniir would have my head,// he cringed. His old teacher in the circle had endlessly drilled him to the tune of 'always know where your weapons are'. And yet, here Harry was -- with two knives that had spent the entire night in the middle of the dining hall!

Harry was acutely conscious of being watched as he quickly murmured 'let go' to the floor. A dwarf would have spoken to the stone itself, but then, a dwarf would not have been able to speak to the castle as a whole -- and Harry had always found it easier to get Hogwarts to assist him, than it was to think in dwarven before he'd had his first cup of coffee.

The castle obliged him, and Harry easily slipped his first knife out of its prison. The stone even flowed like water for a split-second afterwards -- healing the small hole in itself, before returning to its more durable form. There was no longer any mark to indicate where the knife had once been. Harry quickly repeated the procedure with his other knife, and then made his way to the teachers' table for breakfast.

Severus had apparently decided to eat in his rooms this morning -- but several other teachers were already there, and Harry made small talk with them -- doing his best to alleviate their obvious nervousness over the 'demonstration' of the night before. He wasn't certain how much success he was having, but nobody ran screaming from his presence, and shortly thereafter the morning post arrived.

Harry had re-directed his Daily Prophet subscription to the castle three days ago, so when an owl from the local Hogsmeade postal service dropped the morning paper in front of him, he was already expecting it. What he was not expecting, however, was the flashing headline in two-inch high print declaring 'Boy Who Lived Missing!'

This was followed by lurid speculation about whether he was still alive at all, and if so, whether You-Know-Who had kidnapped him and was even now torturing him to death. The article ended with a couple of small paragraphs on the second page -- and it was here that Albus' assertion that Mr Potter was 'safe and well' was buried in the last few sentences.

Harry felt ill. Those idiots at the paper were going to cause a panic! What would his friends think? At least Ron and Hermione had Albus' personal assurance that he was all right -- and they would undoubtedly be pestering the Headmaster for more information as soon as they could get to him. Sirius, of course, would be here as soon as he heard -- and woe betide even Albus if Harry's godfather didn't get a straight answer! But Molly and Arthur Weasley -- Ron's mum and dad -- were going to be worried sick!

The only people who really knew anything at all, were Hagrid and Albus -- and Harry had made sure that even they didn't know very much.

For a few minutes, Harry seriously debated revealing himself to a limited number of key people -- if only to provide some reassurance to those who did not have Albus' personal reassurance that he wasn't dead, dying, or the victim of some madman's gruesome plot. But in the end, Harry remembered that hasty decisions often made a bad situation worse -- and he ultimately decided to consult Albus, and see what the wise master of human behaviour had to say about the newspaper article, before he committed himself to any irrevocable action.

Somehow Harry managed to sit calmly through the rest of his meal, but aside from the paper's sensational headline, the only other thing he could later recall was Professor Flitwick's fascinated voice asking "How do you do that?" when Harry automatically used a hand gesture to send his cup off for more coffee. Levitation was a speciality of the diminutive Charms teacher, and watching Ash fly his cup across to the coffee pot without a wand in sight, was almost enough to send the man into paroxysms of delight.

But it was after breakfast that Harry had more immediate things to worry about.

It was time for his first class.

----oo00oo----

Patiently, Harry waited while the second-year Ravenclaws assembled.

They seemed to be making an inordinate amount of noise as they entered the classroom, and Harry was surprised to note the amount of clinking jewellery and the number of rattling chains that everyone seemed to be wearing -- although most of the girls had apparently settled on little bells, which were at least musical. One girl even had bells on her earrings!

In a flash, Harry realised that some bright spark among the students had come up with a way to ensure that he would always hear them coming. The rest of the school had then slavishly copied the idea, and from the look of it, Harry was almost guaranteed to be hearing bells all day -- if not all week!

He nearly laughed at the thought of all those bells and rattling chains -- but stopped himself, since it obviously made his students feel safer, which could only be a good thing after Albus' 'demonstration' last night. Hopefully, the fad would die off as the term progressed, and they came to realise that he wasn't actually paranoid or crazy -- just very well trained.

The students were soon seated, and with only some minor jingling and clinking among the ranks, Harry got his first lesson underway...

----oo00oo----

Two days later...

"Ron, what on earth are you doing?!" Hermione asked in exasperation, "We're going to be late to our first Dark Arts lesson if you don't hurry up!"

"That is what I'm doing!" Ron replied, "-- hurrying to get ready for it!" and he finally extracted a length of steel chain from his book bag, and then proceeded to wrap it loosely around his neck and shoulders. "Now, I'm safe!"

Hermione made an exasperated noise. "You look like you're trying to impersonate a muggle ghost."

Surprised, Ron asked, "Muggles have ghosts?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "They have ghost stories -- where every ghost drags chains around and moans hideously to scare people -- and are you ready yet?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's go -- and muggle ghosts don't sound all that scary to me..."

Together they pelted off towards their next class, and when the steel-banded doors of the classroom came into view, they were relieved to see that they weren't the only ones running late.

But for some reason, the other students weren't going in...

"What's happening?" Ron asked the nearest person.

"There's a note on the door," Dean Thomas replied, "It says we're all supposed to go to the Quidditch pitch."

"Oh, no!" Hermione exclaimed, "Now we're really late!"

----oo00oo----

The straggling students -- Ron and Hermione amongst them -- arrived on the large grassy oval only to find that they were by no means the last to arrive. Several other students were also streaming across from the greenhouses -- and belatedly, Ron realised that Ash was not the only teacher waiting for them. Standing next to the imposing War Mage, with her patched hat and a cheerful smile, was the Herbology teacher -- Professor Sprout.

Puffing, and feeling the extra weight of the chain he was wearing, Ron looked around and saw that Professor Sprout's sixth-year Herbology students were unfortunately all Slytherins!

Catching Hermione's eye, he whispered, "Just great! -- as if it wasn't bad enough having to share double Potions with that lot."

Hermione shushed him, and then pulled him down towards the Gryffindor end of the loose semi-circle that had formed around the two teachers.

There was some nervous shuffling and a few coughs, and then everyone fell silent.

"Are we all here, yet?" Professor Sprout asked.

"I believe so," Harry responded. "Shall we get started?"

"By all means," the other teacher smiled, "and since you're the one who needs the introduction..." She gestured courteously for Harry to lead off.

Taking a small step forward, Harry raised his voice and clearly announced, "Good morning everyone, and welcome to a combined Herbology / Defence Against the Dark Arts class. My name -- as you already know -- is War Mage Ashh, and I'm here to teach you the basics in defending yourself against some of the nasty little surprises that the wizarding world has in store for you."

"As you probably all know from the students who've already had their first Defence class, we're going to be doing things a little differently this year. For classes like this one -- where we only have a single-period lesson -- we'll be following the traditional format of identifying a dangerous creature, spell, or situation, and then practicing the counter spell or action that will save you."

"However," Harry continued, "in the classes where we have a double lesson, I'm going to introduce a new structure, which I call 'Survival'." There was suddenly a lot of nervous shuffling and more than a few indrawn breaths. They'd all heard about this new lesson plan, but since nobody had actually been through one yet, nobody could say for sure what it was all about.

Their DADA teacher suddenly smiled and reassuringly added, "Don't panic -- I'm not going to make you run through a field of man-eating Manticore’s! It's called 'Survival', because there are going to be times when you will run into something that you haven't learned about in Defence Against the Dark Arts. New hexes, monsters, and curses are being discovered every day -- and with wizards like Voldemort in the world --" and the entire class gasped when he said the Dark Lord's name, " -- you can bet that seven years of this subject is never going to cover everything you might run into."

"So," Harry finished, "my new 'Survival' class is going to teach you a system that will give you a reasonable chance of surviving when you come up against something that you've never even heard of."

Then Harry finished with: "Are there any questions?"

A Slytherin boy raised his hand.

"Yes?" Harry asked, "Mr Goyle, isn't it?" -- which Harry knew perfectly well that it was.

"What's your real name, Professor?" Gregory Goyle asked, and there were a number of surprised looks from the other students.

Harry was surprised as well, and somewhat amused by Draco's cheek -- because it would inevitably have been Draco who planted the question in Gregory's mind. "And what makes you think 'Ash' isn't my real name?" Harry asked.

"Oh," Goyle shrugged, "I've just heard -- you know... other people saying it -- that you got here without even a suitcase, and are probably running from someone."

"Mr Goyle!" Professor Sprout exclaimed. "Ten points from Slytherin --" but a hearty laugh from Ash derailed her train of thought.

For himself, Harry couldn't believe how incredibly stupid Gregory Goyle really was. The boy was currently standing almost completely alone, since his classmates had all slowly drawn away from him in anticipation of their teacher's anger.

//Amazing,// Harry thought, //Draco must have done some really subtle work to make this idiot open up his mouth like that.// Goyle himself still appeared to have no inkling that he'd just accused his DADA teacher of being either a coward, or a criminal on the run.

Still chuckling at Draco's sneakiness and Goyle's stupidity, Harry replied, "Actually Mr Goyle -- 'Ash' is my real name -- although you're right in assuming that it isn't the name my parents gave me." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco's attention sharpen. Harry wondered whether the boy was under orders from his father to find out as much as possible about him, or whether this was all Draco's own idea. "'Ash'," Harry continued, "is my War Mage name." The entire class looked confused, and so Harry elaborated: "That means it's the name I earned when I performed my first bit of non-human magic. War Mages take their names very seriously, you see, and our true names -- what we call our 'private names' -- are strictly reserved for our closest family and friends. Our 'public name' -- 'Ash' in my case -- is what everybody else uses. Thus, I can assure you that I am not presently 'running' from anyone."

"Oh," and that seemed to be the end of Goyle's thoughts on the matter. Draco looked faintly disappointed.

"Now," Harry continued, "Are there any questions relating to the lesson that anyone would like to ask?"

Hermione stuck her hand up. "Please sir," she said, "why is our class combined with Herbology?"

"Ahh," Harry replied, "I'm glad you asked." Stepping back, he turned and gestured towards Professor Sprout, who pulled a small box out of her robes.

The Herbology Professor then announced, "Today's class is a joint one because it involves a very dangerous plant. Before I can show it to you however, we will need some restrictions put in place. Gather 'round, everyone!" and she waved for them to come closer. The two classes shuffled in, looking curiously at the box in her hands. "Are they close enough?" Professor Sprout asked Harry.

"No problem," he replied, and then he raised his hands up over his head. A few muttered words -- and an odd twist in his voice -- and there was suddenly a shimmering dome spreading over their heads and racing down into the earth. "All done," Harry said once the dome was complete.

"Good, good," Professor Sprout nodded. "Now," she said as she opened the small box, "what I have here is commonly called 'Leech Root'," and several students gasped.

"But -- but that's illegal, that is!" Dean Thomas called out.

"It's illegal to import," Harry countered, "but Professor Sprout and I took this cutting from a live plant in a suburban muggle garden -- although it certainly wasn't alive after we were through with it."

"Dear me, no," Professor Sprout agreed, "awful things in the wild -- although, very beneficial under certain controlled circumstances." Then she removed a small cutting from the box in her hands, and bent down to bury one end of it in the ground. "Stand back, now," she commanded, and then took out her wand and said "Alesco Sero," after which, the tiny twig began to twitch and grow. After a minute or so, there was a small bush with the most lovely little white flowers on it, sitting in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.

The class eyed it nervously.

"Thank-you, Professor," Harry said as the Herbology teacher lowered her wand and stepped back. "You have a real gift for that. Personally, I have no talent for gardening, whatsoever."

Professor Sprout smiled -- pleased with the compliment.

"Now," Harry said, "Leech Root is a native of certain very limited areas of South America. As you can tell from its name, its roots can actually 'leech' magic from anything they manage to get hold of. At the moment -- if you look down -- you will find that that includes all of you."

Several students screamed and jumped as they all noticed little grey rootlings twined around their shoes and ankles. The tiny roots snapped easily as soon as a student moved, and the broken-off bits shrivelled and died instantly.

"As you can see," Harry continued, "the simplest defence against a plant this size, is to just keep moving. You will also note the reason for our protective dome -- which is actually a complete sphere that continues underground -- and is preventing the root system from spreading any further."

"Unfortunately," Harry added, "Leech Root doesn't stay this size," and Professor Sprout once more waved her wand. This time the bush expanded until it was waist-high and about three-feet wide. The cute little plant now looked a lot more sinister. Its delicate white flowers were still there, but there also appeared to be some kind of vine tangled in amongst the dark green leaves.

"Muggles," Harry said conversationally, "are completely immune to Leech Root, since they have no magic of their own, and thus, the plant has no interest in them. To the non-magical world, Leech Root is no more than a nice bush with pretty flowers." Then he shook his head in disgust. "This has made it very difficult for the authorities to control its spread, since Muggle gardeners don't understand why it's been banned from importing into this country -- and what's worse -- those with a prefeerence for exotic shrubbery are seldom deterred by mere 'laws'. I expect that since Professor Sprout and I found this one growing unrestrained in a Muggle garden, that it's only a matter of time until we start seeing it more frequently in the wizarding areas of Britain."

"All true," Professor Sprout concurred, "However, it's not quite as bad as all that. Being a native of the southern regions of South America, Leech Root is more suited to temperate climates, and so it tends to die off during our much colder northern winters. This means that unless it's cultivated in a greenhouse -- or unless it gets a good, solid hold on a fair-sized magical creature -- then you're unlikely to see it as big as this anywhere in Britain."

The students -- who were all shuffling back and forth trying to keep the horrid little roots off their feet -- didn't look too impressed with all thee explanations. One of the more cynical Slytherin boys asked, "Professor Sprout? Why are we studying this thing? It hardly seems useful to Herbology -- or very dangerous."

"Twit," Hermione muttered under her breath. Ron silently agreed.

Harry could feel a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, then," he said to the boy, "why don't you step up and find out what the flowers smell like?"

"Umm..." Apparently the lad wasn't quite as stupid as all that, and wasn't going to let his mouth get him any further into trouble.

"Would anyone else like to try?" Harry asked after a moment, "No? I can assure you that they have a very pleasant aroma." Nobody volunteered. "Ah, well," Harry sighed theatrically, "I guess we'll just have to use our guest victim."

Harry then pulled on some heavy gloves and turned to open a box that had been sitting on the ground behind him. He reached inside and pulled out a Quolla. The cute, furry little beast reminded everyone of something a bit like a rabbit -- except that Quollas were widely known for giving people a nasty magical zap when they felt threatened. It wasn't fatal, but it hurt like hell for several minutes afterwards. Their teacher's gloves were obviously insulating him from the Quolla's magical defence.

Harry released the Quolla onto the ground.

Seeing itself surrounded by shuffling people, the little beast immediately ran for the security of the leafy green plant in the middle of the encircling students.

As soon as the Quolla got within two feet of it, vines from the Leech Root shot out and wrapped the animal in a tight embrace. Screaming piteously in a high-pitched voice, and scrabbling a bit as it tried to get away, the little Quolla was swiftly pulled into the bush, and instantly disappeared from view.

A moment later, there were no more screams.

"As you can see," Harry said into the horrified silence, "a mature bush is a bit harder to get away from than those tiny roots you're all avoiding so easily. In fact, if this bush was just a little bit bigger, it would be quite capable of pulling one of you in as well."

"Now," Harry added in a business-like manner, "How do we defend ourselves against something like this? Any ideas?" After several suggestions, such as 'burn it', 'poison it', and 'hex it', Harry pointed out that all of these things would only destroy the visible part of the plant. Even poison would not reach the roots -- which stored the plant's stolen magical energy, and were thus protected from most forms of attack. Given a few days, the unaffected root structure would soon be pushing up new leaves right where the old plant had been.

After that bit of information, Hermione came up with the most creative suggestion so far -- which was: 'get a muggle to come and dig it up'.

Feeling very peculiar about saying it, Harry opened his mouth and replied, "Very good, Miss Granger -- five points to Gryffindor." And then he thought, //Did I really just say that? Ugh -- I won't ever get used to this!// He didn't know what disturbed him more -- calling Hermione 'Miss Granger', or being able to add and deduct points from any House he chose. //This is so bizarre!// he reflected. Then he got his attention back where it belonged.

"Unfortunately," he stated, "that solution won't help you if you're already in the grip of a Leech Root. Can anyone think of anything else?"

Having determined that the students had run out of ideas, Harry explained that the plant itself could be killed very easily with a simple little spell called 'Adflicto'. "The trick is," Harry explained, "not to cast it at the part of the plant you can see." He then walked up -- just out of range of the Leech Root's vines -- and said, "You have to cast the spell at the ground under or around the plant, so that it hits some part of the root system." Then Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at the ground, and said "Adflicto".

Instantly, the ground trembled, and little puffs of dirt made popping noises all around them. By the time it stopped, the grassy area inside the dome looked like it had a bad case of the pox. The green bush in the middle of it all didn't look any better. It was even now turning brown, and dropping leaves like rain.

"This spell," Harry explained, "works by momentarily disrupting the roots' ability to store magic. Once freed, the stolen magic is not compatible with the root's natural magical signature, and it immediately begins to destroy that root. This, in turn, sets off even more of the stolen magic, and eventually the entire system is destroyed as the energy cascades through every part of the root structure." Then Harry turned towards the centre of the circle and eyed the visible, leafy part of the Leech Root in anticipation.

Suddenly, the Quolla -- looking stunned and much the worse for wear -- staggered out from underneath the dying bush.

"Look!" Pansy Parkinson called out. "It's not dead!"

"Oh, I'm so glad!" Hermione exclaimed. "I felt awful about it being killed just for a demonstration."

Ron looked at her strangely. "Sooner it than us I should think!" he said indignantly.

"Well, yes..." Hermione reluctantly agreed, "but I'm still glad it's all right."

Actually, several students seemed greatly relieved to see the Quolla, if only because it meant that being pulled in by a Leech Root, might not be as fatal as they'd imagined. Harry soon disabused them of the notion.

"The Quolla," he said as he picked it up and deposited the animal back in its cage, "naturally discharges all of its magic in one quick burst. After that, it's really very much like a muggle, in that it has nothing left for several hours afterwards. This is the only reason it's still alive."

"For wizards, witches, and other magical beings," he said as he turned to face them, "the plant will continue to leech magic from you at a rate that will send you into shock after only a few minutes." Then he looked at them all very seriously. "It's not the energy-loss that kills you," he explained, "-- it's the systemic shock to your body as it tries to prevent the loss of any more magic."

"However," Harry finished, "you will have a few minutes before that happens, so as long as you keep a solid grip on your wand, and remember to cast the spell at the ground, you should be all right."

Then he stepped back and let Professor Sprout take over.

The Herbology professor explained that -- under certain carefully monitored conditions, it was possible to harvest roots from a living plant, which could then be made into a potion for temporarily boosting the energy levels of a wizard or witch who was ill, or who had been caught in a Leech Root.

"It actually comes with its own cure," she noted in passing.

After that, she pulled out several more little boxes from her robes and went around planting Leech Root cuttings all over the ground inside Harry's protective dome. She then grew them all to the size of a very small and mostly harmless bush, after which she started explaining to her students how to safely obtain roots from the living plant.

While she was doing that, Harry's class began practicing their Adflictos, and Harry moved among them, pointing out their mistakes, and helping each student reduce their shrub to a burnt-out little pile of twigs.

By the end of the lesson, the Slytherins all looked as if they would much rather have been in Harry's class than Professor Sprout's.

----oo00oo----

As soon as Ron and Hermione finished their morning classes, they rushed off to find the Headmaster. He'd managed to avoid them all day yesterday -- and last night Professor McGonagall had shooed them away from his office with the words, 'I'm afraid he can't see you now -- he's been absolutely inundated with owls since Mr Potter's disappearance.'

When they tried to explain that Harry's absence was why they wanted to see the Headmaster, McGonagall had merely re-iterated Dumbledore's assurance that Mr Potter was fine, and that they should go and have some dinner before they ended up in the hospital wing, fainting from hunger.

So today, they were going to try and see the Headmaster again.

----oo00oo----

Unfortunately, when they arrived at his office, they quickly realised that they were not going to be seeing Dumbledore this time either.

The hallway was packed with people! Some of them were obviously reporters, while others had the look of Ministry officials. One or two -- who were being given a wide berth by the others -- even looked like they might be Aurors.

But all of them wanted to see Albus Dumbledore about Harry's disappearance!

When the door opened and Dumbledore and McGonagall finally emerged, the noise and uproar was almost deafening. The reporters yelled about 'freedom of the press', while the Ministry officials countered with 'official government business', and the Aurors tried to use 'national security' -- and all of them intent on getting in to see the Headmaster.

After a few moments -- and a lot of shouting -- Professor McGonagall managed to convince everyone to wait their turn, and then a few people -- it looked like the Ministry officials -- were admitted to Dumbledore's office. After that, the door slammed shut, leaving the rest of the crowd to grumble and argue amongst themselves.

"Come on," Hermione said to Ron, "There's no point in staying here."

"Yeah," Ron morosely agreed, "We'd be the last people in the line today." Then he burst out, "It's so unfair! They don't really care about Harry at all! They just want the 'Boy Who Lived' to come back and save them from You-Know-Who! We're his friends! We're the ones who deserve to know what's going on!"

Trying to cheer him up, Hermione suggested, "Well, maybe we could start our own investigation -- you know, try to find out what happened by ourselves."

"How?" Ron asked bluntly. "He disappeared ages ago! Where would we even start?"

"With the people who last saw him, of course," Hermione replied. "That's where all missing persons investigations start!"

"But we don't know who last saw him."

"Then we'll find out!" Hermione said, "Come on -- we have people to see!"

It wasn't much to go on, but suddenly Ron felt a bit more hopeful. At least he would be doing something. //And who knows,// he thought optimistically, //maybe we will find him -- or at least figure out where to look.///

----oo00oo----

A few days later, Ron was no longer so optimistic.

Between them, they had talked to just about every student in the school except the first years. They had even swallowed their pride and asked the Slytherins! But nobody had any idea as to what might have happened -- and although several people remembered seeing Harry on Platform Nine and Three Quarters at the end of last term -- it very much appeared that Ron and his mum were the last people to actually speak to him.

"I wish we could ask Sirius," Ron said wistfully. "He is Harry's godfather, after all -- maybe he knows something." Then Ron looked surprised as the thought crossed his mind: "You don't suppose Harry's with him do you?"

Hermione nibbled her lower lip and considered it. "No," she said slowly, "after all, Sirius is still wanted for murder. Until he can clear his name, it wouldn't be safe for Harry to stay with him. But," she finished, "we can probably ask him whether he knows anything after he gets here. Since everybody now knows Harry's missing, I'm sure he won't be far away."

Ron snorted, "He'd be mad to try and see Dumbledore right now -- what with all the Aurors hanging about."

Hermione agreed, and then doubtfully suggested, "We could owl the Dursleys..."

Ron quickly scoffed at that idea. "As if those bloody great Muggles would accept a letter by owl post," he said, "-- they've probably laid out poison baits by now!"

"The owls!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed.

"What about them?" Ron asked.

"If Harry's missing," Hermione said excitedly, "then where's Hedwig?"

Sitting up in his chair, Ron blinked, and then asked, "How do you find a missing owl?"

"You can't," Hermione said, "Same as an owl can't find a missing person -- they can only find people who want to receive owl post, or who aren't being magically hidden from the owl network. Otherwise, an owl can only go to the last place the person was known to be, and see if they come back."

"Well that's not much use is it?" Ron grumbled.

"But Ron," Hermione said patiently, "what if Hedwig isn't missing?"

"Huh?"

"What if she's fine? What if Harry sent her away or something? Where would she go?"

"Well, to my place I expect, or else..."

"The owlery!" they said in unison, and then together they raced off to the tower where the Hogwarts owls lived when they weren't delivering mail.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 6: Draco

----oo00oo----

While Ron and Hermione were pursuing their investigation, Harry himself was busy trying to find time to go out and acquire the various creatures he would need for his classes. Some lessons, of course, were straight defence against hexes and curses, but the ones that required a bit of preparation seemed to be chewing up all his spare time -- which was time he would much rather spend trying to 'acquire' Severus Snape.

He did, however, manage to find enough time a couple of nights ago to dispel one of his more urgent worries. After the hordes of people who'd descended upon Albus since Harry Potter's absence finally returned to Hogsmeade for the night -- Harry had stopped by to see how the Headmaster was bearing up under all the attention. He'd also conferred with Albus about his own fear that the Daily Prophet's wild speculation might cause widespread panic.

"Thankfully," Albus had replied, "I believe we have already seen the worst of it -- and I'm sure the Daily Prophet will have other events to embellish soon enough."

Thus, when Harry opened his paper the next morning to see 'Scandal in Ministry!' emblazoned across the page, he was well satisfied with Albus' judgement, and heartily thankful that he hadn't revealed himself to anyone prematurely.

And now it was nearly the end of Harry's first week as a Hogwarts teacher, and he felt as though he was settling into the routine fairly well. He still continued to sit next to Sev' whenever he had the opportunity, and although it was obvious that the potions master had finally caught on to this ploy, the other man still hadn't said anything. Harry rather suspected that Sev' was waiting for the other shoe to drop, at which point he would suddenly discover the nefarious scheme Ash was working on that would humiliate, embarrass, or otherwise annoy him.

//Or,// Harry silently laughed, //he already has some idea of my nefarious scheme -- even if he hasn't admitted it to himself -- and he doesn't want to give me the opportunity to mention it!//

Harry also suspected that occasionally one of the students might have caught him watching Severus out of the corner of his eye, but again, nobody said anything, so he ignored it and continued to watch and wait.

----oo00oo----

Later that same afternoon, Harry was quietly doing some of that 'waiting' by himself in the library. He was pretending to research something, but was really trying to decide how to talk Severus into agreeing to have dinner with him. It was then that he overheard a very interesting conversation...

"Tomorrow night?" a boy's voice said quietly from behind one of the freestanding bookshelves. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," came another low voice -- possibly a girl's. "He told me this morning.

"Lucky bugger," the first voice replied. "Only sixteen and the Dark Lord's already picked him for a Death Eater." Harry could practically feel his ears growing larger at the mention of Voldemort and his followers. "Come Monday, we'll still be sitting here, going to boring classes and saying 'yes, sir' and 'no ma'am' to all the stupid old farts running this place -- and he'll be out there -- as one of them!"

"Yeah," the second voice sighed, "but hey -- they aren't all boring old farts. That War Mage seems to be pretty powerful -- just look at all the stuff he can do -- and without even using his wand! I love how he killed that monster that first night -- that was so awesome."

"Are you nuts?!" the first voice whispered harshly, "You'd have to be mad to want anything to do with him -- he's dangerous, and he's not one of us!"

"How do you know? Maybe the Dark Lord just hasn't had the opportunity to ask him! He was swamped with reporters and rubberneckers when he first turned up -- and now we've got those damned Aurors and whoever the hell else infesting the school -- all panicking 'cause their precious 'Boy Who Lived' did a runner on them."

"Do you really think he ran off?" the first voice asked curiously.

"Nah -- well, maybe." the second replied. "But I know the Dark Lord hasn't got him."

"How d'you know that?"

"My dad," the second voice assured him, "He says he would have heard by now if our Lord had got hold of Potter."

The boy's voice grated out, "My dad doesn't tell me anything -- he says I'm not old enough -- that I haven't earned the right to know things yet." There was a pause. "Dammit! I wish it was me going tomorrow night."

"You and me both," the second voice came back, "He'll have respect -- people will be afraid of him! He won't be just some kid in school anymore..."

"I wish it was me," the first voice repeated, "then my old man would sit up and take notice!"

"Yeah," the second voice agreed "Draco sure is a lucky bastard."

----oo00oo----

Rushing up to the owlery, Ron and Hermione arrived to find Hagrid standing in the middle of the room with Hedwig on his arm.

"Hagrid!" Ron cried, "That's Harry's owl!"

"Oh, 'ello Ron -- Hermione," Hagrid gently reached up to stroke the top of Hedwig's feathered head. "And yeah, I know it's his owl -- he sent her t' Dumbledore jus' after he disappeared. Sometimes I come up to see her -- y'know, jus' t' pet her f'r a bit"

"After he disappeared?" Hermione repeated, "Then she might know where he is!"

"'Fraid not," Hagrid said, shaking his head sadly, "Dumbledore already thought 'o that -- and the only place she knows to go, iss a street half way between the railway station and the Dursley's place. He reckons that's where Harry sent her off -- and he says Harry's definitely not there anymore -- says he was most likely gone only a couple 'o minutes after she flew off."

Ron and Hermione both looked so defeated and depressed by this news that Hagrid's heart went out to them and he gently added, "Here now, don't worry so much -- Harry's fine! Didn't Dumbledore say so? He wouldn't lie to yer!"

"But how would he know?!" came Ron's anguished demand.

"'Cause I told 'im so this mornin'," Hagrid unthinkingly replied. Then as the two students gaped at him, he added, "Oh dear -- I wasn't s'posed to tell you that!"

After which, of course, neither Ron nor Hermione was going to let him out of the owlery until they had the full story.

"But you won't tell anyone else, will yeh?" Hagrid asked with a worried look. "Dumbledore said I wasn't s'posed to tell anyone -- 'though I guess it's all right if it's just you two -- bein' Harry's best friends 'n all."

After solemnly swearing on their wizarding honour, that they'd never tell another soul -- living or dead -- Hagrid reluctantly told them about Harry's last visit, and the Heart Magic, and how they could each sense what the other one was feeling when they thought about each other. Hagrid also told them how Dumbledore had instructed him to keep a regular check -- morning and night -- just to make sure Harry was all right, but not enough to interfere in whatever he was doing throughout the day.

Eventually, after more faithful promises from Ron and Hermione that they would never reveal a word of their conversation, Hagrid returned Hedwig to her perch and left the owlery.

For their part, the two Gryffindors continued to stand there -- still somewhat stunned by all they had learned. Turning to Hermione, Ron carefully asked, "Hermione? He... Harry... he did it on purpose, didn't he?"

Looking back at him, Hermione just as carefully replied, "Yes -- I think we've established that beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Ron suddenly yelled, scaring all the owls into wakeful hooting and feather rustling. "Why didn't he tell us?!" Ron demanded, "He knew! He knew he was leaving -- that whole last day -- and on the train! He knew, Hermione!"

"I heard you the first time, Ron!" she yelled back at him. "But maybe he couldn't tell us! Maybe it was something he had to keep secret! Maybe he had a reason!"

"Like what?" Ron sulked, folding his arms over his chest. "What could possibly be so secret that he couldn't tell us? We're his best friends -- or at least I thought we were!"

"I don't know," Hermione replied, hearing the hurt in Ron voice, and feeling an echo of it in her own chest. "But when we find him -- you can bet we're going to ask him!"

Ron looked at her in surprise. "Find him?" he asked, "You know how?"

"Not yet," Hermione said with a determined look, "but I'm going to!" and then she grinned at Ron with her 'I'm-very-clever-and-I'm-about-to-prove-it' look.

"So," she said in a casual tone, "how much do you know about Heart Magic?"

Ron groaned and clapped his hands over his eyes. "The library?" he whimpered.

"The library!" she agreed.

----oo00oo----

The first Friday of the school year arrived, and that night Harry found himself waiting outside the Slytherin dormitory for Draco to put in an appearance.

Harry was well hidden under his father's invisibility cloak, and determined to... well... to do something about preventing Draco's life from turning out the way it had in the mirror. The problem was, he wasn't certain what he should do.

It was way too soon for Draco to be inducted into the ranks of Voldemort's followers. This hadn't happened in the mirror until at least a year to eighteen months after Draco had graduated, and while Harry had never known the exact date, it still should have been at least another two or three years away.

Somehow, Harry's presence -- or absence, perhaps -- had changed more things than he'd intended.

But that was a worry for another night, because right now Harry's immediate concern was whether or not he should stop Draco from leaving the school. On the surface of it, that would be the simplest answer, but in reality, stopping him now would only mean that he'd try it again some other time -- and Harry couldn't watch him every second.

So -- what to do?

//Perhaps,// Harry thought, //I should kill the Death Eater who turns up to collect him.// That might scare the youngster into realising that becoming a Death Eater would not automatically make him a big bad wizard who could do whatever he wanted. But Harry knew that fear was a poor motivator for someone like Draco Malfoy -- and although killing was sometimes necessary, Harry personally tried to avoid it whenever he could. And so, he stood in the hallway -- debating with himself over what to do -- and hampered by the uncertainty of not knowing what the best course of action might be.

Then, the portrait guarding the Slytherin dormitory swung open, and a dark figure stepped out into the corridor. Silently, Draco Malfoy headed off -- intent on becoming the first of a new generation of Death Eaters.

----oo00oo----

Once outside, Harry realised that Draco was heading for the lake, and also for the boundary of the school's defences, which was on the other side. There were currently no boats on the water as there had been when the first-years arrived, but anyone could walk around the lake's edge -- it would simply take longer to get to the other side.

Thus, since all students were required to stow their personal brooms under lock and key with Madam Hooch, Draco was obviously going to walk.

And Harry was going to follow.

----oo00oo----

Eventually, as the two of them neared the edge of Hogwart's protection, Harry could dimly make out three figures waiting under the trees a short distance away.

"You're late," the middle one said as Draco drew near.

All three of them wore the traditional Death Eater mask, but Harry recognised the speaker's voice, and swore silently to himself.

"My apologies, sir," Draco answered, "It's a long walk." He offered no other explanation, and the two Death Eaters on either side of the central figure, stepped forward and scanned the surrounding area.

"Nothing, sir," one of them reported. Then the other one reported the same thing.

"Dammit!" their leader swore, then he grabbed Draco by the collar and pulled him close, "Were you followed, boy?"

"N--no, sir!" Draco answered, "Nobody followed me -- I was careful!"

"You idiot!" the man raged, "You were supposed to be followed!"

"What?" Draco said in surprise. "By who?"

"By the War Mage, fool! We deliberately instructed two of the other children to make sure he knew of this meeting!"

Harry had half suspected that this might be the case. Two students sneaking around behind bookcases -- and holding that kind of conversation in the library -- where sound carried in the quiet rooms? It hadn't made sense -- unless they wanted him to hear them.

Perhaps -- if Harry didn't show himself -- the three men would simply send Draco back to the school. That would solve all his dilemmas. Otherwise... Harry was grimly aware that if he became involved in a fight with these three, he would have to kill at least one of them before he let the other two get away.

If it turned nasty, the Death Eaters would undoubtedly report back to Voldemort on his apparent level of skill, and while Harry could easily fake being less adept than he really was -- it would not be convincing if none of them died. A single death would be the least he could get away with -- and at that, Voldemort would probably still be suspicious.

Draco was still staring at the man who was hanging onto his collar. "You... you mean," he stammered, "the Dark Lord doesn't... doesn't want me in his service?"

"Don't be an idiot, boy," the leader sneered, "You were born to serve him -- it's simply a matter of timing. Children are of no use to Voldemort."

Draco swallowed -- his pride obviously wounded to the core.

Then the man on the right asked, "Should we take him anyway? Our Lord said to pick him up."

The central figure backhanded the other man across the face. "Of course we do, you moron -- we always do what the Dark Lord commands."

//Bugger,// Harry thought. //This just got a whole lot more complicated,// and then he let his invisibility cloak fall from his shoulders, and swept it up into an inside pocket in the lining of his battle robes. The light material compacted down into a small bulge that would not hamper his movements.

"You wanted to see me?" he calmly asked.

There was a startled oath from the man on the left, and Draco jumped about a foot in the air.

"Ah," came the pleased sound from the man in charge -- who still had a firm grip on Draco's collar. "War Mage." he said. "I'm so pleased we could finally meet, away from all the prying eyes."

"The pleasure's all yours," Harry noted, while executing a mocking little half-bow. He very carefully didn't take his eyes off any of them.

"Come, come," the man said as he stepped in front of Draco, "There's no need to be rude -- after all, we're all on the same side."

"And what side would that be?" Harry enquired politely.

"Why the side of war!" the man said. "Surely, you would relish the opportunity to test your abilities in the setting for which you were trained! Lord Voldemort would be more than willing to provide you with a nice little war somewhere -- and perhaps a larger one later -- that would let you practice your skills to their fullest extent!"

Harry briefly toyed with the idea of playing the role of spy -- even as Severus did -- but he could not let Voldemort attempt to Mark him, and he was not yet ready to confront the evil wizard on his home ground. And besides... Harry knew he just wasn't that good at acting.

So instead, he let his lip curl in disgust, and deliberately replied, "Only idiots who've never been in a war would ever want to start one. You people have no idea of what a War Mage is."

"Then," and the man's entire demeanour changed as he shifted to a simple business negotiation, "perhaps we could come to some other arrangement. You appear to enjoy teaching -- perhaps some after-hours tuition?"

Harry snorted, "You can go crawling back to your 'master', and tell that diseased piece of garbage that the day I teach him anything, it will be one easy lesson in dying!"

The man straightened. "A pity," he said. "Our Lord would have enjoyed learning wandless magic." Then he turned to the two men beside him, and said, "Kill him."

The attack was short and to the point. Harry automatically dropped into quick-time, and easily took care of the two lackeys. One of them he killed -- deliberately, and with pain in his heart for the stupid loss of life -- but he had no choice, if this confrontation was to work out the way he needed it to.

Then he had a bad moment when the man in charge threw Draco into the mix -- literally throwing the confused teenager in front of a curse. Quick-time did nothing to speed up Harry's physical reactions -- so he could only watch as the curse struck a glancing blow, and Draco fell to one side, twitching and screaming as if he'd been skewered with a thousand needles.

But right now, Harry couldn't spare the attention to help him.

While the second lackey -- crippled and bleeding -- staggered off towards the trees, the third and most dangerous man -- the leader -- entered the fray. They traded curses back and forth -- it was almost a ritualised duel -- until finally Harry allowed a slightly less potent curse to slip by him and land a heavy blow on his side. He grunted, feeling the pain zipping up his torso and down his wand arm. Then he deliberately dropped his wand, as if the pain wouldn't allow him to hang onto it anymore.

//Damn,// he thought as he waited for the last man to move in for the kill, //If this is what it feels like when you fake incompetence -- I hope I never know what the real thing feels like!// It was a thought laced with black humour, but Harry currently had little else to do in the stretched quick-time, while he waited impatiently for the Death Eater to approach.

Keeping careful watch as the last man finally stepped towards him, Harry waited until the other man's wand arm slowly came up, and then quickly drew his revolver and fired. Little more than twelve feet apart, it was still debateable whether he would actually hit what he was aiming for -- especially since he was not targeting the chest or head. Harry could not afford to kill this man -- at least not yet. If he did, he might well lose Draco to Voldemort forever.

But luck was on his side, and the recoil from his revolver was accompanied by the scream of a man in pain. Harry had managed to hit him in the leg -- and while a square-on shot from a .45 at that range would probably have blown the leg clean off -- Harry realised that somehow the slightly off-target bullet had managed to do enough damage to deter his assailant, but not so much that it would be fatal or permanently crippling.

The other man grunted through his clenched teeth, and Harry gave the guy marks for being a tough son-of-a-bitch. "You're going to bleed to death," he ground out around his own pain, "unless you have that looked at very soon." Then Harry fell to his knees, and grabbed up his wand, aiming both it and his gun at the other man. "I can still defend myself," he growled, "and all I've gotta do is wait -- then you'll pass out, and I win."

Confronted by the ugly truth, the other man turned, and staggered off into the darkness, following after his one surviving lackey. The other Death Eater -- now a formless dead shape on the ground -- was no longer a threat to anyone.

Still in pain, Harry stumbled over to Draco, and used his wand to cast a pain-relieving spell on the young man. It wouldn't cancel out all the pain, but it would help until the curse could be cured or reversed. Then, with some relief, he did the same for himself.

Then Harry mentally reviewed his situation.

There was no way he was going to make it back to the school if he walked -- especially not carrying a semi-conscious Draco -- so while Harry sat watch over the twitching teenager, he also called out "Accio Skyfire!" into the cloud-covered heavens. A few minutes later, his new broom came swooping in out of the darkness.

//It's a damn shame,// Harry thought wearily, //that my first ride on it turned out to be like this.//

----oo00oo----

Albus was waiting for them at the entrance to the school.

That didn't surprise Harry, since several of the spells guarding Hogwarts had been cast by the old man personally, and the Headmaster would've been awoken when the curses and hexes from the fight started to register on the school's defence network.

Standing there in the light of the school torches, Albus was a sight for sore eyes. He was still in his nightgown and cap, with his wand in hand, and was looking worriedly out over the lake. But Harry really blessed his old friend when he saw Madam Pomfrey peering over his shoulder, and looking equally concerned as she tried to make out who was coming in.

Harry descended for a rough landing, but managed not to fall over or drop Draco on the ground.

"Good Heavens!" Madam Pomfrey cried as she rushed down the steps, "What's happened?!"

"He's been hit with a curse," and Harry rattled off it's name, "but it was only a glancing blow," he added, "and I've already cast 'Minime Poena' on him for the pain.

"On both of you, I would hope!" Albus said, as he grabbed Harry's elbow. The Headmaster could plainly see the way Harry's face paled as he staggered away from the broom.

"You're hurt as well?! Lie down immediately!" Poppy commanded as she created a second stretcher. With relief, Harry did just that. Experience had taught him to just go along with whatever Poppy wanted when he was first wounded -- it avoided more pain, and he invariably got better more quickly.

It was only after he had begun to heal that he usually descended to the level Poppy described as 'making-it-worse-while-pretending-it's-better'.

----oo00oo----

Secure in Poppy's care, Harry let himself drift. He vaguely noted the presence of several other voices as he was levitated through the corridors on a haze of hurt. There were questions and exclamations in the background, and Harry suspected that more than one teacher had been pulled from their bed by the sound of Albus pounding on Poppy's door and running down the corridors. Severus, of course -- off in his isolated rooms -- would have to find out all about it toomorrow.

Suddenly, someone was shaking him and asking something. Something about a curse... Belatedly, Harry realised that he hadn't told Poppy which curse had been used on him. He got his mouth working, and tried to pronounce its name. Poppy repeated it back, and whatever she said sounded about right to him. He made a noise that he hoped was agreement.

Then he let himself drift away.

----oo00oo----

When Harry awoke, it was morning.

He was relieved to discover that he was pain-free and still wearing his battle robes. He hadn't yet given Poppy the spells for safely removing his weapons, and he silently offered up thanks that someone had prevented her from trying it.

Harry was also awake in plenty of time for Hagrid's morning check-in, and -- a truly amazing bit of luck -- the makeup on his scar still seemed to be in place. Realistically, he couldn't ask for more than that -- especially considering the night before.

Sitting up, he swung his legs off the mattress and noted that Draco was asleep in the next bed across from him.

//Good,// he thought grimly, //He's not leaving my sight until we have a little 'chat' about last night.//

Once Poppy had assured herself that Ash was fine, and not suffering any after-effects, she was content to let him spend his Saturday morning waiting for Draco to wake up.

Albus came by shortly thereafter, asking for a full account of what happened.

Harry told him that he'd been unable to sleep last night, and had merely been taking a stroll down to the kitchens for a glass of warm milk, when he'd seen Mr Malfoy sneaking out of the school. He'd then followed the student -- intent on sending him straight back to bed. However, Harry had then been confronted by three Death Eaters, who'd apparently cast a spell on the boy to lure him out of the school and then kidnap him. After that, there'd been a fight where he'd killed one Death Eater, wounded two others, and Mr Malfoy had been injured. Finally, Harry had summoned his broom and got them both safely back to the castle.

"Mmmm," Albus said as he stroked his beard and listened to the end of the tale. "Strange," he commented, "how Death Eaters were able to cast a spell on a student through all the school's defensive network -- and from the other side of the lake."

"Perhaps a review of castle security is in order," Harry blandly suggested.

"Mmmm," Albus repeated. "Also amazing how you didn't manage to catch up with the boy until you were all the way around the lake."

"It was dark," Harry offered with a grin. "-- quite difficult to see where he was, you know."

"Mmmm," Albus agreed for a third time. By now there was a slight smile on his face as well. "I suppose," he added, "since the poor boy was obviously under the control of Dark wizards, that he won't even get detention for being out of bed."

"It wouldn't be fair, really," Harry agreed with a broad smile, "Although -- for his own safety -- I think it would be best if he stayed with me for a while."

Albus nodded. "Yes, yes," he agreed, "an excellent idea." And with that, he went off to be interrogated by all the other teachers, who would descend upon him as soon as he left the protection of Poppy's medical sanctuary.

Still grinning, Harry reflected that he and Albus had understood one another perfectly.

Harry had pretty much admitted that Draco had been involved in something stupid last night, but he'd also let Dumbledore know that he thought it would be better to deal with the boy himself. In return, Albus had let him know that he understood Ash wasn't being entirely truthful, but that he also acknowledged that Ash wasn't trying very hard to hide that fact. By leaving Draco in his care, Albus had then let Harry know that he was willing to let Ash deal with the problem -- at least until he had a reason not to.

It was quite a leap of faith that Albus was making -- especially for a new teacher with no background.

Harry wondered whether the canny old wizard had seen through his disguise.

Then a tired voice floated across to him from the next bed. "Why did you do that?" Draco asked.

"Do what?" he automatically replied.

"Lie so that I wouldn't get into trouble."

"Because I think you're already in enough trouble Draco Malfoy -- and I think we need to talk before the issue gets confused by any more busybodies."

Draco sneered weakly, "Oh, please," he said in an empty voice, "Spare me the moral sermon -- I've heard it all before."

Harry barked a short, derisive laugh, "Any moralising from me would be hypocritical in the extreme!"

Draco eyed him suspiciously.

"Tell me," Harry said in a low voice, as he leaned forwards, "what do you think a War Mage is, Draco? -- and do you really think there's a curse anywhere in the world that I haven't used?"

Draco -- watching the War Mage's intense expression -- swallowed convulsively, and whispered, "I... I don't know." Then more strongly, he asked, "Is there?"

"Probably," Harry said straightening up, "but not in any language you'll ever speak." And then he went to find Poppy so that he could get his young charge out of the hospital wing and off to his own quarters, where they could talk in private.

----oo00oo----

Half an hour later -- after Harry had managed to get them both into his apartment without being accosted by more than one or two busybodies -- Harry settled back into one of his beaten up old armchairs and watched as Draco finished the last of his breakfast.

Dobby -- who was firmly convinced that Draco had suffered terribly from his near-kidnapping -- had laid on a top-notch hot meal, and both Harry and Draco had taken full advantage of it. Draco apparently felt very comfortable in Harry's living room, surrounded by the school's odds and ends -- and even went so far as to ask about the funny little lights on the floor. He was thus the first person at Hogwarts to discover that Ash had lived among the Elves for a time -- and that those kinds of light were a standard fixture in virtually every Elven home.

But eventually, Draco finished eating and sighed as he leaned back into his own beaten-up old chair. "All right," said, "get it over with."

Harry eyed him with amusement. "You're so sure I'm going to lecture you on the evils of Dark Magic, aren't you?"

Draco considered Ash's words, and then gave a short, sharp nod.

"Well," Harry said, "you're wrong." Then he leaned forward in his seat, and added, "What I actually want to talk to you about is growing up."

Draco looked confused, and then annoyed. "You're not going to drone on about waiting for everything until I'm old enough are you?"

Harry snorted. "Being 'old enough' is bullshit," he said bluntly.

Draco looked surprised.

"There are only two things that determine whether you're old enough to do something -- whether you understand what the hell you're getting yourself into -- and whether you're willing to accept responsibility for it if it blows up in your face."

Then Harry added, "How many years you've been alive is ultimately meaningless -- except in as much as it gives human parents a general sort of idea as to whether their child is likely to understand what they're getting themselves into. Small children, for instance, can't really comprehend shades of grey -- where a decision or choice can have different answers depending on the circumstances. For them, everything is black and white."

"Yes!" Draco said excitedly, "That's it exactly!" Then he continued as if a dam had burst free inside him. "Take the Gryffindors!" he exclaimed, "They all think everything is either good or bad -- there's no in-between with them! -- and they think everything in Slytherin is bad or evil! But it's not!"

"No," Harry agreed, "Slytherin is not evil -- it's necessary."

"Yes!" Draco agreed, "It's like death -- like surgery, or like... like..."

"Like war," Harry added quietly.

Sobered by Ash's tone, Draco said, "Yes -- like war. Without it, some advances might never have been made. We wouldn't have new medical spells -- the great leaps of understanding magical theory -- all kinds of advances came about because of war -- but all anyone ever goes on about is hhow awful it is -- never anything about the good that comes out of it!"

"And what about the thousands who died?" Harry asked -- carefully probing the extent of Draco's understanding. "What about all the pain and suffering?"

"What -- and that wouldn't have happened without war?" Draco scoffed, "What about over-population, famine, disease, natural disasters? People would still have died -- and maybe even more of them would be dead. How can we know that war isn't a better way?"

Harry nodded. "It's all balanced," he said calmly, "You can't have happiness without sorrow -- pleasure without pain -- Gryffindor wiithout Slytherin."

Draco looked startled at Harry last comparison. "I... I never thought about Gryffindor like that..." he said slowly.

Harry smiled, "Then think of this -- what House you're sorted into generally defines you strengths, right? -- whether you're courageous, persistent, loyal, ...whatever." Cautiously, Draco nodded. "Well then, turn that statement around, and what do you get?"

The young Slytherin looked confused.

After a few moments to let him think about it, Harry declared, "You get an indication of their weaknesses." And then he sat back and waited for Draco to catch on.

It didn't take the young Slytherin long. "Hufflepuff," the pale-haired boy breathed, "and their much vaunted patience -- sometimes they can wait too long -- miss their opportunities!"

"Mmm," Harry agreed, pleased with his student's progress, "and Ravenclaw?"

"Too smart," Draco answered promptly, "Sometimes it makes them arrogant -- give them enough rope and they'll hang themselves on their own cleverness!"

"Gryffindor," Harry prompted, "and be wary of your prejudices."

Draco took the warning to heart, and carefully considered his words. "Brave," he muttered, "but... but sometimes foolhardy -- they... they sometimes do things no sane person would attempt."

"And sometimes insanity is your only hope," Harry offered mildly. "Now -- Slytherin."

Draco didn't need the warning about prejudice for that one. He bit his lip while he thought it over. "Umm... cunning... sneaky," he murmured. He was obviously trying, but Draco was so very much a part of his own House that Harry decided to help him a little.

"Think of the Gryffindors," he suggested, "They are like the light to your darkness. What do they have -- what are they that Slytherins are not?"

"Courageous?" Draco hesitantly asked, then angrily dismissed it. "No," he growled, "I'm no coward!"

"Aren't you?" Harry asked.

"What?!" Draco exclaimed, then angrily demanded, "Say what you mean! Are you calling me a coward?!"

"I'm not calling you anything," Harry calmly replied. "What you are is for you to determine, if you have the guts to stand up and make the choice."

"What choice?" Draco asked.

"The choice about whether to be an adult or to remain as you are now -- a child."

"I'm not a child!" Draco shouted, "I thought you understood!"

"Far more than you apparently do!" Harry shouted back at him.

Shocked by the sudden burst of volume, Draco's mouth snapped shut as he stared at the teacher whom he suddenly felt didn't understand him at all -- and yet who somehow understood far more than anyone else ever had.

He almost felt like crying.

"Draco," Harry said after few moments, "I actually meant for you to realise that Slytherin cunning -- when pushed too far -- prevents people from trusting you. Most people instinctively trust Gryffindors, and you almost never find a Gryffindor without friends -- and loyal friends at that. But people don't tend to trust Slytherins -- no matter whether they're truly worthy of that trust, or not. It was you who came up with the issue of cowardice."

"But since you did," Harry continued, "I'm going to tell you about another young man I used to know -- someone who was a few years older than you when he died, but who was otherwise very similar."

Harry sighed, "He was from a good background -- well-to-do family -- friends -- a happy childhood. But like you, he was destined for the darker side of magic," and Harry glanced over at Draco as he said this, and caught the surprised look in the young man's eyes. "Oh, yes," Harry smiled, "I know what you are -- what we both are, actually," and again Draco was surprised, "But, Draco -- a Dark wizard is not necessarily an evil wizard!" Harry finished. Then he added, "And in my case, it's not even all I am, since I'm a Light wizard too."

"How can you be both?!" Draco blurted.

"It's complicated," Harry answered shortly, "and not relevant to the story at hand." Then Harry looked back at the empty fireplace, "So -- this young man who was so like you -- well... he and I didn't get along..." and suddenly, Harry laughed. "Actually," he admitted, "we absolutely despised each other!"

Harry paused for a bit, reminiscing over the stupidity of his old hatred for the Slytherin sitting across from him. "Anyway," he continued, "we both grew up, and went our separate ways -- both knowing that one day we would meet again -- and that when we did, one of us would die."

Cautiously, Draco commented, "You're, uh... still here..."

"Yes," Harry agreed, "and he died -- but I wasn't the cause of his death -- even though it was my hand that killed him."

Once more, Draco felt like he'd lost track of the conversation somewhere.

"You see," Harry said, "he was a lot like you -- even to having a father who expected him to enter into the service of an evil Mage -- and yes, the monster his father served was a Mage, although how that happened is still a mystery."

With quiet dignity, Draco accused him: "I thought you said you knew the difference between a Dark wizard and an evil wizard."

"I do," Harry answered, "and Voldemort is the most evil monster I've ever come across."

"How do you know that?" Draco demanded. "Have you ever spoken to him? Asked him his reasons for doing things? Actually understood what he's trying to accomplish?"

"Yes," Harry answered shortly, "I know more about that thing that walks like a man you could ever imagine." And then Harry looked intently at Draco, "Can you say the same?"

"I... my father --"

"No!" Harry cut him off, "Not your father, or your friends, or what any other relative has told you since you could walk and talk. Can you say the same? Have you talked to him -- to his victims -- to any of his other followers -- to anyone who could tell you -- as an independent source -- about the wizard you were so eager to join last night?"

"I..." Draco bit his lip as he searched his memory. "No.." he finally admitted. "But my father wouldn't lie to me!"

//Give me strength,// Harry prayed. "Draco," he said, "last night your father threw you into the middle of a fight that very nearly got you killed."

Draco paled, "You... how did you know that was my dad? Are you going to tell the Aurors?"

"I don't need to tell them," Harry replied, "Anyone with half a brain knows your father is a Death Eater. The only reason he's not in Azkaban is that they can't prove it -- and he still threw you into the middle of a deadly fight with no thought for your personal safety! That's not a very 'fatherly' thing to do in my opinion!"

"That... that wasn't what he meant to do!" Draco said. "He just thought I should be helping them..." then Draco's eyes widened as he realised what he'd been about to say.

"...to kill me?" Harry enquired politely. Draco wouldn't meet his eyes. "Well," Harry continued, "it nearly killed you, and it did kill one of them." Draco paled. "No, not your father," Harry reassured him. "I wounded him, but he'll be fine with proper medical attention -- although how he's going to explain a gunshot wound is anybody's guess."

Draco exhaled in relief. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, I'm sure," came the sarcastic reply. "But getting back to my childhood nemesis -- his father expected him to serve an evil Mage just as your father expects you to serve an evil wizard." Draco looked like he wanted to object again, but Harry stared him into silence.

"So," Harry continued, "off he goes on his merry way, doing exactly what his father tells him to -- never once thinking that there was anything else he could be doing -- and, in due course, he becomes a fully-fledged Dark wizard."

"Was it what he wanted?" Draco asked curiously.

"I imagine so," Harry replied dryly, "-- for a while, anyway. Then -- somewhere along the line -- I think it started to go wrong."

"You see," Harry explained, "this person we're talking about -- he was really still a child. Even though he was older than you are now, he'd never made an important decision about his own life, ever! He simply did whatever his father -- and later the evil Mage -- told him to do." Then Harry looked intently at the pale-haired young man across from him. "That's how children behave, Draco." he said. "Only children simply accept the fact that their parents have the right to make choices for them. Even disobedient children never question the fact that their parents have that right. They may choose to flout the rules, but they don't question their parents' right to make those rules."

Draco flushed. It was easy to see the parallel with his own father. Draco had never once questioned the fact that he was going to be what his father wanted. But now... //Is it what I want?// he wondered. But then he thought, //What else is there?//

Then his new Dark Arts teacher interrupted his musings. "So," Harry continued, "one day this evil Mage decides that he's going to practice a bit of Soul Magic." Draco gasped. "Oh, yes," Harry grimly agreed, "that's how we found out he was a Mage -- because that was the only non-human magic he ever managed to master. But it was more than enough," and Harry actually shuddered at the memory of it. "Who wants to oppose a man who can destroy your very soul?" he asked. "Fortunately, he couldn't do it very often -- it drained his magic too far every time he used it."

"Personally," Harry added after a moment, "I don't believe that's all it drained out of him -- but then, there wasn't much of his soul left by that stage anyway." And then suddenly grim and serious, Harry turned to the young Slytherin and said, "There are some things, Draco, that mortals just aren't meant for -- and Soul Magic is one of them!"

Draco could only nod in wholehearted agreement.

"So," Harry continued, "one day this evil Mage summons the young man and binds his soul up in a curse -- and the curse is configured so that he has to kill me, or else his soul will be destroyed."

"But..." Draco gasped, "you killed him -- does that mean...?"

"No -- I'm getting to that." and Harry closed his eyes against the pain as he remembered what Voldemort had done. "You see," he explained, "the evil Mage was gambling on the fact that because I knew this man's soul would be destroyed -- then I would unconsciously be at a disadvantage. He knew that there would always be some part of me that wouldn't want to let that happen -- even to someone I hated." And then Harry mused, "Actually, it was more a case of especially to someone I hated. By the time we left school, I actually knew him fairly well -- as I imagine he also knew me."

"Your beloved enemy," Draco whispered -- spellbound by the unfolding tragedy.

Surprised, Harry agreed. "Yes, something like that, I suppose."

"What happened?" Draco asked with morbid fascination.

"The evil Mage kidnapped a group of children, and left them to die in a trap that was keyed to my magical signature. I was their only hope of rescue. Of course, I knew it was a trap, but I had already discovered how to destroy the curse, and I thought -- hoped -- that I could save them."

"And the man with the curse too?"

Ash's face took on a peculiarly pained expression. "No," he said, "In order to break the curse, I had to kill him. It was the only way to save his soul."

"How?" Draco asked fearfully.

"Are you certain you want to know?"

Draco thought about it carefully, and then nodded.

"I couldn't use magic against him," Harry said in a soft voice, "-- that would trigger the curse -- and I couldn't talk him out of it, because the curse controlled him utterly. There was only one weakness in the spell that we could find -- and that was only because the evil Mage had to bind the enchantment to some part of his physical body. If that monster had bound it to a hand, or an arm -- I might have been able to save his life too, but as it was -- I had to... to physically separate the bound organ... from the rest of his body."

"God," Draco croaked, "It was his heart, wasn't it? The bastard bound the curse to his heart..."

Harry swallowed heavily. "Yes," he answered, "it was his heart -- and I had to get close enough to him to do it -- close enough in battle against a powerful Dark wizard -- and I couldn't use magic against him ddirectly. He nearly killed me."

Draco felt ill. This was just... beyond horrific. How could anyone do that -- and he wasn't sure whether he meant the War Mage, or the monster who'd cast the spell.

"He died," Ash finished, as a tear slid down one cheek, "in my arms -- with his heart in my hand -- and his blood all over everything." Then Draco's powerful Dark Arts teacher scrubbed pathetically at his damp cheek, and roughly added, "But at the end, he was free -- the curse was broken -- and he knew who he was again, and that his soul would survive. He... his last breath... was a 'thank-you'."

And then the War Mage excused himself and went into the bathroom to splash water on his face and regain some of his self-control.

When he returned, he was carrying a damp washcloth, and he wordlessly offered it to Draco. Only then did the Slytherin realise that there were tears on his own cheeks too.

They sat together for a while, unwilling to break the silence, until finally Draco asked: "So he... he never got the chance to grow up? -- to be an adult... make his own decisions... and accept the consequences...?"

Harry smiled tiredly, "Actually he did," came the surprising answer. "The trap was rigged so that even if I survived -- the children would still be killed. Their deaths -- on top of his... well, the other Mage... he was probably hoping I'd lose it, and do something stupid."

"So he saved them?" Draco asked hopefully.

"Yes he did," Harry smiled, as the tears threatened again. "Every last one of them -- and I can only guess that he wasn't so completely controlled by the curse before I arrived. But however it happened, he made his first and only decision to do what he thought was right -- and not just what someone else told him to do."

"I'm glad," Draco said fiercely. "I'm glad he did."

"Yes," Harry agreed, "and I'm sure he would want you to do the same thing."

Then Harry leaned over and grasped the younger wizard's forearm, looking directly into Draco's eyes as though searching for something. "Don't be like my beloved enemy," Harry begged him, "Don't wait until it's too late to make more than one last decision. Don't die on the edge of adulthood -- like he did."

Blinking hard at the intensity of it all, Draco hoarsely replied, "But what if I choose it? What if... if I find out everything I can about Voldemort... and he's still what I want? Will... would you... try to stop me?"

Harry stared very seriously at the Slytherin who seemed so very young to him. "If you truly understand what you're getting yourself into," Harry slowly began, "-- which I don't think you did last night -- and if you're certain you can live with the consequences of your choice -- then I don't have the right to stop you."

It was a raw and powerful acknowledgement that Harry gave his one-time nemesis -- that Draco was an adult in his eyes, and had the right to choose -- even if Harry didn't agree with the choice.

"Thank you," Draco whispered, understanding full well what Ash had just given him.

"But remember," the War Mage warned as he drew slowly away, "that if that is your choice -- then one day, it may be me you're facing across the battlefield."

"But it's still my choice," Draco said, and Harry nodded in agreement.

----oo00oo----

After that, they spoke of other things -- topics less charged with emotion -- as they both tried to regain some equilibrium.

At one point Harry offered Draco an alternative to joining Voldemort's Death Eaters. "I know people, Draco," Harry told him, "-- masters in the Dark Arts. I can check around if you like -- find out who might be willing to teach you -- if that's what you want -- and after you graduate from Hogwarts."

"I... I'm not sure," the young man answered. Then he grinned. "I don't think I know enough to make an informed choice," he said.

Harry laughed, and left the offer open.

Eventually, the discussion turned back towards the school, and suddenly -- out of the blue -- Draco asked, "Why do you hate Professor Snape?"

Confused, Harry immediately answered, "I don't!"

"Really?" Draco sounded doubtful.

"Yes, really!" Harry reassured him. "What on earth makes you think I hate him?"

"Well, everybody knows you're always watching him," Draco replied, "It looks like you don't trust him -- like you think he'll slip away and do something awful while your back's turned. I just figured you knew he was a Death Eater -- and that you hated him. Everybody else thinks it's because he's always favouring our House -- or because he's after your job."

Harry could feel the stunned look creeping across his face.

Watching that bewildered surprise, Draco suddenly had an awful thought. He'd been pretty casual about discussing Death Eaters and the Dark Lord with his Dark Arts teacher. After all, the War Mage already knew about his father -- and Crabbe and Goyle's parents too, as it turned out. But just because he knew all about them didn't mean...

"You did know, didn't you?" Draco blurted out. "You knew Professor Snape is a Death Eater, right?"

"What?" Ash said, as if from a great distance. Then abruptly he blinked and returned to himself. "Oh," he said, "yes -- yes, of course I knew. Don't worry -- you haven't given away any secrets."

Draco sighed with relief. Then he looked carefully at his Dark Arts teacher -- Professor Ash still seemed a bit... distracted. "So," Draco began, "if you don't hate him, then why do you watch him all the time?"

Harry struggled with how to answer that question -- or, indeed, whether to answer it at all -- while his potential-Death Eater student from Slytherin sat calmly across from him, awaiting a response.

Finally, Harry figured 'what the hell' -- after last night, Severus would almost certainly be ordered to keep a close eye on him -- and to try and find out how he performed wandless magic. //As if it's a big secret,// Harry scoffed -- but Voldemort had never accepted that it was simply a different way of thinking, and a lot of practice. The Dark Lord had always been sure there was a trick to it.

Still... if Draco told his father that the War Mage had an 'interest' in Severus... and Lucius told Voldemort... then it was very possible that the Dark Lord would also command his servant to become... involved... with the new Dark Arts teacher, in an attempt to learn his secrets.

Having the Dark Lord order Severus to try and win him over was a strangely appealing and really underhanded thing to contemplate.

And so -- having decided to answer Draco's question honestly -- Harry smiled his most charming Gryffindor grin, and simply replied, "I watch him because I like looking at him."

It took Draco a moment to process that. When he finally worked it through, he unthinkingly yelled, "You've got to be kidding me! He's... he's the Potions Master! -- Ick!"

Harry burst into laughter and damned near fell of his chair. "Oh, gods!" he cried, "-- the look on your face!" and then he couldn't help himself -- another quick look at the complete bewilderment in Draco's eyes, and Harry was off all over again -- helpless against the tide of hilarity.

"You were kidding, right?" Draco asked in confusion. "That was a joke, right?" It hadn't seemed like a joke -- but Professor Ash was still laughing, so...

"No, no," Harry replied as he got himself under control, "it's just that -- the first time I saw -- well, never mind... let's just say that as a Mage, I've had that exact same expression on my face more times than I care to count -- and it was almost always when I was being introduced to a new species. But I got over it, and I'm sure you will too."

"So, what," Draco asked, "-- you're saying that even flobberworms look good to you?"

"Hey!" Harry objected, "A little more respect for your teacher over here!"

Draco smirked.

"Young man," Harry said at his mock-sternest, "you are sailing dangerously close to eternal detention!"

"Can I spend it all in here talking to you?" Draco asked semi-seriously.

Harry blinked. "You're welcome any time," he said. "Any time you want to talk -- or even if you just want to sit here and stare at the walls."

"Thanks," Draco said. "I... well... just thanks, I guess -- for..."

"... for whatever," Harry smiled.

"Yeah," Draco answered, also smiling. "-- and hey," he added as he got up to leave, "don't worry -- I won't tell anyone why you keep staring at him. Nobody would believe me anyway!"

"Well," Harry said thoughtfully as he escorted Draco to the door, "actually, you could do me this huge favour, and just tell one person -- only one mind you!"

Draco blinked. "Really? Who?"

"Your father," Harry replied with an evil grin.

Draco was confused again, "But... he'll just go and tell..." Then Draco looked at the evil grin again. "I don't want to know!" he declared loudly. "I'll do it -- but do not ever tell me about iit! Ever!"

And then Draco walked off down the corridor, and Harry heard a final resounding "Ick!" echo off the walls just before he closed the door.

Still chuckling over Draco's theatrics, Harry was quietly grateful that the morning had gone so well. //Who'd ever have thought,// he mused, //that Draco and I would get along so well.// Perhaps some of their problems had stemmed from being in the same year together -- and actually being far too much alike for their combined comfort.

Harry was quietly hopeful that he'd truly managed to put Draco's feet on the path away from Voldemort. He fervently prayed it was so. He never wanted to find himself once more sitting on the ground, covered in Draco's blood, with the young man's heart in his hands and Dark wizard's last breath on the air. To feel it as Draco died in his arms all over again, might very well be more than Harry could take.

//Not this time,// he promised himself.

And then -- as a distraction from such morbid thoughts -- Harry deliberately tried to imagine the look on Sev's face if old Voldie actually did order his wayward Death Eater to keep tabs on the War Mage -- and perhaps even become 'close' to him.

Harry laughed aloud. //It would make my end of the relationship so much easier!// he chortled. //I could simply relax and let Severus do all the work!//

Oh, he could have fun with that!

----oo00oo----

Chapter 7: Confusion and Quidditch

----oo00oo----

It was one thing to anticipate that Voldemort might unwittingly assist Harry in his pursuit of Severus, but actively relying on it was not something Harry was foolish enough to wait for. Two days ago, he'd been sitting in the library trying to figure out a way to get Severus to have dinner with him, and this afternoon he was going to try out his idea.

But first, he had to find the Potions Master.

The wretched man was not in his apartment as Harry had hoped, nor was he in the staff lounge, or having lunch in the dining hall. After checking out the dungeon classrooms and Sev's office, Harry came to the reluctant conclusion that he must be away from the school grounds somewhere -- possibly picking up more potion ingredients, or browsing around in some esoteric bookshop for more magical recipes to add to his collection.

Harry was on his way back to the dining hall to grab something before the remains of lunch were cleared away, when he heard Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Oh, Ash! A moment, please?" she called out.

He stopped and turned, noticing that the Transfigurations professor was being accompanied by an Auror.

"Can I help you, Minerva?" he enquired politely.

"Yes," she responded, "I'm afraid so."

Harry raised his eyes at her phrasing. "Is there a problem, Professor?" he asked, warily eyeing the Auror beside her.

"Some people seem to think so," she said. "As you can see, the Aurors are here and they have some questions for you with regard to last night's... incident."

"Ah," Harry replied, "and I suppose they've already questioned the other parties involved?" Minerva rolled her eyes heavenward. Standing behind her, the Auror missed her expression.

Amused, Harry turned to the man at her shoulder and said, "I haven't had lunch yet, so if this is going to take more than half an hour, I'd like to postpone it until I've eaten something."

Stonily, the Auror replied, "I'm sorry sir, this shouldn't take long, but a man was killed here last night, and I'm afraid we need you to come as soon as possible."

//Meaning right now,// Harry thought. Aloud, he said, "Oh, well -- I suppose going over it all would have soured my stomach anyway," and then in a soft aside to Minerva, he added, "or at least, being asked the same stupid questions a thousand times would have." Beside him, Minerva stifled a laugh.

The Auror frowned.

----oo00oo----

It was two and a half hours later that Harry finally escaped from the inquisition.

They'd gone to Dumbledore's office, where Harry discovered that both Albus and Poppy had already been given the third degree. Albus had apparently put his foot down with regard to questioning Draco -- arguing that the boy had suffered a terrible shock last night, and was after all, still a minor -- so if they were going to insist on questioning him as well, then they would have to wait a few days until he got over the trauma, and even then, they would have to have one of his parents, or an adult legal representative, with him at all times.

As the resident mediwitch, Poppy had backed Albus on this stand all the way.

Faced with such stiff opposition, the Aurors had decided to redirect their enquiries toward Hogwarts staff members.

And now -- as the primary teacher involved -- it was Harry's turn.

How did he know the Death Eaters would be there last night? Why didn't he stop Mr Malfoy sooner? Did he recognise any of the Death Eaters? Did they say anything to him? Did he really believe that Draco Malfoy was under a spell? Wasn't it possible the boy might have gone to meet them willingly? Had he ever met Draco's father? Would he recognise the Lucius Malfoy's voice? Did he know Cameron Jerffries? Was he sure he didn't recognise any of the Death Eaters?

Harry's replies -- in order -- were: No -- he didn't know the Death EEaters would be there -- he'd simply been following a student who was out of bed. He didn't stop Mr Malfoy sooner, because it was difficult to see him in the dark, and after a while he'd begun to wonder whether Draco was sleepwalking, and he'd heard it was dangerous to awaken sleepwalkers. He didn't recognise any of the Death Eaters -- they were all wearing masks, and he was new in town anyway, and didn't really know that many local wizards. Yes -- the Death Eaters had spoken to him. When they'd seen him following Mr Malfoy, they'd asked him whether he would like to become one of them -- to which he'd basically replied: 'sod off'. He didn't know whether Draco had actually been under a spell, or simply sleepwalking, but it would have to be one hell of a coincidence for a Hogwarts student to 'sleepwalk' right out to three Death Eaters. No -- he didn't think Draco had willingly gone to meet them -- and more to the point, why would Death Eaters want to meet with a sixteen-year-old student if they weren't going to kidnap him? Surely the Aurors didn't think Voldemort was recruiting children for his organisation these days. No -- he'd never been introduced to Lucius Malfoy, although, yes -- he knew what the man looked like from the occasional picture of him in the Daily Prophet. No, he wouldn't be able to pick the man out from his voice alone, and if they were implying what he thought they were implying, then they'd better have some pretty strong evidence to back it up, or Draco's father would have them for lunch in open court. No, he'd never heard of Cameron Jeffries, and no -- as he'd said before -- he had no idea who any of the Death Eaters were.

By the time Harry had answered every question three times, he understood quite plainly that the Aurors were essentially fishing around, and trying to figure out whether a) the dangerous and unknown War Mage had Death Eater sympathies, b) they could implicate Draco as a potential Death-Eater-in-training, and/or c) they could place Draco's father, Lucius Malfoy, as one of the two Death Eaters who'd gotten away.

Unfortunately for them, Harry had gotten over his honesty-is-always-the-best-policy phase a very long time ago, and could lie like a champion whenever he felt it was necessary. Actually, he'd even taken a few classes on how to lie believably when he'd been a student in the circle. Lying well enough to fool your enemies could be an invaluable skill -- and had occasionally saved a lot of lives throughout both Muggle and Wizarding history.

Albus had blinked in surprise once or twice during Harry's straight-faced answers, but Harry suspected that -- after his poor non-attempt at making uup explanations early this morning -- Albus was only now coming to terms with how well his new Dark Arts professor could spin a tale when he was serious about it.

Finally, however, when Harry's stomach was complaining so loudly that everyone in the room could hear it, they let him go.

As he was leaving, Harry stopped to ask, "Cameron Jeffries -- was that the name of the man I killed?"

"Yes," the senior Auror replied with narrowed eyes. "So, you knew him after all?"

"No," Harry said sadly. "I was just wondering -- has his family claimed the body?"

The Auror snorted derisively. "Not likely -- they disowned him years ago -- and they're currently trying to distance themselves from his death as far and fast as they possibly can."

"I see," Harry said quietly. Then he left.

----oo00oo----

It was way too late for lunch, and much too early for dinner. So, rather than bother the house elves for a special meal, Harry decided to get away from the castle and the Aurors entirely, and walk down to Hogsmeade so he could treat himself to a counter-meal at the pub.

Harry enjoyed a sandwich and a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, while he pondered the ultimate fate of a stranger named Cameron Jeffries.

The locals were curious about him, and one or two came over to say hello -- if only for the prestige of being able to tell their friends later that they had spoken with the War Mage whose picture had been on the cover of the Daily Prophet a few months ago.

Harry didn't mind -- it was pleasant to be able to chat with strangers about small things like the weather and their families. It helped to remind him that not everything in the world was an earth-shattering problem that demanded life and death decisions from him.

----oo00oo----

After his very late lunch, Harry went to the post office and sent off a couple of owls -- one to the Jeffries family -- and one to the Auror's post-mortem facility.

On his way out of the post office, Harry spied Severus emerging from the Script 'n Scroll, and suddenly remembered his original plan to get Severus to have dinner with him.

"Professor Snape!" he yelled, and Sev' instinctively looked 'round to see who'd called him. By the time Harry crossed the street and made his way up the footpath, the potions master had developed a fierce scowl.

"War Mage," Severus began before Harry could utter a sound, "while I'm sure there are many exhibitionists in the world who are quite happy to have their names shouted across public venues, I can assure you that I am not one of them. Furthermore, while I cannot stop you following me about during the working week, and staring at me as if I were some kind of specimen -- I would appreciate it if you would refrain from subjecting me to whatever strange suspicions you may have about me on my weekends."

Horrified, Harry realised that Draco's assertion that 'everyone' thought he hated Severus, also included Severus himself! Before the potions master could stalk off, Harry hastily replied: "Professor, I assure you I harbour no 'suspicions' or ill-will towards you at all! I apologise for yelling at you from across the street, and I certainly won't do it again -- but I had hoped to ask for your assistance with one of my Defence Classes."

Severus looked surprised -- and then suspicious. "And why would the great War Mage require the assistance of a lowly potions master in Defence Against the Dark Arts?" he all but sneered.

"For the same reason," Harry humbly replied, "that he needed the assistance of the Herbology professor for a lesson on Leech Root. I am a War Mage, true, but that doesn't mean I'm a master of anything outside my own speciality. In fact -- as I told Professor Sprout -- I'm hopeless with plants, and I freely admit that I would also be hard pressed to brew a decent potion to save my life."

Noting that the almost-sneer had disappeared from Sev's face, Harry earnestly continued, "When I became a Mage, I was taught that mastery in all fields of magic would be impossible -- unless I planned to become immortal. They told me that the most I could hope for was mastery of one or two specialities, and in the end -- for all my dabbling -- I really only mastered one: the magics of War. To assume that this makes me superior in any way to someone such as yourself -- simply because your mastery lies in potions -- is a stupidity that could easily get me killed on a battlefield."

"Indeed," Harry continued, "while I can easily defend myself or others from potions flung in combat, I must still rely on those with your skill to help heal me afterwards -- and to prepare me beforehand." Harry drew back one side of his battle robes to reveal the vials on his belt. "Do you imagine I have the skill to brew what's in these bottles?" he asked. "If so, you are mistaken."

His little speech had drawn a small crowd of rubberneckers just down the street -- many of them older students from the school -- and Harry decided that he would once and for all make his respect for the unpopular potions master very clear.

He took a step back, and brought his hands up to cross them at the wrist in front of his chest. With his fingers spread wide to indicate that he held no weapon -- and standing in the middle of a public sidewalk on Hogsmeade's main street -- War Mage Ash bowed to Severus Snape, and said, "My respects to a fellow Master in magic -- and my apologies for the misunderstanding between us."

As Harry bowed, he did so with his eyes lowered -- an action that left him vulnerable to attack from the one to whom he was bowing. For a War Mage, it was a symbol of trust, while to a Death Eater it was a mark of submission. But Harry knew that Severus was experienced enough to understand both meanings, and intelligent enough to realise that he didn't intend it as submission. From this, Severus was quite capable of working out the rest for himself, and realising that the War Mage had deliberately implied that he trusted the Hogwarts Potions Master.

After he straightened, Harry added, "I hope that I may still ask for your assistance later -- when I won't be intruding on your personal time." And then, with a final courteous nod, Harry left an astounded and completely baffled Master of Potions standing on the street behind him.

As Harry continued to walk away, he could feel dozens of eyes watching him -- students, wizards, witches, and probably even an owl or two. But the only gaze that truly burned him was the one he could imagine coming from Severus Snape, as the older man's confused gaze followed him into the distance.

----oo00oo----

The second week of term brought with it the arrival of the Quidditch trials, and on Sunday evening, as Harry was sitting by himself in the teachers' lounge, re-reading bits of the latest issue of 'Quidditch World', Madam Xiomara Hooch dropped into the chair across from his and asked, "How would you like to help the Gryffindor team select a new Seeker, a pair of Beaters, and a new Captain?"

Harry pursed his lips, remembering Sev's slight smirk as Draco Malfoy claimed that Slytherin would pound Gryffindor into the Quidditch pitch this year. Certainly, Harry had no objection to helping his old House -- if for no other reason than to ensure Severus Snape would not spend the entire year gloating at Minerva.

"Is Gryffindor really in such bad shape?" he asked.

"Well," Xiomara temporised, "they are the team with the largest number of players to replace, and their old Seeker -- young Harry Potter -- really was quite good. But I suspect it's going to be more of a morale issue than a problem with finding talent -- although you never really know until the trials."

Harry considered this. "What would I need to do?"

"You simply need to turn up for the Gryffindor try-outs and give me a second opinion on the students, and what position you think they'd be suited for." Madam Hooch explained. "Until they've elected a new captain, they'll be looking to me for guidance, but if I pick a great team -- or even a really bad one -- then it makes me look a little biased. A second opinion would help alleviate the problem. You don't have to do it," she hastened to add, "It's just that -- since I'm the referee for our House matches -- it helps if I don't look like I'm playing favourites."

"And I haven't been here long enough to be accused of favouritism, yet," Harry grinned.

"Actually," she replied, "you've already started to gain a reputation for being scrupulously fair -- even if you are a bit stingy with House points."

Harry blushed. He was still having problems with the concept of handing out points. It just didn't come naturally for him, and he kept imagining that he might end up handing out points mostly to his own house, while neglecting the others. But apparently he wasn't going to be accused of bias anytime in the near future -- even though 'stingy' wasn't all that flattering either.

"The other reason I'm asking," Xiomara continued, "is that you told me you've at least played Quidditch and still have an interest in it." She pointedly eyed the magazine in his lap. "Can you imagine," she drawled, "if I got Trelawney out there on her broom?" and then Xiomara placed one hand over her eyes, while stretching her other arm out in front. "No, no, dear," she mimicked in Trelawney's slightly higher tones, "don't bother with the ball -- I can see it all now. You'll make a wonderful Beater, but the Bludger will knock you off your broom and you'll fall to your death in the second match. Then the stands will collapse and all the spectators will be killed."

Harry laughed. "All right, all right!" he cried, "You've talked me into it -- if only to prevent the deaths of all those spectators."

"Excellent!" Madam Hooch said. "Then I'll see you on the pitch bright and early tomorrow morning!" and off she went.

"Hey!" Harry called after her, "what time?" But she was already gone.

----oo00oo----

The sun was still just below the horizon when Harry arrived on the Quidditch pitch with his Skyfire Two. He had expected that in the dim pre-dawn light, he would have the pitch to himself for a while so that he could finally spend some time acquainting himself with his new broom. But Madam Hooch was already there.

"You're an early one!" she called out as he approached. "Even the keenest student won't be out here for at least another half hour."

"Well, y'know," Harry drawled, "you didn't actually tell me what time to be here."

"Oops," she replied -- totally unrepentant. Then she noticed his new broom. "So that's a Skyfire Two, is it?"

Harry handed it over for her inspection. "Yes, and I was hoping to try it out this morning. I've owned the bloody thing for well over a month now -- and I've still only ridden it once!"

Handing the broom back, Madam Hooch laughed. "Such a disaster!" she commiserated.

Harry looked at the equipment on the ground. There were Beater clubs, the chest with the Quidditch balls in it, some protective pads for arms and legs, as well as a clipboard with the parchment containing the names of all the Gryffindor students who would be trying out this morning.

"You look like you have everything well in hand," he said. Then he mischievously added, "Wanna play a little one-on-one?"

Xiomara pursed her lips and looked at his new broom. "How good are you?" she asked, weighing her chances.

"If I wanted to spend my life on a broom," Harry replied, "I could probably play for England. As it is, I might get taken on as a replacement player -- in one of the minor clubs."

"Out of practice, eh?"

"No time!" Harry whined. "And it's a new broom, too," he reminded her.

Harry had basically just told Xiomara that he had a lot more natural talent than she did, but on the other hand, he hadn't flown at all in quite a while. As well, the fact that his broom was new meant he would have to be cautious, because he didn't yet know what it was capable of. Madam Hooch, however, flew every day and knew her broom like the back of her hand.

"Oh, why not," Xiomara finally decided, "It's been ages since I've played one-on-one, and we do have a little time until the students get here."

One-on-one Quidditch was played with a single Bludger and two Beaters. The object of the game was to get the Bludger through one of the hoops at your end of the Quidditch pitch. To do this, you would ideally be hovering behind one of the rings, and the Bludger would be coming straight for you through a hoop. A less-favoured option was to use your club to smash the bludger through a ring from the other side. But -- since Bludgers tended to swerve and chase after players -- you had to be pretty close to a ring to make the second tactic work.

Getting the ball to your end of the pitch was also a challenge, since -- once again -- you only had two choices: 1) hit the ball away from you, whereupon it would probably swerve to chase your opponent, or 2) let the ball chase you -- which meant risking either a Bludger-induced injury, or your opponent smashing it off in the opposite direction.

Thus, a game of one-on-one usually involved a combination of fast flying, quick turns, careful aim with your club, and eyes in the back of your head as you tried to keep track of your opponent and the Bludger all at the same time.

"Give me a couple of laps, first!" Harry cried out as he kicked off from the ground.

"Not on your life!" Xiomara's voice called from behind him.

Harry leaned forward, adding speed to his ascent. Behind him, he knew he would only have a few seconds until Madam Hooch released the Bludger and took to the air herself.

Looking down and revelling in the sensation of having all that empty space beneath him, Harry was forcefully struck by the sheer sense of freedom that flying always gave him. On a broom, 'up' and 'down' were not something you simply pointed at -- they were directions you could go, and you only had to make a tiny shift in balance to dip or rise -- soaring like the birds in flight.

Which didn't mean you could afford to daydream.

Harry ducked as the Bludger shot past him.

Then he swerved as Xiomara shot past him.

"Hey!" he yelled, "Skinning is still a foul, you know!"

"I never touched you!" she called back.

"And you never will!"

"Says you!"

Laughing at the childish banter, Harry leaned forwards and shot after her. "Where's my club?" he demanded.

"Catch!"

And he did, as she threw it over to him.

"Best two out of three?" Xiomara called.

"Done!" Harry yelled back.

Then they got down to business.

----oo00oo----

Madam Xiomara Hooch was good.

Not world-class good, but Harry could certainly understand why she was the Flying Instructor. She turned neatly in the air, and seemed to be able to keep track of both him and the Bludger with no trouble at all -- a skill Harry also laid claim to, but which many people never managed to develop.

She was also a fair tactician -- and at one point Xiomara looped back bbehind him in order to hit the ball directly at his head. Harry's instinctive reflex was to smash the Bludger back where it came from -- the same way he was trained to return a curse to the one who had cast it. However, Madam Hooch had noted this tendency, and took full advantage of it by lining herself up with her own end of the Quidditch pitch. When Harry hit the Bludger back to her, she easily ducked, and Harry suddenly realised that he'd hit the damned ball with all his strength right back towards Xiomara's end of the field!

"Thaaannk yooou!" she called out as she sped away after it.

Harry was on her tail in seconds. But the Bludger had already turned back towards them, and it would be only a matter of moments until Xiomara hit it into one of her rings. Harry knew he was just a fraction too far behind to intercept her, so instead of uselessly trying to fly any faster, he gripped the end of his broom handle and suddenly turned upside down. Instantly, he brought the tail end of his broom up over his head, and -- by swinging it out in front of him -- had just enough extra reach to smash it down on the twigs at the back of Xiomara's broom. She yelped as her broom kicked upwards, while Harry dropped down, righted himself, and got his Skyfire back underneath him.

The Bludger missed them both, and they each came around -- only to end up parallel to each other as they raced after their target.

"How did you do that?!" Madam Hooch yelled -- for of course, she'd been watching the Bludger coming towards them, and hadn't seen Harry's crazy tactic behind her.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" the War Mage called back.

They chased each other and the ball all over the pitch for a while, and although Harry had a couple of dicey moments where his broom couldn't quite do what he asked of it, he eventually grew accustomed to its limitations, and was soon pushing it to the edge without quite going over.

By the end of their game, it was obvious that Harry -- having got the 'feel' of his new broom -- was pulling ahead, and would probably win if they continued to play. But Xiomara called "Time!" as she passed him after the second point, and he was happy enough to leave the score at one-all.

Taking a last speed-curve around the hoops at his end of the pitch, Harry lured the Bludger back to the ground, and executed a low, spinning twist that allowed him to grab the ball as it zoomed in. The crazy turn also forced the ball to expend most of its momentum harmlessly, instead of ploughing Harry into the ground as it hit. Then Harry manhandled it back over to Madam Hooch, who secured it into the chest.

They got the lid closed, and collapsed on top of it -- exhausted, but grinning madly.

Then the applause and cheering started.

Harry had been vaguely aware of the students as they'd assembled at the far edge of the Quidditch pitch, so he wasn't surprised they were there. But both he and Madam Hooch blushed bright red when they realised that they'd been playing a bit longer than they'd thought -- and their students had probably witnessed some very silly antics from both of them.

"Wow!" a young Gryffindor yelled as he rushed up. "You two can really fly! That was amazing!"

Similar comments were forthcoming as the Gryffindor Quidditch players crowded 'round. "Can we have both of you on our team?" one of them begged.

"Er... I'm afraid not," Madam Hooch told them.

----oo00oo----

Ron -- being a mad Quidditch supporter -- had risen early so that he could come and watch the trials. He was presently sitting in one of the stands -- along with a few other Gryffindors scattered around the seats -- watching the students who were trying-out. In the opposite stands there were students from the other three Houses -- all scoping out the potential opposition.

Hermione arrived and sat down beside him.

"You must have gotten here early," she said.

"Not as early as Professor Ash and Madam Hooch," he replied.

"Oh?"

Ron grinned. "You should'a seen it 'Mione! They were playing one-on-one when I got here -- and they were amazing! Okay -- it's not the same as watching a full Quidditch game, but -- wow, they can both fly! Watching Professor Ash was -- well it was great!"

Hermione smiled. It was good to see Ron enjoying himself. "So why aren't you down there trying out for the team?" she asked.

Ron fidgeted a bit before answering. "I didn't want to try out for a Beater position -- Fred and George were really good, and if I ended up as a Beater..."

"...then everyone would always be comparing you to one of them," Hermione finished.

Ron nodded. Then, after a moment, he added, "And I don't want to be Seeker. Nobody would be trying out for Seeker if Harry was still here -- and... well, I just don't want it while he isn't."

This time it was Hermione who nodded in understanding. "And on that note," she said, "I think we may finally have some progress."

Ron's head came up as he stared at her. "Really?!"

"I'm not promising anything," she warned, "but I'm pretty sure I know who to go to if we want any more answers."

"Who?!" Ron demanded.

"Not here," Hermione said in a low voice. "Remember, we still don't know why Harry didn't tell us he was leaving. He may have had a very good reason -- and I don't want to do this if it's going to put him in danger. We have to be careful."

Ron nodded seriously. "Let's go," he agreed.

As they were exiting the stands, Ron took a last look back over his shoulder at the Dark Arts professor. He was hovering in mid-air on his broom, carefully watching a third-year Gryffindor beat off one of the Bludgers.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked.

"Huh?" Ron abruptly turned back to her. "Oh," he replied, "It's nothing. I just... well, I really enjoyed watching Professor Ash this morning." and he once more looked back towards the War Mage. "You'll probably think I'm barmy or something, but... well... watching him kinda reminds me of the way Harry flies..."

"Really?" Hermione asked. She turned a speculative gaze onto the Dark Arts teacher, as though Ron had said something very significant. "Isn't that interesting..." she murmured -- and then it was Ron's turn to remind her that they still had an important conversation waiting.

----oo00oo----

Harry and Madam Hooch -- with the assistance of the remaining Gryffindor team -- eventually selected two Beaters. One was a boy named Ian Denning from fifth-year, while the other was a fourth-year girl named Abigail Vere. They were both good players, and the two of them seemed to have compatible personalities. Harry and Xiomara both agreed that -- with a bit of practice -- they should work well together.

The Seeker was a more difficult decision. They narrowed it down to two boys -- one in seventh-year and the other in second. The seventh-year student was a slightly better player, but the second-year boy was still fairly inexperienced on a broom -- which meant that he had the potential to improve drastically once he started regular Quidditch practice.

If Gryffindor wanted the short-term benefits, then Harry and Xiomara would recommend the seventh-year boy. But of course, he was already an experienced flyer, and although he would certainly improve with the extra practice, he still didn't have the potential to become a truly great Seeker. It was that potential that the two teachers felt might lie in the younger boy. On top of that, the older student would be graduating at the end of the year, and if they selected him for their new Seeker, then they would have to go through this whole procedure again next year.

Ultimately, the two teachers simply presented their opinion of each student to the rest of the Gryffindor team, and let them choose. The fact that the older boy would be graduating next year was, perhaps, a bit more significant than it usually would've been, since the remaining team members were well aware that they could have been replacing all of their chasers as well. It would have been a disaster for the team if the three girls who'd once occupied those positions had decided to keep playing, and then graduated alongside Fred and George Weasley. Fortunately, the girls had quit last year to concentrate on their N.E.W.T.s, so the team already had three Chasers who'd played together in the previous year.

As it was, the choice was unanimously in favour of the second-year boy, and Marcus Lynman became the new Gryffindor Seeker, amidst much cheering and backslapping.

Gryffindor now had a complete Quidditch team again.

----oo00oo----

In the meantime, Ron and Hermione made their way up to the top of one of the castle battlements. It was windy and cold, but the wind would prevent their voices from carrying, and the open nature of the castle's parapets would prevent anyone from sneaking up behind them, or hiding in a secret passage next to them, or even just stumbling over them by accident. For those benefits, they could put up with a little cold.

"So," Ron began as he blew on his hands and tucked them inside his robes, "what did you find out?"

Hermione had a very satisfied look on her face as she began to explain. "Heart Magic," she said, "is very, very rare -- and not considered the usual kind of spell that a wizard or witch can perform."

Ron frowned. "So it's really hard to do, is it? Then where would Harry have learned...?" Suddenly he looked excited, "That's what you've found out, isn't it? You know who taught Harry how to do that spell!"

"Sort of," Hermione replied. "But Ron, Heart Magic isn't just hard -- it's actually considered to be impossible for wizards and witches -- except by accident... or unless you happen to be a Mage."

"A Mage? You mean like..."

"Yes," Hermione told him. "-- like Professor Ash."

After that, Hermione explained what Heart Magic was, and how it could be performed by anyone -- even Muggles -- if their emotions were powerful enough, their need was great enough, and they had a specific task in mind to use as a focus for the uncontrolled magic. Then she explained that this was not the same as what Harry had done to Hagrid. That had been the deliberate and controlled use of Heart Magic -- which, by definition, meant that the one who'd cast the spell must have been a Mage.

"So," Ron began, "either Harry's a Mage -- which would explain a lot about the last five years of our lives -- or else someone like Professor Ash cast the spell, and Harry just made it look like he was responsible for it."

"And even if it was Harry," Hermione added, "he would still need someone like the Professor to teach him how to use Heart Magic safely. It's far too dangerous to be experimenting with -- even for Harry!"

Ron looked sceptical about his, but wisely didn't argue. Instead, he stuck to the obvious conclusion of their discussion, and neatly summed it up by saying: "So, no matter which way you look at it -- it all comes back to Professor Ash."

Hermione nodded.

"Just great," Ron frowned, "How are we supposed to find out what he knows? We can't just walk up and say 'Tell us where Harry is!'"

"Why not?" Hermione asked, "He can only refuse to answer."

Ron looked at her as if she was mad. "Do you," he asked, "-- or do you not -- remember the welcoming feast? That man is dangerous! What if he gets offended? I don't know about you, but I'm not going to stand in front of him and basically accuse him of kidnapping Harry."

"We wouldn't be accusing him... exactly." Hermione winced at the tentative sound of her own voice. "Okay," she continued, "I'll give you that one; but I still say he's not as bad all that -- after all if we figured this out, then I'm sure Dumbledore did too -- and the Headmaster still hired him!"

"Maybe that was just to keep an eye on him," Ron argued.

"Oh, Ron!" came Hermione's exasperated voice. "Don't you have anything good to say about him at all? Personally, I don't think he's nearly as bad as Professor Snape!"

Ron looked thoughtful. "Yeah, okay -- I admit he's a good Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher -- and the fact that he doesn't like Snappe means he can't be all bad."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean he doesn't like Professor Snape? What makes you say that?"

Ron snorted, "Don't tell me you haven't seen the way he's always staring at Snape? He doesn't trust our Potions master as far as he could throw him! I bet he even knows Snape used to be a Death Eater."

Hermione pursed her lips, and then said, "I wouldn't be so sure about Professor Ash's feelings, if I were you. You obviously haven't heard what happened in Hogsmeade last Saturday," and she went on to explain how a whole group of sixth- and seventh-years had seen Ash bowing to Professor Snape and apologising for bothering him. "There's even a rumour," she added, "that he wants Snape's help with one of his Dark Arts classes -- same as he asked Professor Sprout for help."

Ron was stunned. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Ron -- it was all over the school! I don't know how you could've missed it!" Then she sighed and added, "Nobody knows what it means -- even Professor Snape. Ever since it happened, he's been watching Professor Ash right back! It would be funny if it wasn't so confusing. Personally, I think Professor Snape is trying to figure out what's going on, just like the rest of us."

Ron nibbled his lower lip. "Maybe Ash is just trying to throw Snape off -- y'know, confuse him a bit." Then Ron brightened. "Actually, that's very clever -- whatever the Professor has planned, Snape will never see it coming. He'll be too off balance to anticipate it!" Hermione looked dubious. "Think about it, 'Mione!" Ron urged, "Our Darks Arts professor might be a little crazy -- but maybe he's crazy like a fox -- tooo clever by half!"

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "Fine!" she complained, "First you don't trust Professor Ash, and now you think he's a marvel of planning and strategy! Let me know when you've decided whether we should ask him about Harry."

Ron looked thoughtful. "Hermione," he began slowly, "do you remember our first Dark Arts lesson -- with the Leech Root?"

"Yes, Ron," Hermione replied patiently, "It's not like we've had hundreds of Dark Arts lessons so far this year."

"Well, remember how Goyle asked the Professor about his name -- and later we all thought Draco must have put him up to it?"

"I remember." Hermione repeated. She was becoming impatient, but was still curious enough not to interrupt.

"Then why should we be the ones to ask Professor Ash about Harry? Why don't we just tell someone else -- say, oh... Harry's godfather -- about what we've discovered, and then let him ask Ash all the hard questions?"

Hermione considered it. "Well, I suppose because we promised Hagrid that we wouldn't tell anyone... and I don't want Sirius to get hurt... oh, and of course," Hermione finished in a slightly sarcastic tone, "Sirius isn't here at the moment..."

"We won't need to tell him about the Heart Magic," Ron argued. "We just need to say that we have good reason to believe Professor Ash is involved. If we have to, we can tell him that we've been sworn to secrecy -- I know he'll respect that. And as for getting hurt -- if it involves Harry, do you really think the man who survived twelve years in Azkaban -- let alone three years on the run from the Aurors -- is going to let a little thing like a War Mage stop him? Not on your life!"

"But he's still not here, Ron," Hermione reminded him.

"But he will be, won't he?" Ron replied. "Even if he has to send Lupin in -- he'll be too desperate to know what's going on -- he won't be able to resist not trying something. All we have to do is look for Snuffles or Professor Lupin! And if Dumbledore won't tell them what's really happened -- then you know we'll be the next people he tries to contact anyway."

Hermione thought it over. "Yes," she finally agreed, "I guess you're right -- and he is Harry's godfather after all -- I don't think we really have the right to hide something like this from him."

"And afterwards," Ron agreed, "we can ask him what Professor Ash said."

Hermione nibbled her lower lip for a moment. Tentatively, she protested, "I don't know, Ron -- it still seems like... well, like we're using him..."

"But we're not going to lie to him," Ron argued. "-- not even about how dangerous Professor Ash is -- and I bet Sirius won't think of it as 'using' him."

"No," Hermione admitted. "He wouldn't. All right -- I guess we can do it your way. But we're going to make very sure Sirius knows exactly what he's getting into!" "No problem," Ron agreed.

Then -- with their decision made -- they descended from the battlements toogether, heading for the dining hall to grab a quick breakfast before classes began.

----oo00oo----

The subject of Ron and Hermione's speculation -- Harry himself -- was unaware that his best friends had so quickly managed to connect Ash with Harry Potter's disappearance. But his thoughts were surprisingly similar to theirs in that his own concerns also centred around what he was going to do when his godfather and Remus turned up.

Harry knew that Albus had assigned Sirius and the Remus to work together as information gatherers and spies for the Order of the Phoenix. Currently, their directives were very likely to include trying to discover what plans Voldemort and his followers might have, and whereabouts in the world they were trying to put those plans into action.

That was information that Harry needed as much as Dumbledore did.

The problem was, they weren't likely to tell him anything unless they trusted him as much as they trusted Dumbledore -- and Sirius was probably going to be useless for any kind of activity so long as he was worried about his missing godson.

Even more -- as an animagus and a werewolf, the two of them were the only wizards Harry knew of who could easily recognise him through the disguise spell. They'd each been in his presence in their animal forms before, so his unique scent would quickly give him away. It would be a disaster if they were to meet up with him in their four-footed shapes, and they made that discovery before Harry had a chance to explain what was going on and ask for their silence.

Harry also had one more consideration -- his godfather and Remus would be much more effective in their job of spying and tracking down information, if neither of them could be recognised. Sirius was still on the run from the Aurors, who thought he was a murderer -- and Remus was too well-known as a werewolf, which made him unwelcome nearly everywhere in the wizarding world.

If Harry taught them the full disguising spell, then they would be able to change their appearance and walk freely into places that were currently denied to them. No anti-glamour spell in the world would be able to break their cover.

But if he taught them the spell -- and they told Albus about it -- then Harry's own disguise would be put into serious jeopardy. If Albus had not already guessed who he was, then it was partially because the Headmaster had already tried to use anti-glamour charms to see whether Ash's appearance was genuine. The failure of those spells to reveal his sixteen-year-old self would have gone a long way to ensuring that Albus was still ignorant of his true identity.

The only other thing keeping Dumbledore from the truth, was the fact that Harry really was a War Mage now -- and he could obviously work spells that were completely beyond anything young Mr Potter could be expected to know.

So, when it was all added up, Harry realised that his best course of action would be to get Sirius and Remus together somewhere private, and tell them who he really was. It was going to have to be somewhere really private, because it was going to take a lot of explaining, and Sirius wasn't going to like it very much.

Actually, Sirius was probably going to hate it.

----oo00oo----

And so two more days passed while Harry, Ron, and Hermione all continued to wait for the appearance of Harry's godfather and Remus Lupin.

During this time, Harry allowed himself to concentrate on his classes. He had very graciously decided to allow Severus some time to get used to the idea that Ash didn't hate him, before he took any further action in his pursuit of the Potions Master. Harry continued to sit next to him, of course, but he also toned down the staring, and didn't push the issue of helping him with a Dark Arts class, or otherwise spending time together.

However, Harry soon found that he owed Severus an apology. Ever since their meeting in Hogsmeade, Severus had taken to watching Harry in the same way that Harry had previously been watching him. Sideways glances, and the occasional considering stare quickly became common, and Harry soon discovered that after a while, it became moderately irritating.

//Gods,// Harry complained to himself, //No wonder Sev' thought I hated him! If I didn't know better, I'd think he was doing this deliberately to annoy me!//

Normally, Harry would have enjoyed being watched by the other man, but in the Mirror, he and Severus had been lovers -- and their mutual glances had been filled with sexual overtones and the pleasure they found in each other's company. At present, Severus' fleeting looks contained an odd combination of confusion, consideration, and occasionally -- suspicion -- none of which Harry enjoyed having directed at him.

But what really made everything so much worse, was that by now their encounter in Hogsmeade was the talk of the school -- so not only was Severus watching him, but the rest of the staff -- and the entire student body -- was also watching both of them!

Admittedly, the staff and students were more subtle about it than he and Severus were -- to the extent that Harry could almost make himself believe that he was imagining things. But unfortunately, there were two external proofs that told Harry professor-watching had definitely become a sort of second-string hobby around the school.

The first one of those proofs was that Draco found the entire situation screamingly funny. The sixth-year still didn't want any details -- ever! -- but the fact that he knew what was going on while nobody else did, only made it all the more entertaining for him. Draco was one of the few people not watching Ash and Snape -- instead he was watching the rest of the students -- and occasionally starting the most outlandish rumours just to see whether anybody would believe them.

Harry couldn't imagine anyone buying the story that he was some kind of creature that Severus had brewed up in his cauldron years ago -- and that now he was back to torment his creator and eventually kill him. Draco, however, swore blind that a couple of first-years were still waiting for their Potions Master to disappear.

The other proof Harry had, was that Albus had finally figured out why he kept sitting next to Severus. The Headmaster didn't say he knew why Ash was doing it, but Harry occasionally found himself being subjected to all kinds of advice on restaurants and music. And while it was all very well to have the Headmaster's implied support, Harry already knew what kinds of food Severus liked, and that he enjoyed classical compositions.

What alerted Harry to the fact that the others were watching him, was the fact that he never received this free advice where any other teacher -- or any of the students -- could possibly overhear it. From this, Harry could tell that Albus believed anyone within earshot would definitely try to listen in. That, in turn, was an acknowledgement that people were taking an undue amount of interest in Professor Ash. Thus, Harry had his secondary proof that people really were watching him.

All the attention was beginning to make him feel like a goldfish in a glass bowl.

----oo00oo----

By mid-week, Hermione was arguing that she and Ron shouldn't wait any longer, but should confront their Dark Arts teacher by themselves.

They were whispering together about it, and just walking into the great court after morning classes, when they were greeted by the most astonishing sight...

Professor Ash -- the feared and dangerous War Mage -- was playing wizarding hopscotch with a bunch of first-years!

As they joined the ring of other disbelieving students -- Ron and Hermione noted that the Professor was demonstrating some absolutely amazing skills. He was performing backflips and turns with a flourish and grace that almost made it look like he was dancing. At one point, he even seemed to hover in mid-air for a second -- but of course, that was impossible for a wizard without his broom.

The first-years were plainly in awe of the War Mage's physical skill, while the older students were arguing amongst themselves about whether a particular move had actually involved magic -- and if so, what kind of magic, since AAsh wasn't using his wand. It was pretty much agreed that he was using magic, since the professor had previously made some moves that would've been impossible without a little extra assistance.

At last, Professor Ash came to the end of the game, and laughingly confronted the children whose hopscotch squares he had appropriated.

"And does that settle your argument?" he asked.

The first-years -- still very respectful, but now much less frightened of their Darks Arts teacher -- all nodded in agreement. "Yes sir!" several of them replied, and one in particular added, "I guess I was wrong -- you really can finish the game without anyone else having a turn."

Ash smiled, and then replied, "Yes you can, but really -- that takes all of the fun out of it. Even losing is all right so long as you're having fun. The last time I played, I lost, but I still enjoyed it."

"You lost?!" several students exclaimed.

"Yes," Ash laughed, "-- to the Headmaster, actually."

Every student suddenly had eyes as round as saucers. "The Headmaster plays hopscotch!?" was suddenly mixed up with other exclamations such as, "You lost to the Headmaster?!" and "Surely you're joking!"

Laughing, Ash, confirmed that yes -- he really had lost a game of wizarding hopscotch to Albus Dumbledore. "But then," he finished, "Albus cheats you know -- he doesn't let me use magic!"

As Ash bid all them goodbye, and walked back into the castle, one cheeky first-year yelled after him, "And next time, we won't either!"

A hearty laugh drifted back to them, while inside the school, Harry smugly congratulated himself on successfully helping his youngest students to become a bit less frightened of him. He was especially proud of himself because he'd also managed to ensure that they retained a healthy respect for his abilities. With any luck, the other students who'd been watching would also take the lesson to heart.

//Maybe a few of those bells and chains will start to disappear,// Harry mused.

----oo00oo----

Back in the courtyard, Harry's hopes for a little less fear did not find their mark in Ron.

"Hermione?" he asked in a stunned voice. "You remember when I said that the Professor was crazy like a fox? -- well I take it all back. He's just plain crazy!"

Beside him, Hermione was obviously still trying to fit a hopscotch-playing War Mage into her view of the world. "Maybe you were right about waiting for Sirius," she finally said. "I think... it might be best... all things considered."

Ron nodded sagely. "He's totally nuts, of course," Ron eventually added, "just like Dumbledore in some ways. I expect that's why they get on, you know -- 'cause they're both barking mad."

Hermione didn't reply, but they both understood what hadn't been said -- that someone so unpredictable could be very dangerous indeed, because you never knew what they were going to do next!

----oo00oo----

It wasn't until Thursday that Remus Lupin finally put in an appearance.

Remus came alone, but everyone who knew Sirius also knew he wouldn't be far away. Ron and Hermione overheard Draco complaining about 'that damned werewolf' and how he shouldn't be allowed into the school. Ron immediately decided to skip their next class and go find him, while Hermione insisted that she would cover for him and take notes so that he wouldn't fall behind.

There were still one or two Aurors lurking about the place -- supposedly to prevent any more attempted kidnappings -- but in reality looking for evidence of Death Eater activity in and around the school. So Ron knew that Sirius was unlikely to enter the castle -- even in his animagus form as a large bblack dog named Snuffles.

So, instead of looking for Sirius, Ron concealed himself down the hall outside the Headmaster's office, and waited for Remus show up.

When Remus finally revealed himself, Ron discovered that he'd been in Dumbledore's office all along -- and it was as the werewolf was leaving that Ron could plainly hear his parting words: "I'll tell him what you've said, Albus, but it's precious little to give him, and you know he's not going to be satisfied with it."

"Believe me, Remus," Albus' voice answered, "I hardly know anything more myself. All I can really say is that I firmly believe Harry is fine, and that he will rejoin us when he's ready."

Remus didn't seem too impressed with that, but all he said was: "I'll tell him."

Then the door closed, and as Remus walked past the suit of armour Ron was hiding behind, the sixth-year student caught his attention.

"Psst!" Ron hissed at the man. "Professor Lupin! -- over here!"

"Weasley?" Lupin asked in surprise. "It's not professor anymore, Ron -- and why aren't you in class?"

"Because Hermione and I need to talk to you," Ron replied in a hushed voice from behind the armour. "Listen, did Dumbledore give you the same story he's been feeding everyone else? -- that Harry's fine, but he won't say how he knows, or what happened?"

"Yes, he did," Remus acknowledged, "and Sirius is going to hit the roof when I tell him. I don't know how I'm going to convince him not to come in here and demand to see Albus for himself."

"Don't bother," Ron grinned, "Dumbledore's not the one you need to talk to. Look, can you both meet me and Hermione somewhere after classes this afternoon? We need to tell you some stuff."

Curious, Remus agreed. "How about at the Shrieking Shack?" he suggested.

"Perfect," Ron answered, and then he dashed off down the hall back to class, leaving behind a curious werewolf, who was now going to have to explain all this to a large, angry dog back in the Forbidden Forest.

----oo00oo----

Harry became aware of Remus' presence in much the same way that Ron and Hermione did. It was hard to keep down gossip about a known werewolf wandering the halls and asking to see the Headmaster.

But Harry didn't have the luxury of skipping class like Ron -- after all, that would be a little difficult since he was the teacher! So, instead he waited until after class and then kept watch on the people he thought Remus might try to see.

Albus stayed in his office, and a few questions to Minerva quickly confirmed that Remus had already come and gone on that front. Harry hoped that Remus and Sirius were still in the area, and consoled himself with the thought that Sirius was unlikely to leave with only the tiny scraps of information Albus could give him.

That left Harry with watching Ron and Hermione -- whom both men knew Harry regarded as his best friends -- and who would therefore be their next best source of information after Albus Dumbledore.

Eventually, Harry's patience was rewarded when he finally saw Ron and Hermione heading for the Whomping Willow and the secret tunnel out to the Shrieking Shack.

//Trust those two to be involved already,// he thought with amusement, as he quickly moved to follow.

----oo00oo----

By the time Harry arrived -- well concealed under his invisibility cloak -- Ron and Hermione were already telling Remus and his godfather all about their new Dark Arts professor -- and how they should be asking him questions about Harry, rather than Dumbledore.

Harry was surprised to realise that they'd made the connection to Ash so quickly.

In light of this revelation, Harry didn't reveal himself immediately, but instead settled back to find out how much Ron and Hermione really knew.

It turned out that they didn't know much.

Harry was relieved to discover that they didn't really suspect anything more than Albus had already figured out. That was surprising enough for a pair of students -- //Although I should know better than to underestimate that pair,// Harry reminded himself -- but it wasn't as much damage as he'd feared.

Ron and Hermione were currently refusing to explain how they knew their Dark Arts teacher was involved, but to Harry it was obvious that Hagrid had let something slip some time in the last two weeks.

Harry sighed quietly. //Time to put an end to this,// he thought, and then pulled off his invisibility cloak, while adding, "Excuse me, but I really think I should be part of this conversation, since it has involved me one way or another from the very start."

----oo00oo----

Ron and Hermione both jumped, but to their credit, didn't scream.

Sirius and Remus had their wands out and pointed at him before he could blink.

"Nice reaction time," Harry commented, "Sort of reminds me of me."

"That's Harry's invisibility cloak!" Ron accused.

Sirius scowled at him darkly. "What have you done with my godson?" he demanded.

"Nothing I care to discuss in front of two of my students," Harry replied, and then he turned to Ron, adding, "and by the way, I hope you don't imagine there's only one invisibility cloak in the world."

Without taking his eyes off the War Mage, Sirius said, "Ron, Hermione -- I think you two should go back to the school now."

"But --" Ron started to protest.

"It would be safest," Remus agreed in a warning tone.

"And if you don't leave, immediately," Harry added in a milder voice, "it's also going to cost you fifty points for deliberately disobeying a teacher."

Faced with the unanimous agreement of every adult present, and scowling at the injustice of it all, Ron allowed Hermione to pull him into the secret passage. Just before they disappeared from view, Ron looked back at Sirius with an expression that plainly said 'we will talk later'.

//Don't bet on it,// Harry thought.

Then he was alone with Remus and his godfather.

----oo00oo----

"They're gone," Lupin said after listening for a few moments.

Harry made his own brief magical check to ensure that the secret passage was well and truly empty -- and that Ron and Hermione weren't simply hiding out of sight.

After satisfying himself that they were actually gone, Harry then turned his attention back to his godfather.

"Now talk," Sirius growled.

"Harry is closer than you might think, Padfoot," he explained. "If you change into Snuffles, I think you'll find you can even sniff him out from here."

Sirius looked suspicious, but Remus interceded. "Go on Sirius," he urged, " I've got him covered -- and if Harry's nearby, we want to know."

Still not taking his eyes off the War Mage, Sirius Black lowered his wand and concentrated. Moments later, there was a large black dog in the middle of the room.

The dog started sniffing, but Remus kept his eyes firmly on Harry. It was quite a surprise to him, therefore, when Snuffles ended up in front of the War Mage, sniffing at his boots. It was even more of a shock when said Mage knelt down and cupped his hands over Snuffles' nose to give the dog a full dose of his personal scent.

Suddenly, Snuffles yelped, and leapt backwards so fast that he ended up on his back with all four paws in the air. There was a brief shimmer, and then a stunned looking Sirius was lying on the dirt floor staring up at the man in front of him with disbelieving eyes.

"Hello Godfather," Harry smiled.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 8: Padfoot and Moony

----oo00oo----

"Sirius?!" Lupin's shocked voice demanded, "What's going on?!"

"He... he smells like Harry!" Black replied.

"What?! That's impossible!"

"Dammit Moony -- I'm telling you he smells like Harry! When I'm Snuffles, my nose tells me that this is my godson!"

"I am your godson," Harry replied. "I've cast a disguising spell on myself -- one that anti-glamour magics can't penetrate."

"You're not my godson!" Sirius roared. "You can't be! You don't even have Harry's scar!"

In response, Harry slowly lifted his fringe, and scrubbed away the makeup. "The damned thing can't be hidden with magic," he explained, "so I had to resort to muggle tricks."

Shocked, Sirius stared at the scar, while Remus slowly lowered his wand. "But..." the werewolf protested, "you -- you're a teacher! Our Harry isn't old enough to be a teacher -- he doesn't know enough...!"

Harry smiled tiredly. "A fact that has done more to protect my identity than a thousand disguise spells," he agreed. "But there is a great deal you don't know about what happened to me last year -- and particularly about what happened when the Mirror of Maybe pulled me in."

"The mirror?" Sirius repeated. "The one that fool Fudge brought to the dance?" Harry nodded. "But... Dumbledore assured me that you... that Harry... that my godson, was all right. He said everything was fine!"

"He didn't know," Harry said simply. "I didn't tell him."

"Sirius?" Lupin suddenly interrupted. "Are we buying this? Are we really going to believe this is Harry?" He didn't sound as though he dis-believed it -- only as though he wanted confirmation of the decision from Sirius.

"I..." Sirius looked confused.

"Let me show you my animagus form," Harry suggested, "I think that might help to convince you."

Tentatively, Sirius and Remus stepped back to give him room, and also to give themselves room for a fight in case he turned into something dangerous.

Harry concentrated -- focusing his magic internally, and mentally reciting the spell that would trigger the change to his other self. The animagus spell was one of the very few pieces of wizarding magic that did not need to be spoken aloud. It also didn't require a wand, since the magic was focused inwards, and not channelled into an external activity. This was fortunate, since both Harry and Sirius would be hard pressed to hold a wand in their animagus bodies, let alone repeat a spell out loud while using an animal's vocal equipment.

When he next opened his eyes, Harry had four hooves planted firmly on the ground, and his view of the world was both higher, and strangely flattened. The eyesight from within his animagus body always took Harry a few moments to adjust to.

Having four feet and no arms was a bit of a challenge too.

"Oh my god," Sirius breathed. Remus looked equally shocked.

Harry knew what they were seeing. In the Mirror, Sirius had almost burst into tears the first time he'd seen Harry in his full animagus transformation.

He looked exactly like Prongs -- his father -- who, before his death, hhad been Sirius' best friend.

This time, though, Harry was somewhat uncomfortable in his other body. The disguise spell -- which reflected the human features he had imagined -- could not cope with his animal form. That meant that the spell would lie dormant within him until he changed back. As a result, he now appeared as a teenaged version of his animagus self.

The last time Harry could remember transforming, it had been within the Mirror -- and he'd been a fully-grown stag with a magnificent set of antlers. Those antlers could be deadly weapons if he chose to sweep them low in battle. But now, he was only a young buck, and his tiny branched horns would hardly frighten a mouse.

It was embarrassing!

But at least it served to reassure his godfather and Remus that he really was Harry Potter. The form he now had was exactly the right age for a sixteen-year-old.

They came up to him then, and Sirius used one finger to trace the outline of his scar in the white markings on his forehead. "... can't be disguised with magic..." he murmured.

Harry nodded, surprising Sirius, who then pulled his hand away.

"You look just like him," Remus whispered. "So much like Prongs..."

"Change back, Harry," Sirius told him in a voice thick with emotion. "I think there's a lot we need to talk about -- starting with that mirror."

So Harry resumed his human form, and watched in sympathy as both Sirius and Remus tried to cope with the way he now looked under the disguise spell.

This meeting was easier on Harry than it was for his godfather and Lupin, since Harry had already adjusted to seeing all the Hogwarts teachers and students in their younger selves. Thus, he'd already anticipated seeing these two men as they now appeared. Added to that, Harry also had the benefit that they, at least, still looked like Sirius and Remus to him -- merely younger -- but to them, he knew he looked nothing like 'their' Harry.

"Would you remove the spell?" Sirius asked, "Just for a little while?"

"I'm sorry," Harry replied, "but it's based on a face I made up. If I take it off, then I probably won't get it exactly right when I re-cast the spell -- and I can't afford to give people any excuse to think that this might not be my real face."

Sirius looked disappointed, but Remus nodded in understanding.

They all stared at one another for a few moments, until finally, Remus broke the silence.

"So," he said in a light tone, "what's this about a mirror?"

----oo00oo----

Half an hour later, the two astonished men were still having trouble with Harry's explanation.

Remus was frowning as he asked, "What you're saying, then, is that you went into the future -- or at least a possible future..?"

"Not at all," Harry replied, shaking his head. "Think of the Mirror of Maybe as if it were a book. When you open a book, you can read the whole thing in only a day or two -- yet the story itself may encompass yeaars. But once the book is finished, you return to the real world where very little time has passed, and everything you thought you experienced never happened. There's no time travel involved, and no paradoxes or alternate realities. It's just a story."

"In my case," Harry went on to explain, "when I was pulled in, the Mirror created a story based upon things that would probably happen. But the book -- which was the world the Mirror created -- was so real, that I couldn't tell the difference between being inside it, and being out here."

"For me, there was only a second or two of dizziness, and then the Mirror turned blank. It looked as if I was still at the dance -- and Ron and Hermione were still standing next to me. Nobody could figure out what had happened -- why the Mirror stopped working."

"Actually," Harry added ruefully, "a lot of the other students -- the ones in the Mirror -- blamed me for ruining their fun. They said I must have done something to it to make it stop working."

"But you weren't even gone half an hour!" Remus protested. "How could thirteen years have passed for you?"

Harry shrugged. "How can a book describe years in only a few pages? The Mirror was a very complex device with some very intricate and powerful spells on it. Hermione thought it must have been created by a group of very powerful wizards -- and that at least one of them must have been a mathematical genius."

"But it didn't really happen," Sirius interrupted. He had been very quiet during Harry's explanation, and Harry was beginning to become a bit worried about him. "It was only a story, after all -- so under that disguise, you're still my sixteen-year-old godson. Right?"

Harry sighed. Sirius was obviously hoping that thirteen years in a mirror didn't make that much difference in the real world. "No Padfoot," Harry firmly denied, "I'm not sixteen anymore. From my perspective I haven't been sixteen in a very long time." Then he turned to Remus, and said, "You mentioned that I couldn't be a Hogwarts teacher because I didn't know enough..."

Remus blinked, and then understanding filled his face.

Harry turned back to his godfather and gently asked, "Do you imagine I could be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts if I was only sixteen? And do you really think I could fool Gringotts into believing I was a War Mage if I wasn't?"

Desperately, Sirius cast about for an argument. "But... but your animagus form --"

"Reflects the age of my body," Harry interrupted, "-- not my mind -- not who I am. What if I'd been hit with some kind of de-aging spell? Or one that added years to my body for that matter? Would you pretend I was fifty if I'd been hit with a curse that aged my physical form?" Harry paused. "I'm sorry godfather," he finally said, "but I'm not sixteen anymore. I'm a twenty-nine-year-old War Mage -- and all the wishing in the world isn't going to change that."

Sirius looked distressed, and Harry felt as if his heart was being squeezed. He loved his godfather so much -- and it hurt to see him like this. Whatt if Sirius couldn't accept him as he was now? //Please, Padfoot,// Harry silently begged, //please accept this. I can't pretend to be something I'm not -- even for you.//

But sometimes -- when you were too personally involved -- it took a friend to stand back and get to the core of the problem.

"Sirius?" Lupin asked. "Why are you trying to deny what's happened to Harry? We've both listened to him -- watched him. I admit that the face and voice are all wrong -- but he knows too much about us -- and about Hogwarts, the Dursleys, Hagrid, Ron, Hermione... need I go on? This is Harry, and he's not sixteen any more. You know it's true -- hell, I can even see you in him -- in some of his mannerisms -- the way he phrases things..."

Sirius stiffened. "No," he interrupted. "You can't possibly see that! That's just the point, isn't it?"

Remus looked confused. Harry felt the same way.

"You can't see me in him," Sirius growled, "because I wasn't there! I wasn't there when he was growing up in a household full of prejudiced muggles! I wasn't there for his school years -- and how many times has Voldemort try to kill him in the last five years? And now I find I wasn't there for thirteen years while he grew into a man -- all because of a god-damned mirror!"

"I was supposed to be his godfather!" Sirius yelled -- and then he brokenly added, "But now it's too late. I've screwed it all up -- and now it's too late." The room was suddenly silent, and Sirius quietly whispered, "I'm sorry, James -- you should have picked someone better to look after him."

Suddenly Harry spoke up in a strong and calm voice. "You're wrong, Sirius -- you didn't screw it up. You were there."

Sirius looked at him sorrowfully. "No..."

Harry crossed over to him, and grabbed his arm. "Yes!" he said, and he shook his godfather to emphasise the point. "You were there! All right -- maybe not for the muggles, or Hogwarts -- but for the rest of it? You. Were. There! And there were times when I don't know whether I would have made it, except for you!"

Remus remained silent, watching the drama unfold between the two men.

"How could I have been?!" Sirius demanded. "The Mirror --"

"Exactly!" Harry stated. "The Mirror! It created a whole world -- including all the people who should have been in that world! D'you think you were an exception?"

"But that wasn't me!"

"He was based on you," Harry argued, "-- created from the real you, just like the rest of it was created from the real world. He did all the things you would have done -- all the things you wanted to do. It doesn't matter if you don't remember doing them -- because I remember you doing them."

Harry paused to let that sink in. Then he said, "Because of who you are now -- because you're my godfather and you love me -- the Mirror was able to create someone who was, is, and always will be, an incredibly important part of my life."

"I remember how you always came to visit me during my training. A lot of it was with the elves, and once they knew the truth -- that you were innocent -- you were always welcome there. You could easily have stayed, and been safe from the Aurors until we could clear your name. But you didn't! I remember you and Remus working as scouts for Dumbledore -- you never stopped, because you were afraid that without the information you could provide, Voldemort would win -- and I'd be killed. You worked to protect me! But you still came to visit every chance you got!"

"And then -- after I joined the war -- you were always around. I couldn't get rid of you! You insisted on watching my back in every battle! It annoyed the hell out of me -- until you nearly got your fool self killed saving my life! I was young and cocky -- so sure of my power and my skill -- it wasn't until I nearly lost you that I realised I wasn't invulnerable -- and that my arrogance could get the people around me killed just as easily as it could get me killed! That was something the War Mage circle tried to drum into me at every turn, but it took you to finally make it real for me. You taught me that, Sirius -- and that's a lesson that's done more to keep me alive than all the spells in the world."

Harry watched as Sirius struggled to accept what he was saying. "And afterwards," he continued, "when you finally let go and allowed me to stand on my own -- you told me how proud my dad would be -- but it meant more to me that you thought I was ready -- that you thought it was time for me to make my own decisions. I was happy because you were proud of me!"

Then finally Harry said: "But the hardest times -- the worst times of my life -- when I... when certain people... died... I needed you -- you and Ron and Hermione. Your support was all that kept me going sometimes." And Harry grabbed his godfather into a fierce hug. "So don't tell me you weren't there!" he cried. "You were! I'm telling you -- you were! And dad could never have picked a better godfather!"

Caught up in Harry's embrace, Sirius looked stunned, grateful, and confused all at the same time. Awkwardly, he raised his arms to return Harry's hug -- still a little daunted by Harry's strange new appearance.

"See?" Remus smiled at his friend, "I told you I could see you in him."

Tentatively, Sirius smiled back. "Yeah," he said, as he finally hugged his godson tightly, "I guess... maybe you did."

----oo00oo----

Afterwards, once Sirius had adjusted to the fact that he wasn't the failure he'd imagined, they settled down onto the floor of the Shrieking Shack to discuss why Harry was causing everyone so much distress by pretending to disappear.

The first thing Remus said was: "I notice you haven't told us very much about what happened to you in the Mirror. You said you spent thirteen years inside it -- but you only mentioned that you became a War Mage, lived with the elves for a while, and fought against Voldemort. That's not much to say for thirteen years."

"No," Harry grinned, "It's not -- but I'm afraid I can't really tell you more than that at the moment. I'm currently trying to change certain things that happened in the Mirror, so that they don't happen in reality -- or so that if they do happen, then they occur in a slightly different way. If I start telling you things, you might be tempted to interfere with that."

Sirius frowned. "But you said the Mirror was only based on probabilities," he protested, "-- that it wasn't really the future, only a possible future."

"And besides," Remus added, "wouldn't the fact that you were twenty-eight when you came out of the Mirror mean that reality is already different? After all, in the Mirror's version of events, you didn't disappear in sixth-year; you didn't destroy the Mirror itself; you didn't become a War Mage overnight; and you didn't meet with us here today to tell us about what happened."

Harry nodded. "You're both right, of course -- and I've already had several indications that things are diverging radically from what I remember. But there's a theory that Hermione came up with which I'd like to put forward..." Both Sirius and Remus looked at him curiously while Harry tried to organise his thoughts. "Bear with me," he began, "this is a little confusing -- especially since I never really understood it myself."

"To begin with," Harry explained, "you have to ask yourselves why I was pulled into the Mirror, and not any of the other people who tried it. After all, plenty of people looked into it -- and not just the students at the dance, but also the wizards and witches who found it -- not to mention everyone who studied it before Fudge got hold of it. So, why me and not any of them?"

"The answer," Harry continued, "is that it wasn't just me. Everybody who looked into the Mirror was pulled in. But for most people, the Mirror only created a world that lasted a couple of minutes -- and when you consider that thirteen years still returned me to the dance in under half an hour... well, you can imagine just how fast they disappeared and reappeared."

"Even if you didn't blink," Remus commented, "you'd still miss it."

"Right," Harry agreed. "From a bystander's perspective, it would appear as if nothing happened -- a mere split instant of time."

"So why were you different?" Sirius asked. "From what Dumbledore said, you were not only gone longer, but when the Mirror returned you, there was also a very impressive display of some sort -- like an explosion or something."

Harry nodded. "The Mirror's surface bulged outwards," he agreed, "and it did so very rapidly until it covered the spot where I was standing. When it receded, it left me behind." Wryly, Harry added, "That's not how it happened in the Mirror -- but I asked a few people what they saw after I was returned -- and that's the consensus of opinion."

"So what did you do that triggered to Mirror to behave differently?" Remus asked.

"And," added Sirius, "why does everyone else only remember watching themselves -- not living it like you did?"

Harry replied, "Hermione wrote a paper on the Mirror about a year and a half after she started studying it. Last year, after I was returned, I tried to remember as much of it as I could -- or as much of it as I could understand -- and basically her theory said that I didn't do anything at all to trigger the Mirror. In fact, if she was right, then it worked exactly the same way for everyone who looked into it. The difference was in who looked into it, and whether the mathematical equations in the Mirror could use that person to generate a probable future."

"You see, the world generated by the Mirror depended on what Hermione called 'Key Incidents'. The probability equations that worked out what these Incidents were, then calculated them like dots along a potential timeline. After that, the Mirror simply connected the dots to create a complete history -- or future, I should say."

"But," Harry continued, "in order to generate these Key Incidents, you have to have someone who plays a fundamental role in creating them. It isn't enough that the person who looks into the Mirror was just there -- they actually have to be important enough to the event, that if they weren't there, then the Incident wouldn't happen at all -- or would happen in a completely different way."

Lupin frowned. "It sounds like you're saying that only someone who plays a pivotal role in history -- or the future, in this case -- can makke the Mirror work."

Sirius broke in. "That sounds a little arrogant, doesn't it? -- to say that of all the people who looked into the Mirror, you're the only one who was important enough to make it work?"

"No," Harry argued, "that's not what I'm saying at all. Take Ron for instance. In the Mirror he became an Auror -- and it's still very likely that he'll become one in reality. As an Auror -- and my best friend -- he was with me for an awful lot of important events -- and some of what he did was crucial in determining how things turned out. To me that says that Ron's presence was just as important as mine ever was. But does that mean those events wouldn't have happened without him? No. If he hadn't been an Auror, there would still have been an Auror with me, simply because whatever we were planning required one. Someone else would have taken his place in the event -- and because of that the event would probably have turned out differently -- but it would still have occurred."

"And more than that," Harry added, "I don't have to play an important role in a Key Incident either -- hell, I don't even have to be there! -- I simply have to be part of the underlying reason that the Incident occurred."

By this time, both Sirius and Remus were frowning. This was getting very complicated.

"Think of it this way," Harry suggested, "pick a key event in the past and consider the people who were involved in it. Most of them will be nameless individuals who could have been anyone. But some of them are recorded in history as key figures without whom the event would not have happened -- or without whom the event would have happened in a completely different way."

"I think I understand," Remus said cautiously. "It's like when you survived the attack that killed Lily and James. Voldemort was hunting them -- and he would still have hunted them, whether you were there or not. But because they had you with them, they chose to go into hiding -- and that led to Wormtail's betrayal, which otherwise might have come later, or been about something else entirely -- and that in turn led to Sirius being framed for murder. So, in a way, the events with Wormtail and Sirius happened simply because you existed -- even though you were miles away with your parents, and had no idea what was happening because you were only a baby."

"Yes," Harry said sadly. "We would call the moment my parents decided to go into hiding a Key Incident. It seems such a small thing, doesn't it? Most people would have expected it to be the moment Voldemort tried to kill me, and then botched the job."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder. "I didn't mean to imply that any of it was your fault."

Harry gave the werewolf a lopsided half-smile. "I know," he replied. "And I'm hardly going to blame myself for existing. As you said -- Voldemort would have hunted them anyway."

"But Harry," Sirius said slowly from his other side, "your parents would never have had to go into hiding if Voldemort hadn't been hunting them. Does that mean Voldemort...?"

"-- would also have triggered the Mirror." Harry finished with a nod. "Yes -- he's almost certainly another person who's linked to Key Incidents. In fact, there's no rule that says it can't be two or more people who cause a single Incident." Unhappily, Harry added, "I expect that Voldemort is probably the other half of nearly every Incident I've been involved in." and absently he reached up to trace a finger down his scar. "Voldemort and I are linked together on so many levels..."

"Then I'm bloody glad you destroyed that damn mirror," Sirius growled. "It would be a disaster if Voldemort had any idea of what the future might be."

Harry snorted. "It might still be a disaster," he reminded his godfather. "As I told you before -- reality is diverging pretty rapidly from what I remember."

"But you said there were Key Incidents..."

"Yes, but I never said I knew what they were!"

Sirius and Remus just looked at him.

Harry sighed. "I said Key Incidents were what the Mirror used to generate its world of probabilities. But the people who could trigger the mirror are few and far between. Hermione thought there might only be a handful of them in the world at any one time. But aside from all that -- Key Incidents are only what the Mirror used -- I have no idea whether the real world works like that -- and even if it did, think about the Key Incident Remus just came up with. It was a decision! One little decision by two people! How on earth could I know what any of the others might be? I'm not the mathematical genius who invented the damn Mirror! Even Robert didn't understand all the math!"

"Who's Robert?" Sirius asked in confusion.

"Hermione's husband," Harry automatically replied.

Sirius blinked. "She got married?"

With a spreading grin, Remus asked, "And I imagine by the time you turned twenty-eight, you would've had a few 'interesting' dates, too. Anybody you'd care to tell us about?"

Harry was suddenly aware that his face was slowly heating up. //How is it,// he wondered to himself, //that even after thirteen years, these two still have the power to make me blush?// Aloud, he indignantly replied, "I'm not telling two nosy old men the details of my sex life!"

"Hey!" Remus objected, "Who're you calling old?"

Just a moment behind him, Sirius asked, "So there was nobody special?" He sounded slightly sad. "I'd kind of hoped..."

"Ehrm..." Harry didn't want to lie to his godfather, but this younger version of Sirius didn't know Severus Snape nearly as well as his older counterpart from the Mirror did. By the time Harry and Sev' had settled into a steady relationship, Sirius had become more or less used to the idea that Severus was one of the good guys, and had endured a lot of private suffering and public scorn in order to bring their side vital information. Even then, Sirius hadn't been too pleased with Harry's choice. The animagus might have learned to respect Severus, but he'd never really come to like the Potions Master.

Perhaps Harry could break it to him slowly -- one step at a time...

"Well..." Harry began.

Sirius immediately perked up. "There was someone...?"

"Umm... I was never married as such..."

"Ah," Sirius nodded, "-- the uncertainties of war. You weren't sure about a commitment when life was so unpredictable." The amused and apologetic expression on Harry's face told Sirius that he'd made a mistake somewhere. "It wasn't the war?" he asked. Then he frowned. "Then there was some other reason -- something to do with her?"

Cautiously, Harry said, "Well -- more like something to do with him"

Sirius and Remus both had identical stunned looks on their faces.

"Him?!" Sirius squeaked. "You're -- I mean... That is..."

"Gay?" Harry enquired.

Dumbly, Sirius nodded.

"No, actually," Harry explained. "When you get right down to it, I really don't care what gender my partner is -- so long as I know them reasonably well, and I trust them and care about them."

Sirius looked slightly calmer. "All right," he said slowly, "I can deal with that. I've always believed that what two people feel for each other is the most important thing -- so I suppose I'd be a bit of a hypocrite to get upset with you now."

"Although," Remus added apologetically, "I think... we -- uh I, might need a bit of time to adjust to the idea." Quickly he went on: "It's not you, Harry -- it's just me. I... I hope you'll forgiive me and let me just... get used to it."

Harry smiled. "Don't worry about it Remus -- it's just the shock. You forget that I've already had this conversation in the Mirror, and I promise you -- neither of you ever gave me cause to doubt your support or your love. Give it a while, and I think you'll find that neither of you really care who I pick, so long as I'm happy."

"Now that I can definitely agree with!" Remus stated, and Sirius heartily concurred.

"So -- who is it?" Harry's godfather asked after a moment.

Harry smiled. "Would you mind terribly if I didn't tell you just yet? In the Mirror, he and I didn't get together until several years from now, and... well, it's a bit confusing at the moment. I'm not sure how to approach him, and of course at this point in time, he doesn't really know me at all -- well, not outside of 'The Boy Who Lived' anyway."

Sirius considered it. "Whether you tell us or not, is of course, completely up to you -- but Harry, have you thought about the fact that this person might feel betrayed if you... um, date... er -- go out with him -- and he finds out later that you've been wearing a disguise all this time? Not to mention the fact that he'll be mentally and emotionally thirteen years younger than you now."

"Yes," Harry replied seriously, "I have thought about that -- but you forget that I know him very well, and I have reason to believe that in the end he'll be able to see who I am, regardless of what I look like. Also, he's actually older than me -- so the age discrepancy isn't quite what you're imagining." //In fact,// Harry thought to himself, //Sev' is now only four or five years older than me.//

"All right," Sirius said. "It's none of our business unless you decide to tell us. I just hope things go the way you want them to."

Harry smiled. "Me too."

"So," Lupin said after a moment, "getting back to business -- I think I sort of understand why you were the only one who got pulled into the mirror for more than an instant -- but if everybody else still entered the mirror and lived a couple of minutes in it, then why did Dumbledore tell us they only watched themselves?"

Harry explained. "Although the Mirror tried to create a potential future," he said, "the world they entered was cut short when the Mirror found out that it couldn't generate a series of Key Incidents for them. Hermione thought that the Mirror might have been able to generate one or two Incidents for quite a number of people, but without more than that, it couldn't string them together to create a potential timeline. So, for example, you might need to have five or six Incidents in your life before the Mirror would work for you."

"And," Remus was nodding, "when the Mirror aborted the possible world, it would also have aborted the process that let you 'read the book', so to speak."

"-- which," Harry finished, "left them with the impression that they had only watched the story, instead of living it."

Then Sirius added, "That would also explain why you got thrown out after thirteen years, instead of living a whole lifetime in the Mirror. The potential future ended when the Mirror ran out of Key Incidents for you."

"Or when the Mirror's ability to judge probabilities dropped below fifty percent, " Harry suggested. "Hermione was never certain which it was."

"God," Remus said, massaging his temples. "The thought of everything involved with it -- mathematics, Key Incidents, probable futures -- not to mention the confusion you must have felt when it kicked you out! I've got a headache, and I didn't live it! How do you cope with this?"

"I remind myself that I'm not alone," Harry smiled, "and I look around and promise myself that things will be different this time. I'm going to change things -- but I need the two of you to help me."

"Us?" Sirius asked in surprise. "Why us? I'm still on the run from the Aurors -- and Remus here isn't exactly Mr Popular in the wizarding world. Wouldn't you be better off asking Dumbledore for help?"

"No," Harry replied with a shake of his head. "Albus is central to one of the things I'm trying to change -- and if he knew about this -- about me -- then he might not react the way he normally would. I love the man dearly, but this is too important to risk screwing it up."

"Do you really think he wouldn't listen?" Sirius asked.

"It's not a matter of listening," Harry argued. "It's a matter of reacting naturally, and not trying to second-guess yourself all the time. That's always harder when it's your own life involved -- and Albus doesn't really appreciate how important he is to our side."

Remus and Sirius both looked disturbed. Remus asked, "Are you saying this 'event' you're waiting for could get Albus killed?"

"I'm saying there's a possibility of it," Harry replied grimly, "and if I tell him about it, I think it will become much more likely that he won't survive it."

Sirius chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Would you tell us what happened?" he eventually asked.

"No," Harry said firmly. "But if you'll help me, then maybe we can prevent it -- or alter events enough so that a great many things turn out differently this time around."

Padfoot and Moony glanced at each other with a look of complete agreement.

"What do you want us to do?" Sirius asked.

----oo00oo----

Harry spent the next couple of hours teaching Remus and his godfather how to cast the two-part disguise spell, and then supervising them as they practiced with different faces. Now they would be able to walk around undetected in both the wizarding and the muggle world.

Remus had been fascinated by the simple trick of layering the two versions of the spell together, so that the disguise became immune to anti-glamour charms.

"Such a simple thing!" he'd exclaimed, "Why didn't someone think of it before?"

"Because they didn't need it so badly," Sirius had wryly replied. Then -- ever the practical one -- he'd turned to Harry and begun to quiz his godson on the apparent lack of effect on Harry's animagus form.

After Harry had explained the limitations of the spell when transformed as an animal -- and reminded them of how Sirius had recognised him by scent -- Harry had gone on to explain what he needed from them now that they could walk around undetected.

"Whenever you report to Albus on Voldemort's activities," Harry said, "I'd like one of you to give me the same information."

"No problem," Sirius agreed. "When Moony here goes to see him, I'll just wait a while, pick a face, and then walk right in." He eyed his godson speculatively. "I take it I should ask to see Professor Ash, right?"

"That's me," Harry agreed. "In public you'll both have to remember to call me Ash -- but when it's just the three of us, I'd rather you use Harry." Neither of the two men standing before him had any inkling of the privilege the War Mage had just granted them, and Harry quietly reflected that for his godfather and Remus Lupin, using his private name was something he wanted them to take for granted anyway.

"Is there anything else we could do to help?" Remus asked.

Harry considered it. "There may come a time," he said, "when I'll ask you to go somewhere specific, and see if you can find out particular information. But for now -- no, I just need a general idea of what Voldie and the Death Eaters are up to."

Sirius laughed, and Harry looked at him curiously.

"Voldie and the Death Eaters!" Padfoot hooted. "You make them sound like a band!"

Remus chuckled too, and Harry smiled as he said, "It's something Albus taught me -- that fear of a name increases fear of the actual thing. After that, I decided that I didn't need to go around saying 'You-Know-Who' all the time -- although sometimes I go a bit far in the other direction."

"No, no -- its pretty funny," Sirius protested. "I like it."

While Padfoot was still enjoying the joke, Lupin turned to Harry and asked, "Would you like an update on what we know so far?"

"Please," Harry said, and then listened attentively to all they had to tell him.

After that, they all realised that it was getting dark, and it was time to go. Lupin and his godfather watched with interest as Harry conjured up a small mirror, and pulled out the muggle makeup he always kept in his robes. With all the practice Harry had at applying it every day, he quickly made his scar disappear again, and then tucked the makeup back out of sight.

They said their goodbyes to one another, and Harry hugged his godfather one more time. Then -- just as Harry was on the verge of departing -- Sirius asked, "Harry? -- could you... would you show me what you look like now? I mean -- what you think you should look like -- as a twenty-nine-year-old?"

Surprised, Harry said, "If you like..." and then used his wand to create an illusion of himself at twenty-eight -- the age he'd been when he'd last seen himself in a mirror, and hadn't been surprised by the reflection.

Sirius gazed at the illusion silently.

"It's reversed, of course," Harry explained after a moment. "This is me as I expect to see myself in a mirror -- an ordinary mirror, that is."

Sirius seemed to shake himself for a second -- like a wet dog shedding water. "It's fine," he said. "I just... needed to see you the way you think of yourself."

Curious, Harry asked, "And what do you see?"

Sirius tilted his head slightly to one side. "I see James," he said, "and Lily -- especially around the eyes. But at the same time, I also see you -- an older you. Your face is -- I don't know... it's not a child's face anymore, but it still looks like you. There's also a kind of... confidence there -- like you know who you are now." He paused. "I think," he finished, "that I'd like him -- you -- even if you weren't my godson."

"In the Mirror," Harry replied, "we were friends and comrades, as well as godfather and godson. I like to think we'll be all those things again."

Deliberately looking away from the illusion, Sirius turned to Harry and said, "We will -- if we aren't already."

Then Padfoot and Moony departed, and Harry went back to being Ash: Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

----oo00oo----

It was evening by the time Harry arrived back at the castle.

Sirius and Remus had told him that Voldemort seemed to be taking an undue interest in dragons at the moment -- although neither of them could understtand why.

But Harry understood the reason, and it had to do with a little-known fact that some dragon species reached a stage in their later life where their flame ceased to be ordinary fire, and became a magical blaze that could consume anything -- and would also stick to objects and spread like a plague without the need for fuel or air. The dragons that developed this ability seemed to be able to choose how far their flame would spread before it burned itself out -- but no one had ever been able to explain how they did it, or even how the flame was produced. That meant there were no counter-measures to protect against this kind of fire.

It was for this reason, among others, that Ron's older brother Charlie Weasley was studying dragons in Romania.

Little wonder Voldemort was interested.

But Harry also knew that so far, the studies being conducted were only in their early stages and would not be of any use for a number of years -- if ever.

Still -- in the Mirror, Voldemort had instructed his followers to keep an eye on the research at about this point in history, so Draco's premature attempt to become a Death Eater didn't seem to be an indication that any other major changes were occurring.

Harry was still pondering the situation, as he made his way to the staff lounge.

There was no staff meeting scheduled tonight, but occasionally teachers liked to gather and chat in the comfortable chairs. There were always several newspapers lying around, and the adjoining kitchenette boasted the best coffee-maker on the school grounds -- except for the one Madam Hooch kept hidden in her office.

Tonight though, Xiomara had apparently decided to accept second-best, and was sitting on a sofa not too far from the large open fireplace, with her teaching schedule spread out before her on one of the coffee tables. The rest of the lounge was nearly deserted, with only a couple of professors scattered around the room -- each reading a book, magazine, or newspaper in their own little world. The fire in the hearth snapped and popped, cheerfully adding a little background noise to the occasional shuffle of paper.

Oddly enough, Severus -- who never willingly spent time with his fellow staff members -- was reading a book of some sort in one of the armchairs by the fire.

Still preoccupied with thoughts of Voldemort and dragons, Harry absently poured himself a coffee, and crossed the room to sit down in the adjacent armchair. Then he proceeded to stare into the gently flickering flames in the hearth, pondering the intricacies of trying to alter a history that never happened.

"Why do you always sit next to me?"

"Because I like you," came Harry's unthinking answer.

Madam Hooch's sudden coughing fit from the nearby sofa caused Harry to remember where he was and precisely what he'd just said.

Glancing over at Xiomara, Harry saw that the flying instructor had somehow managed to choke on her coffee. She was, however, studiously refusing to even glance in his direction, which told Harry that she'd most definitely heard what he'd just said. With some trepidation, Harry turned to see what Severus himself thought of the War Mage's unguarded admission.

What he saw was the most completely blank expression he'd ever witnessed on a human face. It was as if Severus literally didn't know what to do with the fact that another human being liked him.

Cautiously, Harry waited while Severus tried to decide how he felt about that careless declaration of liking.

Not surprisingly, a slight frown appeared after a few moments. Harry almost laughed at the typical expression on the Potion Master's face.

"That's ridiculous," Severus scowled. "You don't know a thing about me -- how can you possibly say you like me?"

"You assumed I dis-liked you before," Harry pointed out.

Grudgingly, Severus admitted, "Perhaps I was mistaken... again."

"I'm not keeping count," Harry smiled.

Severus watched that easy smile with a faint hint of suspicion. "You still have no reason to either like or dislike me," he argued. "Therefore, your previous comment has no real meaning." Then his mouth took on a sarcastic twist, "Unless of course, you have imagined me as some poor unfortunate who secretly desires at least one true friend -- thus generously casting yourself in that noble role."

Harry laughed. "Don't tell me that's actually happened to you!"

Severus raised an eyebrow and made a face as if to say 'you wouldn't be the first one'.

Harry chuckled. "The tall, dark, and dour look pulls 'em in, huh? Poor Professor -- all he needs is someone to stand by him!" Harry shook his head in disgust. "What an arrogant attitude!" Then he asked, "How long did it take you to disabuse the last one of that rubbish?"

Surprised by Ash's attitude, Snape answered, "Just under a week."

Harry raised an eyebrow of his own. "That long?"

"They were very determined," came the sour reply.

"Well, you have nothing to fear from me on that front," Harry commented. "I have no particular desire to see you happily exchanging pleasantries with every fool who crosses your path -- or to watch as you wondrously change into a 'new man' under my beneficial influence."

"I'm so glad," Severus replied cynically. "In which case -- what do you want?"

//Now there's a leading question, if ever I heard one,// Harry thought. But he ruthlessly suppressed the intense desire to tell Sev' exactly what he wanted, since the sceptical Potions Master wasn't quite ready to hear it. Instead, Harry replied, "I want you to believe that I like you, just because I like you."

"You don't even know me," Severus snapped.

Looking perfectly relaxed, Harry took a sip of his coffee and wondered how far his next words were going to spread -- since Madam Hooch was still so very carefully not looking in their direction... "I know," Harry began, "that you're a cynical, sarcastic, son-of-a-bitch who unfairly favours his own House; doesn't give a damn about other people's opinions; and enjoys seeing fools and Gryffindors get themselves into trouble."

There was muffled snickering coming from Xiomara's direction.

Severus didn't deny it. Instead, he replied, "I would have thought it unnecessary to distinguish between fools and Gryffindors, myself." Then he added, "But if that is, indeed, your opinion of me, one begins to wonder about the honesty of your previously stated liking. Either that, or the students have the right opinion of you."

"And what opinion might that be?"

"That you're a raving lunatic."

Harry laughed. On the sofa a short distance away, Madam Hooch sounded like she was going to burst something.

Once he'd calmed down, Harry looked at Severus, and said, "No comment on the sanity thing -- but I've never been diagnosed or admitted." Then he grinned, "And I never said that was all I could see in you. I simply used those traits to demonstrate that I'm not blind to your less than amiable disposition." Harry took another sip of his coffee, and then -- just to rub it in -- he added, "But I still like you."

Frustrated, Severus could only glare at him, before stating, "You are both ignorant and annoying. Nothing you've said proves that you have anything more than a simpleton's idea of who I am -- and as such your so called 'liking' for me is hardly worthy of note." Then Severus leaned over towards Harry's chair, and in a low, dangerous tone added, "I am not a nice man, War Mage -- get used to the idea." Then he abruptly leaned away and rose to leave.

As he turned to go, Harry called after him with a voice like dark velvet. "I know you're not, Professor," he purred dangerously, "-- but what makes you think I only like nice people?"

Looking back at the man, Severus was suddenly struck by the play of shadow over the Mage's face, as the other man leaned back into the embrace of the armchair's winged support. The impression of half-lidded eyes glinted knowingly at the Potions Master over an amused half-smile.

Gone was the light, good-natured Dark Arts teacher -- and in his place was the image of a man who knew all too well the sacrifices and ruthlessness that were required to survive in the dark places Voldemort made.

For a moment, Severus wondered whether he might dare to trust the War Mage -- then he quashed the thought. Trust was a luxury he could not afford -- particularly not with someone who had already killed a man with the Dark Mark on him. The Mage knew nothing about Severus really -- or about his role among the Death Eaters. Certainly, the other man could have no way of knowing about the Dark Mark that existed on Severus' arm -- carefully concealed beneath his robes.

The Potions Master turned away.

As if he were a mind reader, the Mage dropped words quietly into the air between them: "I know more about you than you would believe possible."

Severus hesitated. Then, before he lost all common sense entirely, he fled the room -- and the confusing presence behind him.

----oo00oo----

After Severus had departed, Harry glanced over at Madam Hooch. She wasn't laughing anymore, and neither was she pretending to ignore what she'd heard. Instead she was staring at him with a very peculiar expression on her face.

Harry immediately smiled his most charming, disarming, and flirtatious grin at her.

She blinked, looked completely confused, and then resolutely dropped her eyes back to the teaching schedule in front of her.

Harry leaned back into his chair, propped both feet up on the low table before him, and watched the fire for a while.

At some point he noted that Sev' had left his book behind.

----oo00oo----

Thinking about it the next morning, Harry decided that Severus had probably been waiting for him to show up in the staff lounge. This was highly likely since Sev' was almost never there outside of staff meetings. //In fact,// Harry thought, //it's a pretty good bet that he intended to confront me over our strange watching-me-watching-you ritual.//

It was another pretty good bet that things hadn't gone exactly the way Sev' had expected them to.

//I suppose I'll have to sort it all out at some point,// Harry reflected. //But not today.//

Today, Harry had an appointment away from the school grounds, and he'd already arranged for a retired Auror to cover his morning classes. Albus had approved the time off two days ago, so now Harry only needed to stop by and pick up his companion.

He reached Professor Flitwick's classroom, where the diminutive Charms teacher was trying to educate the sixth-year Slytherins. Politely, Harry knocked on the door.

"Oh, er -- yes Professor Ash?" Flitwick asked.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need Mr Malfoy, Professor," Harry explained. "I've already cleared it with Albus -- he's to be excused from the rest of his morning classes."

The other students immediately started whispering and looking a Draco.

Then young man himself simply looked confused, but nonetheless dutifully packed up his books and ink.

Once they were alone in the hallway Draco asked, "Where are we going?"

"To a funeral," Harry replied.

----oo00oo----

The cemetery was empty except for Harry, Draco, a priest, and two men who waited patiently off to one side for the service to end, so that they could fill in the grave.

Once the priest had finished and quietly departed, Harry led Draco a short distance away, and the two of them watched as the casket was slowly covered with earth.

"Ashes to ashes..." Harry murmured.

"Like your name?" Draco asked with a flash of insight.

"Not quite," Harry replied, "but very close, yes."

There were a few more moments of silence, then Draco asked, "Was he the one you killed -- that night?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "His name was Cameron Jeffries. I owled his family to find out what religion he was, and to ask for permission to bury him. The Aurors released his body yesterday."

Draco looked around at the deserted cemetery. "I guess his family aren't too proud of him being a Death Eater," he said bitterly.

"You think they don't understand?" Harry enquired.

"If they loved him, it wouldn't matter," Draco said. "After all, it's not like he's going to do anything they disapprove of anymore, is it?"

"In death lies forgiveness," Harry quoted. "Do you think he cares about forgiveness right now?"

Draco shrugged. "Probably not."

Harry sighed. "I note that none of his 'other' family are here, either."

"They'd be mad to turn up," Draco explained. "The Aurors are bound to be watching."

"Perhaps that's why his regular family stayed away too," Harry suggested.

Draco looked surprised. "Maybe," he said thoughtfully. It wasn't unknown for the Aurors to keep watch on a relative who showed any feeling for a departed Death Eater.

Eventually Draco asked the question he most wanted the answer to: "Why am I here, Professor?"

"You mean, is there some deep and meaningful lesson I'm trying to teach you with all this?"

Draco nodded.

"No," Harry replied. "You and I are both here for the same reason -- because we were there when he died, and it felt right to me that we should be here when he was buried." Harry glanced over at his student. "Anything more meaningful than that is up to you, and how you feel about it."

They were silent again for a little while, until Draco made the comment, "Y'know -- my dad says purebloods should be buried separately from muggles and Mudbloods."

"What on earth for?" Harry asked curiously. "It's not like you can tell the difference between any of them after they're dead."

"That's why, I guess," Draco answered, "-- so you can know which families are pureblood -- even if the current descendants lie about it."

Harry snorted. "If you can't tell the difference while they're walking and talking, then the place they're buried isn't going to help you. Personally, I don't think muggles are really any different from the rest of us anyway."

Draco looked shocked.

"But... but they don't have magic!" he said in amazement. "Even mudbloods have that! How can you say they're no different?! It's... that's.... they're nothing like us!"

"Because they can't do magic? Or because they don't have magic?" Harry asked.

"Both!"

"Then you have a problem, Draco -- because muggles can do magic -- they simply can't do it the same way wizarding folk do."

Draco looked at him as though he was mad.

"It true," Harry assured him. "Take Heart Magic, for instance -- every human, and almost every non-human -- can perform that. All it takes is the right set of circumstances."

"But that's not under their control," Draco argued. "They can't use it -- it just happens."

"Ah," Harry said, "then by your reasoning, you're hardly better than a muggle yourself," and before Draco could take offence, Harry added, "after all, if you lose your wand, you can't consciously control your magic either."

"That's not the same!" Draco insisted. "I've got a lot more magic than a muggle! And there are some spells wizards can do without their wands -- like... like the animagus spell!"

"Ah, yes," Harry said, "I forgot. So, you're saying that if someone has better control over their magic, or if they have more magic than someone else -- then they're a naturally superior kind of person?"

Draco frowned. "Well, you have to admit, it's a better survival trait," he said. "And pureblood wizarding families do tend to consistently produce more powerful wizards and witches."

"Have you got proof of that?" Harry asked, "Or was that something your father told you?"

Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Memories of their first conversation together were obviously still having an effect on the young Slytherin.

"Mmm," Harry said with amusement. "Don't know huh? Well, neither do I actually. Let me know the results if you ever decide to research it."

Obviously not trusting himself to speak, Draco just nodded.

"And while you're thinking about it," Harry added, "consider this -- by your line of reasoning, wizarding folk are better than muggles in the same way that mages are better than wizards. I don't need a wand to control my magic, and there's an awful lot I can do without it. In fact, I've even been trained to take out an enemy in situations where I can't use my magic -- where I have to pretend I'm a muggle myself. Doesn't that make me superior to you, in the same way that you're arguing you're superior to a muggle?"

"And if so," Harry finished, "think about whether you really want to spend the rest of your life obeying me, and bowing down to me, just because I have to power to force you to do it."

It was a very thoughtful Draco Malfoy who silently resumed watching the last of the earth cover up the lonely grave.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 9: The Mage-in-Training

----oo00oo----

The weekend came and went, and for Harry the third week of term began with the strangely elusive impression that he was being watched.

It wasn't that Severus or the staff and students were watching him -- he already knew what that felt like, and their attention didn't have the faint edge of danger to it that this new sensation did.

Whoever or whatever it was, didn't like him, and in response Harry quietly reinforced the wards on his apartment. He also considered placing some around Severus' rooms, but at the moment the hidden presence only seemed to be watching him, and Harry reasoned that showing undue interest in the Potions Master might actually draw the watcher's attention to the other man. Far better that whatever it was, should consider Sev' just another teacher.

The sensation wavered at the edge of Harry's consciousness for three days. During that time, he used various meditation and breathing exercises to remain relaxed and alert. Becoming tense and jumpy would only tire him out and flood his body with fatigue poisons, which would slow down his reaction times. This kind of mental intimidation was all part of the game, and Harry was an adept player who would not be put off by an indistinct presence that might be nothing more than an elaborate bluff.

At one point, Harry wondered whether it could be Voldemort or one of his minions -- perhaps trying to study him with some kind of long distance spell. But they were unlikely to know any magic subtle enough to penetrate the school's defences without sounding an alarm. //And besides,// Harry thought, //my scar would have warned me by now if Voldemort was taking a personal interest.//

That didn't leave too many other people who might have cause to dislike him. 'Ash' simply hadn't been around long enough to make that many enemies.

On the second day, Harry reported the situation to Albus. The Headmaster had looked both thoughtful and concerned -- but without more to go on, there was very little he could do. They discussed the possible wisdom of Ash taking a leave of absence, but Albus argued that whatever it was might very well be watching other people too. Since Ash was a War mage -- and thus more sensitive to dangerous situations -- it might well be that he was simply the only one who was aware of the attention. If this was indeed the case, then it would be foolish for the Dark Arts professor -- who stood the best chance of dealing with any malevolent magic -- to leave the school alone with whatever it was.

Harry could see Albus' point, but he was still concerned for the safety of his students. If -- as he privately believed -- he was the only one being watched, then Harry didn't want any of the children getting caught up in whatever was going to happen.

However, it wasn't until Thursday morning that the unseen watcher finally decided to translate their dislike into action.

----oo00oo----

The day began with Harry's awareness that the presence was slightly stronger -- more there at the edge of his mind. He almost felt as though he might be able to see the mysterious watcher if he could just turn around fast enough.

Briefly, Harry toyed with the idea of cancelling his classes for the day. If the watcher was finally going to make a move, then it would be best if Harry was not surrounded by his vulnerable students.

But ultimately, he had no way of knowing whether anything was going to happen -- and if he cancelled his classes every time he sensed the presence, then there wouldn't have been a single Dark Arts class so far this week!

Cautiously, Harry decided to carry on.

That morning he was teaching a class of first-year Hufflepuffs about gargoyles. It seemed that a great many students were under the impression that the stone creatures on the castle heights were simply statues of evil monsters that someone with very bad taste had used for decoration.

Harry had therefore taken his class up to the highest battlements and explained to them that gargoyles were, in fact, beneficial protectors whose ugly appearance was intended to frighten off evil spirits. He'd then explained that each gargoyle was set into the stone at selected vantage points so that they could watch out over the surrounding land and sky for approaching danger. The large number of gargoyles scattered around Hogwarts actually formed part of the school's defensive network of spells and enchantments.

The reason Harry was conducting this class so high up on the castle walls, was because it was one of the few places in the school where you could not only see several of the gargoyles at once, but could also stand right next to one that was sitting on the outer wall, overlooking the lake.

While the Hufflepuffs stood shivering in the cold wind, Harry pointed out some of the gargoyles that were visible from their current location. Then he used 'Brevis Vivificus' to actually bring the one next to them to life.

Harry gave his students plenty of warning, but a few of them still screamed when the ugly grey creature suddenly stretched its wings and leapt off the wall. The class huddled together as it soared into the sky and then circled back to land on the walkway behind their teacher. Harry calmly waited while it crawled up to him, and then butted against his legs like a huge, misshapen dog. The Hufflepuffs were astonished to see their teacher lean down and scratch the scaly monster behind one ear. It made the most hideous noises, which were accompanied by a ferocious-looking grimace full of sharp teeth.

"Don't be afraid," Harry told them, "that's the noise they make when they're happy. They all love to be petted and scratched while they're animate." Harry petted it for a while longer, before adding, "They aren't actually alive, of course -- they're really just stone imbued with magic. Also, you should note that it's the magic of Hogwarts that they rely on, since they're really part of the castle itself. That means that if the school was ever attacked, each gargoyle would become temporarily animate and would rise up to defend us."

"But Professor," one Hufflepuff girl asked, "wasn't it your spell that brought it to life?"

"No," Harry replied. "Remember -- they're not really alive at all -- my spell only makes it seem alive, and even then, it won't last long. What I've actually done is to give it a small 'boost' of magic to bring it into its active state. Once the excess magic is used up, it will return to its dormant position on the castle wall." Then Harry smiled at them and asked, "Would anyone like to pet it before that happens?"

Eventually, Harry managed to coax all of his students into touching and petting the animate gargoyle -- something that caused the gargoyle itself a great deal of pleasure.

Once his students got used to the fact that the noises it made were expressions of happiness, some of them even enjoyed playing with it. Harry was vastly amused when a few of the girls used baby-talk on it -- cooing things like 'Who's a big sweety, then?', and 'Aren't you just adorable?' Several of the boys made gagging noises at this, and pointed out that it was a shame being a girl made your brains dribble out your ears. Gargoyles, the boys loudly announced, were strong and tough, and were obviously designed to be fighters and defenders. They were not sweet or adorable!

Harry stepped in and broke up the argument when the gargoyle began to look unhappy.

"The gargoyles around Hogwarts," Harry pointed out, "are designed to defend the castle itself. However, while you are students at the school, you are -- in some ways -- also part of the castle. This is becauuse Hogwarts was constructed by its founders as a teaching institution, and thus, you -- as its students -- are part of the reason it exists. That means that the gargoyles will also defend each of you. However, please bear in mind that it takes a threat to the entire castle to activate them." Then Harry chuckled. "If another student tries to hex you during dinner, don't expect one to come rushing to your aid."

Then the gargoyle -- which was still crouched in the middle of the students -- suddenly shook off its admirers and crawled over to the battlement wall. It quickly clawed its way up the stone and resumed its original position looking out over the lake. A second later, its skin hardened, and there was only a cold stone sculpture sitting on the wall.

Several students -- both boys and girls -- made disappointed noises.

For a class that had initially been terrified of the ugly creature, this was a complete turn-around.

Harry led the Hufflepuffs back inside, where they eventually came out at the top of the large central stairwell. Once they were out of the wind, Harry motioned for them to gather closely around. "Now," he said, "raise your hand if you like gargoyles." Every hand in the class shot up. "All right," Harry smiled, "now raise your hand if you thought they were horrible scary monsters when you first saw one." A couple of half-hearted hands were almost raised. The students shuffled in embarrassment. "Come on," Harry coaxed, "be honest about it -- who thought they were monsters?" Eventually every hand was raised, although most of them were not raised very far. Harry nodded. "That's what I thought," he said, "and now that you know they're not so bad, who can tell me what we've learned about gargoyles that can be applied to every scary-looking thing you come across?"

There was some confusion, but a few students raised their hands.

"Yes, Mr Evans -- what do you think?" Harry asked one lad towards the back.

"Please Professor," he said, "I think we learned that just because it's ugly, doesn't mean it's something bad."

"Ten points to Hufflepuff." Harry smiled. "Well done, Toby." The boy blushed with pleasure.

Harry was secretly very pleased. In future lessons, he would try to demonstrate the opposite as well -- that just because something was beautiful didn't make it good or trustworthy. But the final lesson -- that everything could be seen as beautiful or ugly depending on your point of view, would have to wait until they were older. As eleven-year-olds, these children were unlikely to comprehend all the nuances behind the simple saying 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder'. For them, the world was still defined by the concepts of good and evil, love and hate, or pretty and ugly. Things could be one or the other, or somewhere in between, but not both extremes at the same time.

//Still,// Harry thought, //given their age and cultural upbringing, they've done very well.//

And then the curse hit him from behind.

----oo00oo----

Harry was kicked forwards toward his students as the defensive spells in his battle robes absorbed the curse and dissipated the magic across his back. His first thought was to protect the children, and he immediately yelled "Run!" When some of them paused in shock or fright, he quickly used his wand to erect a barrier that moved steadily away from him -- herding the Hufflepuff first-years towards the nearest door, and back out onto the battlements. From there they would be able to find another way down through one of the other towers, or even down the exterior stairs.

Then -- flat on the floor -- Harry scrambled off to one side, eyes searching for his assailant.

For a moment there was nothing -- then a second curse erupted from the other side of the stairwell. This time Harry got a good look at the nasty bit of magic and recognised it as an elven spell designed to cause pain and temporary paralysis.

//Not fatal,// was the first thing that sprang to Harry's mind.

//Elven?!// was the second.

He rolled to one side as the curse hit the wall beside him.

Elves didn't wear robes -- they wore cloaks, and an elven cloak had the ability to blend in with the surrounding environment, much like a chameleon. There were a couple of spells that would cause such a cloak to fail, but if -- as Harry now suspected -- it was a battle cloak, then most of them would be ineffective. So instead, Harry waited until his concealed opponent fired another curse, and then immediately retaliated with a jet of bright red dye sprayed at waist height across the opposite wall.

For a moment, nothing was visible. Then came a muffled curse -- in the elven tongue -- and a block of dye detached itself from the wall. The red-stained cloak was thrown back to reveal the elegant features of a young mage-in-training.

"Ell'evisor?!" Harry gaped.

The elf -- who hadn't taken his eyes off his opponent -- looked momentarily surprised that Harry knew his name, but refused to reply. Instead, he gestured with his hands and shot off another hex.

Harry dodged it easily. //What the hell is going on?// he wondered. In the Mirror, Ell'evisor had been a student War Mage when Harry had been accepted for training. The elf had been resentful and arrogant -- deeply offended that a mere human -- not even twenty years old -- had been accepted for training, while he had been forced to wait until he was over seventy! No matter how often their teachers explained to him that Harry was actually older than he was in terms of a human lifespan, Ell'evisor had refused to hear them.

For his part, Harry had assumed the elf was just another Draco Malfoy, and responded in kind.

Eventually, the War Mages had become exasperated with both of them and began forcing them to rely on each other as partners. Under the combined wisdom and heartless determination of their elders, the two young men were finally forced to get along. After a few years together, Harry and Ell'evisor even managed to become friends -- and when the young elf finally understood that Harry would probably be dead of old age several centuries before Ell'evisor himself -- Harry's one-time adversary finally began to understand how a human could be both younger and older than him, all at the same time.

The knowledge that he would lose his human friend all too soon, even meant that Ell'evisor had not begrudged Harry the joy of graduating as a full War Mage several years before the elf finally managed to do so himself.

But here and now, Ell'evisor was still dressed as a mage-in-training -- and his disgust with humans was all too evident.

//Why in the Green Lord's Name would the circle send this child here?!// Harry thought -- and then realised he had slipped into elven thought patterns -- unintentionally invoking the name of the forest deity most elves honoured.

In the elven tongue, Harry called out, "~ Ell'evisor! Why are you attacking a fellow mage of the circle? ~"

Also in elven, the other exclaimed, "~ Upstart human! ~" and then he yelled angrily, "~ There are none of your kind within the circle! You dare to impersonate one of us, and you expect no punishment for it?! ~"

"~ Ell'evisor, listen to me! ~" Harry yelled back, as he dodged another curse, "~ I am a member of the circle -- ~"

"~ Liar! ~" and this time the spell he aimed at Harry was a force blast that sent a shower of stone chips into the air. "~ You besmirch our name -- using it for your own ends to gain respect you do not deserve! ~"

//Wonderful,// Harry groaned to himself, //He's managed to make this all about names.// War Mages were very conscious of the correct use of their names -- but Ell'evisor was obviously not thinking at all, if he was applying that to this situation.

"Ash?" Minerva McGonagall's voice called up the stairwell. "Professor Ash! Can you hear me? What's going on up there?"

Harry detected a number of curious student voices on the stairs below, as well as Argus Filch's deeper tones commanding them to move on. "Get off the stairs you lot!" he was yelling, "What good d'you think yer goin' t' be if the Dark Arts Professor can't handle it?! Go on -- get off to yer classes!"

//Shit,// Harry thought as his mind fell back into entirely human concepts. //Even as a mage-in-training Ell'evisor could do a lot of damage -- and class has just finished: the stairs will be full of students right now!// To an elf, the structured environment and uniforms of the school would resemble an adult teaching institution, rather than one of the elven crèche-schools for children and sub-adults. It was entirely possible that Ell'evisor -- being so completely ignorant of human society -- didn't even know that he was fighting a battle in the middle of a school full of children.

//He won't listen to me,// Harry thought grimly, //so I've got to get him out of the building and somewhere I can force him to listen.//

Swiftly, Harry reached out to his one true home -- the castle itself -- and asked a favour. Below him, there were sudden cries of alarm as staircases began to move. Hoping like hell that he wasn't about to do something terminally stupid, Harry suddenly stood up and dove head-first over the railing.

Ell'evisor's startled oath sounded behind him.

Harry needed to stay ahead of the other mage if he was going to lead the elf out of the castle, and Ell'evisor's shock at seeing him jump allowed Harry to gain several precious seconds. Even Ell'evisor knew that -- of all the sentient races -- flying was a gift restricted to the elves and the Kyrii -- a shy, feathered people living high in the mountains.

To Ell'evisor, it had momentarily looked like Harry just tried to commit suicide.

"Accio Skyfire," Harry said calmly, as he began to plummet downwards. Yelling would not help him at this point, and he was just glad the castle had responded to his plea, and was moving all the stairs up against the walls. The entire central tower now resembled a giant atrium of clear air -- which was a good thing, since it was unlikely Harry would have survived a sudden meeting with one of the shifting staircases.

He passed Minerva's startled face, and heard her shocked cry. It quickly mingled with other voices and the occasional scream as he fell past the higher levels. Still diving head-first, Harry cast an anti-levitation charm on himself, in case some quick-thinking student or teacher had wits enough to try 'rescuing' him. Ell'evisor was still too close for comfort, and Harry could not afford to be slowed down.

As an afterthought, Harry cast the spell that would monitor attacks from behind. He knew he was going to be attacked from behind, but it was always good to have a moment's warning and a direction for the incoming attack.

Harry was aware that the elf would be following as quickly as he could, but without the energy of a living forest to draw power from, Ell'evisor would be slowly falling behind. Growing up amongst the massive trees of the Elvenholme had not taught the elf how to concentrate his magic while surrounded by unfriendly stone -- and simple freefall, which Harry was presently utilising, went against every instinct Ell'evisor had. A fully trained War Mage would have suppressed those instincts, but Ell'evisor was far from fully trained -- otherwise this entire situation would never have arisen.

A shock blast sped past him as Harry performed a tumbling roll that altered his shape as a target, and caused him to dodge sideways in the air. He prayed the blast would not hit anyone, and soundly cursed Ell'evisor for his stupidity.

Harry was just beginning to feel a bit nervous about how quickly the ground floor was coming up, when his broom soared out of a passing doorway and executed a tight aerial roll -- swiftly angling down to chase after him. Its appearance was another surprise for Ell'evisor, and Harry was glad the elf was too ignorant to realise that he should have grabbed the broom while he had the chance. Harry's Skyfire quickly drew parallel with him, and he gratefully reached out and pulled it in. Harry wrapped himself around it, and once he was sure of his grip, poured on a burst of speed.

Moments later, Harry pulled up in a sharp curve and sped out into the entrance hall, heading for the main doors. He skimmed high over the heads of several people, and suddenly burst out into the open sky.

He knew he could not afford to head towards the Quidditch pitch -- there might well be a flying class, or some other lesson being held there -- so instead Harry headed for the lake. A battle fought above the large expanse of open water would not damage any property, and if he or Ell'evisor fell, then they would be far more likely to survive slamming into the water than into the ground.

...assuming, of course, that none of the creatures in the lake could reach up and pull them down out of the sky.

//Well, hell,// Harry thought, //what *would* live in the lake?// He wasn't certain -- it had been a long time since the Triwizard Tournament in fourth year -- which was the only time he'd ever seen any of the creatures that lived in the cold depths. Harry made a mental note to keep half an eye on the water below him at all times. The first years crossed it at the start of their schooling, but the boats they rode in might well be enchanted to repel monsters.

Once he was far enough out over the water, Harry abruptly pulled up and spun around. The next blast Ell'evisor fired at him hit a magical shield that the War Mage had temporarily erected.

Then Harry retaliated.

He didn't actually want to hurt the young mage-in-training, but Harry was damned if he was going to put up with this kind of bone-headed stupidity from a mere student!

Talk about disgracing the circle!

At first, Harry simply flew rings around the elf -- dodging and weaving while Ell'evisor squandered his strength in useless fireballs, shock spells, and assorted curses -- all of which harmlessly expended themselves in empty air. Then Harry started firing back -- but only annoying things like laughing fits, itching hexes, and dizzy spells. Yet Ell'evisor -- not realising they were mostly harmless -- continued to erect spot-shields that would have protected him from much stronger curses. So now the elf was not only wasting energy on attacking, he was also wasting it while splitting his attention between offence and defence.

Ell'evisor -- red-faced with fury -- was obviously outclassed and outmatched. But, having started the fight, he didn't know how to end it without being hexed, and his pride and anger would not let him retreat to a purely defensive position.

Harry decided to teach his one-time enemy-turned-friend a lesson that he would not soon forget. He let off a series of minor hexes simultaneously, and while Ell'evisor's attention was focused on erecting multiple shields, Harry reached down and enlarged one of his boots so that he could slip it off without fiddling with the fastenings. He pocketed the knife he habitually kept in the boot top, and returned his footwear to its normal size, just in time to duck as Ell'evisor threw another curse at him.

//My, my,// Harry thought, //his aim seems to get better the more pissed off he is.// Then -- still dodging -- Harry transfigured his boot heel into solid steel, and quickly enchanted the remaining leather. Then he hurled the boot at Ell'evisor.

The elf's eyes widened with surprise, and Harry could only grin with malicious enjoyment at the complete confusion on the young mage's face as he watched a boot come flying towards him!

The absolute insanity of being attacked with footwear made the elf incredibly suspicious of his opponent, and Ell'evisor raised the strongest shield he could in an attempt to ward off whatever spell Harry might have cast on the boot.

When it reached the shield, the boot bounced harmlessly off and spun away with incredible speed and energy.

Then, Harry let loose with his other boot.

Again Ell'evisor cautiously shielded himself -- unwilling to let down his guard just because the two objects looked the same.

Once again the boot ricocheted away.

Now the elf obviously thought he was being mocked -- which he was -- and his rage knew no bounds. He began gesturing wildly with his hands, creating spells and curses at an astonishing rate. In his anger, he fell back onto purely elven magic, and Harry either dodged or countered them easily.

"~ Pond scum of stagnant water! ~" the elf screamed. "~ You shall -- " but he got no further as the first enchanted boot slammed into his back.

Ell'evisor had hardly recovered when the second one hit him upside the head.

Harry had turned both boots into Bludgers.

The spell for creating a Bludger could only be cast onto leather, and a real Bludger was only dangerous because it was made of hardened leather over a solid core. Harry's boots were much too soft to do any real damage -- that is, until he'd turned both heels into solid steel.

Each boot was now speeding around heel-first, and Harry had slightly altered the spell so that both of them were firmly fixated on Ell'evisor. The elf had been watching for spells coming from Harry's direction -- not enchanted objects that returned after they'd been defeated once. The young mage obviously hadn't cast the warning spell to watch his back in battle.

//Sloppy,// Harry thought. //I'll have to speak to his teaching guide about that.//

Then Harry entertained himself for a few moments, watching Ell'evisor's continuous shielding as he tried to deal with the concept of steel-heeled boots that kept coming back. Finally, the young mage got some common sense into his head, and fried both boots to a cinder.

Harry watched regretfully as the metal heels dropped uselessly into the lake.

//Oh, well,// he thought, //lucky I've got more boots back at the castle.// Then he engaged Ell'evisor in combat once more -- intent on finishing the lesson with a more personal touch.

Gradually, Harry made it look as though he was tiring more rapidly than Ell'evisor -- playing up to the elf's belief that a mere human couldn't match his opponent's stamina in a regular duel. But Harry also incorporated a certain amount of swooping and ducking -- pretending that he needed to run away from those spells that he couldn't counter.

Ell’evisor eventually got the idea, and took note of which spells Harry was avoiding. Then he cast a couple of them at the same time, making it impossible for Harry to duck all of them.

Harry made it look as though he'd been stunned, and fell backwards off his broom. He grabbed the handle as he fell, and pulled the Skyfire down with him.

At the time Ell'evisor cast his spells, Harry had been very deliberately passing directly over the elf's head. If Ell'evisor didn't move, Harry would fall on top of him. But of course, Ell'evisor did move, and as he'd been taught, the elf moved far enough out of the way so that Harry could not grab him on the way past.

But Ell'evisor forgot about the broom.

Just as Harry had used his broom on Madam Hooch to extend his reach during their one-on-one match, Harry once again used his broom to bridge the gap between himself and Ell'evisor.

As he fell past the elf, Harry righted himself and thrust the broom handle-first into Ell'evisor's stomach.

The elf didn't even cry out.

He simply grunted, doubled over, and dropped like a stone.

Harry got his broom back under him, and followed the elf down. He watched as the young mage-in-training tumbled into the water. //Ooo, I bet that hurt.// Harry winced as he watched the huge splash Ell'evisor made. Contrary to popular belief, water was not at all soft when you fell into it from a great height. //Still,// Harry grinned to himself, //his battle cloak will have protected him... mostly.//

Then Harry waved his wand and pulled the half-drowned and pathetic elf out of the water. "Lucky for you there don't seem to be monsters in this lake," he muttered. Then he levitated the pitiful young man back to the lake's edge, and unceremoniously dropped him on the ground.

There was a curious circle of onlookers from the school -- although the teachers in attendance were doing a fairly good job of getting most of them back to class -- and as Harry landed, the Headmaster calmly walked over and surveyed the groaning wretched elf.

"Is this our mysterious watcher?" Albus asked.

"Yes," Harry replied tersely.

"An elf, I see."

"Yes," Harry repeated.

"Mmm," the Headmaster observed mildly. "Do we know who he is?"

"His name is Ell'evisor," Harry replied in a disgusted tone. "He's in training to be a War Mage."

Albus blinked. "Then why on earth..." He frowned. "I know you said your 'circle' would be unhappy that you had revealed their existence to me, but surely they wouldn't send someone to attack you."

"No," Harry agreed, "and even if they did, it wouldn't be a mere student. I suspect he may have overstepped the boundaries of his mission by quite a bit." Then Harry turned a concerned look towards the Headmaster. "Was anyone hurt by his stupidity?"

"No, thankfully," Albus replied. "Nothing a few repair spells won't fix."

"Don't bother," Harry told him, "Ell'evisor here is going to be doing the repairs just as soon as I find out what the bloody hell is going on."

"Do let me know," Albus told him, and then the Headmaster turned and strolled away towards the castle. "I'll be in my office when you're ready!" he called over his shoulder. "Tea and biscuits all round!"

Harry smiled slightly as the Headmaster's apparent unconcern allowed the rest of the teachers and students to relax -- which was, of course, the reason he'd done it. As Harry cast a displeased eye back over his sodden captive, he could hear Albus in the background saying, "So, Minerva, how are your fourth-years doing? Any problems? No? Good, good and, oh -- would you mind sending Filch along to sit with Professor Ash's next class? He's going to be a bit late, I'm afraid..."

----oo00oo----

Harry stared down at Ell'evisor. The elf was still on the ground -- groaning and unsuccessfully trying to cough up his lungs.

Harry made an elven hand gesture and paralysed the young elf's arms. That would stop him from using any magic that required hand or arm motions -- which ruled out all purely elven magic, and quite a few non-elven varieties as well.

Then Harry pulled out his wand and cast one of the rough and ready healing spells he'd learned to use in the field. It was by no means a cure-all, but it did partially heal the worst of the elf's injuries. Ell'evisor stopped coughing after a few moments, and slowly managed to uncurl himself. His arms flopped uselessly at his sides as he tried to stand up, but he didn't make it, and had to settle for kneeling on the wet grass.

"~ Well, ~" Harry told him coldly, "~ you're not much of a credit to your teachers, are you? ~"

The elf stared at him stonily.

"~ First off, ~" Harry continued, "~ you should have researched humans before you got here. Three days of observation is useless unless you know what you're looking for, and you have some background information to help you understand what you're actually seeing. That was your first mistake. ~"

"~ You're next mistake was in not realising that my robes absorbed and dissipated your first attack. Just like your battle cloak would have! Did you imagine that all humans go about dressed in battle robes? ~"

The elf was now starting to look a bit confused.

"~ And, ~" Harry said, "~ you definitely should have stopped to talk the instant I used your name! Just how many humans do you think would know that? ~" Harry paused to let that sink in. "~ And if that wasn't enough, ~" he added scathingly, "~ I then addressed you in elven -- your native language! How many humans speak elven, Ell'evisor? ~"

Before the bewildered elf could reply, Harry continued to elaborate on the young mage's shortcomings: "~ You also allowed your instincts to guide your descent down the tower -- if you'd been thinking instead of reacting, you would have gone to freefall as I did. You also didn't know human wizards use brooms to fly, and so you missed the opportunity to grab my broom before it reached me. You followed me out to my choice of battlefield. You allowed anger to cloud your judgement -- which was the first thing you should have learned not to do when you were admitted to the circle! You wasted effort on trying to hit a target that was too fast for you, and then on deflecting minor spells that were hardly worth your attention. Have you ever even heard of the technique I used on you? -- it's called 'wearing down your opponent'! Then you failed to cast the watch-your-back spell -- something we teach novices to remember, you dunce! That led to you being hit by a pair of enchanted boots -- although since I doubt you've ever seeen anything like a Bludger, I'll forgive you for not realising they might keep coming back. But after that, I fooled you into believing that I was injured -- and you allowed me to get close enough to make a physical attack on you! Did you think a broom couldn't be used as a weapon? Haven't you done any training with staffs?! ~"

Ell'evisor's mouth opened and closed a few times. He looked pathetic in his confusion, as he bluntly received the most scathingly acute criticism of his battle skills he'd ever heard. He hung his head in shame as he finally realised that the man standing before him could not possibly be anything other than a true War Mage.

The criticism -- delivered in flawless elven -- was so typical of Ell'evisor's teachers after a training session, that he was not the least bit surprised to hear the grudging praise that always followed a teacher's first words of censure.

"~ Well, ~" Harry finally allowed, "~ at least you recognised the pattern of spells I was pretending to be defenceless against. You saw a weakness and tried to exploit it -- so I suppose you're not totally hopeless. ~"

Ell'evisor blushed with embarrassment. There wasn't much to be proud of if that was all the War Mage could find to praise.

Silence reigned for a few moments.

"~ Ell'evisor, ~" Harry said -- and the elf quailed at the grim expression on the human's face, "~ there's one more thing you need to know about what you've done here today. It's something you should have known about humans -- and about this place -- before you got here. ~" Then the War Mage paused, and he almost looked compassionate, "~ This is going to hurt you far more than your physical wounds. Prepare yourself for a heart-shock. ~"

Ell'evisor looked confused again, but automatically controlled his breathing and heart rate so as not to pass out or hyperventilate when he received the news. Heart-shock was the kind of thing that happened when you witnessed a loved one fall in battle. Whatever the news was, it was going to be bad...

"~ Humans, ~" the man in front of him said, "~ do not mature the same way elves do. Our life spans are only one fifth of yours, and as a consequence, our minds mature much more rapidly -- and much earlier -- than an elf's. Unlike your people, we do not wait until our children's bodies stop growing before we begin serious training. ~"

Ell'evisor's eyes widened. Surely the War Mage wasn't suggesting...

"~ I'm sorry Ell'evisor, but the training in this place is not structured according to caste, sub-race, genetic variation, or any other strange theory you may have come up with. The people here are all of the same kind: members of my race who grow taller as they mature, and progress through our educational system. Ell'evisor, this place is the human equivalent of a crèche-school -- and you began a mage-fight surrounded by children. ~"

"~ No.. ~" the elf begged as his eyes filled with tears. "~ It can't be... ~"

Elves -- with their much longer lifespan -- paid the price for those extra decades in terms of the tiny number of children born each year. As a result, elven numbers were slow to increase, and children were considered a great blessing. No sane elf would ever harm a child -- even the children of other races.

Ell'evisor broke down as the shocking truth slammed into him. "~ I'm sorry! I'm sorry! ~" he wept, "~ I didn't know... ~"

Looking down at the shattered and remorseful elf, Harry released Ell'evisor from the paralysis on his arms. The young mage immediately wrapped those arms around himself, and rocked back and forth as he tried to deal with what he'd done.

Harry sighed. Seeing the pain of this younger version of his friend, he found it hard to maintain his anger. The idiot might really have killed someone, but at this end of history, Ell'evisor was hardly much older than Ron and Hermione -- even though he was probably approaching his ninth decade. Sighing again, Harry knelt down beside the sobbing elf and put his arm around Ell'evisor's shoulders.

"~ You didn't hurt anyone, ~" he reassured the mage-in-training. "~ Nobody was injured, I promise you. ~" He repeated the words until the elf finally got himself under control and once more apologised -- wiping tears from his cheek with the back of his hand. It was a curiously child-like action, which privately reminded Harry of a first-year Ravenclaw he'd found suffering from a bad bout of homesickness last week.

"~ Come along, Ell'evisor, ~" Harry eventually told the elf. "~ You need something relaxing to drink, and I need to hear exactly why the circle sent you here. ~"

//And I also need to find my other pair of boots,// Harry reflected as he led the elf back towards the castle. //These socks are going to be ruined...//

----oo00oo----

A few minutes later, they were seated in Harry's private rooms, and Harry had changed his socks, replaced his boots, and asked Dobby to let Albus know that all of his classes would have to be covered for him until he could sort out what was going on -- a process which might take several hours. While he was doing this, Harry left Ell'evisor to look around the living room, and the elf was obviously put much at ease by the sight of the little elven lights scattered around the place.

Harry served him hot chocolate with marshmallows, and watched as delighted surprise spread over the elf's face.

"~ What is this? ~" he asked, "~ It's... very good. ~"

"~ Hot chocolate, ~" Harry replied, "~ and the floating sugar things are called marshmallows. The drink rather reminds me of your elven beverage 'corella', but I don't think you have anything resembling marshmallows. ~"

"~ No... ~" Ell'evisor agreed, "~ but I think we would if I were to show one to War Mage Silver. ~"

Harry laughed. "~ Yes, ~" he agreed, "~ she always did have a sweet tooth. I'll give you a packet of them for her, but if you want any for yourself, you'll have to get them out and hide them before she eats one. ~"

"~ You... you know War Mage Silver? ~"

"~ Oh, yes, ~" Harry replied. "~ Quite well, in fact, although she won't know me. You see, we haven't met in this timeline yet. ~"

Ell'evisor's eyes widened. "~ This timeline?! ~"

And so Harry found himself once more explaining the Mirror of Maybe.

----oo00oo----

Harry didn't give Ell'evisor any of the specifics of their own convoluted friendship, or talk about particular events that had happened in Harry's version of history -- but after some time, and a lot of clarification, Ell'evisor thought he grasped the concept behind the Mirror well enough to be able to explain it to the other members of the circle.

Then it was the elf's turn to explain to War Mage Ash why he was at Hogwarts, and exactly how badly he'd screwed up his assignment.

It turned out that the circle had become aware of Ash's presence shortly after his public debut in the newspapers, but had done nothing until last week when they'd summoned Ell'evisor to the council chamber and told him to go and observe this so-called human 'War Mage'. His instructions after that had been to 'decide on an appropriate course of action' and report back to the council on what he'd done.

Ell'evisor had taken this to mean that he should discourage the human upstart from using the War Mage title for personal gain.

"~ No, ~" Harry told him. "~ You misunderstood what they told you completely. From my experience with the council in the Mirror, I can tell you that they probably decided on a wait-and-see policy within hours of learning about my presence in the wizarding world. They only sent you out after I had my run-in with some of Voldemort's followers. That encounter identified me as a person who is actively opposing the Dark Lord, while at the same time claiming the title of 'War Mage'. ~"

Then Harry grimaced, "~ The council doesn't want War Mages to become involved with either side just yet. They still think the situation doesn't warrant their intervention. ~"

"~ Does it? ~" Ell'evisor asked.

"~ I think so, ~" Harry stated, "~ and as a full War Mage, the council doesn't have the right to order me to pull out. ~" Then Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully, "~ In fact, ~" he added, "~ as a member of the species most directly involved, by rights they should be taking my advice on this matter. ~"

"~ Did they not in the Mirror? ~" Ell'evisor asked curiously.

"~ By the time I graduated and my Acceptance was held, ~" Harry explained, "~ things had become so bad that the circle was already involved. But I always thought they should have moved earlier... ~"

"~ Perhaps this time, they will, ~" the elf suggested.

"Mmm," Harry said noncommittally. "~ But regardless of that, what they asked you to do was essentially a training exercise. They wanted you to gather information for them, and then decide what to do with that information -- nothing you haven't done before in your classes. You could have reported back to them without contacting me at all. Or else, you could have approached me, and simply asked me to stop using the title. Why in the Green Lord's Name did you decide to attack me?! ~"

Ell'evisor squirmed a bit in his seat.

"Ell'evisor," Harry warned him, "-- the truth now. ~"

"~ I...~" the elf began, "~ I was angry... I mean... there you were -- claiming a Name that you had no right to, when... when I had to work so hard to get taken in for training. ~"

"-- and had to wait so long? ~" Harry asked quietly.

The elf looked surprised. He blushed with embarrassment. "~ I thought... I thought it wasn't fair that you -- a human -- could claim a Name that I'm not entitled to yet. It... I was angry... it didn't seem fair. I didn't know about the Mirror. ~"

"~The Mirror makes very little difference, Ell'evisor, ~" Harry said. "~ From an elf's perspective, all humans are very young. Including my time in the Mirror, I'm still only twenty-nine years old, yet I can honestly tell you that if I were an elf, I would be about one hundred and forty-five. ~" Then he looked seriously at the young mage seated across from him. "~ By the time you reach middle age, it's very possible that I will be dead of old age. ~" Ell'evisor looked startled. "~ and even then, ~" Harry continued, "~ you're still at least seven or eight decades older than me now. ~"

Ell'evisor frowned. "~ That's... that's really weird...~"

"~ Just remember to multiply any human's age by five, ~" Harry told him, "~ And don't be too concerned with 'weird' -- you're a mage: you'll get used to it. ~"

After that, Harry very carefully gave Ell'evisor instructions for not revealing his true name to anyone who wasn't part of the mage circle. "~ Remember, ~" Harry warned him, "~ this is my private name we're talking about, and I'm going to be deeply offended by anyone who reveals it to someone outside the circle. If anyone asks where 'Harry Potter' is, the circle's answer is to be nothing more than 'safe', you understand? The only reason I'm even telling you my private name is that other humans do not yet understand about War Mage names, and they're going to be asking about me with my private name. I don't want them to be worried, hence the answer I want you to give. This does not give those in the circle the right to use that name. To all of you -- my name is Ash."

The younger mage inclined his head in solemn agreement. "~ Your Name is, of course, your personal privilege, War Mage Ash. ~"

For Harry, it was particularly reassuring that the mage circle's attitude towards names would hold his secret secure without argument or fuss. For an elf like Ell'evisor, it was probably the most understandable thing he'd been told so far today.

"~ Just let the circle know that in future, if they wish to contact me, they only have to come and ask for me. I'm more than willing to talk -- although I would prefer not to travel too far from the school, since that would interrupt my students' lessons. ~"

Then Harry took Ell'evisor back out into the central stairwell, and made him repair every bit of damage he'd done to the castle -- including the removal of the red dye at the top of the tower. This was part of his punishment for his earlier behaviour -- and the rest of it would be for his teachers back in the circle to decide, after he told them what he'd done.

The elf was only too happy to serve some kind of penance, since he was still feeling absolutely wretched about endangering children, and Harry used the opportunity to teach Ell'evisor a few basics with regard to concentrating his magic while surrounded by stone. This in turn, cemented Ash in Ell'evisor's mind as one of his teachers, and a proper authority figure.

When it finally came time for Ell'evisor to leave, it was mid-afternoon, and the mage-in-training promised to faithfully report everything he had learned as soon as he reached Elvenholme. Harry was just showing him out of the castle -- with a packet of marshmallows clutched in one hand -- when the elf once more apologised for his behaviour, and asked Harry to please pass on those heart-felt apologies to the school's leading course guide.

Harry assured him the Headmaster would understand, and then bid him farewell.

Just as Ell'evisor was leaving, some shred of honesty, caused him to turn back and say, "~ War Mage Ash? I... I should have told you -- there's... well, there's another reason I didn't just come and talk to you this morning. ~" The elf paused, then looked at the ground in embarrassment. "~ You see, ~" he began, "~ I, uh... I... that is... Ican'tspeakhuman and Ididn'tknowyouspokeelven. ~"

Harry blinked. Once he sorted the out the rapid-fire words, he almost laughed. With amusement, he replied, "~ Then I would suggest you speak to Silver about learning one of our languages. Tell her I recommend English, and that it's part of your punishment so that you never do something like this again. ~"

The mortified young elf nodded, and then hurried away.

----oo00oo----

After that, Harry went to face Albus, and explain why a student War Mage had attacked the Dark Arts teacher -- a full War Mage -- inside the castle. Naturally, Harry would have to find a way to do this without mentioning the Mirror, or telling Albus that Ell'evisor hadn't known Ash was a War Mage.

Basically, Harry was going to present Ell'evisor as an overzealous student who'd misunderstood his teachers, and thought his mission was supposed to be a training exercise against an unfamiliar, but superior opponent. That was close enough to the truth to hold up, since Albus didn't have any idea about how the circle trained its War Mages anyway. The 'real' message, had, of course, been that the young elf was to observe what Ash was up to and then 'decide on an appropriate course of action'. This would also stand up to Albus' scrutiny, because it had enough truth in it to sound real, but enough ambiguity to let Albus assume that the circle simply wanted to know what their missing mage was doing at Hogwarts.

And so, Harry drank tea, ate Albus' biscuits, and skilfully mixed truth and lies into a thoroughly believable whole. Whether Albus bought it or not was anybody's guess, but he wasn't asking any hard-to-answer questions, so Harry didn't care.

The school's Dark Arts teacher didn't make it back to his regular schedule until just before the last class of the day -- and even then, all Harry's students wanted to talk about, was what had happened that morning, how awesome he'd been, and what had he done to get all the staircases to move like that?

For Harry -- who'd never before had to contemplate fighting a fellow mage of the circle (student or otherwise) -- that last class of the day seemed to last forever...

----oo00oo----

Finally, after all the excitement from the day before had settled down, it was Friday again, and Harry decided to spend his evening in the staff lounge.

He'd been making a habit of this, ever since Sev' had lain in wait for him with the intention of confronting Harry about the reason the War Mage always sat beside him.

Harry hoped that the excuse of obtaining his forgotten book would draw the Potions Master back to the lounge for a second round of discussions -- or was it negotiations? Well, whatever it was, they were talking to each other, and that was something to be encouraged.

But so far, Harry hadn't had much luck. Sev' had stubbornly refused to show up, and Harry didn't want to have that kind of discussion at the dinner table in front of the staff and students, or rush it along in the hallways between class.

Harry was also trying to avoid holding it in either his or Sev's quarters. The staff lounge was perfect because it was neutral territory, and they were on somewhat more of an equal footing.

But it wasn't much help if Severus didn't show up.

Harry knew Sev' could not sneak in and collect his book in secret, for one simple reason -- Harry always magically hid the book whenever he left the room, and then revealed it again whenever he returned. That way, the War Mage could honestly say that the book was always in the staff lounge, but if Sev' wanted the damn thing back, then he was going to have to keep looking for it until he came in while Harry was there.

But Sev' never asked, and Harry hardly ever saw the man.

Still, patience was a virtue, and Harry was content to fill his current Friday evening by reading the Daily Prophet cover to cover, and then pulling out a new issue of Quidditch World. An hour and a half later, he was the only teacher still sitting in the room, and he was finally reduced to curiously staring at Sev's book on the coffee table. Eventually he picked it up to see whether it was any good.

Not surprisingly, it was a potions book, and far too advanced for him to really understand. But some of the pictures used to illustrate the various brews and their results were quite interesting, and Harry idly began flipping through the pages.

"As you have led me to believe you are hopeless with potions, I fail to understand why you are pretending to read my book."

Harry blinked, and looked up to see Severus Snape glaring down at him from behind the armchair on the far side of the table.

Harry smiled. "I'm not reading it," he calmly replied. "I'm looking at the pretty pictures."

Harry was rewarded for his candour with the hint of an amused expression on Severus' face. "At least you're honest about it," the Potions Master told him. "Others I could name would try to pretend they understood it."

"Pfft," Harry scoffed, while making a dismissive gesture with the closed book, "-- as if they had to be skilled at everything. I know better. I'd never bother to lie about something like that."

"But you would lie about other things?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "Doesn't everyone?"

"Most people are not very good at it."

"I'm not most people."

Severus regarded him for a moment. "No," he said finally, "I suppose you're not." Then he added, "May I have my book back?"

Harry smiled again. "I suppose I could see my way clear to returning it -- for a price."

Snape looked startled for a moment -- then suspicious. "I take it we are not discussing the complete impossibility of me actually paying you for the return of my own book."

"Well, not with gold, anyway," Harry replied.

Severus raised an eyebrow at him. "Ah," he said, "And what currency would I therefore be expected to use?"

Harry almost bit his own tongue off in an effort not to tell Severus exactly what currency he would like to be paid in. After a second or two, Harry managed to reply, "Nothing more than a few minutes of your company, Professor."

The scowl was back. "You persist in your ridiculous assertion that you 'like' me."

"So I'm deluded," Harry replied airily. "What does it matter? You need only sit with me for a while -- being your naturally dislikeable self -- and you shall have your book back. Is it really so great a price to pay?"

"For how long?"

"Excuse me?"

"For how long," Severus repeated, "would I be required to remain in your company?"

"Umm, how does fifteen minutes sound?"

"Fine," and the Potions Master irritably deposited himself in the armchair he'd been standing behind.

"You're in the wrong chair," said Harry, gesturing to the vacant one beside him.

Severus smirked. "Our agreement never said anything about where I was required to sit. Only that I had to be here."

"Ah," Harry said. "Remiss of me not to have specified the chair."

"Quite."

"You really are a very irritating man," Harry grinned.

"Do tell."

----oo00oo----

The next part of Harry's evening must surely have confirmed that War Mage Ash was completely insane.

Initially, Severus seemed content to simply sit in his chair -- as silent as the grave -- and wait out his imprisonment until the fifteen minutes was up.

Harry however, was determined to get the other man talking -- so when he deliberately opened Sev's book and started making guesses about the 'pretty pictures', it didn't take long before Severus was calling him a complete dolt and complaining that even an ignorant first-year would know more about potions than a War Mage who was supposed to be fully-trained.

It seemed that the more stupid assumptions Harry made, the more impossible Severus found it to suffer in silence. He just had to correct Ash -- at length -- and in the most scathing terms.

Harry let Sev's voice wash over him like a balm. The man was animated and passionate, and even his insults were a marvel of language and wit. Better yet, all that intelligence and emotion were currently Harry's to enjoy in the otherwise deserted staff lounge.

All Harry had to do was interject the occasional dumb comment, and Severus would keep right on talking.

Eventually, however, Harry made a comment that was just a bit too dumb.

Severus stopped mid-sentence, and abruptly sat back in his chair.

"Even you are not that stupid," he said after a moment. "You are being deliberately obtuse. Why?"

Harry smirked. "Because I like you, and I like hearing you talk about something you enjoy. I like the way you... come alive... when you're talking about potions."

"I have been insulting your intelligence for the last..." Severus checked his watch, then blinked with surprise, "... thirty minutes?!"

"And some very creative insults they've been," Ash said admiringly. "You have a truly formidable vocabulary. I may even have to look some of those words up."

Severus just stared at him. "You are a lunatic," he finally said.

"If so, then I'm a lunatic who likes you," Harry smiled.

Severus' face took on a kind of desperate edge. "Please," he said, "will you just tell me what you want? -- without all the games and lies?" Then he looked Harry straight in the eyes and said, "What the hell do you want from me?"

Harry considered it. It was late, and they were both tired. Tomorrow was Saturday, and Sev' could have the entire weekend to sort through it...

//Damn it all,// Harry thought suddenly, //I'm as tired of this run-around as he is. Time to own up.//

Without words, Harry locked eyes with Severus, and then leaned down to carefully place the disputed book in the centre of the coffee table. As he leaned back into his own chair -- with Severus still carefully watching him -- Harry calmly threaded his fingers together across his chest, and raised his elbows to lie across the top of the chair's armrests. Then he arrogantly propped one foot up on the coffee table between them, and suggestively let his knee fall open so that his thigh leaned against the chair's armrest as well.

Severus blinked at the undercurrent of sexuality.

Then Harry deliberately dropped his eyes to the foot of Sev's robes, and slowly ran them up the line of his legs. Harry passed his sight appreciatively over the other man's crotch, those elegant hands, his stomach, the chest, and then finally up the column of Sev's neck to rejoin the dark eyes. Harry let his own eyes smoulder at the shock and startlement he saw reflected there.

Then Harry saw something that astonished him just as much as the astonishment he'd caused.

Severus Snape -- the most universally feared and despised teacher at Hogwarts -- master of insults and casual disregard -- blushed bright red, right up to the roots of his hair.

"You're out of your mind!" Severus choked.

"So you've mentioned before," Harry replied, still charmed by the fading blush.

Severus got himself back under control after the unexpected shock. "I'm not interested in becoming another notch on your damn belt," he sneered.

"Good," Harry replied. "I'm tired of notches anyway -- they're ultimately very unsatisfying. This time I want something that has the potential to last."

Severus stared at him -- seemingly shocked again. "You... what...?"

"You," Harry said with a half-smile. "I want you -- and not just as a notch or a casual affair. I want to find out whether we could be more to each other than that." Then he leaned forward, and with a quiet intensity that seemed to inhabit the very air between them, he added, "I want to know whether we could be as much to each other as any two people can be."

After that, Harry leaned back and waited.

Silence reigned.

Severus had completely closed off the play of emotions across his face, so that Harry currently had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.

Harry felt strangely calm.

//Now Severus knows,// he thought. //The first big step had been taken.// Harry instinctively understood that it would take the other man a while to believe that Ash genuinely wanted him for more than a one night stand, or his potion-making abilities, or the information he could supply as a Death Eater, or any other damn thing Severus could come up with.

But Harry could be an extremely persistent bastard when he wanted something badly enough, and he knew that if he had to, he could wear Severus down until the other man agreed to give it a chance between them -- if only to prove Ash wrong, and finally get rid of the War Mage.

But all Harry needed was that chance.

The silence stretched.

Finally Severus got up, and left. He still hadn't said a word, or given away a single emotion.

With that same unearthly sense of peace, Harry looked down at the coffee table -- and noticed that Sev' had once again forgotten his book.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 10: Questions and Answers

For Severus Snape, the next day passed in a blur of confusion and mixed emotions. On the one hand, it was incredibly flattering to know the War Mage found him attractive. But on the other hand, Severus didn't for one minute believe that that the man was sincere in his little 'be all two people can be to each other' speech.

It was plain, however, that the Dark Arts teacher did find him desirable -- no matter what his other reasons might be. One simply did not look at another person in that lingering and... appreciative... way, without at least some genuine interest.

//The question is,// Severus mused, //what should I do about it?//

Knowing that there must be something else the War Mage wanted from him, didn't mean that Severus would ever have to give it to him. So long as he refused to indulge the other man in anything more than a casual relationship, then a few nights spent together wouldn't compromise anything. In fact, it might even be useful, since the mage would probably reveal his real reason for wanting the liaison as soon as he thought Severus was sufficiently infatuated with him.

But in the meantime, it might be nice to have a warm bed to sleep in, and someone to hold close through the night. It had been far too long since Severus had last enjoyed a lover's touch, and loneliness was, indeed, a very powerful aphrodisiac.

Severus had indulged himself in a few casual relationships over the years, and knew all too well how they invariably ended. Eventually, the other party would discover that he really was exactly what he appeared to be -- and not some secretly repressed kind-hearted innocent -- or else they finally realised that they weren't going to get whatever it was they wanted, and quickly ended the affair in order to try their luck elsewhere.

Whenever that happened, it caused Severus a mild sense of regret -- but it was only a small pain, since he'd never been under any illusions about the permanence of the relationship in the first place. In fact, he was sometimes grateful there'd never been any great love in his life -- loved ones were a weakness that Voldemort ruthlessly exploited, and that bastard had enough of a hold over him as it was.

And yet, while they lasted, the satisfaction Severus derived from the occasional lover more than made up for whatever tiny pang of hurt he felt when they left.

But this time, Severus found himself wondering whether the War Mage might actually be willing to continue the liaison after he discovered that Severus would not give him whatever it was he wanted.

When he'd first seen the mage's photo' in the Daily Prophet, Severus could remember thinking that the man had been blessed with a truly ordinary face. Not handsome, not ugly -- it was just a face, and would be easily forgotten in a crowd. There had been any number of times when Severus would have killed to have such a face -- one that would not identify him, or let people remember him as easily as his own features did.

Then he'd actually met the man.

War Mage Ash had presence. He could probably charm the birds down out of the bloody trees if he felt like it. In person, there was nothing forgettable about him at all. Even after Albus' little 'demonstration' at the welcome feast, most of the students -- and certainly all of the staff -- were still enamoured of him. A bit more wary perhaps, but enamoured nonetheless.

That being the case, the mage could have found a lover anywhere he wanted. Hogsmeade, for instance, was conveniently nearby and had a large enough population that there would certainly be several suitable witches he could have approached.

But there were not very many suitable wizards he could have approached.

Wizards who preferred the intimate company of other men were in the minority, and while they were not hounded or persecuted, a preference for your own gender was still considered somewhat... disappointing... by a young wizard or witch's family.

Severus -- who had no brothers or sisters, and whose parents had died before his twelfth birthday -- had not had anybody to disappoint. Thus, he'd never bothered to hide his preferences, and had never felt any obligation to 'settle down' and produce grandchildren. It was only his intense desire for privacy, and his dislike of public emotional displays, that kept others in ignorance.

That meant it would've been relatively easy for the mage to discover that Severus was only interested in men. Certainly Albus and Minerva knew, and probably several of the other teachers did as well. A few charming smiles and some staffroom gossip would've ensured that the Dark Arts teacher was also privy to the information.

If the War Mage was exclusively interested in men, then there was a chance he might accept an offer to continue in a casual relationship simply because it was convenient. He was attracted to Severus -- he already knew Severus had a preference for male lovers -- and they were both teachers at Hogwarts: even living in the same isolated corridor.

And yet...

One did not survive the life Severus had lived by being anything less than brutally honest with yourself, and Snape was well aware that with his hooked nose and pale complexion, he wasn't exactly the epitome of male beauty. He was by no means ugly either, but he wasn't very likely to be appearing on the cover of Witch's Weekly any time soon.

If the mage could be bothered to make a few enquiries, he would eventually find others who were younger, better looking, and not so prone to insults and sarcasm. At that point, 'convenience' was all that would be left in Severus' favour.

It wasn't really much of an incentive.

And so, Severus spent a large part of Saturday vacillating between the thought that it might be nice to indulge in a brief affair, and the knowledge that it probably wouldn't last very long -- and then he would have to put up with seeing the man every day and knowing that he probably had a lover somewhere else. That kind of depressing reminder Severus did not need in his life.

However, it was not until late Saturday evening that he suddenly realised there were a couple of very important reasons why Severus Snape should probably stay as far away from the Dark Arts teacher as he could possibly get... and oddly enough, it was a glass of wine that finally reminded him of the realities of life -- or at least the realities of his life.

----oo00oo----

It was late -- several hours past dinner -- and Severus had long since retired to his rooms. He was comfortably ensconced in his favourite armchair, watching the fire burn low in the hearth. After absently taking a sip from his wineglass, he lowered his arm only to find his eyes drawn to the flickering highlights reflected in the delicate lead crystal. Severus noted that the red colour of the wine looked remarkably like blood in this light.

Then his eyes were drawn to a darker image.

When he'd raised the wineglass to his lips, the sleeve of his robes had fallen back, exposing the Dark Mark on his forearm. With his hand palm-up to cradle the glass, the Mark lay fully exposed in the firelight -- an indelible reminder of Voldemort's presence in his life -- and of where his public loyalties were supposed to lie.

Seeing the Mark on his arm was like having a bucket of ice water thrown over him.

The War Mage had already killed one Death Eater, and Severus had heard from others that the man had also refused the Dark Lord's invitation to join them -- and refused in such a way that he'd made it plain he felt nothing but contempt and disgust for Voldemort and all his followers.

//What was I thinking?!// came the shaken realisation. //Even if the mage didn't kill me, Voldemort would!//

None of Severus' previous lovers had been powerful, visible, or important enough, for Voldemort to care less about -- and all of them had already known about the Dark Mark. But in the War Mage's case, Voldemort would have to wonder why one of his supposedly loyal servants had taken up with a powerful and dangerous man who'd already declared himself an enemy. Severus had enough problems keeping the Dark Lord convinced he was loyal, without giving him more reasons to doubt it. And as for the mage himself, Severus certainly couldn't explain that he was Dumbledore's spy! Even if the Dark Arts teacher believed him, Severus hadn't survived this long by trusting virtual strangers with his most closely guarded secrets.

And certainly not over something as trivial as sex!

//Bloody hell!// he swore to himself. //What's wrong with me? -- one look from a man I hardly know, and I'm no better than those idiotic walking hormones I'm forced to teach all week!//

Worried that his finely honed sense of survival was slipping, Severus studied his reaction to the War Mage with as much dispassionate logic as he could muster. Belatedly, he remembered the dark and dangerous version of the mage he'd glimpsed at the end of their first late night encounter in the staff lounge. He could remember thinking then, that the man had already killed one of Voldemort's followers. Why had he forgotten that?

Eventually, Severus reached the conclusion that it was probably because he'd spent the day thinking of the mage as a potential lover. He'd never had to worry about Voldemort -- or a violent anti-Death Eater prejudice -- with any of his previous partners. It simply hadn't been an issue. In some strange way, those previous experiences had merged together in his subconscious, and somehow... isolated... his idea of a bed partner from the larger picture of his life.

It was a dangerous isolation -- and now that he was aware of it, he woould take care to guard against it in the future.

//But for now,// he thought as he finished his wine, //I believe I shall stay well away from War Mage Ash.//

----oo00oo----

Sunday afternoon found Ron and Hermione walking back to the school after a pleasant afternoon spent with Hagrid. They'd become much closer to the half-giant since they'd discovered he still had a connection to Harry. Every day they would stop by for a visit, which always began with Hagrid's assurance that Harry was fine. From there they would often talk about their missing friend, before moving on to other topics such as the school, their classes, and the world in general.

Ron enjoyed hearing Hagrid tell stories about Charlie -- his oldest brother -- and the mischief he'd gotten up to when he'd been a student at Hogwarts. As it turned out, Charlie had always shared Hagrid's bizarre love of dangerous animals, and Ron privately suspected that Hagrid might even have been the cause of Charlie's decision to study dragons.

It had surprised Ron to learn that his brother and Hagrid still owled each other regularly, and that Hagrid even had a photo' album full of pictures of Norbert -- all courtesy of Charlie. As the Norwegian Ridgeback had grown, Hagrid had acquired new pictures from Ron's brother, detailing all of the dragon's physical changes.

"Look 'ere, Ron!" Hagrid had eagerly pointed out. "That's Norbert's first flight! Yer brother caught 'im just as 'e was leapin' off the rock! Well, it was more like fallin', really -- but 'is wings were spread an' Charlie said 'e landed a good twelve feet down the slope! His first flight -- my little Norbert!"

After that, they'd also seen Norbert's first hunt, and Norbert's first kill -- to which Hermione had gone "Ewww..." -- but Hagrid hadn't seemed to notice, and kept right on talking about Norbert's first meeting with other dragons and how they'd accepted him, and Norbert's first this, and Norbert's first that, until finally there were no more photo's left.

It had been interesting for Ron because it involved his brother and the work Charlie was doing in Romania. But for Hermione, it had been interesting (if a bit bloodthirsty) because she suddenly realised that Hagrid must have been wanting to talk about Norbert with somebody for ages. But since very few people knew Hagrid had once owned an illegal pet dragon, there was really nobody he could tell.

Hermione discovered that she rather liked the feeling that came from simply sitting there and allowing Hagrid to chatter on about his dragon. It wasn't hard to do, and it made the half-giant very happy. In return, his happiness bubbled up to fill the room, and both Ron and Hermione always came away with smiles on their faces.

On that particular Sunday afternoon, as she and Ron were saying their goodbyes to the Gamekeeper, Hermione was especially aware of how much more cheerful she was, than she'd been when she arrived. As she and Ron walked back up to the castle under a calm early autumn sky, she considered her emotions, and Hagrid's unconscious ability to make her feel better.

//Could this be something like Heart Magic?// she wondered -- and then the curious thought occurred to her that perhaps some kinds of power weren't simply magic or muggle -- but came in degrees of... of 'magicalness', if such a word existed. If that were true, then the happiness she received from Hagrid's company was definitely Heart Magic -- a less magical form than what Harry (or maybe Professor Ash) had performed, but still Heart Magic nonetheless. That, in turn, meant that there were some things that were both muggle and magic, and could, perhaps, only be truly understood by specialists from both backgrounds.

//I wonder what would happen,// she thought, //if you had both muggle researchers and wizarding ones working together on the same problem...//

Walking back from Hagrid's hut on that perfectly ordinary Sunday afternoon, Hermione had no idea that she'd just had a revelation that would someday lead to an entirely new branch of study -- one wherein science and magic would be blended together to create marvels based on the newly discovered realm of technomagic.

Had Harry been there to explain his experiences in the Mirror, he could have told her about an old word put to new use, whereby 'magician' would come to mean a muggle who could manipulate magic through the use of machines keyed to his or her personal mental signature. There would never be many such muggles, since the link between mind and mechanism demanded that the magician also understand what the device was doing -- in effect, limiting the gift of magic to those with the ability to create such machines.

But the one thing Harry would never have told her about, was Robert -- the very first muggle magician -- and the man who might someday also be her husband.

----oo00oo----

As Ron and Hermione entered the school, they found themselves once more talking about Harry, and by extension, their frustration with Padfoot, Moony, and their Dark Arts professor.

"What did Padfoot's letter say, again?" Hermione asked.

Ron grimaced. "Only that Harry is safe and we shouldn't worry. I can't believe he and Moony left without telling us what was going on! We waited and waited -- it was torture sitting through Dark Arts and having professor Ash stand out there in front of us like nothing happened! And now this! Don't worry, he says! Well, I am bloody worried!"

"Yes, and it's very strange, too," Hermione agreed. "Remember what the professor said? -- he said he hadn't done anything with Harry that he cared to discuss in front of his students. That sounds like he knows exactly what happened..."

"Yeah -- and I bet he told Padfoot a whopping pack of lies to get him to just leave us hanging like this."

"I don't think so," Hermione disagreed, "Padfoot isn't stupid you know. I don't think he'd accept an explanation without some kind of proof. And Moony's pretty smart too. I really don't see how Professor Ash could have fooled them both."

Ron scowled. "Then he probably cast a spell on them or something."

Hermione looked worried. "That always possible," she admitted. "But then why hasn't he done anything to us? He knows we're suspicious of him."

"Perhaps," came Ash's voice from behind them, "because he hasn't done anything wrong, and thus has nothing to fear from your suspicions."

The two students jumped at the first word, and by the end of the mage's statement, they were both facing him, huddled together and pale-faced with fright.

The professor sighed. "Look, I'm really not the bad guy here, all right?"

Ron gathered his courage and took a half step forwards. "Then tell us what you did with Harry," he challenged. "Tell us where he is!"

Unexpectedly, Ash smiled. "You have the courage and tenacity of true friends," he told them. "It's... very good... to know how much you care about him."

"So you'll tell us?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

The mage considered it. After a moment, he replied, "I can't tell you much..." and then he looked around, "-- and I'm certainly not going to discuss it in a hallway, even if it does appear to be empty." He turned, and gestured for them to follow. "Come along," he told them, "We'll talk about this in my quarters."

----oo00oo----

The two worried students trailed after their Dark Arts teacher, half afraid of being alone with him, and half hopeful that they might finally discover what had happened to their best friend.

At one point, Ron leaned in close to Hermione and whispered, "D'you think we should be following him off like this? He might be trying to lure us somewhere private so he can cast a spell on us..."

Without turning around, Harry replied, "I wouldn't need to get you alone for that Mr Weasley, and you need to lower your voice more if you wish to speak privately with Miss Granger."

There was silence in the hallways after that.

Soon after, they came to a part of the castle that neither student had visited in quite a while -- not since their exploration trips during first and second year, in fact.

"Doesn't Professor Snape live somewhere around here?" Ron asked his fellow Gryffindor.

"I think so..."

"Yes," Harry told them. "His rooms are a few doors down from mine."

"You live next to Snape?!" Ron exclaimed.

"Professor Snape," the War Mage mildly replied, "is an excellent neighbour."

Ron shot Hermione a disbelieving look. She responded with one that plainly said 'So what? -- and for god's sake, don't make an issue of it'.

Ron scowled, but didn't pursue the impossibility of a neighbourly Snape.

As they turned into the final corridor, both Ron and Hermione were surprised to see Draco Malfoy hanging about. They immediately assumed he must be waiting to see Snape -- his Head of House -- and were surprised when it turned out to be Ash's door he was loitering around.

"Draco," Ash acknowledged in warm tones.

Ron and Hermione shot worried looks at each other. They'd never heard their Dark Arts teacher address the other boy as anything other than 'Mr Malfoy' in class. It didn't bode well if the professor was actually friends with the likes of Draco Malfoy!

Draco himself looked quite pleased that the War Mage was willing to use his first name in front of the two Gryffindors. For Draco, it meant that the professor wasn't ashamed of being publicly associated with the son of a Death Eater. And considering Ash's dislike of the Dark Lord's followers, that only confirmed that Professor Ash really did think of him as a separate person in his own right -- and not just his father's son.

Draco managed to shock the other two students again by giving his teacher a genuinely pleasant smile. "Professor," he replied, "I was hoping to talk to you, but I can see you're busy."

"Was it important?" Ash asked. "I can postpone this if it is."

"No," Draco replied, "it was just talk -- nothing that can't wait," and then he smirked at the two Gryffindors, obviously assuming they were about to be punished for something.

Ron bristled, and even Hermione looked indignant.

"Draco," Ash gently admonished, "they aren't in trouble -- I just need to speak with them about something."

Draco looked faintly disappointed. "Pity," he murmured, "I was hoping they'd done something extremely Gryffindor."

Harry bit back a laugh, remembering how Draco had worked out that the Gryffindor weakness was being so brave that they occasionally did things only an idiot would attempt.

Ron and Hermione looked from their teacher, to Draco, and back again -- obviously wondering whether they'd just been insulted, but unwilling to admit their ignorance by asking.

Draco only looked more amused as he easily bid the Dark Arts professor goodbye, and sauntered off down the hall.

Ron kept an eye on the untrustworthy Slytherin until he was out of sight. He heard Professor Ash say "Open" behind him, and turned back to see the War Mage ushering Hermione inside, and waiting expectantly for him to follow. With some trepidation, he entered the War Mage's personal quarters.

----oo00oo----

The cheery and comfortable room beyond the door was a complete surprise. Ron and Hermione stood gawking in the middle of their Dark Arts teacher's living room as they slowly turned in place, gradually taking in all the strange sights, interwoven with familiar objects from the school.

The mage himself disappeared into the kitchen, leaving them to talk privately for a few moments.

"Ron?" Hermione asked quietly, "This room is..."

"...really great," Ron finished in a quietly amazed voice.

"You feel it too?"

"Yeah -- it's like... like being in our common room or something -- except it's not just the Gryffindor common room..."

"No," Hermione agreed, "it's the whole school. I feel like I've been away for the whole summer, and I've just walked in the front door again." And as she continued to look around, Hermione's eye fell on a small, cracked glass sphere sitting on one of the shelves. It looked familiar, but she couldn't place it -- and then the professor returned.

He was carrying a tray with hot water, cups, milk, biscuits, and drinking chocolate -- all of which he deftly slid onto a low table near the fireplace. "Would you two like some hot chocolate?" he asked.

They stared at him in surprise. Hermione found her voice first, and politely answered "Yes, thank-you, Professor."

"Are you mad?!" Ron hissed quietly in her ear.

"I think," Professor Ash replied, "that Miss Granger has simply noticed that there are three cups on the tray -- indicating that I fully intend to drink from the same mixture of ingredients that would be in your own cups. Thus, she feels no need to worry about being poisoned or slipped any strange potions."

Ron had the grace to look embarrassed, and apologetically mumbled "Sorry, 'Mione."

"So," Ash asked again, "would you like a hot chocolate Mr Weasley?"

"Erm... yes, thanks," and then -- as if to prove he was now firmly on the side of the hot chocolate drinkers -- Ron asked, "Are there any marshmallows?"

A smile played about the professor's lips. "No, I'm afraid not," he replied. "I was unfortunately called upon to donate my last packet to a friend. However I humbly ask to be forgiven, and offer these cream-filled biscuits as a poor substitute."

Generously, Ron declared, "That's all right -- I'm sure these will be fine."

Neither student noticed that they were slowly becoming more relaxed in the War Mage's presence as his rooms and his light banter continued to ease their suspicions. When he had the time for it, Harry was very skilled at getting people to trust him -- and his two friends were well worth the effort of winning over.

Once they all had a drink and a biscuit in their hands -- and after Ash had deliberately taken the first sip from his own cup -- Ron and Hermione settled into their seats, both sets of eyes expectantly pinning their teacher to his chair.

Ash smiled at them. "Yes," he admitted, "I do know where Harry Potter is, and no -- I can't tell you."

"What!" Ron cried, "Why can't you tell us? We're his best friends! We deserve to know just as much as Dumbledore does!"

"And Dumbledore does not know where he is either," came the unruffled reply.

"But the Headmaster knows that you know," Hermione guessed.

Their teacher inclined his head in agreement.

Scowling once again, Ron asked, "So what can you tell us?"

"As much as I've told the Headmaster -- providing you swear that you will not tell others, and that you'll take care not to discuss this where there's a chance you may be overheard."

"We swear," they both promptly agreed -- and Ash frowned at their quick reply.

"Do you, indeed," he asked slowly. "And do you also realise that should certain people in the school come to hear of this, not only will I become a target for their scheming, but you'll also be setting yourselves up for possible kidnapping and torture."

The two Gryffindors paled.

"That," Ash explained, "is the risk you take when you hold more secrets than the people around you." Then softly, he added, "Scientia est Potestas -- 'Knowledge is Power' -- and even the little bit I'm willing to share with you, is more than Voldemort knows. What do you think he would do -- or more to the point, is there anything you think he wouldn't do -- if he believed that either of you might have an answer to even one of his questions?"

Ron swallowed hard, "He -- he can't get into Hogwarts -- it too wwell protected, and Dumbledore's here..."

"And you don't go home for the holidays?" the War Mage asked with raised eyebrows, "You don't have friends -- family -- who live outside the school?"

"My family are muggles," Hermione whispered. "Ron -- they wouldn't stand a chance!"

Their Dark Arts professor leaned back in his chair. "It's not even a matter of how much I tell you," he explained, "It's a matter of how much the enemy thinks you might know -- and as you pointed out, you are Harry's best friends..."

By now both Hermione and Ron were looking considerably more serious about what they were agreeing to.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Ash asked them. "It would be safer for you -- and for your families -- if you didn't; but I'm still willing to tell you. After that, it will be up to you to make sure you don't give yourselves away. Dumbledore understands this. I need to make sure you two do as well."

It was Hermione who eventually broke the silence. Turning to Ron, she said, "If we do this, then we can never discuss it outside of these rooms or the Headmaster's office. There are secret passageways and hidden doors everywhere. We might be overheard -- even when we think we're alone."

With a solemn expression on his face, Ron painfully admitted, "Then I don't think I should stay. I... I think I would have to talk about it 'Mione. I don't think I could know where his is, or what he was doing, and keep it all bottled up inside. I need to talk about him -- it makes me feel like a little bit of him is still here."

The War Mage interrupted them: "You would be welcome to use this room whenever you wish. My quarters are secure, and I'm perfectly happy to work in my study if you want privacy. The only thing you should be aware of, is that you'll probably run into Draco from time to time. He often comes here after class."

The two students considered this. Carefully Hermione said, "Professor... you do know his father is a Death Eater, don't you? Please say you haven't told Malfoy about Harry..."

Ash regarded her with an air of disappointment. "Miss Granger," he said, "you are doing Draco an injustice. He is not his father, and it's unfair of you to assume he's going to be a Death Eater just because Lucius Malfoy is. Are you going to be a dentist just because your parents are?"

Ron was quick to defend his fellow Gryffindor. "But sir -- Draco wants to be a Death Eater!"

"Ah," the professor replied, "he's told you that, has he? You've actually asked him?"

"Well, no -- but everybody knows --"

"Nothing," Ash interrupted firmly. "Everybody knows nothing. They -- and you -- have assumed a great deal."

"You mean he doesn't want to be a Death Eater?" Hermione asked with some surprise.

"That's really none of you business," their teacher calmly replied. "What Draco and I talk about is between he and I -- and I won't discuss it with you, anymore than I would talk about our current conversation with him." Then the mage tilted his head thoughtfully to one side, and added, "However, it may interest you to know that he's never even mentioned Harry to me. In fact, now that he's no longer at the school, I don't think Draco really gives a damn about Mr Potter."

"Well, I know that's not true," Ron said confidently. "Malfoy hates Harry's guts!"

"Does he?" Ash asked with a disconcerting stare, "or was it simply that 'everybody' expected him to feel that way? When the whole world believes you'll do something, or be something, then it's very hard to go against that belief. Did Harry never tell you how much he hates being the Boy Who Lived? There are so many people -- all expecting things from him -- regardless of what he wants. It seems to me, that Harry and Draco have rather a lot in common when you think about it." Then the War Mage paused before adding, "And you Mr Weasley, should consider the number of times you've heard your parents reviewing your brothers' achievements, and remember how it feels to know they expect certain things from you, just because your brothers did them."

Ron looked mortified. "I hate that!" he admitted. "I... I don't like the thought of doing the same thing to someone else -- even if it's Malfoy." Then he grimaced. "But I still can't stand the smarmy little git!"

Ash laughed. "Then just ignore him. I think you'll find that now Harry isn't with you, he'll be perfectly happy to ignore you right back."

"Why," Hermione suddenly asked, "do you call Harry and Malfoy by their first names, but not us?"

With no pause to acknowledge the abrupt change of topic, the War Mage smoothly replied, "Do you remember what I told your class about War Mages and their names?" Both students nodded. "Well, I have the right to use Harry's personal name, and although it's true I didn't formally ask Draco for permission -- it's also true that there are... certain things... between us, that allowed me to presume upon his permission. Had he objected, I would of course, still be calling him Mr Malfoy, even outside of class."

"Oh," Hermione said. "So it's just a matter of permission? That's all?"

Smiling, her teacher asked, "Miss Granger, would you like me to call you Hermione when we're not in class?"

"Yes please," she smiled, "-- especially if Ron and I are going to use your rooms when we talk about Harry."

Inwardly Harry himself was cheering. Hermione had been won over -- now only Ron remained. "And you Mr Weasley? Or has Hermione mistakenly assumed you still want to know as much as I can tell you?"

Ron was quick to support his friend. "Hermione knows me pretty well, Professor. I still want to know about Harry -- and you can call me Ron if you like. Just please -- don't ever call me 'Ronald'."

"Ron it is," their professor smiled. And then he proceeded to tell them only as much as he'd told Albus Dumbledore. He skirted the truth carefully, and silently thanked Hermione's intelligence when she filled in the blanks by herself, just as the Headmaster had done.

When they came to the end, it was Hermione who frowned and said, "Is this what you told Padfoot and Moony?"

Ash laughed. "No," he replied, "can you imagine Harry's godfather being satisfied with that?"

"Are you saying," Ron demanded, "that you told them more than you've told us -- more than you've told Dumbledore?!"

"Yes," Ash stated, and then raised his hand to forestall Ron's next outraged comment. "But Padfoot and Moony were a special case," he explained. "Even should it become known that they have information on Harry's whereabouts, they stand a much better chance of not divulging the information than you do. After all, you'd have to find them first, and then you'd have to convince them to talk."

"Dumbledore," Ash continued, "is easy to find because he's here at the school. And even though I doubt he'd ever talk, the Ministry, the Aurors, and the media could make it very difficult for him. It's better that he doesn't know -- then he can honestly say so, and -- as you'll notice -- because of that, all those vultures eventually gave up and went away."

"As well," their Dark Arts teacher concluded, "can you honestly say that either of you would be able to stand up to torture -- or Veritaserum, if it came to that?" Ron and Hermione looked fearful, but determined. "Yes," Ash told them, "I know you'd do your best, but none of us can ever really know how we'll react to something like that until it happens -- and neither of you have been trained to avoid answers, or to give a truthful but misleading answer, while drugged up to the eyeballs."

"Suffice it to say," he concluded, "that I was prepared to take a greater risk when it came to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin -- and they were prepared to accept that risk, knowing exactly what Voldemort and the Aurors and the Ministry and the media would do if they ever found out."

Hermione shivered. "It would be the biggest manhunt in the world," she said. "Everybody would be after them."

"And knowing that is, perhaps, the greatest secret you currently hold. One word out of place and either of you could trigger that manhunt. Even Dumbledore doesn't realise they have any more information than he does -- and you mustn’t tell him. You cannot tell anyone!"

Ron was both awed and shaken by the realisation that his mouth could quite possibly get both men killed. "Then why did you tell us?" he asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because we were there, Ron," she explained, "and because you and I both know Padfoot would never have left until he had a better explanation than the one we just got. Sooner or later we would've realised that he and Moony knew a whole lot more than we did. This way the professor can make sure we understand just how serious that tiny bit of information is. Otherwise, we might have owled Sirius, demanding to know more."

"Gods!" Ron exclaimed. "Don't even think about that while you're holding a quill! The thought of it on parchment -- anywhere -- is horrible!"

In the opposite chair, Harry was both elated and saddened. He'd managed to convince both his friends that 'Ash' was trustworthy, but the price for doing so was that both of them were now far more aware of the stakes involved in keeping his secrets. Never again would they whisper theories and gossip to one another with a child's careless disregard for where they were, or what they were about to say.

It was somehow appropriate that in forcing them to grow up just a little bit, he'd also brought them just a little bit closer to being friends with his adult self.

----oo00oo----

Later that evening, Ron and Hermione were sitting in a corner of the common room pretending to study, while actually holding a quiet discussion about their Dark Arts teacher.

They were very carefully avoiding any mention of Harry.

"You know," Hermione was saying, "there's something very strange about Professor Ash..."

"You mean aside from the fact that he's a mage; he's friends with Malfoy; he thinks Snape is a good neighbour; and we still believe what he told us?" Ron asked with a grin.

"Stop that," she glared at him. "That's not what I meant."

"Sorry."

He didn't sound very sorry, but Hermione too busy trying to sort through her observations and fit them into some sort of pattern, to really notice.

Ron -- who'd been expecting a comeback -- saw that she was wearing her 'thinking-about-something-serious' expression, and quietly asked, "What's wrong, then? You don't think he lied to us, do you?"

"No," she said, dismissing the suggestion immediately. "It's something to do with the professor himself. I just can't put my finger on it..."

While Ron wasn't any help at all when it came to Hermione and schoolwork, he did know exactly what to do when she got stuck on an idea like this. "Tell me everything," he suggested, "and we'll see what we can come up with." He'd been acting as her sounding board for years now, and he knew that all she needed at this moment was someone to bounce her ideas off. Somewhere along the way, she would usually get herself unstuck. Ron's game was to try and figure out what she was talking about before she reached that point and rushed off to the library.

"All right," Hermione agreed, warming up to her topic. "First of all, there's the fact that Professor Ash showed up in Diagon Alley only a day or two after Harry disappeared."

Ron refrained from pointing out that he'd probably helped Harry disappear.

"Then," she continued, "you just happen to meet him over the summer -- coming out of a broom shop, no less -- and he instantly decides to buy you and Ginny an ice cream and milkshake, while at the same time asking you all kinds of questions. But they're questions about things he should already know! For instance -- I talked to Ginny, and she told me he was surprised that you two had to stay together. But these days no-one goes out by themselves. He's a War Mage -- how could he not have noticed?" Then a new idea struck her, and she added, "Unless he'd just arrived from some place that was even more dangerous -- meaning it didn't look so bad to him here in Britain."

"Well, he did say he'd come from overseas," Ron threw in.

"Yes," Hermione agreed impatiently, "but You-Know-Who is here, and has been for the last few years. Where in the wizarding world would it be worse than it is here?"

"Does it have to be the wizarding world?" Ron asked, "Some of those muggle wars are pretty bad."

"Maybe..." but Hermione sounded rather dubious about the possibility. "Anyway," she continued, "after that he turns up here as our Dark Arts teacher -- and then it gets really interesting."

"It does?" Ron asked. So far Hermione was winning this game -- 'cause he hadn't a clue what she was getting at.

"Oh yes," she confirmed. "Because that's when we found out he loves Quidditch, and that you think he flies the same way Harry does."

"Well, not exactly the same..."

"But close enough to remind you very strongly of Harry, right?"

"Yeah -- I guess so. Is that important?"

"It's a clue," Hermione stated, "By itself, it's not important, but when you add in all the all rest of the clues -- then yes, it becomes important."

"Okay, so what are the rest of the clues?"

"Well, the most important ones are from this afternoon," and she marshalled her observations for him. "He knows Draco even better than the Slytherins do, but he's only been here three weeks. His apartment looks like he's lived in it for years, and it feels as if the the whole school exists in there -- oh, and don't forget that he somehow managed to get all those staircases to move when he jumped down the main tower -- so he definitely has some kind of connection with the castle itself. And after all that, we also find out that he knows a couple of things about you and I that he really shouldn't."

"Like what?" Ron asked.

"Like the fact that both of my parents are dentists," she replied. "And that he knows how you feel about being compared to you older brothers -- not to mention how he could possibly know you even have older brothers. Unless you told him about them in Diagon alley?"

Now somewhat disturbed, Ron slowly replied, "No -- I'm pretty sure I didn't tell him about my family. I don't think he asked..."

"Well they're not here at Hogwarts anymore, so how did he know about them?"

Ron shrugged, "Maybe the other teaches told him. It's not like Fred and George were easy to ignore. The professors probably tell horror stories about past students to all the new teachers."

Hermione pursed her lips in consideration. "All right, I'll grant you that's possible. But then," she continued, "there's Padfoot and Moony. I won't say anything more specific in the common room, but just think about this -- what could Ash possibly say to them that would convince those two to just up and leave like that?"

Ron frowned. "Now it sounds like you're saying the professor did lie to us."

"Not at all," Hermione argued, "I'm just saying that I don't think mere information would have satisfied those two. I think Professor Ash must have done something, or showed them something, in order to convince them."

"Like what?"

"I have no idea," Hermione admitted, "but I also keep thinking about this little cracked sphere I saw in the professor's rooms. I know it's important, and I'm sure I know what it is -- but I just can't think of it..."

"Sphere? You mean like a ball of some kind?"

"I... yes, I think so -- but it looked like it was made of glass or crystal..."

"A crystal ball? Sounds like someone got sick of doing their Divinations homework and threw it out a window," Ron joked.

"Threw it... Of course!" Hermione exclaimed. "It was Neville's rememberall! He broke it last year -- and gave it to Professor Flitwick to see whether he could fix it!"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "but Flitwick couldn't do anything with it, so Neville didn't bother to ask for it back. You say it's in Ash's rooms? Why would he want it? It doesn't work anymore."

Suddenly Hermione's face got that astonished expression that told Ron she'd just come unstuck. "Oh no you don't!" he said as he grabbed her by the wrist. "It's too late to run off to the library now -- and we can't borrow Harry's invisibility cloak anymore, so Filch or Mrs Norris would catch you for sure!"

Reluctantly, Hermione subsided, but here eyes were bright, and her cheeks were flushed with the heady rush of insight.

"How about letting me in on the secret this time, eh 'Mione?" Ron wasn't hopeful, but maybe she'd throw him a few scraps of information. It was moments like these that he really wished he knew what she was thinking.

"Oh, Ron -- I'm not sure! I mean -- it makes sense, but it's so far-fetched!"

"What?" Ron asked. "What makes sense?"

"It makes sense when you think about how Professor Ash flies like Harry, and loves broom shops and Quidditch. It makes sense when you think about how he knows the school and all of us, so well. It makes sense when you think that he didn't turn up until just after Harry disappeared. It even makes sense when you consider that he probably arrived from a place that wasn't anywhere on earth, but was much more dangerous than it is here in Britain. And," she finished triumphantly, "it most definitely all makes sense when you consider the reason someone would choose to keep a broken rememberall -- Neville's broken rememberall -- in their living room!"

Ron could feel a headache coming on. //The professor arrived from somewhere not on earth?// He winced. //Do I even want to know?// He must have looked as confused as he felt, because Hermione just sighed and prompted him with: "Ron, think about the first time you saw Neville's rememberall. It wasn't a frustrated Predictions student who threw it -- it was Draco Malfoy."

Ron still wasn't getting it.

Hermione tried again. "What do you think of when you picture Malfoy throwing the rememberall?"

"Harry's first time on a broom," Ron promptly answered. "He was amazing! It was the first time he showed up Malfoy, and it earned him a place as the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in over a century!"

"And it got him his very own first broom," Hermione added. "Now why would Ash want to keep something like that?"

Ron took a guess: "To remind him of Harry?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "If I'm right, then he doesn't need to be reminded of Harry. Try again."

"Umm... Look Hermione, I really don't know. It's late and I'm tired -- and I'm still stuck on the bit where you said the professor might not be from earth."

Hermione laughed. "I never said he wasn't from earth -- I just said he arrived on earth -- sometime after he left it!"

"Oh. So he's definitely human? Because at this point, I'm beginning to wonder whether this might all make more sense if he was an alien from another world."

Hermione snorted with amusement.

"Come on 'Mione!" Ron begged, "Can't you just this once tell me straight out? I helped you..."

Hermione arose from the table and gathered up her books.

"Bugger," Ron said dejectedly. "How am I supposed to sleep with this going 'round in my head?"

He didn't see Hermione's wicked grin as she suddenly stopped and headed back to him. "Well," she smirked as she leaned down with an armful of books, "in the interests of a good night's rest, perhaps I'll just mention that tomorrow you're going to be helping me in the library --"

"I already knew that," Ron whined pathetically.

"-- and we'll be trying to find out where people go when they get sucked into mirrors, and whether time is constant for them, and also how to see through glamours and disguising spells."

Then she turned and strolled off up to bed for a good night's sleep.

Ron looked like he'd been hit with a zombie curse. Wide, staring eyes looked blankly into space, and his mouth hung open in shock.

Eventually, the mouth closed, and he swallowed a few times, trying to get a bit of moisture back onto his tongue.

He blinked.

"Oh my god..."

Other than those words, Ron's mind had gone completely blank with shock.

"Oh my good god..." he finally added. "It can't be..."

But as far-fetched as it was, all the facts fit perfectly -- up to and including Padfoot and Moony's belief that Harry was fine. Because, of course, if Hermione was right then Sirius and Lupin had actually met Harry, and Harry really was fine...

...and was also teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts right here at Hogwarts.

----oo00oo----

Some time later, Ron realised that he was sitting in a deserted common room in the middle of the night.

"How am I supposed to get to sleep now?" he complained.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 11: Lessons in Fear

For Ronald Weasley, the fourth week of school began with a confused blur of classes, visits to the library, and an endless stream of books. Hermione spent every spare second feverishly swallowing up information on mirrors and disguise spells. Ron barely had time to keep up as he steadily located, retrieved, and returned, book after book for his obsessed friend. He'd been tempted to do a little reading himself, but his mind was currently struggling with some very serious thoughts, and he somehow found it easier to think while his body was usefully occupied. As a result, he was satisfied to act as her personal librarian -- feeding volumes to her like a waiter bringing food, and carting away the empty dishes once she'd inhaled the contents.

Thus, it was with some shock that Wednesday morning arrived, and the intense pressure to hurry up and do something suddenly disappeared. Hermione was calm -- and every extra book was finally back in the library. Today, their first class would be a double period of Defence Against the Dark Arts. It would be their second Survival class for the year.

Before breakfast that morning, Hermione summarised her findings for him.

"Mirrors," she said quietly in their private little corner of the common room, "are an astonishing field of study. There are so many different kinds -- and they do so many different things. But at the same time, there's so little information on them!"

Ron sent her an ironic look. "I dunno, 'Mione -- I seem to remember carting around an awful lot of books on the subject."

Hermione smiled, with a touch of embarrassment. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to treat you like a walking book bag."

"Don't sweat it," Ron grinned in reply. "If I hadn't wanted to do it -- I wouldn't have. You read faster than I do anyway, so it made sense for me to just keep passing 'em up to you. Besides, it gave me time to think about some stuff." And then he added with a grin, "But of course, now you owe me -- so give: what did you find out?"

Hermione nibbled her lip thoughtfully. "Well," she began, "I discovered that some mirrors are like the Mirror of Erised -- they're only meant to show you things; while other mirrors act like portals, and can actually transport you to different locations -- or even to different worlds." Then a faint look of awe crossed her face as she added, "Believe it or not, there are even some mirrors that can take you to places that don't really exist."

"How can you go somewhere that doesn't exist?" Ron asked.

"Because those places exist inside the mirror," Hermione replied, "but nowhere else."

"Whoa..." Ron exclaimed. "What happens if a mirror like that gets broken while you're inside it?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," came the calm admission, "But that's not important at the moment." Hermione paused, and then looked over at one of the windows set high into the wall of the Gryffindor common room. "The point is, that some mirrors can take you to places where time runs differently than it does in our world." And the expression on her face seemed to suggest that the sky beyond the window could easily be the sky above one of those other worlds.

Softly, she continued. "If you entered a mirror that took you to -- oh, say one of the faery realms -- and then decided to stay for a day or two; when you returned, you might find that weeks, or even months, had passed."

Ron nodded. He could remember his mum telling him all about the faery realms, and about people who disappeared, only to turn up years later, just as young as the day they'd left. Every wizarding parent warned their children about accepting invitations from any of the faery folk.

"But," Hermione continued as she turned back to face him, "the opposite can also be true. You could go to a place where time runs much faster, so that -- for the person who entered the mirror -- months or years might pass -- and when they returned, it would only be a matter of minutes or hours."

Again, Ron nodded. That fit with Hermione's theory about Harry. Carefully omitting any mention of their missing friend, he quietly stated, "You think that's what happened."

In response, Hermione pursed her lips and then cryptically replied, "Before -- eggs were only to be eaten scrambled. After -- they were poached. Tastes change as you grow older." Then she added, "I've noticed the professor likes his eggs poached." It was an obscure series of statements, designed to sound like confusing nonsense to anyone who might be listening to their conversation.

"It's a bit flimsy," Ron said dubiously.

Quietly, Hermione asked, "If years of your life had been stolen -- far from your world and your friends -- would you be angry?" <

Ron's eyes widened. Slowly, he replied. "Angry enough to destroy the thing that took me away?" Ron thought about it for a moment, and then commented, "That would explain why he called it 'cursed'."

"And remember the rest of it," Hermione prompted him. "-- Quidditch; brooms; the school; Malfoy -- and especially Padfoot and Moony."t;

"It's possible," Ron allowed, "Hell, it made sense two days ago, and I guess it still does." He shifted uncomfortably. "It's just... hard. To think of it, I mean. It changes so much..." They both descended into silence. Suddenly, Ron asked, "So what now?"

"Anti-glamour charm," was all she said.

"Will anyone else see?"

"No," Hermione replied. "The charm gets cast on these," and she tapped her cheek, pointing to her own eyes.

Then they left for breakfast -- and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

----oo00oo----

The sixth-year Gryffindors had attended their first Survival class two weeks ago. That lesson had been held in a regular classroom and shared with their counterparts from Ravenclaw. This time, when the two Houses arrived at the door, they found a note pinned to it, directing them to one of the long halls on the second floor.

"Does this remind anyone of our first Dark Arts lesson?" Seamus asked.

"Not quite," Hermione replied as they headed for the stairs. "I'm not late this time, and I don't have to listen to you boys clanking under all those ridiculous chains."

Seamus only raised an eyebrow. "Nice earrings," was all he said.

Hermione laughed. She'd stopped wearing her bracelet everywhere as soon as she'd acquired the current pair of tiny bells that were tinkling away beneath each earlobe. She'd quickly discovered that while she was taking notes, the bracelet dragged across the parchment and smudged the ink. "Why thank-you, Seamus," she replied, "and I find that pocket full of jingling loose change you're sporting to be much more practical too."

Seamus started to reply, when Ron cut him off.

"Don't," Ron told him. "Just... don't."

Seamus took one look at the blush spreading across the other boy's face, and thought about the implications of a conversation that involved him and a pocket full of coins in a denomination called 'knuts'. He knew that some boys tended to fiddle with the coins in their robes when they were bored, or nervous.

Ron was right. He didn't want to go there.

They arrived at the appropriate hallway, and found Professor Ash standing in front of a large solid door. It was the first time any of them had seen that particular door closed. Usually it was open so that students could traverse the hallway beyond it. Indeed, some of their fellow students were obviously surprised that there was a door, since they'd never paid any attention to it before.

They waited patiently for the rest of their combined class to assemble.

Ron eyed Hermione nervously. Was she going to cast the charm now? She noticed him looking at her, and subtly shook her head. There were too many people standing in front of the War Mage for her to get a clear and unobstructed view. She would wait for a better opportunity.

Eventually, the rest of their class arrived.

After a few moments, when no more students came pelting up the stairs, the War Mage asked, "Is that everyone? Anybody missing?" There was a bit of shuffling. "Speak up if there is," Ash added, "because once we go through this door, nobody else will be able to join us."

A few people blinked in surprise. There was a more thorough check amongst the students for any missing friends. Everybody seemed to be present.

"Right then," Ash said. "Here we go."

----oo00oo----

Harry turned away from his class to face the closed door. He drew out his wand and tapped the old door handle twice while muttering under his breath. Then he stepped back.

There were gasps from some of his students as the piece of wrought iron crawled across the heavy wooden door -- twisting itself into a new configuratiion as it travelled silently over the ancient wood. When it finally stopped moving, the handle had shifted from the right-hand side of the door to the left, and Harry confidently grabbed hold of it and levered it downwards.

The door swung open -- in the opposite direction than it should have -- and with a sweep of his arm, Harry motioned for the sixth-year students to enter. "In you go," he told them, "and don't touch anything!" Then he watched to make sure nobody was left behind.

Once they were all inside, Harry stepped through himself, and pulled the door shut behind him.

----oo00oo----

The hallway they had entered was a long wide room with tall arched windows arrayed down one side, and a vaulted ceiling above them. The other side of the room was flat stonework, with no unusual features.

The students were all staring in surprise.

The normal hallway -- which all of them had passed through at one time or another -- was hung with tapestries, and had busts of famous wizards and witches mounted on pedestals, and arrayed down the wall opposite the windows. It also had a couple of suits of armour standing between some of those windows, and a long carpet that ran down the middle of the room to the door at the other end. About the only unusual thing this particular hallway was known for, was that it was somewhat wider than the others in the castle -- making it seem more like a large room than a corridor.

But this version of the hallway was very different. Or rather, it was almost exactly the same, but with completely different furnishings. It was quite plainly a gymnasium of some kind. There were weights; punching bags; ropes suspended from the ceiling; and odd wooden things that looked like children's stick men and were located where the suits of armour usually stood. The carpet was gone, and in its place were thick mats that spread out to cover most of the floor. Where the tapestries should be, were weapons of all types, neatly arrayed and ready for use. Large targets were set up at the far end of the room, and behind them lay the single difference that told each student they were most definitely not in the same hallway they'd expected to see.

The connecting door at the far end of the room was missing. The only way out was the way they'd come in.

As several students turned to look back at the door they'd just walked through, Harry recaptured the class' attention by walking forwards through the middle of them. His presence seemed to reassure several students that they were not, in fact, trapped in some strange secret room with no way out.

"This place," Harry told them, "can only be reached through the door we just used -- and only when it opens from the left-hand side. Once I closed the door behind us, the outer handle immediately reverted to its normal configuration. So unless someone outside this room knows how to change the handle, no-one will be able to disturb us."

Harry then used his wand to point to the many weapons adorning the stone wall. "As you can see," he continued, "this room is dedicated to training for physical battles, and although it can also be used for magical training, its purpose is primarily to hone the body and its reflexes." Harry noted several admiring looks directed at the swords and axes from some of the boys in the class. "You will not," he announced, "be allowed to handle any weapon in this room until -- and unless -- I give you my explicit permission!" There was some muttering. "These are not toys!" Harry growled at them. "This room is secured against accidental entry for your protection! So that foolish children who think it might be fun to play with spears and swords don't accidentally chop off their own arms and legs! The weapons in this room are razor-sharp -- and some of them are spelled to cut through steel like butter. You wouldn't need to swing one of these weapons to injure yourself. All you'd have to do is drop one with the blade facing down, and you'd be missing half your foot!"

There were a few hard swallows in response to this announcement, but Harry was still grateful the room was secured against casual entry. He had no doubt that some students would ignore his warning when news of this room spread out into the rest of the school population. But since the entry spell was keyed to staff members only, and he was currently the only one who knew the correct words, then he wasn't too worried about silly students getting in unsupervised.

One of the Ravenclaw girls raised her hand.

"Yes Miss Turpin?" Harry asked.

"Please sir, what if someone gets left behind when we leave? Would they be trapped in here?" There was a nervous silence.

"No," Harry reassured her with a smile. "The door is only secured against entry -- not against exit. Any one of you can open the door from this side to get out. However, if you cross the threshold and then try to turn back, you will only see the normal corridor behind you. This will always be the case, even if you don't close the door when you leave. Once you depart, you must use the altered handle on the closed door to come back."

"What about the windows?" Parvati Patil asked.

"Well, I wouldn't advise leaving via that route without a broom," Harry replied, "but yes -- once you break a window and pass through it, you'll be back in the normal school areas. However, as with the door, the moment you pass out of this room, you won't be able to get back in without opening the reversed door. In fact, if you broke one of these windows to get out, and then looked back, you would only see the unbroken glass from the normal hallway windows behind you."

"Why does Hogwarts have a room for learning muggle-style fighting?" a Ravenclaw boy asked.

"Because," Harry explained, "in ancient times, many of the spells and protections we take for granted today, didn't exist. And many of the curses and offensive spells were similarly unknown. Even the making of wands was something of a hit and miss business. With only primitive and unreliable magic available to them, is it any wonder that wizards and witches back then preferred to rely on enchanted weapons and their own physical skills?"

"Of course," Harry continued, "as wands, curses, and counter-curses became more reliable and powerful, the use of physical weapons diminished. It wasn't much good swinging a sword at someone when your opponent could use magic to disapparate; raise a shield; or simply melt the metal in your hands."

"However," he finished, "we aren't here for a history lesson -- we're here to learn how to survive when confronted with an unexpected and unknown situation. So -- who can name one of the four primary responses we covered two weeks ago?"

Several hands shot up.

"Attack!" sang out one of the Gryffindor girls when Harry pointed to her.

"Defend!" a Ravenclaw lad said next.

"Hide!" came the third response.

And the last one?" Harry asked them.

Spontaneously, the whole class yelled, "Run for your life!"

Harry laughed. "Technically, it's called 'Escape' -- but obviously my original description made more of an impression on you." Several cheeky grins greeted that statement. Harry continued. "Last time, we studied unknown animals and plants, and how to estimate which of the four responses was most likely to keep you alive. This week we're going to be studying fear, and how it applies to the most dangerous type of opponent."

And with that, Harry waved his wand and created the illusion of a portly little wizard with a kind and cheerful face, who was chortling merrily to himself and occasionally looking around in paternal approval.

He looked rather like somebody's favourite absent-minded uncle.

There was some confused shuffling amongst the students.

"This," said Harry very seriously, "is the most dangerous kind of enemy you could end up facing. Can anyone tell me why?"

"Because he looks so harmless?" one of the Ravenclaws guessed.

Harry gave the girl an ironic smile. "That's one reason he's dangerous, yes. But some of the creatures we studied last time were rather small and cute too, were they not? What makes this fellow any worse?"

"Because he's human!" Neville blurted out. His fellow Gryffindors stared at him in surprise.

Harry wasn't surprised. It was something he'd noticed about Neville several years ago. The young man was absolutely terrified of people -- but never had the slightest problem with situations that didn't involve others. As an adult, Neville had become an amazing herbologist -- handling the most dangerous and unstable plants with confidence and skill. Harry rather suspected he could've become a master potion maker as well, if it hadn't been for Severus' intimidation and overwhelming personality. In order to learn, Neville needed someone with a gentle presence, who tended to fade into the background. Had Professor Sprout been a more forceful witch, Neville would probably have failed Herbology as well.

Hopefully, today's lesson would be something of a revelation for the young man.

"Very close, Mr Longbottom," Harry encouraged. "But you need to be just a fraction more precise." Neville looked confused. He was already flustered from having called attention to himself, and looked unlikely to figure out what his teacher was trying to tell him. Harry raised his wand and pointed it at the illusion. "Let's see whether this gives you a hint," and with that, the illusion began flipping through a series of alternate images. The happy little wizard was successively replaced by a dwarf, then an elf, a Kyrii, a goblin, a giant, an odd-looking rock thing with tentacles, a serpentine Naga, and then finally, it changed back into the portly wizard.

Every student recognised at least some of the illusions, and got the idea. Confidently, Neville said, "They’re all dangerous because they're people -- they can think."

"Very good, Mr Longbottom -- five points to Gryffindor," And then Harry swept his eyes over the entire class. "Your most dangerous enemy will always be the one who is intelligent -- who can reason out a situation and anticipate your actions."

Hermione raised her hand. "Please, sir, aren't some animals intelligent, too?" She seemed to have temporarily forgotten her anti-glamour charm in favour of the lesson.

"Very much so, Miss Granger," Harry agreed. "Intelligence -- the ability to reason -- appears to come in degrees. Some animals are quite smart, and hence more dangerous than others. However, sentient beings are the extreme example, and I think you will find that -- given Voldemort's presence in the world today -- you're more likely to come across a sentient enemy than an animal."

Most of the class flinched at Harry's use of the Dark Lord's name, and there was no doubt that all of them were now thinking about Death Eaters.

"As I mentioned before," Harry told them, "today's topic is fear -- and more specifically what it is, what it does to you, and how to cope with it." He noticed that Neville was looking both worried and hopeful. "So, first of all," Harry continued, "let's see if we can make our chubby little friend here look a bit more frightening." Harry gestured with his wand, and the illusionary wizard slowly began to transform. The man's torso gradually lost weight -- becoming almost gaunt and skeletal, while his bones seemed to lengthen -- making the hands that poked out of his robes look more like large pale spiders than human appendages. The strange mockery of a wizard also gained height until he was able to look down on most of them, and the healthy pink skin, with its jovial red cheeks, turned pale and translucent -- looking almost whiter than snow, as if there was no blood at all in the man's body. The cute round nose shrivelled up into a flat protrusion, with ugly slits where the nostrils should've been.

"Eww!" Lavender Brown exclaimed. "That's disgusting!"

There was a general mutter of agreement from the other girls in the class.

"What!?" Harry asked in mock-offence. "You're not frightened!?"

"Ill maybe..." one Ravenclaw muttered.

"Well," Harry sniffed, looking at his creation critically, "how about if I add this?" And once more he gestured with his wand, and altered the illusion. Now it sported blood-red eyes with evil-looking slitted pupils.

Some of his students laughed.

Now Harry pretended to look hurt. "Hey -- he's supposed to look scary, not funny!"

The whole class cracked up.

Suddenly Harry gestured, and they were plunged into darkness. Jagged breathing sounded in the heavy shadows, and a low voice hissed, "Lumosss". The illusion they'd all been laughing at moments before abruptly appeared before them -- lit from below by the tip of his imaginary wand. That same wand came up to point at them, and a cruel smirk twisted the ugly thing's face. "Avada --".

The light abruptly returned.

Shocked students stared at the frozen illusion. Some of them were trembling, and Neville looked as though he might pass out.

Once his students had mostly calmed down again, Harry said, "So in some situations, my skinny friend here isn't very frightening at all. But put him in the appropriate setting, and he's absolutely terrifying. And yet, he's only an illusion. You know he's not real. So, why did he scare you?"

The class was silent. Each student was obviously trying to come up with a reason, but there didn't seem to be one.

After a few moments, Harry said, "You don't know?" There was some shaking of heads. "Well, not to worry -- I don't know either." Surprised faces greeted this announcement. "Fear," Harry explained, "is an instinctive response. It isn't something we decide to feel, and it isn't something we can turn on or off. It just is, and we all have to live with it."

"Even you?" Padma Patil asked.

"Of course, me!" Harry exclaimed. "You think I don't feel fear?"

"But you're a War Mage!" Ron exclaimed, completely forgetting that the man in front of him might well be his best friend. "What could frighten you?"

"Dumbledore's fake monster for one thing," Harry told them. "When that Ked'rallirri burst into the hall on the first night, I was terrified."

"But... but you killed it!" Ron stammered.

"Yes," Harry agreed, "because I was scared that if I didn't, it might kill some of you, or the other teachers."

A look of understanding settled over Ron's face. "You were frightened for us," he nodded sagely.

Harry pursed his lips. "It seems to me, Mr Weasley," he said thoughtfully, "that you think being afraid for the safety of others is somehow more acceptable than being afraid for your own safety."

Ron stared at him in surprise. "Well, sure," he said. "Nobody wants to be a coward."

Off to one side, Neville was looking devastated.

Harry sighed in exasperation. "I thought we had decided that nobody knows why we feel fear." Cautiously, Ron nodded. "Then why does it make any difference whether my fear was triggered by the thought of my own safety, or yours?"

Now several people were looking confused.

"All right, imagine this," Harry suggested, "-- you're trapped in a room with this charming fellow," and he pointed at the skinny illusion next to him. "You have no wand, you can't do wandless magic, you can't get out, there's nowhere to hide, and he wants to kill you. Why on earth wouldn't you be afraid? I certainly would be!"

"Well, yeah," Ron admitted, "but... but that's different."

"Is it?" Harry asked relentlessly, "Why? Because there's no-one to witness your fear? Because the situation is hopeless? Because you can't run away? -- and if it's that last one, I would like to remind you that in our last Survival class, you found 'run for your life' to be a perfectly acceptable response to dangerous plants and animals."

Frustrated, Ron burst out, "But, sir! You sound like you're saying there's no such thing as cowardice -- that it's okay to just run away from eeverything!"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all, Mr Weasley. What I'm saying, is that being afraid does not make someone a coward. Even running away does not make someone a coward. Feeling fear is not wrong or shameful -- under any circumstances." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Neville looking progressively happier.

"Then... then what does make someone a coward?" Ron asked in confusion.

Harry smiled. "A coward is someone who makes decisions based only on their fears."

"Someone with courage," Harry continued, "makes decisions based on whatever they think has the best chance of doing the most good -- regardless of their fears. A coward is the man who stays to face down a dragon, because he's afraid people will see him as weak if he runs away. That man is acting only on his fear of ridicule, and is probably going to get himself killed for no good reason. However, if the man was doing it to give others a chance to escape, then the act becomes one of courage, because he is facing the dragon in order to preserve the greatest number of lives he can."

"A courageous act," Harry concluded, "may involve running away. It may demand that you stand and fight. It may require your death -- or that you live on while those around you die. The same act may be either courageous or cowardly, depending on your reasons for doing it. "

Harry paused. There was a very thoughtful silence from his students. "Mr Weasley," Harry said quietly, "if you had the chance to save a child's life -- but only at the cost of your own, would you give your life?"

Ron looked very serious. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "I like to think I would -- but... but how can I know something like that until it happens?"

Harry smiled. "Five points to Gryffindor for an honest answer," he said. "But I would like to know, Mr Weasley -- do you judge me a coward when I tell you that I have been in such a situation? And that I let the girl die? She was only four years old."

The entire class looked shocked.

Ron was obviously incapable of answering -- his jaw hanging open in disbelief. Harry waited while he regained control of his vocal cords. "I... you..." the sixth-year stuttered, while looking distressed and unhappy. But it was obvious the War Mage expected an answer, and finally Ron said the only thing he could think of: "Sir -- I don't think I can answer that. I wasn't there. I wasn't the one who had to make the decision. How can I know?"

"Very good, Mr Weasley -- and entirely correct. You cannot judgee me -- only I can do that."

But it was Neville who finally asked, "Sir? Why... why did you...?"

Harry regarded the young man appraisingly. It was a very personal question, but also an important one if he was to maintain a level of trust with his students. "It was an evil wizard who set up the situation," he finally replied, "He had a fondness for torturing me with the death of children. I knew there was no-one else available to stop him. The girl was young -- untrained, and useless in a fight. If she'd lived, there would've been nobody to stop the mage, but if I lived, then there was a good chance I could eventually kill him. Put simply Mr Longbottom, I judged my life to be more valuable than hers."

"Did... did they blame you?" Neville whispered.

"Her mother did," Harry replied. "-- and a few others. But her father blamed only the man who took her."

----oo00oo----

Shortly thereafter, each student found themselves standing at regular intervals down one side of the gym's floor mats. Harry had directed them to take off their shoes, and they were currently facing the windows, while watching him walk barefoot down the centre of the room. Harry was holding a small leather pouch and was extracting a pinch of blue powder from it each time he drew parallel with a student. He would then deposit the innocuous-looking blue stuff half way across the mat in front of them.

While he was doing this, Harry was also explaining that: "the greatest danger that fear offers us, lies in the fact that it tends to shut down our ability to think." As he set down the last pinch of blue powder, he straightened and asked them, "Do you all remember why people are the most dangerous enemies to have?" The class nodded. "Then remember this -- the absolute worst thing you can do in any situation is to stop thinking."

"Mr Thomas," Harry said, pointing to the Gryffindor student, "when I blacked out the light and my illusion threatened to kill you -- what was going through your mind?"

"Er..." Dean struggled a bit, before admitting, "I don't really remember, sir. Something like 'oh, shit' I guess..." There were muffled snickers throughout the class.

"Oh, shit," Harry repeated. "No thought of attacking, then? Defending yourself? Hiding? Not even running away?"

Dean shook his head. "There wasn't enough time, sir."

"Of course there was," Harry contradicted. "There was plenty of time, both before my illusion used 'lumos', and afterwards when you could plainly see where he was. What happened, is that your surprise -- and then your fear -- shut down your thought processes, and you just stood there because you couldn't think of anything else to do."

Dean looked embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it, Mr Thomas," Harry told him. "Your reaction is perfectly normal. Everyone else had exactly the same response. Not even those few people who jumped out of the way were thinking about it -- they simply reacted. It took me years of training to overcome the same thing, and even now, I haven't so much overcome it, as replaced it with the instinct to attack. That's why you're all walking around with loose change in your pockets, or bells on your person." Then Harry paused. "But," he added, "as that reaction proves, even I can't actually think in that first critical moment after being startled or frightened." Then Harry shrugged and said, "That's just the way human beings are."

"The trick," he concluded, "is to know that about yourself, and to expect it. Learn what that moment of blankness feels like, and then get your mind working again as soon as you can."

"This," he said as he gestured at the blue powder on the mats, "is one of the early training exercises that a War Mage practices in order to familiarise themselves with the way their body and mind reacts to fear."

Everyone looked curiously at the blue dust.

"When I cast the spell to activate the powder," Harry explained, "you will see a blue corridor form in front of you. All you have to do is get from one side of the mats to the other, through the corridor. Every corridor will remain in place until I cancel the spell, and you can practice getting to the other side as many times as you like. The person who crosses the mats the most number of times will receive twenty points for their House." There was some startlement at that -- it was the most number of points, the War Mage had ever given out.

"Andron Formido!" Harry said, and misty blue lanes swirled up from the powder in front of each student. Every person eyed their corridor with serious misgivings.

Harry chuckled. "You're right to be wary," he told them. "Once you enter the corridor, something that frightens you will appear in it." Several students paled. "Don't worry," Harry reassured them, "this isn't like a Boggart -- it won't be you're greatest fear, or aanything even close to it." Then he chuckled. "Initially, you may even find it funny. The corridors all start off with something you find mildly unsettling." After a brief pause, he admitted, "I'm usually confronted by an empty cupboard." His students looked at him in confusion. "It's my clothes," Harry explained, "They're all dirty for some reason, and I just know I'll have to wear a shirt with stains down the front in public."

There were several grins and the odd snicker.

"But," Harry explained, "each time you go through the corridor, what you see will become progressively more frightening -- and unlike a Boggart, the corridor won't let you remember that it's only an illusion. While you're inside, you will absolutely and utterly believe that everything the corridor shows you is completely real. If you manage to cross twenty times, then you will finally have faced your greatest and innermost fear. If you continue to cross after that, I'll give your House an automatic hundred points -- per crossing."

There was some stirring at that. One hundred points per crossing was an awful lot! This wouldn't be easy.

"Oh," Harry added as he saw several students warming up. "Did I forget to mention? -- don't bother trying to run -- it doesn't make any difference since it takes exactly the same amount of time to get to the other side, no matter how fast or slow you're going when you start." Several people looked disappointed.

"Off you go!" Harry told them.

----oo00oo----

Some time later, Harry was still watching while the last few students were trying to convince themselves to take just one more trip through their corridor. Most of them had decided they'd reached their limit somewhere between twelve and fifteen times.

With a combination of praise and encouragement, even Neville had managed to cross thirteen times, and was incredibly proud of the fact that he didn't have the lowest number of crossings in the class. Mind you, the two students who stopped at twelve, obviously didn't place much importance on the exercise. But that didn't matter to Neville -- he was proud nonetheless, and Harry waas pleased the class had gone so well for him.

It was obvious that the young man would be thinking about this lesson for a long time to come. The knowledge that a War Mage had told him it was all right to be afraid would take some getting used to. But even now, Harry could see the seeds of acceptance in him. He would never be the one to take charge, or put himself forward, but his self-confidence had received a huge boost today, and for the first time, Neville looked like he actually thought he might really belong in Gryffindor -- the House that was renowned for the courage of its members.

Ultimately though, the contest came down to Ronald Weasley and a Ravenclaw named Terry Boot. They were each on 16 crossings, and were both pale and shaking as they emerged together on the same side of the mats. Terry, in particular, was looking rather unwell.

Ron didn't even look at his rival. Instead, the fiery redhead leaned over -- with his hands on his knees -- and took several deep breaths. Then he straightened up, and Harry saw a look that was pure stubborn cussedness settle over his face. With a hard swallow, the young man marched back into his corridor for his seventeenth crossing.

Harry looked at the Ravenclaw.

Still sweating heavily, Terry looked back and slowly shook his head.

Half a minute later, Ron staggered out the other side and collapsed onto the mats.

Harry cancelled the spell, and the blue corridors swirled away into nothingness.

He walked across to the trembling form of his best friend. Harry had never been more proud of him.

The other students slowly picked themselves up and gathered around.

Standing in the late morning sun as it streamed in from the windows beside them, Harry regarded his emotionally drained student, collapsed on the floor in front of him.

"Mr Weasley," he said.

Pale-faced, Ron looked up at him.

"I told you earlier that the only person who could judge a courageous act was the one who performed it. Today you crossed a Fear Corridor seventeen times of your own free will. It's not possible to do that for an outside reason such as House points or bragging rights. Only two things allow someone to cross that many times: the fear of something worse than what's in the corridor, or the true desire to face your fears and overcome your weaknesses." Harry paused. "Do you have courage, Mr Weasley? Or was it cowardice?" There were several sharply indrawn breaths from the other students. As far as they were concerned, their teacher's last question was an insult.

Ron staggered to his feet. "Sir..." he said shakily. "I think... I think maybe... it was both."

"Twenty points to Gryffindor," Harry said into the quiet room -- and then he smiled. Ron mirrored the expression with perfect understanding. Of all those assembled on the mats at this moment, only he and his teacher fully understood that cowardice and courage were inseparable. You literally couldn't have one without the other. Every act of courage was, in some way, driven by fear. Fear of failure, fear of loss, fear for the safety of loved ones, fear of ridicule, fear of pain -- even the fear of fear itself. Thus, every hero -- every champion -- was also a coward. And conversely, every coward had the seeds of a hero within them.

"But," Ron suddenly added, "I think there might also have been a large chunk of stupidity in there too."

The moment broke, and everybody laughed. //Ronald Weasley,// Harry reflected with amusement, //would crack jokes while the world was ending.//

----oo00oo---

It was nearly the end of class by the time everyone got their shoes back on, and re-assembled at the end of the gym in front of the ugly illusion. For some reason, their teacher had not cancelled the spell that was maintaining it, and so they all ended up back where they began -- facing away from the door, while the horrible thing's outstretched wand was pointed straight at them. The War Mage was standing next to it.

"All right," Harry said, "We're nearly done. There's only one last thing you each have to do before you can leave."

The tired students just looked at him.

"When I point to you," Harry said, "you have to look at this somewhat unattractive fellow standing beside me and yell out his name as loudly as you can. Then you can leave."

"Mr Weasley," Harry continued, "I believe you have earned the honour of going first."

Ron looked at the weird skinny guy, and scrunched up his face. "Uh... sir? I don't know his name."

"Oh," Harry said with feigned surprise. "Didn't I tell you? This is Voldemort."

There was silence.

"That?!" someone exclaimed.

"Is this another weird joke?" Padma Patil asked tiredly.

"No," Harry assured them. "This is really Voldemort -- or an illusion of him, anyway. This is actually what he looks like."

Some of the students eyed the image suspiciously.

"It is not," Parvati argued. "You're having us on."

Suddenly solemn, Harry said, "I swear on my honour and my life that this is a fair and accurate representation of the current body of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort."

Everybody stared at him. Then they stared at the illusion. The thought that this was their shadowy bogeyman -- exposed to the light in all his... unpleasantness -- didn't sit too well with a lot of them.

"That's a real person?!" one of the Ravenclaw girls squeaked. "That's... that's him?"

"I'm afraid so," Harry confirmed.

"Ick!" she exclaimed. "That's gross!"

Wickedly, Harry decided to make it even worse.

He waved his wand, and suddenly the Dark Lord's robes disappeared. The illusion was now standing before them -- wand still outstretched -- clad only in pink boxers with big red hearts on them.

The class practically fell onto the floor in gales of hysterical laughter.

When Ron finally managed to do more than hang onto Hermione and gasp for air -- he turned to the illusion and yelled, "Voldemort has lousy taste in underwear!"

That set them all off again, and also established the tone for the rest of the students.

Harry didn't actually get to hear every student call out Voldemort's name, since it took far too long for them to recover from the hilarity that ensued every time someone yelled out an insult.

After things like "Voldemort -- the diet that went too far!" and "Hey Voldemort -- you're supposed to see the world through rose-coloured glasses -- not rose-coloured eyeballs!" even Harry was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

The students who went first, stayed to hear the insults that later students came up with, and by the time class ended, Harry simply waved an arm at the lot of them, and said, "Get out of here you reprobates!"

They exited together, still coming up with new insults, and Harry was pleased to hear the name 'Voldemort' floating back and forth on the air behind them.

"That was a hell of a class," Harry chuckled as he turned to dispel the Dark Lord's illusion, and then went to tidy up the mats.

----oo00oo----

As the freed class of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students streamed out the door -- laughing and making Voldemort jokes -- several of them stopped off to one side to watch the later students appearing behind them. It was a strange sight, since the door to the hallway was still closed, and the remainder of the class simply appeared in front of it, as though they'd just walked right through solid wood.

There were two students, however, who did not linger, but instead rushed off by themselves -- using physical distance to give themselves a few moments of whispered privacy.

"Did you do it?" Ron asked Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione whispered back, "I cast the charm while the rest of us were waiting for you and Terry to finish."

Ron waited. Hermione looked somewhat... confused. Finally, Ron couldn't wait any more. "And!?" he demanded. "What happened?"

Hermione frowned. "I... I must have cast it incorrectly or... or mis-read the charm..."

Ron snorted. "The day you mis-cast or mis-read a charm is the day I dye my hair green and announce I've turned Slytherin." Ron pursed his lips and looked speculatively at his friend. Hermione was scowling fiercely, and refusing to meet his gaze. "What's wrong 'Mione?" he asked. "Do you really think you made a mistake with the spell?"

Hermione sighed. "No," she said, "I did everything right -- but he still looked the same!" A look of frustration appeared on her face. "But the facts all fit!" she hissed quietly at him. "I know it's him -- it has to be!" She glanced away again -- her eyes becoming unfocused as she turned her thoughts inwards. "He's a mage now," she murmured to herself, "so he must be using a spell that can resist the charm I used... maybe a stronger spell would..."

"No!" Ron said as he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a nearby alcove.

Hermione was shocked by his vehemence. "Ron?" she questioned.

"No Hermione," he repeated quite seriously. "You will not continue this. If you do, then you're going to have to do it by yourself -- because I'm not going to help you."

Hermione gasped. "Ron!" she cried, and almost instantly her hand flew up to cover her mouth as several passing students turned their heads in her direction.

Ron's expression hardened. "Meet me outside Ash's door after dinner," he said. We can talk freely in his quarters."

"But --"

"Meet me!" Ron insisted, and then left her standing in the alcove, quite bewildered.

The rest of the day passed very slowly for Hermione Granger. She didn't dare talk about Harry -- or 'Ash' as she believed he was now calling himself -- and although Ron continued to sit next to her, and smiled and chatted just as he always did, there was still a subtle tension between them that left Hermione in no doubt that if she tried to continue their earlier discussion, Ron would suddenly find someone else to sit next to.

----oo00oo----

Hermione arrived outside the Dark Arts teacher's door shortly after dinner, and just before Ron. The other Gryffindor had obviously just taken a shower, which explained why she hadn't been able to find him in the common room before leaving.

"Ron --" she began.

"Wait 'til we're inside," he told her. "Then we'll talk." And before she had a chance to reply, he'd already knocked twice on the professor's door.

A few seconds later, Ash appeared. He blinked at them for a moment, and then stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. Once they were all inside with the door safely closed behind them, he asked, "Did you two need to see me? Or are you after a place where you know a private conversation will remain private?"

"Sir," Ron answered, "Hermione and I need to talk to each other about something. It's very important, but it's kind of... personal. I don't mean to kick you out of your own room, but..."

Ash -- who might or might not be Harry Potter -- merely looked amused, and easily replied, "No problem, Ron. I was only reading anyway. I can do that in my study just as well as I can in the living room. Do you want me to cast a silencing spell around you to make sure I don't accidentally overhear anything?"

"No thank-you," Ron replied. "Hermione can do that."

The professor nodded, and then collected an open book from the cushion of one of the beaten up old armchairs near the fire. "Let me know when it's safe to come out," he said, and then strolled off into the next room.

Ron turned expectantly to Hermione. She rolled her eyes at him. "Ron," she began, "he's a mage. If he wants to listen, my silencing charm isn't going to stop him."

"But his own honesty will," Ron countered. Then he added, "Regardless of who he is, or who he might be -- I trust him not to listen on purpose. The charm will make sure he doesn't listen by accident."

Hermione considered that, and then cast the spell. Afterwards -- still clasping her wand -- she folded her arms, stared at him, and waited.

Ron winced at the look Hermione was sending him. She was going to hex something if he didn't hurry up and explain his actions. "Hermione," he began, "do you remember this morning when I told you that I didn't mind acting like a book bag for you?"

"Yes," she agreed, "which is why I don't understand --"

Ron cut her off. "And do you remember I also told you that the reason I didn't mind, was because I had something important to think about?"

Now confused, Hermione nodded.

"Well," Ron explained. "I was thinking about Harry, and whether or not we should be trying to find him at all." Then he paused, and Hermione could practically see him shifting mental gears as Ron prepared to explain himself more clearly. "As I see it," he said slowly, "there are only two possibilities here: 1) Professor Ash is really Harry Potter; or 2) he is exactly who he says he is, and simply helped Harry to disappear."

Again, Hermione nodded.

"Now," Ron continued. "Let's suppose for a minute that he isn't Harry. That still makes him a War Mage -- and someone whom Harry, Dumbledore, Padfoot, and Moony have all decided to trust. It also makes him someone who's good at teaching Dark Arts, and who seems like a fairly decent chap. But most of all -- it makes him someone who knows where Harry Potter is. You with me so far?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Ron," she said patiently.

"So," he asked her, "if he's not Harry, then what would we achieve by pursuing your idea?"

"Well, nothing, I guess..."

"Wrong," Ron corrected her. "Depending on how much someone figured out by watching us, we could very easily convince some very bad people that we think Ash is Harry Potter -- or at the very least, that we think he's involved with Harry's disappearance."

Hermione paled. "Oh, no..." she whispered.

"Oh yes," Ron replied. "We would be drawing unwanted attention to someone who's on our side, and who -- if he could be captured or tricked into talking -- knows exactly where Harry is."

"But... but he's a War Mage!" Hermione exclaimed. "Surely he could defend himself from --"

"He's got to sleep, 'Mione," Ron pointed out. "Nobody's perfect. Even Merlin himself made mistakes. But -- and more to the point -- why should we put his life in any more danger than it already is? That's just not fair -- to him, or to us."

"Us?" Hermione asked, and then promptly answered her own question: "-- oh, because they'd want to know our reasons for being so interested in him."

"When of course," Ron agreed, "everybody knows you and I are only interested in what's happened to our mate Harry." Heavily, Ron added, "Which brings us back to the possibility of being kidnapped ourselves, or of having our families threatened."

Hermione was looking rather unhappy at this point. Never slow on the uptake, she added, "And of course, if he is Harry, then we've just pointed him out for all the world to see."

"And," Ron finished, "the Harry Potter I know would never put us through all this worry unless he had a bloody good reason for doing it -- a reason that might go right down the drain if we botch it up by exposing him."

"You're right," Hermione agreed, "He wouldn't do this to us without a reason."

"A bloody good one," Ron reminded her.

She smiled faintly. "Yes," she capitulated, "a bloody good one." Then Hermione sighed and said, "So what you're saying is that it doesn’t matter whether he's Harry or not -- we can't afford to draw attention to him either way."

"That's about the size of it," Ron agreed.

"But," Hermione protested, "what if we could find out without drawing attention..." But Ron was shaking his head at her.

"Hermione," he said kindly, "I don't pretend to understand how you can soak up books the way you do -- or how you can read a spell three or four times and then get it right the first time you try it -- but I do understand that there's something inside of you that just seems to... well, to need to know stuff. But sometimes there are things that you don't need to know, and sometimes there are things you shouldn't know."

Hermione wasn't looking very happy at all.

"'Mione," Ron sighed, "my dad works for the Ministry. We're always pestering him to tell us what's going on. But if we ask him something and he says 'I can't tell you that', then we stay away from that topic like the plague. We do that because if we ask him a question and he accidentally lets something slip, then we could get him into a lot of trouble. Sometimes I don't think I know what he even does for the Ministry anymore -- but whatever it is, it's too important to risk his job just because we're curious."

"And," Hermione added shrewdly, "your dad worries that if someone finds out he tells you things -- then you'd become targets for kidnapping."

Ron nodded. "We kind of are anyway," he added. "Anyone with family high up in the Ministry is. The Aurors came and put up new wards on our house last summer."

"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing special," the redhead shrugged. "It was done for lots of people -- especially the families with an Auror in them."

Hermione shuddered. The thought of an Auror being blackmailed by Voldemort...

"Anyway," Ron told her, "the point is that there are things I honestly believe I'm better off not knowing. That doesn't mean I don't want to know -- just that I don't think the price of knowing is worth the risk. Whether Ash is really Harry falls into that category."

Hermione remained silent for a while. Then she made the comment: "I seem to recall a certain Professor telling us how dangerous it was to know things other people didn't."

Ron grinned. "But at least we have the certainty of knowing that one day Harry will tell us what's going on. After all -- wherever or whoever he is -- he can't stay in hiding forever, and we are his best friends!"

Hermione nodded. "Yes -- I guess so," she admitted. She looked somewhat happier at the thought. The knowledge that she would know what happened someday was comforting. Ron was right -- there really was something inside her that hated not knowing things. Then she looked at her fellow Gryffindor curiously. "Ron," she began, "why did you help me with my research before? If you were thinking about all this even then, well... haven't we put the Professor at risk already?"

Ron shrugged. "I never said I didn't want to know," he replied, "and I figured that so long as we were careful, we had at least one shot at it that wouldn't do too much damage." Then he sighed. "But one shot was all I'm prepared to risk. We tried -- and we still don't know. Now we have to live with not knowing until Harry turns up and explains it to us." He looked at her and then added, "And as for that one shot -- well, there wasn't as much risk as you might think. After all, nobody even blinks when they see you with your nose in a book -- and it's not like I haven't played libbrarian for you before."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "but what if someone decides to look up all those books you borrowed for me? There were only two topics after all: mirrors and disguise spells. Anyone looking through your borrowing history would soon figure it out."

Ron practically smirked. "Not if there wasn't a borrowing history to find," he replied.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "You didn't steal those books, did you?"

"Of course not!" he replied in an offended tone. "Every last one went right back where it came from!" Then he paused before adding, "I just didn't bother Madam Pince with every little detail. I saved her a lot of work, actually."

Hermione didn’t know whether to be appalled or admiring. "Ron! That's... that's..."

"Great? Very clever? Well done? All of the above?"

"Oh -- you..!" With exasperated fondness, Hermione whacked him lightly on the arm.

They both laughed, and on that lighter note Ron suggested that perhaps they'd occupied professor Ash's living room long enough. However, just before Hermione cancelled the silencing spell, she suddenly asked: "Ron? Seriously -- do you think it's him?"

Ron considered it. "Oddly enough," he finally said, "I don't think it matters." Hermione raised her eyebrows. That wasn't an answer she'd anticipated. Ron tried to explain. "If he is Harry, then he's an adult now. He's... he's a War Mage. He's grown up, and he's had years and years away from us -- away from everything in fact. He would be different, and part of me was really hoping that it wasn't him because I didn't want him to be different. I didn't want him to have grown away from us. It kinda hurt to imagine that he might not be our friend anymore -- or that he might think of us as two people who used to be his best friends when he was a kid."

Hermione looked pained.

"But," Ron continued, "today in class... after I went through that corridor the last time -- d'you remember what he asked me afterwards?"

"About you being a hero or a coward?" Hermione asked. "Yes," she replied, "and I remember thinking it was a very rude question too -- but then you told him you were both, and... well, it looked like you two were sharing a private joke or something, so I thought it must be all right."

Ron grinned. "More than all right, 'Mione. It was... for a moment, we were the only two people there. I haven't told you about it yet, but he wasn't joking when he asked that question -- and neither was I when I answered him.. We weren't smiling because we'd said something funny -- we were smiling because I understood what he was asking, and he understood my answer. You only heard the words -- but there was a whole conversation you didn't hear because we didn't say it out loud. We didn't have to."

Hermione thought about that. "It isn't everyone," she slowly replied, "who understands what we say when we don't actually say it."

"No, it isn't," Ron agreed. "Sometimes one of my family does. But not often. Mostly it's just you... and Harry. So you see," he explained, "I don't think it matters whether Ash is Harry or not -- because I already know he's going to be a friend -- and a good one too. If it turns out that he's also Harry Potter, then that just means we'll be even better friends. But I'm not worried about it anymore. It'll be all right either way -- and knowing that, I can wait for the truth without being afraid of what I might discover."

Ron was smiling at her, and the look of acceptance on his face caused Hermione to smile back. "So I suppose," she said wryly, "that we simply carry on as before. He's our Dark Arts teacher and our friend -- and even if it turns out he's Harry Potter, then he's still our Dark Arts teacher and our friend."

Ron inclined his head in agreement. "Think you can handle that, research-girl?"

Hermione laughed. "I can if you can, book-boy."

"Then let's give the Professor back his living room," Ron suggested. And with that, Hermione cancelled the silencing spell, and they went to let Ash know they were done.

They found the War Mage sitting in his study staring blankly at the opposite wall. He had his feet propped up on the table and his book open on his lap.

"Sir?" Ron asked tentatively.

Their teacher didn't seem to hear them.

"Professor?" Hermione asked in a louder voice.

The mage blinked and looked at them. "Sorry," he apologised after a moment. "I was somewhere else entirely." Then he took his feet down off the desk and sat up. "All done?" he asked. They nodded and thanked him for the use of his living room. "No problem," he assured them. "As I said before, you're always welcome." Then he showed them to the door, and the two students left -- heading for the Gryffindor tower before curfew caught them in the halls.

----oo00oo----

Harry closed the door on his two friends, pleased that they'd actually taken him up on his offer of a secure place to talk. Not only did it ease his worries about them blabbing things where others might overhear them, but it also warmed him to think that they trusted him that much. With any luck, they would begin to see him as more than just another teacher. The process had already begun with Ron, and their shared moment of understanding in class this morning was a good beginning.

If he could get both of them to like 'Ash', then he stood a much better chance of getting them to like twenty-nine-year-old Harry Potter. Ron and Hermione were so much a part of him that Harry couldn't bear the thought of not having them in his life. He was hopeful that by developing a friendship with them as their teacher, he could give them a way to relate to him when they finally found out what had happened. There would be some confusion at first, but when they discovered that he wasn't their sixteen-year-old friend anymore, they would still have their friendship with 'Ash' to fall back on.

Harry walked back to his study and collected his book. It was a murder mystery and a fairly good one too. He was about three quarters of the way through it, and he still didn't know who the killer was. Looking at the paperback suddenly reminded him of the sensation that had distracted him just before Ron and Hermione arrived to thank him for the use of his quarters.

During his time in the Mirror, Harry had taught himself to focus on the different impressions he received from his scar. Even with the connection squeezed down to a minimum, some feeling still seeped through, and any source of information on Voldemort was not to be ignored.

Right before Hermione called his name, Harry had felt the momentary flicker of a faint yet familiar sensation. But it had been a while since he'd last felt it, and it took him a few seconds to place the feeling. Then it fell into place.

//Voldemort's summons,// Harry recalled. //The bastard's called Severus to a meeting.// Normally, he wouldn't know when the Dark Lord summoned one of his Death Eaters. But Harry had become attuned to Severus over time, and apparently that sympathetic attunement was still present. It didn't matter that Sev' hardly knew him in the real world -- the link originated with Harry, and arose from a combination of his connection to Voldemort and his focus on Sev's well-being. Since neither of these things had changed once he left the Mirror, then the awareness was likewise unchanged.

//Be careful, Sev',// he mentally admonished. //I have plans for us this time around, and you'd better not screw them up by getting yourself killed.//

----oo00oo----

A short distance down the hall, Severus had also been reading. The subject of his interest was a particularly intriguing article on experimental potion-making techniques. He'd been completely immersed in the topic, and had -- at some point -- moved from his armchair by the fire across to his desk so that he could make notes on the various procedures, with an eye to using them in possible experiments involving some of his own research.

When the summons came, it was completely unexpected, and every muscle in his forearm spasmed in pain as the Dark Mark suddenly burned like acid on his skin.

A moment later, and the agony was reduced to a minor ache.

Gritting his teeth, and still gripping his abused arm, Severus carefully stretched and worked his left hand. The play of tendons and the shifting muscles under the sinister-looking brand, caused the Mark to twinge at odd moments -- but it also allowed Severus to reassure himself that his left hand was still in working order.

He knew that the present dull ache would steadily increase to severe pain if he delayed answering Voldemort's summons. If he resisted the call, then he would eventually suffer far worse pain from the Dark Mark than the first moment of summoning. That initial flare of agony had merely been the Dark Lord's way of getting his attention.

Severus arose from his desk immediately, and crossed back to the fireplace. "Incendia Refero Dumbledore," he said, waving his wand at the low flames. The fire roared up to fill the hearth.

"Severus?" came Albus Dumbledore's surprised voice. A vague suggestion of the Headmaster's face flickered in the leaping flames.

"Albus, I've been summoned -- I'm leaving now."

"Was anything scheduled?" Albus asked him with concern.

"No," he grimly replied. "I've no idea what this is about, or how long I'll be. I'll report back when I can."

There came a sigh from the fire. "Be careful my boy."

"I always am," and with that, the Potions Master summarily ended the spell. Grabbing his broom as he strode towards the door, all thought of the potions article was forgotten.

Behind him on the desk, a sheet of parchment lay next to the open article. The carelessly abandoned quill, and the smudge of ink beneath the neat rows of script, bore mute testimony to the writer's abrupt departure -- and the absolute obedience Voldemort demanded from those who bore his Mark.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 12: Severus Past and Present

After exiting the castle through a little-used side door, Severus quickly became airborne. As soon as he cleared the anti-apparition zone around the school, he landed. Propping his broom against a tree, Severus cast a concealment charm and then a locating spell on it. When he returned, he would be able to find it again without any trouble.

Then he apparated away.

He re-appeared in a run-down old muggle building. This was his designated rendezvous point. He looked around until he spotted an empty bottle lying on the floor in a corner. Unlike the rest of the room, there was no coating of dust on it.

"Wonderful," he murmured in disgust. So this was his portkey for tonight. He walked over and picked it up. It was attuned to his magical signature, and the moment his fingers wrapped themselves around the cold glass, he felt the familiar tug of magical transportation.

Seconds later, he arrived.

Looking around, he was not surprised to find that he was in a room with no windows. On his previous visits, he'd assumed that Voldemort's current command centre was somewhere underground. The air had that odd damp feel to it that he commonly associated with dungeons or caves. This was unfortunate because it meant he had no idea where he was, and very little way of finding out. People arrived via portkey, and they left via portkey. Aside from Voldemort himself, it was very unlikely that anyone here knew where they were -- so it wasn't even worth the effort of interrogating one of the other Death Eaters.

"Sir?" someone asked from the doorway. He turned. There was a young man waiting nervously for him. The boy couldn't be more than twenty. Silently, he stared at the child with his favourite mix of disdain and arrogance. The youngster gulped. "Sir," he repeated, "the master is waiting for you. If -- if you'd just follow me."

Severus nodded once and crossed over to him. The young man seemed unnerved by his silence. //Good,// Severus smirked to himself.

As they made their way through corridors and halls, Severus took note of the other Death Eaters they passed. Some were masked, while others were not. All of them unconsciously gave him a wide berth, and Severus smiled thinly to himself at the overt signs of fear. All of them knew who he was -- and that he was part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. He was known for his ruthlessness, his keen intelligence, and the callus contempt he felt for those around him. It was commonly whispered that the Dark Lord had somehow removed selected bits of his humanity in an effort to create a more perfect servant.

//Not strictly speaking untrue,// he reflected. His service to Voldemort had, indeed, damaged or destroyed various illusions and beliefs he'd held about himself and the world in general. Sometimes Severus felt like the Dark Mark had warped him beyond all recognition.

As yet another Death Eater delicately sidestepped him, Severus recalled a time when he'd enjoyed such reactions. His initial foray into the world of the damned had been pleasant. At seventeen -- alone in the world, and shunned by many for being arrogant, intolerant, and Slytherin -- he'd joined the Death Eaters during his final year of school. As a powerful pureblood with intelligence and the will to use it, he'd rapidly passed through the lower ranks of Voldemort's supporters. By the time he'd gained Voldemort's personal attention, he was already feared by the lower echelons.

At eighteen, Severus had quietly gloried in the fact that other wizards -- many of them much older than he -- were already calling him 'sir' and deferring to his wishes. Knowledge drew him like a moth to a flame, and the Dark Lord offered to teach him many things -- Dark things -- that held the promise of sweet power and beautifully intricate magic. He could still recall his master's first words to him as he'd knelt at the man's feet...

"Severus, is it?" And the rich tone of Voldemort's voice had flowed around him like a warm caress. "Your name means 'stern' or 'harsh' -- yet it also reminds me of a sharp knife -- 'severing' that which is useless or dangerous to us." And then he'd leaned down and placed a single finger under Severus' chin. Raising his servant's face with gentle pressure, Voldemort had whispered to him: "Shall we see, my young knife, just how sharp you truly are?"

Back then, Voldemort had been a handsome and charismatic man. The evil in his soul had been overshadowed by the charm of his face and personality. The force of his presence had overwhelmed Severus completely. The thought of serving such a man -- one who could command his respect, and who recognised his talents and valued them -- had been all he could ever have asked for.

Had he been somewhat less intelligent, Severus might even have continued in this belief. But unfortunately -- or perhaps to his great good fortune -- he rapidly grew out of it.

Severus eventually came to realise that it was not fear he wanted from those around him, but respect. At seventeen, those two things had seemed synonymous. But by eighteen, when the whispered tales of his supposed inhumanity finally made their way back to him, he'd been forcefully confronted with the truth. His fellow Death Eaters might fear him -- but they did not respect him. And soon after that, he came to realise that he'd even been mistaken about wanting their respect. Most of them were fools, whose opinions were meaningless to him. And so he drew back, and focused all of his attention on his master. Voldemort's opinion was the only one that truly mattered.

...and it was Voldemort's opinion that ultimately shattered the last of his illusions.

----oo00oo----

"Well, well," came an oily voice to his right, "if it isn't Dumbledore's little pet."

With a snap, Severus was pulled from his memories. "Lucius," he replied in an equally cold and contemptuous tone. "I thought you were supposed to be off buttering up that idiot Fudge. If you can't control a moron like him, then I doubt you possess the intelligence to deal with an enemy like Dumbledore."

Lucius' lips thinned at the insult, but he remained silent.

Severus' guide had brought him to medium-sized and sparsely furnished room. To the left, he knew there was a much larger hall -- richly decorated and designed to impress the lower ranks. Whatever else he might be, Voldemort was an excellent student of human nature. If such meaningless trappings impressed a man, then Voldemort used it to his advantage. However, for people like himself and Lucius Malfoy, it was unnecessary. Both of them already knew that true power was not to be found in the furniture.

His guide bowed low to them both, and then scuttled out.

As the youngster left, there came a soft clinking of chains from a shadow near the door.

Severus blinked. As he stared at the shadow, it gradually resolved itself into another young man -- perhaps eighteen or nineteen. He was chained to the wall and had obviously been beaten and starved. However, what astonished Severus was the fact that the boy was dressed like a muggle. Seeing Severus' interest in him, the youngster huddled deeper into the shadows.

Severus pulled out his wand, intent on illuminating the corner more fully.

"Don't bother," Lucius drawled. "I've already looked him over -- he's nothing more than a muggle brat."

"If that were truly the case," Severus replied contemptuously, "then I doubt he would be chained up in here." Then he added thoughtfully, "In fact, I doubt he would be alive at all."

Lucius snorted. "Maybe," he suggested in a snide tone, "the master felt like giving you a gift. Perhaps a little toy for your perverted tastes?"

Severus narrowed his eyes at his hated rival. It had been Lucius who'd gleefully informed Voldemort of his favoured servant's little 'flaw'...

----oo00oo----

-- Seventeen years ago --

Eighteen-year-old Severus Snape strode forcefully down the hallways. He'd been summoned to his master's feet, and it was never wise to keep the Dark Lord waiting. He arrived to find Lucius Malfoy smirking off to one side, and their master standing in the centre of the room with a frown on his face. Nervously, Severus knelt down and bowed his head. What lies had Malfoy spread about him this time? Ultimately, he knew it wouldn't matter -- his master was too smart to fall for his rival's petty schemes.

"Lucius tells me you are openly homosexual," Voldemort said to him in carefully neutral tones.

Surprised, Severus replied, "Yes, Master," and then -- bewildered -- he looked up and foolishly asked, "Does it matter?"

The look of calculated consideration on Voldemort's face shocked him. "It is a flaw," the Dark Lord finally concluded, but then he smiled in reassurance and added, "But only a small one, my knife -- nothing that cannot be overlooked in light of your other gifts."

It was from that moment on that Severus began to fall away from Voldemort's influence. Critically, he examined himself, trying to decide whether he was, in fact, flawed. He brought all his dispassionate logic into play, trying to divorce himself from his emotions in order to discover the reason for his master's comments.

But instead, he began to see flaws in his master.

Voldemort was not only critical of homosexuals -- he also believed that women were unsuitable for positions of authority. They, too, were 'flawed' in his opinion -- too 'soft', and not to be trusted with important decisions. There were women associated with the Death Eaters -- but Voldemort seemed to regard them as little more than useful pets -- and none of them bore the Dark Mark. Severus -- who had known one or two ruthless and brilliant women at school -- found this to be an absurd belief, and a massive waste of talent.

Privately, he began to question Voldemort's views on a great many things. Gradually, he came to realise that muggles were not the sub-human contaminants he'd been led to believe. In fact, when he worked out the mathematics of it, he was shocked to realise that without the influx of 'Mudbloods' into the genetic mix, inbreeding amongst the wizarding population would probably have damaged a number of significant bloodlines by now.

Upon careful review, even Voldemort's little tricks in manipulation laid themselves open for his inspection. Severus gradually became aware of just how easily his morality had been stripped from him -- and how carefully it had been done. He had not jumped from feeling contempt for muggles to casting Crucio and Avada Kedavra on them in one easy step. Instead, Voldemort had carefully led him down a calculated path of tiny increments -- each new action or spell just a fraction more damaging than the last -- until the final use of the unforgivable curses had seemed no worse than killing a mis-begotten dog in order to prevent inferior blood from flowing back into the gene pool.

The first time it struck him that he had tortured and murdered people -- not 'muggles', or 'animals' -- but husbands and wives -- sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts -- human beings -- Severus dashed to the bathroom and thrrew up the entire contents of his stomach. He continued to dry-heave until he wondered whether he might start bringing up blood.

The days that followed were the worst he could remember. He was filled with self-loathing, but didn't dare drop his outward facade of cold indifference. If Voldemort discovered what he was thinking, his life would be measured in minutes -- if not seconds.

He couldn't even leave, since the Dark Mark would always allow his master to summon him, or to find him. Yet at the same time, he couldn't live like this anymore. On the outside, he looked like the Death Eater he had become, but on the inside he was no longer one of them -- and never would be again.

Suicide might have been a possibility, but he considered that the coward's way out. A raw and painful honesty forced him to admit that he'd screwed up in the worst possible way (so much for his vaunted intelligence), and he now had a duty to those he'd killed to try and make it right. He knew he could never atone for it, but he could at least try to put a stop to it.

He was in Dumbledore's office drinking Veritaserum shortly thereafter.

He had imagined that being forced to tell the unvarnished truth to his old Headmaster would be terrible -- and in a way it was. He broke down in tears several times, pouring out his shame and horror into the words. But in some strange way, it was also a relief. Part of him longed to be punished -- to be judged -- and it was a complete surprise when he suddenly discovered that he actually cared about what the old man thought of him. The same Headmaster he'd once disdained as a doddering old fool, now revealed himself as the powerful and influential wizard he'd always been. Severus didn't want him to be ashamed of his old student.

But when he finally came to the end of the words and the tears, Dumbledore did not rage at him, or summon the Aurors as Severus had thought he might. Instead, a pair of saddened eyes, with dark shadows behind them, regarded him quietly. Eventually, the Headmaster said, "I'm sorry we failed you so terribly, Severus. I wish I had known. If I had -- then perhaps you would not now have to bear this terrible burden for the rest of your life."

Confused, Severus replied, "But... but -- I'm a Death Eater. Weren't you listening? The things I've done..."

"And yet," Dumbledore interrupted him, "here you are. When you finally realised the truth, you did not try to deny it, excuse it, or run away from it. Instead, you have come to me and faced up to it. This tells me that -- at heart -- you are an ethical and just man. A trifle distant, perhaps -- and not one to suffer fools gladly -- but still, an honest man -- especially with yourself. The hardest person in the world to be honest with, is yourself. It takes great courage to admit to such a terrible mistake -- let alone to accept responsibility for it."

Still open mouthed with shock, Severus could only stare dumbly at him.

Dumbledore sighed, and then leaned over to place his hand on Severus' arm -- right over the exposed Dark Mark. "Severus," he said gently, "you were seventeen -- still in school for heaven's sake! Even now, you're only eighteen-years-old! Before Voldemort, what experience did you have of the world? Of the evils in it? You'd never even seen a muggle -- and hardly knew any of the muggle-borns in your own House! Your parents both died while you were still in first-year. How could you have known anything other than what you were taught by those around you? I should have realised that others were teaching you lies, when we should have been teaching you truth. That's why I apologised for failing you." He sighed, and then added, "The young are easily led by older and more mature personalities. I should have seen to it that you had someone better than Voldemort to look up to."

Severus winced. He'd been so arrogant -- so sure of his cleverness and the stupidity of the so-called 'adults' around him. The picture of himself as an impressionable and innocent fool was a blow to whatever shred of ego he had left. And yet, some part of him was grateful to Dumbledore for this understanding -- for the belief that Severus had been merely an idiot, rather than an out-and-out monster. Maybe -- with Dumbledore's words to remember -- someday... he would be able to forgive himself.

But then again -- maybe not.

----oo00oo----

-- Present Day --

"What's the matter, Severus?" came Malfoy's snide voice once more. "The muggle not to your liking?" And the suggestive innuendo on the last word contained truly offensive overtones.

Calmly, Severus replied, "I wouldn't know, Lucius -- I really don't take that much notice of muggles -- unlike you, it seems. Just how carefully were you looking him over?"

Severus had always suspected that Malfoy might have some vague tendency towards his own preferences. That would explain the other man's endless attempts to insult his sexuality. It certainly wasn't because such insults had any effect on him. On the other hand, they did serve as a constant reminder to Voldemort that Severus was 'flawed', and therefore not quite as worthy of the Dark Lord's favour as some of his other servants -- such as Lucius himself. So perhaps he was wrong in his assumption...

Lucius chose to ignore his previous remark, and instead made the comment: "Such a pity you'll never know the joys of fatherhood, Severus. Draco will be joining us next year you know --"

"Oh?" Severus interrupted, "I thought I heard a rumour that it was going to be this year. But then, Draco's still at the school I suppose..."

Lucius' face darkened at the reminder of his encounter with the War Mage. "The bonds between father and son are powerful," he hissed. "How will you fare when Draco joins his magic with mine to stand beside me? You must have noticed how pleased the Dark Lord is when he sees the children of his current servants brought forth to receive the Mark. It's such a pity he knows you will never bring such a child before him."

"We all serve in our own way," Severus smirked at him, "and I quite understand why you feel compelled to make so much of the child you have. After all, one scrawny brat after sixteen years of marriage is hardly much better than my own contribution to future generations. What's the matter Lucius -- having marital problems? Perhaps you'd better ask the Weasleys for advice. They don't seem to have any problem popping out purebloods all over the place."

Lucius looked as though he might actually go for his wand, when suddenly he calmed, and a matching smirk appeared on his face. "As you say, Severus -- we all serve in our own way -- and since your... tastes... preclude tthe possibility of one form of service, then it's good to know that at least they may be used for... other... assignments."

Severus frowned. This was not good. Lucius was too smug to be lying. Voldemort obviously had something planned for him -- and the other man knew what it was. The fact that it involved his sexual preferences filled Severus with dread. Their master had pretty much ignored his little 'flaw' after Lucius had pointed it out all those years ago. Why would it matter now?

"Lucius." Suddenly Voldemort's smooth, icy tones filled the room -- quickly followed by the overwhelming sense of his presence and power, as the Dark Lord appeared beside them.

Instantly, both Death Eaters fell to their knees.

Chains rattled behind them as the muggle shook with fear.

"Still baiting Severus after all this time?" Voldemort enquired with an amused look in Malfoy's direction. "You know my knife cuts best with his tongue," and Voldemort ran a proprietary hand lightly over Severus' bowed head. "It does not serve me, Lucius, for my servants to be fighting amongst themselves."

"My apologies, Master," Malfoy humbly replied. "I live only to serve you."

"See that you do," came the soft warning.

Lucius remained silent.

From the corner of his down-turned eyes, Severus watched as Voldemort's robes swirled away towards a plain but solid chair. Once the Dark Lord was seated, it was permissible for them to raise their heads to look at him.

When he and Lucius finally did look up, Severus was careful to ensure that his expression did not give him away. The pale emaciated parody of a man who sat before him was unrecognisable as the handsome and charming wizard to whom he had first sworn allegiance. It was fitting that the man's body finally reflected his soul -- but some part of Severus always suffered a dull ache when he looked upon Voldemort's present form and remembered the past. In truth, it was not so much the loss of his master's appearance that pained him, as it was the loss of the man he had once admired and respected -- a man who had never really existed, except in Severus' imagination.

But it still hurt to look at him and be reminded of that loss.

Voldemort was regarding him closely. Carefully, Severus allowed his usual blank mask to slip just a little. A slight widening of his eyes, coupled with a tiny drop in his shoulders, and the softening of a few facial muscles, caused a faint hint of adoration to show through. Then he quickly returned to his typically neutral expression, as though trying to cover up a momentary lapse.

A pleased half-smile appeared on Voldemort's face. Inwardly, Severus breathed a sigh of relief. Lying to the Dark Lord -- with or without words -- was a tricky business at best. Hopefully, he'd just managed to once again reassure Voldemort of his continuing loyalty.

"Severus," the Dark Lord addressed him, "Lucius has brought me some very interesting news."

Silently, Severus slid his eyes sideways to the other man before returning a neutral gaze to his master. Without words, he used his expression to convey his doubt as to the veracity of anything Lucius had to say. Voldemort's face took on an amused look. Lucius hated the fact that Severus could communicate with his master in this soundless fashion. Indeed, the main reason Severus did it at all, was for the joy of irritating the wizard next to him -- a fact that Voldemort knew very well.

"Do I need to remind you of your duty as well, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked him -- still slightly amused.

Severus dropped his eyes submissively before replying, "No Master." The insane urge to complain that Lucius had started it flitted through his mind. He was obviously spending far too much time with those brats Dumbledore called students.

"Mmm," Voldemort mused -- not for one second fooled by his two servants' apparent contrition. "Lucius," he began after a moment, "repeat your son's information for Severus' benefit."

Severus was momentarily startled. What useful information could Draco possibly have? The Potions Master was always careful to maintain the impression that he was a dutiful Death Eater in front of all the students -- especially the Slytherin ones. Worriedly, he tried to remember whether he might have slipped up recently. But, no -- if Voldemort had suspected him, he would've been under Crucio and Veritaserum long before this.

"Master," Lucius began with an ill-concealed smirk in Severus' direction, "my son, Draco, has reported that the War Mage known as Ash seems to share Severus' preference in bed partners. He further reports that the man has taken a rather... intense... interest in the school Potions Master. In fact, Draco says it's common knowledge that the mage can't seem to tear his eyes away from him."

"Is this true, Severus?" Voldemort queried.

Severus didn't even consider lying. He was so surprised by the turn of conversation, that Voldemort would have picked up on his hesitation immediately. "It is, Master," he said simply.

"Ah," Voldemort smiled. Strangely enough, he actually seemed pleased by the news. "He has approached you, then?"

"Last Friday night," Severus confirmed.

"And what response did you give him?" Voldemort asked with a soft intensity as he leaned forwards.

"None as yet, Master," Severus answered truthfully. He had intended to decline the offer -- but given Voldemort's current interestt, he wasn't about to admit to that. So instead, he added, "I was unsure as to what answer would best serve your interests."

"Excellent," Voldemort said as he leaned back into his chair again. "Do you see, Lucius, how even the flaw in my knife may be turned to my advantage?" Then -- once more addressing Severus -- he addded, "I was wise when I chose to allow you to remain childless."

"Master?" Severus asked in surprised confusion.

Voldemort laughed at him. "So it escaped your notice did it, Severus? Given the nature of your weakness, I'm hardly surprised." Severus allowed his lack of understanding to show through. Voldemort laughed again. "How old do you think I am, my knife?" he asked in amusement.

Still confused, Severus replied, "I have never calculated it, Master." Older than himself, certainly -- but nowhere near Dumbledore's age.

"I was a wizard grown before you were even born," Voldemort told him. "Unlike my contemporaries, however, age will never weaken me -- death will never claim me. It is a peculiar joy, my knife, to watch your enemies wither into doddering old fools. It is unfortunate that I am too impatient to truly appreciate the effect." Voldemort paused to regard the two men kneeling before him. "But then, my enemies are not the only ones to pass into history before me. My servants, too, abandon me for death's embrace -- some sooner than others, of course -- but all of them in time."

Severus had a nasty sneaking suspicion as to where this explanation was headed. There was slightly queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"It is never wise to ignore the future, Severus," Voldemort told him. "Shortly before you and Lucius came to my attention, I lost one of my favourites to the Aurors. He had been one of my better servants -- powerful, intelligent, and from a long and pure bloodline. The day after, another of my Death Eaters brought his child before me to receive my Mark. This man -- while not unworthy of his place -- was by no means as useful or pleasing to me as the one I had lost. My dead servant had no offspring. Was a lesser man's child likely to equal him?" Voldemort snorted his contempt for that idea before continuing. "Was I, then, to allow chance -- luck -- to dictate the abilities of my future servants?" With a cold flick of his fingers, the Dark Lord indicated his rejection of the idea. "I think not," he concluded.

"And then," the Dark Lord smiled, "a new generation came to me. Lucius..." and he turned pleased eyes upon the other man, "was the first of your age-mates to show such promise. Like my lost servant, he too, wields powerful magic -- and his blood is pure and clean. He possesses a superior mind, and his family's social status has enhanced his natural ability to manipulate and dominate those around him. He has proven himself to be both valuable and useful many times."

Severus could practically feel Lucius preening under Voldemort's comments.

"But of course," Voldemort added, "his flaws were obvious to me from the beginning." Kneeling beside him, Malfoy's breathing suddenly hitched, before becoming deliberately slow and regular. "My Lucius," the Dark Lord explained, "-- with his natural affinity for politics -- is far too ambitious. Were I to permit it, he would gather followers of his own -- even stealing them from among my lesser servants. I must constantly remind him of his place." With a sigh of slight regret, Voldemort added, "I do not blame him for this, of course. It is simply his nature. Yet I still find it annoying at times."

"And shortly thereafter," Voldemort smiled coldly, "you came to me...." Half-lidded red eyes focused intensely on Severus' face. "You too, were powerful -- pure -- and you possessed a mind to rival even the best of my other servants. Like Lucius, you rose swiftly -- leaving fear and obedience in your wake. Yet, you lacked Lucius' craving for followers. Even now, you have no desire to rule -- and even should you come to desire it -- you lack the gift for it. You were the perfect servant. Perfect..." and Voldemort trailed off in regret.

"Perhaps now, my knife -- my sharp one -- you will understand whhy I was so disappointed when Lucius revealed your weakness," Voldemort told him. "I had such plans for you -- for your future..." Silently, Severus was thanking god, fate, and even Lucius Malfoy, for the fact that Voldemort had discovered his 'flaw' all those years ago. If he'd known then what he knew now, he'd have taken out a full-page ad in the Daily Prophet, announcing his sexual orientation to the world.

"But upon reflection," Voldemort was saying, "it was not so great a failing. After all, there are potions -- spells -- that may be used to overcome such a weakness." Severus suppressed a shudder. "And even with this flaw, you are still so very close to being the perfect servant." The Dark Lord paused for a moment. Then almost casually, he added, "I had some research done into your condition at one point. I had thought to gift you with a cure. But it seems that the idiotic medical community doesn't even know what causes it -- let alone how to cure it. And you are far too valuable to risk damaging through experimentation."

"Besides," the Dark Lord concluded, "your offspring are no more likely to inherit your weakness than any other child, so your failing is unlikely to affect my future servants."

Severus felt his eyes widen involuntarily at Voldemort's use of the present tense. Surely he didn't mean...

Voldemort laughed again. "Ah, Severus," he said with an uncharacteristic note of fondness in his voice, "did it truly never occur to you that of all those closest to me, you are the only one without wife and child?"

Well, no -- it never had. Although, in hindsight -- and given his suspicions about Lucius -- it probably should have.

"Those among the lower ranks," Voldemort told him, "may choose whomever they wish, so long as the woman is not a mudblood, and is capable of bearing children." He didn't even mention muggle women, since -- to a Death Eater -- that option was unthinkable. "And through the birth of each successive generation," the Dark Lord continued, "all my Death Eaters will continue to serve me down the long centuries to come." A thin smile tugged at the corner of Voldemort's pale lips as he added, "It pleases me greatly to welcome such children into my service -- since they come to me already knowing what is expected of them, and obedient to my wishes."

Then the Dark Lord paused, and one spidery hand absently caressed the arm of his chair. "But for such as you and Lucius," he told the two men before him, "it is not sufficient for you to simply marry. Your children must be strong enough -- powerful enough -- that they have the ability to serve me as well as -- if not better than -- you do yourselves. Inferior families cannot be permitted to dilute your bloodlines." Then Voldemort added, "Even girl children are of use to me when they carry the blood of a powerful father. The Parkinson child will make a suitable match for young Draco when the time comes."

Personally, Severus was of the opinion that if anything would make Draco refuse to become a Death Eater, it was the knowledge that Voldemort expected him to marry Pansy Parkinson. The girl was a natural schemer who enjoyed manipulating people for her personal benefit. Draco was not the sort of person who would put up with being controlled by his wife. Thoughtfully, Severus filed that thought away for future consideration. It might be useful to let young Mr Malfoy know what Voldemort had planned for him.

The Dark Lord was speaking again -- this time directly to Severus. "Only you, my knife," he was saying, "have yet to provide me with an heir -- and the decision to delay that requirement was not lightly made."

The knowledge that Voldemort thought his marriage had merely been 'delayed' did nothing to help settle Severus' stomach.

"It occurred to me," the Dark Lord continued, "that there might come a time when it would be useful to have someone with your... preferences... among my servants. Many times, the seduction of a single wizard or witch has yielded valuable and important information, where more obvious spells and potions might have been discovered. Yet there are those among our enemies who are flawed in the same manner as you -- and some of them hold positions of key importance. The fact that you allowed your weakness to become public knowledge only made my decision easier."

Then, surprisingly, Voldemort laughed again. "And now see!" he crowed, "See how my patience is rewarded! I have a servant who is poised to learn the secrets of a War Mage!"

Animated by the thought claiming such power for him, Voldemort quickly leaned down towards Severus. With one hand open before him, the Dark Lord hissed, "You will encourage the War Mage in his infatuation, Severus! Take him for your lover! Make him trust you -- make him love you! Love blinds men -- even mages -- and you are a Master Potion-maker." Then the open hand suddenly clenched into a tight fist. "I want you to own him! Use all your skills to bind him to you!"

Mind cringing away in disgust, Severus nonetheless managed to ask, "Once he is mine, Master -- what would you have me do with him?"

With a cruel smile, Voldemort straightened up. "I want you to bring me the secret of wandless magic," he said bluntly.

Severus was taken aback. So far as he knew, there was no secret -- merely a different way of thinking and of using the same magic within yourself. Voldemort caught his surprise, and sneered at him. "Did you really think," he asked, "that it was simply a matter of imagining yourself to be one of the sub-human creatures that inhabit our world?" The Dark Lord made a derisive noise. "As if," he continued with contempt, "it is possible for a man to suddenly think like an animal -- even such intelligent ones as goblins or elves. No, my knife -- that is nothing more than a lie that mages have spread across the world to protect their power -- a power I mean to have for myself!"

Severus knew he was in trouble now. While it was barely possible that there actually was some secret trick to wandless magic, Voldemort's refusal to accept that non-humans could be as sentient and intelligent as wizards, told him that there probably wasn't. It was far more likely that at some point the Dark Lord had tried to learn magic from a non-human, and his failure had driven him to conclude that if he couldn't do it, then plainly nobody else could either. That, in turn, would have convinced him that the accepted explanation for a mage's abilities was a lie.

All of which meant that Severus was destined to fail this assignment no matter what he did.

Voldemort didn't cope well with failure.

Thus, Severus did the only thing he could think of. He played for time in the hope that either he or Dumbledore could come up with something later.

"Master," he began smoothly, "I am confident that I can do as you have commanded, but I must humbly beg for your patience in this matter. It may take me some time to --"

"Why?" Voldemort interrupted.

Smoothly, Severus pulled back his left sleeve. "I am yours, Master -- and Marked as such. The mage does not know this, and has shown certain... aversion... to Death Eaters. I will need to find a way around this problem. As well," he added, "it may be that mages have the ability to resist the usual potions and spells. I will need to take care so as not to arouse his suspicions before I am certain of my hold over him." Then Severus concluded, "And of course, it would not be wise to attract Dumbledore's attention to the development of an unnaturally swift relationship."

Voldemort considered this. "Your points are well made," he finally allowed. "You may have whatever time you require." Then he narrowed his eyes -- the slit pupils appearing as fine black lines over red. "But I expect to be informed of your progress, Severus," he hissed -- meaning that there had better be progress. "And I do not expect you to tax my patience endlessly!"

Severus bowed his head in acknowledgement.

From there, Voldemort turned his attention to the whereabouts of one Harry Potter. He was greatly displeased that the child he so hated had somehow managed to disappear.

For now, at least, Severus could enjoy listening to Lucius bumble his way through his failure to locate the boy. "Master," Lucius was saying, "nobody at the Ministry knows where he is. Your people," and Severus almost smiled -- usually Lucius said 'our people' -- "among the government and the Aurors are still looking, but --"

"Enough!" Voldemort roared. "Crucio!" and Lucius was instantly twisted up in agony on the floor -- too contorted to do more than whimper and gargle helplessly.

Watching dispassionately, Severus found himself thinking that for a supposedly smart man, Lucius was occasionally a bit of an idiot. There were ways of delivering bad news so that it didn't sound quite so much like failure.

Voldemort released Malfoy -- who lay panting on the stone floor -- and turned to his other servant. "I trust, Severus, that you have better news?"

"Yes, Master," he replied. "I can tell you that the boy's disappearance was definitely not planned by Dumbledore, and that he is not being hidden at the school."

"You are certain?"

"Yes, Master. Dumbledore himself went to the boy's muggle relatives and used a memory charm on them to discover what happened. I now know when and where the boy disappeared, and also the circumstances under which it happened." Then, nastily, he added, "Perhaps, with this information, Lucius will have more success in his search." Severus knew he wouldn't, of course, but if he could raise Voldemort's expectations, then it would be just that much worse for the other Death Eater when he failed to live up to them.

Considering the impossible task Severus had just been assigned thanks to Lucius' interference, he felt absolutely no qualms about returning the favour.

Shortly after that, the interview came to an end, and both Severus and Lucius -- who had managed to regain his kneeling position -- bowed their heads as the Dark Lord arose from his chair. Seconds later, the overpowering sense of his magical presence winked out, and they were alone again.

Severus ascended gracefully to his feet. His knees ached, and he desperately wanted to sit down, but he was damned if he would ever show weakness in front of Malfoy.

Lucius himself didn't so much rise to his feet, as drag himself up off the floor. He even staggered a bit after straightening up. But then, the Cruciatus Curse tended to have that effect -- as Severus knew all too well.

They regarded each other for a few moments -- both recognising that it could easily have been Severus staggering in place, rather than Lucius. It had been that way in the past, and probably would be again in the future. And there were no end of instances where it had been both of them under Cruciatus by the end of the interview. In this, if in nothing else, they understood one another perfectly. No thought of assistance would ever cross either mind, but when it came to Voldemort's anger -- each knew exactly what the other suffeered, because the punishment was the same for all.

Into that peculiar moment of understanding, Severus suddenly asked, "Did he give you a list of names? Or was Narcissa your only option?"

For a second, it looked as though surprise and the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse might actually furnish him with an answer -- and Severus was genuinely curious. But then Lucius pulled himself together.

"Enjoy yourself with the War Mage, little knife," he sneered. "It will be the last time you get to indulge your 'weakness'. After that, it would seem that our Master will be giving you personal experience with the answer to that question." And then he straightened his robes and stalked from the room.

Grimacing in disgust at the idea, Severus murmured, "I very much fear you are correct..." He carefully smoothed down his robes in preparation for his own departure, when a faint voice called out: "It... it's not -- not a f-flaw, you know."

The muggle.

Severus had completely forgotten about the young man chained up in the corner.

Curious, but wary, he approached the darkened unknown muggle. "And what would you know?" he asked contemptuously.

"I... I have... had... f-friends... who were..."

"Did you indeed?" Severus tilted his head in curiosity. "And what, pray tell, are you doing here?" He did not expect an answer, since Voldemort rarely explained anything to his prisoners -- and would never lower himself to speak with a muggle. Severus' question had mostly been to himself, with the thought that someone in this place must know why the boy was here.

But surprisingly, the young man answered for himself.

"He... he wants me t-to... to explain t-things..."

Severus' eyebrows shot up. "What on earth could a muggle know that a wizard -- particularly one as powerful as my Master -- would want 'explained' to him?" Had Voldemort actually been talking to this child? Or was the boy lying to him?

The boy in question stank of fear, dried blood, and his own waste. In his present condition, Severus rather doubted he could successfully lie to anyone. He could hardly talk without stuttering.

The muggle swallowed at Severus' harsh tone. "I... I was s-studying -- at the u-university... physics -- c-chemistry..." Severus frowned. He knew vaguely what these were. Why would Voldemort be interested in them, though? "S-something happened..." the boy added. "A... an experiment... I -- I don't know... It w-was strange. I-I told p-people... They didn't b-believe me. Then h-he came..."

"Curious..." Severus mused. But the muggle wasn't finished...

"I d-didn't know ab-bout wizards. ...d-didn't know.... But n-now -- now I think w-what happened... that it was m-magic..."

Severus' eyes widened. Magic! A muggle who had performed magic?! But muggles didn't have any innate magic themselves. That meant -- dear god, that meant this muggle might have stumbled across a way to access an outside source of magic through muggle science!

Severus was no fool. The wizarding world might be perfectly well able to protect itself from nuclear weapons and other muggle inventions, but from a magical bomb? -- or even a source of magic that could be tapped using muggle gadgets? The thought of some kind of muggle wand that could cast spell after spell with no drain on the wizard using it, was terrifying. Suddenly Severus had visions of an army of Death Eaters who would never exhaust themselves, and could continue to cast curses until their opponents fell into exhaustion.

He seriously considered killing the muggle right then and there. Such action might very well get him killed along with the boy when Voldemort found out -- but the risk should this child live...

But no, he couldn't judge whether killing the boy was worth his life. And time was growing short -- Voldemort might return...

"Do you know what you did?" he demanded. "Could you repeat it?"

"N-no," the boy stammered. "I d-don't know... i-it was an accident... it could t-take years..."

Good enough. He would let the boy live -- for now. But it would be prudent to discover more about him. Severus didn't have time for an extended interview, but there was one piece of information that would probably tell him a great deal about a muggle who was missing from a university somewhere -- "What's you name, boy?" he demanded.

"R-Robert," the lad answered, "Robert T-Thomas."

Severus pulled out his wand, and watched as the muggle shrank away from him. "Don't worry," Severus told him, "I just need to make sure you don't tell anyone about our little conversation."

"Obliviate."

----oo00oo----

It was well after midnight by the time Severus finally arrived back at Hogwarts. Tiredly, he made his way to Dumbledore's private quarters. He knew the Headmaster would still be awake -- probably worrying about him, as much as waiting for him to make his report.

It was with gratitude that Severus soon found himself ensconced in one of Albus' comfortable chairs, with hot tea in his hands, and the inevitable biscuits beside him. By rights, he knew he should be hungry, but the thought of anything more than soothing tea in his stomach was nauseating.

Albus watched him with concern, but knew better than to offer unwanted sympathy or useless words of support.

Eventually, the Headmaster sighed and poured out a cup of tea for himself. "I assume," he said calmly, "that everything went well, since you obviously aren't suffering from the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse this time."

Severus looked at him curiously.

"Your teacup isn't shaking," Albus offered by way of explanation.

"Ah," he replied, looking down at his steady hands.

Albus waited for him to begin, and Severus took a moment to organise his thoughts. The first thing he related was news of the muggle boy and his potential threat. Albus looked suitably grave when Severus explained the possibility of a muggle who'd found a way to access some unknown source of magic. The Headmaster duly noted down the young man's name, and assured Severus that they would soon know everything there was to know about Robert Thomas and his research.

Just before they moved on to the rest of Severus' report, the Headmaster made the comment: "I fancy I have some few muggle contacts who may be of use to us in this matter."

It was the first time Severus had heard of muggles in Albus' network of informants. But then, he supposed it made sense when you thought about it. Muggles outnumbered wizarding folk by an order of magnitude, and if Voldemort gained the upper hand, it would be muggles who suffered most. The Headmaster had always been firm in his belief that people had the right to face their enemies if they could. Voldemort would never, in his wildest imagination, anticipate that Albus might be using muggles against him. That, in itself, gave them an advantage.

Then -- with the most important information taken care of -- Severus briefly described his orders with regard to the War Mage, and the resulting discovery of Voldemort's personal eugenics program. By the time he was done, even the soothing tea wasn't helping his distressed stomach, and Albus looked as unwell as he felt.

"Breeding wizards..." Albus shuddered. "To reduce his own followers to such a level..."

"We're little more than slaves to Voldemort," Severus reminded him. "I really should have seen this earlier..."

"I somehow doubt," Albus replied, "that anyone could have foreseen being treated like a prize horse at stud."

"Most of them will never even realise," Severus agreed. "For the majority, the pressure brought to bear on them will seem like the same thing their families and the world in general expects of them: get married and have children. Only the upper echelons are controlled firmly enough to really notice -- and many of them will be content if it means their family name and prestige will remain intact."

"I know," Albus sighed. "And yet, I'm horrified to think what it might mean should the children find out. To be told that you were merely a duty! -- part of a breeding program designed to swell the ranks of Voldemort's Death Eaters! He planned their lives before they were even born, and he intends for them to have no say in those lives at all."

Severus made a derisive sound. "A lot of pureblood families still practice arranged marriages," he scoffed, "and their parents tell them what to do, and who to see, for most of their lives. I fail to see any significant difference, save that one child might serve Voldemort, while another serves his or her family." After a moment of reflection, he added, "Then too, many parents genuinely care about their little monsters regardless of who their spouse happens to be."

Albus smiled. "You say you despise them, Severus, yet I'm certain you don't mean it."

Severus just looked at him.

"Well," Albus amended, "I'm certain you don't entirely mean it. You'd make a good father."

"Unfortunately," Severus replied in a sour tone, "it would seem that Voldemort agrees with you."

Albus nearly choked on his tea.

"Oh, yes," Severus continued, "didn't I mention it? He has every intention of marrying me off just as soon as I'm finished with my little foray into the bedroom of our local War Mage. Apparently," he finished, "I'm far to useful to be allowed to remain childless. My descendants are destined to serve him until the end of time."

Albus looked pained.

"Don't worry," Severus assured him, "it's very unlikely to happen. I have no doubt that if he doesn't kill me for failing to acquire the 'secret' of wandless magic, then he'll inevitably do away with me when he discovers I've been spying on him all these years." Absently, Severus added, "I'm rather astonished that I've lasted this long, actually."

"If you don't mind," Albus replied mildly, "I'm rather hoping that you're not going to be killed at all -- or paired off with Voldemort's choice of mate."

"You're overly optimistic," Severus told him.

"Perhaps, you're simply too pessimistic," Albus cheerfully retorted.

Severus chose to ignore the Headmaster's remark. Experience had taught him that it was useless to argue against Albus' boundless wellspring of hope. The simple fact of the matter was that unless somebody came up with a way to remove the Dark Mark -- or a miracle happened and Voldemort got himself killed -- then there was no leaving the Dark Lord's service except through insanity or death.

It was time to shift the topic of conversation away from himself.

"Would you like me to arrange for Mr Malfoy to discover Voldemort's plans with regard to Miss Parkinson?" Cynically, Severus added, "Knowing the two students involved, I'd say there's an excellent chance that Draco will defect to our side on the spot."

"Severus! That's most unkind," Albus objected. "Miss Parkinson has many redeeming qualities." However the amusement sparkling in his eyes totally ruined the effect of his words.

But in response to the original question, Albus eventually decided, "No -- don't let young Draco find out just yet. With sufficient time, he will undoubtedly come to believe he can find a way to sidestep Voldemort's plan. But at the right moment -- when applied in just the right way -- such information could be very useful."

"As you wish," Severus acquiesced.

"And now," Albus told him, "I think we need to discuss you current assignment." A fleeting look of discomfort passed across Severus' face -- the first unguarded expression he'd displayed since returning to the school.

Sitting across from him, Albus noted the brief look, and reflected that the lateness of the hour, on top of the interview with Voldemort, was obviously beginning to affect Severus' control. However, if it allowed him to see honest responses, then Albus was not above using that to his advantage. His Potions Master had been a solitary figure for far too long, and it was Albus' belief that the man known as War Mage Ash might be just what Severus needed to finally bring a little light into those dark and depressing dungeons that the Potions Master seemed to favour.

But of course, Severus had other ideas.

"Perhaps it would be better to discuss it another time," the Potions Master suggested. "After all, it's quite late, and I do have classes tomorrow."

"No, no, my dear boy," Albus argued, "I know you said Voldemort granted you plenty of time -- but I'm quite concerned about the interim progress he expects you to make. You must have something concrete to report, or he'll become suspicious. It particularly concerns me that the children could easily verify anything you tell him. Two staff members -- two male staff members -- engaged in a relationship? It would be impossible to hide from the students -- which lead us to the impossibility of hiding it from their parents. You know Lucius -- and many others -- would be only too happy to inform Voldemort of any deception on your part."

Severus sighed and absently massaged his forehead. He really needed sleep at this point, but it was obvious that Albus intended to force the issue. "To be honest," he told the Headmaster, "I was rather hoping you might come up with a way to get me out of it altogether -- since I really don't want to get involved with the man if I can help it."

"Oh?" Albus asked with surprise. "You don't find him attractive, then?"

Severus frowned. "What on earth has that got to do with it?"

"Well, I was rather under the impression that he finds you quite attractive -- and don't bother scowling at me, Severus -- I'm immune to it."

The Potions Master was not amused. "In case you failed to notice," he replied, "I have essentially been ordered to seduce a man who is far more powerful than I, and who has a rather noticeable prejudice when it comes to Death Eaters. I hardly think this," -- and he thrust the Dark Mark under Albus' nose, "is going to endear me to him."

"Ah," Albus noted. Then, after a few moments, he added, "Do you really think he doesn't know?"

"What!?" came the astonished cry. "You didn't tell him --" Severus cut himself off mid-sentence. Quietly, he added, "No -- you wouldn't have."

"Certainly not," Albus agreed calmly. "However, I rather think he might know anyway."

A sudden memory of the War Mage's soft dark tones surfaced in Severus' mind. 'I know more about you than you would believe possible,' the mage had told him.

"Perhaps," Severus reluctantly acknowledged. "However, I would rather avoid the necessity of finding out."

Albus sighed. So it was going to be like this, was it? Children could be so stubborn... "Well, then," he reflected aloud, "I suppose I could always fire him..."

The look on Severus' face was priceless.

"You'd... do that?" the shocked Potions Master asked. "But, you can't -- at least, not without a reason. What grounds could you possibly have...?"

Albus sniffed reflectively. "Sexual harassment, if nothing else," he replied.

This time it was Severus' turn to choke on his tea. Although... he didn't seem to have any tea in his hands just at the moment. Charitably, Albus blamed the tea anyway. It was kinder than assuming Severus was coughing and spluttering for no apparent reason.

"Sexual harassment!" Severus finally managed to strangle out. "Are you out of your mind?! I'd be the laughingstock of the wizarding world! The Death Eaters would have me for lunch! I hardly call that an acceptable solution!"

"Sexual harassment is a very serious problem in the workplace," Albus told him, "and aside from that, I can't imagine what else I could use as an excuse to get rid of him. He's an exceptional teacher, and the children all think he's wonderful."

"He's dangerous!" Severus exclaimed. "They're terrified of him! Use that!"

"Unfortunately," Albus said apologetically, "he hasn't harmed anyone -- and has, in fact, even defended us from attack by others -- first Death Eaters, and then mad elves. And very few of the students are frightened of him anymore. Careful, yes -- but certainly not frightened. The boarrd is hardly likely to back a decision based on that."

Severus eyed the Headmaster suspiciously. He didn't for one second believe the tale of an insane elf attacking Hogwarts -- and he knew perfectly well that Albus didn't expect him to. But aside from that, he suddenly realised that the Headmaster was not the least bit serious in his supposed attempt to help Severus avoid becoming involved with the mage.

"You want me in his bed!" Severus suddenly realised. Outraged, he yelled, "Don't tell me you want the bloody secret of wandless magic too!"

Albus took a moment to reflect that it was a good thing he'd reinforced the silencing charms on his rooms a while back. Still calm and unruffled, he replied, "I want you to be happy, Severus."

"Excuse me!?"

"You've been alone a very long time, my boy -- and although I know you cope well with it, I don't believe you enjoy it. Our present Dark Arts teacher is a man who understands very well the necessities and trials that someone in your position must face. I believe him to be trustworthy, and we both know that he's uniquely suited to the dangers of being associated with you. Indeed, it's hardly less dangerous for him now."

Severus was deliberately controlling his breathing so as not to hyperventilate. "Let me see if I understand this correctly," he said in a quiet and deadly voice. "You think I'm unhappy, lonely, and pining for companionship. You believe a War Mage would understand my 'position', and also be able protect himself from Voldemort. You have undoubtedly been encouraging the man with these misguided beliefs to the point where even the students -- and Draco in particular -- have noticed his interest. That interest was then reported to Lucius Malfoy, who in turn reported it to Voldemort." Sitting perfectly motionless in his chair, Severus finally asked, "Would that be an accurate summation?" He was going to kill Albus. He really was...

"Except for the part about encouraging him," the Headmaster replied. "While it's true I may have mentioned your favourite foods once or twice -- his interest in you pre-dates my knowledge of it by a considerable amount. It actually took me quite a while to work out why he was so... fascinated... by your presence."

"And yet you didn't see fit to inform me of your discovery at the time."

"It wasn't any of my business."

"I.. you..." the Potions Master was flabbergasted. "Not any of your business! It seems to me that you made it your damn business some time back!" Then Severus' eyes widened with a sudden horrible thought. "Please don't tell me you've managed to convince yourself that he's my destined 'soulmate' or some such rubbish!"

Albus blinked. "Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"Well it seems to me," Severus replied cynically, "that you've failed to consider the fact that he might not like me! Or that I might not like him! What am I supposed to do when your brilliant matchmaking idea fails -- and I'm still expected to go back to Voldemort and tell him how completely I've got the man under my control? Not to mention how he'll react when he finds out I've been leading him on because of Voldemort's orders!"

"So you have no personal interest in him at all?" Albus asked sadly.

Severus struggled with that for a moment. He was severely tempted to lie, but his hesitation had already given the Headmaster his answer. "I didn't say that," the he finally snapped out. "But 'interest' is hardly a guarantee of mutual domestic bliss! It certainly never has been in the past!"

"Perhaps this time will be different," Albus said with renewed confidence and cheer.

In defeat, Severus groaned and leaned forwards, dropping his face into his hands.

He'd done terrible things in his youth -- awful things -- and he freely acknowledged that he deserved to be punished for it. But surely -- surely! -- nobody deserved this!

----oo00oo----

Chapter 13: War Mage Silver

It was an exhausted and frustrated Severus Snape who finally dragged himself back to his quarters. He was tired enough to collapse onto his bed fully clothed, but soon discovered that although his body was now free of the need for physical exertion, his mind refused to give up and rest. The Headmaster's desire to see him 'happy' with the War Mage was a source of astonishment and disbelief, tinged with a sense of betrayal and anger.

Albus had, in effect, refused to help him avoid Voldemort's orders. That only left Severus with two choices: he could try to think of a way around the problem by himself, or he could give in and take the man to bed.

The problem with the first option was that Severus knew he would be hard pressed to come up with a solution. He wasn't very good with people. In fact, when it came to other human beings, he was terrible. They frustrated him -- and by and large, he didn't like them. Albus, on the other hand, was astonishingly good with people. They inevitably did whatever he wanted them to, and half the time they even thought it was their own idea! That amazing ability to manipulate others was one of the things Severus admired about the canny old wizard -- perhaps because it was a skill he knew he would never possess himself.

But now it seemed that Albus was not going to use his considerable talent on Severus' behalf. He was on his own. Again. And this time he had both a War Mage and the Dark Lord urging him down the same path. //And,// he thought cynically, //let us not forget Albus standing in the background encouraging his bloody Dark Arts teacher!//

Frustrated, Severus rolled onto his back and pulled a pillow over his face. The soft cotton was almost like a damp cloth -- cool and soothing where it rested on his brow. He pressed the pillow closer, feeling the material brush against his eyelids. //Maybe,// he thought, //I could just suffocate myself and not have to worry about it.// But all too soon, the pillow warmed against his skin and became a source of irritation. He tossed it aside.

Kicking off his shoes and wishing he was already asleep, Severus recognised that he had no hope of coming up with a useful idea while he was so tired. Yet his whirling thoughts refused to leave it alone. With a perverse sense fascination, his mind inevitably turned towards the second option: give in, and take the War Mage to bed.

Well, really -- why did the idea seem so objectionable? It was just sex, after all. And of course, it was what three rather powerful wizards -- including the mage himself -- all wanted him to do. And yet...

And yet, Severus felt... trapped... by their plans for him -- as though he had nowhere to run. Which was silly, since he'd had nowhere to run for the last eighteen years. The Dark Mark tied him to Voldemort with no chance of escape, while his conscience tied him to Albus -- and you couldn't outrun your conscience.

//You'd think I'd be used to the feeling by now,// he mused quietly.

But for some reason this felt... different. Personal. Which was ridiculous, since the whole sorry situation was about as personal as you could get. Why on earth wouldn't it feel personal? //Probably,// Severus ruefully acknowledged, //because nobody's ever tried to manipulate my choice of lover before.// He'd taken that freedom for granted -- and even though he hadn't exercised that tiny bit of free will very often, he'd always just assumed it would be there.

And now it wasn't.

//How strange,// he thought, //to have envied others their freedom -- their ability to quit their job; to say what they think; to live wherever they want; or to just... pick up and go... And yet, I never appreciated the freedom I did have until it was taken away...//

But of course, Severus knew that nobody was really that free. People couldn't quit their jobs when they needed the money, and you'd have to be mad to express your opinion if the people around you were violently opposed to it. You could prove 'freedom-of-speech' was all rubbish simply by questioning whether Dark magic was really such a bad thing. Once Voldemort began his rise to power, all logical argument on that topic had flown out the window. People had been persecuted simply for suggesting that Dark magic might actually be beneficial in some circumstances. And as for just leaving -- nearly everyone he knew had obligations that tied them to their current location. Humans seemed to naturally acquire such ties -- be they friends, family, or professional interests. Even those who did travel around, usually had somewhere or someone to come home to.

But they still had the option of doing those things, if they were determined enough to follow through on it.

And he didn't.

But Severus had never thought to envy such a small thing as the right to choose his bed partner. It had never even occurred to him. And yet, Lucius Malfoy had apparently had that right taken away some sixteen years ago. Vaguely, Severus wondered what other 'rights' -- what other 'freedoms' -- he had unknowingly enjoyed that Lucius had not.

It was just one more reason for Malfoy to hate him.

//Now there's a depressing thought,// Severus reflected. //All those years when I could've been rubbing his nose in it -- wasted!// It was too late now, of course -- Lucius had discovered Voldemort's plans for his future wedded bliss at the same time Severus had.

The thought of those plans -- and his future wife -- was not conducive to restful sleep. Forcing himself not to dwell on it, Severus rolled over and contemplated the War Mage instead. He was still resentful about being forced into a relationship with the man, but now that he recognised the cause of his anger, he would be able to deal with it. That is -- if he had to. There was still the remote possibility that he might think of a way out of it.

Maybe.

//But,// his traitorous thoughts asked, //if there's not, how will you deal with it?//

How indeed.

Did the mage already know about the Dark Mark on his arm? And if so, should he tell the Dark Arts instructor about Voldemort's orders? If he did that, then he would also have to reveal his role as a spy. Albus had implied a great deal of trust in the man, but it wasn't the Headmaster's life on the line if it turned out he was wrong.

And what if the War Mage didn't know? That could turn ugly very quickly.

Severus sighed. He briefly entertained the thought that he probably could use potions and spells to bind the man into complete devotion. After all, mage or not, he was still human.

//Unfortunately,// Severus winced, //Albus would skin me alive when he found out.// And he knew Albus would find out. After a while, it would be hard to miss -- no matter how subtle he was with the magical side effects.

So what did that leave?

It left him bloody tired and going 'round in circles.

In all honesty, he had no idea of what to do, and wasn't in any condition to think about it. The fact that he couldn't stop thinking about it was keeping him awake when he should've been asleep. If he didn't get at least some sleep, he was going to be in a truly foul mood tomorrow -- or rather, today -- and if he wasn't awake during class, his cretinous students would probably blow up the classroom. It was too much to hope that they might simply poison each other.

Strangely enough, it was the thought of his students that finally began to calm his overly-tired thoughts. Terrifying the little monsters, and deducting House points, helped to harden them against life's injustices. With any luck, by the time they graduated they would be at least partially immune to the tactics of fear and intimidation that they would inevitably encounter in the adult world -- and he wasn't just thinking about Death Eaters. If his students could learn to cope with him, then they had at least some chance of coping with others who tried the same thing.

And then too, terrifying his students was fun.

Although he was well aware that deriving pleasure from tormenting children was rather pathetic, Severus was completely unashamed of it. After all, it wasn't like the rest of his life was much better, and since it did serve a purpose, what did it matter if he enjoyed it at the same time?

Thinking about the effect his presence had on the younger students was both entertaining and comfortably familiar. Buoyed by more positive emotions, Severus gradually drifted away from consciousness. But half asleep and fading fast, his final thoughts once more pulled him back to the War Mage...

//Well...// his semi-conscious mind told him, //at least it's not like you'd have to pursue him. That would be adding insult to injury. If nothing else, he's made it quite plain that he's more than willing to pursue you...// It was an odd thought, and was immediately made even stranger by Severus' final wisp of awareness...

//Maybe I could even get my Potions book back...//

----oo00oo----

When Severus Snape arrived for breakfast the next morning, Harry silently scrutinized him for any telltale signs of the Cruciatus curse. At the time, he'd been relieved to see that the Potions Master was apparently all right. But now -- two days later -- he was beginning to wonder just what, exactly, Voldemort had said to him.

It was now just over a week since that very interesting Friday night when Harry had essentially propositioned the Potions Master. Up until the meeting with Voldemort, Sev's attitude and behaviour had been that of a man who -- while interested in the idea -- had nonetheless managed to come up with several reasons to talk himself out of it. That he hadn't formally declined Harry's offer was probably due to the fact that he hadn't figured out whether it would be better to say 'no' in private, or in public.

Harry knew that a private refusal would normally have been Sev's preferred choice -- reflecting the man's preference for keeping his personal life to himself. However, it was an established fact that no conversation with Ash had ever gone quite the way Severus Snape had intended it to. Therefore, a more public refusal -- where Sev probably thought Harry would be less inclined to argue -- might've been a better idea. Except that Severus really hated making a public spectacle of himself...

And so Harry had waited patiently, amused by Sev's indecision, and plotting his strategy for convincing the Potions Master to change his mind.

Then Sev' had been summoned, and after that, everything changed.

Now the Potion Master's attitude was that of a man who was steadfastly refusing to commit himself to any course of action whatsoever. Severus no longer looked as though he was going to decline Harry's offer, but at the same time he wasn't giving out any indication that he was going to accept it either. Instead, he treated Harry almost as though their Friday night conversation had never happened. The only difference was that Sev' very carefully avoided any opportunity for the two of them to talk privately. It was almost as though he was waiting for something -- or planning something.

Harry found all this particularly confusing. He had assumed Sev' would spend a day or two thinking about the situation, and then tell him yes or no. 'Yes' would've been ideal. 'No' would've meant he had to convince the Potions Master to reconsider his decision. But this... this... dithering around! How was he supposed to deal with this? It wasn't typical Severus Snape behaviour -- which was why Harry was intensely curious to know what on earth Voldemort could've said to him.

Desperation eventually forced Harry to seek information from his only available sources: Draco Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore.

Interestingly, Draco was able to reveal that he'd been instructed to watch his Head-of-House and the DADA teacher for any signs of a developing friendship. At the word 'friendship', Draco had rolled his eyes, and then added, "You know, sometimes I think my father's forgotten every birthday I've had since I was ten. He seriously believes I still think the word 'gay' refers to some insufferably cheerful git who goes around telling everyone to have a nice day."

Harry welcomed Draco's information for two reasons. First of all, it meant that Harry now knew Voldemort had ordered Sev' to start a relationship with him, and secondly, it was the first time he'd ever heard Draco being even mildly critical of his father. Hopefully, that small bit of censure meant the young man was finally starting to emerge from his father's shadow.

But other than that, it didn't do a thing to explain Sev's current behaviour. In point of fact, it only made the situation even more incomprehensible, since the Potions Master seemed to be teetering on the very edge of disobeying the Dark Lord -- which worried Harry more than a little.

Nervously, he waited a few more days in the hope that whatever Sev' was doing would resolve itself without interference. When the situation was still unchanged three days after that, Harry decided it was time to approach the only person in whom Sev' might have confided.

Unfortunately, visiting Albus Dumbledore was a bit like attending the Mad Hatter's tea party -- the only thing you were ever sure of was that tea would be involved in it somewhere. This was further complicated by the fact that Harry could not afford to let Albus know he could sense Sev' being summoned by the Dark Lord. That little bit of information would only encourage the Headmaster to ask why he could sense it, which would then lead to all sorts of questions that Harry didn't even want Albus to think about, let alone ask.

So basically, Harry would have to stay well away from any topic that would lead Albus to suspect he knew about Sev's recent meeting with Voldemort. By extension, that also meant he couldn't ask about whatever the Dark Lord might've said to the Potions Master. Thus, Harry would have to keep the conversation focused on his potential relationship with Sev' -- a relationship he knew Albus wanted to encourage -- and also upon Sev's recent strange behaviour. After that, Harry would just have to hope the Headmaster was willing to drop him a few hints about what was going on in the same way that he'd previously been willing to recommend restaurants and music.

//Although,// Harry reflected, //if Sev' told him that Voldemort also wants the two of us together, Albus might not be so enthusiastic about it anymore.// It would be ironic if the Headmaster -- after giving him advice when he didn't want it -- was suddenly unwilling to offer advice when he did want it.

//Well,// Harry thought, //there's only one way to find out!//

And so, late on Friday night, Harry once more found himself standing outside Albus' door, muttering the name of some obscure muggle confectionary, and hoping that just for once a conversation with Albus would make sense while he was still in the middle of it, and not just in hindsight days, weeks, or months later.

But an hour or so after he entered, Harry knew his hopes had been in vain.

After admitting Harry to his office, Albus had begun by offering him a chair near the fire and a new blend of herbal tea that he'd recently acquired. The tea apparently had soothing properties, and Harry actually found it quite pleasant. Then, before Harry even had the chance to say 'thank-you', Albus was enquiring after his students. Harry replied that they were all fine, thank you very much.

"And yourself?" Albus asked. "How are you finding Hogwarts? Is teaching everything you thought it would be?"

At that moment, Harry realised that if he continued to let Albus control the conversation, he would probably spend the rest of the evening trying to avoid answering personal questions, and defending himself from Albus' curiosity. At this rate, he would never find out what he wanted to know!

It was definitely time to change the subject.

Harry easily made some vaguely agreeable reply, and then deliberately added: "But of course, the real pleasure has been in working with the other teachers. I had a lot of positive feedback on that sixth-year class Professor Sprout and I did together. In fact, the students were so enthusiastic that I was rather hoping to do another combined class -- with Potions this time. However, it seems that Professor Snape has been a bit... distracted... lately, and I just can't seem to pin him down on a time and place to work out the details."

Much to Harry's surprise, Albus seemed to welcome the turn of conversation. "Mmm," the Headmaster agreed while stroking his beard. "Severus has always set himself a very demanding schedule. Research, study, teaching... I don't know how he keeps up, really."

Harry frowned slightly. Surely Albus wasn't suggesting that Sev' was avoiding him just because he was overworked!

The Headmaster's face took on a melancholy aspect. "It is my considered opinion," he said, "that Severus pushes himself to do far more than any man should. And I have occasionally wondered whether he is trying to make up for something -- perhaps even something that happened quite a long time ago." There was a reflective pause while Albus picked up his tea and sipped at it. Then, in a deceptively mild tone, he added, "If someone were to ask, I suppose I would say that whatever mistake he might have made, almost certainly occurred while he was still very young -- during his final year of school, in fact..." Albus' eyes flicked up to meet Harry's. "...at about the same time that Voldemort was coming into the peak of his power."

Harry quelled a momentary sense of panic. The Headmaster was obviously referring to that time in Sev's life when he'd willingly become a Death Eater and followed the Dark Lord. But Severus' connection to Voldemort -- and by extension Harry's connection to both of them -- was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Surely, Albus didn't suspect such a connection! Carefully, Harry tried to steer the conversation back towards the present.

"Youth and inexperience," he commented, "can only be cured with time. I'm quite sure Professor Snape is not the same man now that he was all those years ago. I'm more concerned with his present... dilemma. If he's having... difficulty... with something, then perhaps I could be of assistance."

But Albus' willingness to change topics had disappeared without a trace. The stubborn old wizard now seemed determined to keep the conversation where it was. "Some mistakes are not so easily left behind," the Headmaster replied. "But rather, they seem to follow us -- shading all our future choices. One might even say we can be... marked... by our past, for years to come."

Now Harry knew Albus suspected something. But suspicion wasn't the same as confirmation. And so, for the next hour, the two of them wrestled the conversation back and forth between them.

Albus kept dragging it back to the past, wanting to talk about the historical period that began with Sev's final year at Hogwarts and continued through until the Death Eater Trials that occurred after the Dark Lord's downfall. And yet, at no time did he ever mention that Sev' had actually been involved with Voldemort. It was obvious to Harry that the Headmaster was trying to get 'Ash' to admit that he knew things about Severus Snape's past that the War Mage shouldn't be aware of.

For his part, Harry steadfastly avoided all of Albus' verbal traps and tried to steer the conversation back into the present. In desperation, he hinted that he might have propositioned the Potions Master, and had received no sign of a response, either for or against the idea. There was no way someone like Albus Dumbledore could possibly have missed what he was trying to say -- and yet the Headmaster simply ignored Harry's plight, and kept right on trying to turn the conversation back to Voldemort and the past.

All in all, it was an incredibly frustrated War Mage who finally gave up and bid Albus goodnight. The Headmaster then proceeded to confuse him completely by seeing him politely to the door and leaving him with the parting words: "Don't feel discouraged, my boy. Your problem -- like Severus' -- is not a difficult one. I'm sure that with a few hours sleep, and some reflection upon tonight's conversation, the question will come to you."

----oo00oo----

//What the hell was that all about?// Harry asked himself as he trudged off to his quarters. //What did he mean 'the question will come to you'? Surely, he meant the answer will...//

Then Harry realised.

Albus sometimes had a nasty habit of answering the question you should have asked, rather than the question you actually asked. The Headmaster had essentially just told him that he knew exactly what Harry wanted to know, and that the answer to his question wouldn't do him any good. So instead, the old wizard had spent the entire evening trying to give him an answer that would help him. It was now up to Harry to figure out what on earth the question was, so that the answer would make sense.

The problem with that, was that when Harry replayed the conversation in his mind, he couldn't pin down what Albus had been trying to tell him. Everything the old wizard had said was related to Sev's time as a Death Eater, and then as a spy. Yet Albus had been very careful not to mention that Sev' had ever been a Death Eater. 'Ash' wouldn't know about that. But Harry was fairly certain that Albus suspected he did know. So what was it about Sev' being a Death Eater that might help him? Or was he missing the point entirely?

//Bloody hell,// Harry thought as he massaged the bridge of his nose. //This is giving me a headache. What does Albus know? -- what am I supposed to know? -- what do we both suspect? How am I supposed to make sense of out of this mess?//

Ultimately, Harry decided that this was a prime example of why he was a mediocre spy at best, while someone like Severus -- who could keep the various roles he was expected to play completely separate and under control -- was a master of deception who'd managed to survive in one of the most paranoid and deadly courts in the world. Harry half suspected that if he could just forget he'd ever been 'Harry Potter', then 'Ash' would be able to figure out what was going on with very little difficulty. But as it was, all he could come up with was a confused tangle of ideas and information that made no sense whatsoever.

He suspected it would all become obvious to him at some stage in the future -- probably at the exact moment he no longer needed to know.

By the time Harry reached his rooms, he'd pretty much decided to take Albus' advice about getting a few hours sleep. He somehow doubted it would help, but at least it wouldn't hurt -- and it wasn't like the situation was so critical that it couldn't wait until tomorrow.

Harry's last thought before sleep claimed him was a wistful one...

//Sev' would be able to figure this out...//

----oo00oo----

Saturday morning dawned overcast and miserable. By lunchtime, it had deteriorated to drizzling rain punctuated by occasional wind gusts. This meant that lunch in the dining hall was a fairly well populated affair. Usually, students would grab something from the tables, and dash off to Quidditch, or the Great Court, or even to Hogsmeade if they were sixth or seventh-years. But today, the students who hadn't taken food up to their dormitories were haphazardly scattered around the hall, eating, gossiping, playing board games, and otherwise just passing the time.

Finishing up his second sandwich, Harry noted that Ron and Hermione were both seated at the Gryffindor table. Ron was playing wizarding chess against Seamus, while Hermione was -- for once -- not immersed in a book. Instead, she seemed to be practicing some sort of charm on what looked like... a muggle wristwatch?

//What in Merlin's name is she doing?// he wondered.

After watching her for a few minutes, Harry realised that whatever Hermione was up to, was apparently not working. That in itself was astonishing since she usually succeeded at new things on the first or second try. Observing the thoughtful look on her face as she tried again and again, Harry's curiosity finally got the better of him, and he arose from the teacher's table, intent on going over there to find out what could possibly baffle such a brilliant student.

Just as he was crossing the open space between the high table and the student tables, the side door behind him slammed open. Training took over, and the world slowed to a crawl as Harry dropped into quick-time. Even as logic told him that there was unlikely to be any threat, the memory of Albus' fake Ked'rallirri caused him to begin a controlled drop to the floor. At the same time, he was also twisting his head and torso towards the unexpected noise.

What he saw shocked him.

Clad entirely in brown and forest green -- and running straight for him -- was a tall, exotic looking woman with delicately pointed ears, liquid silver eyes, and the War Mage insignia firmly fastened to the front of her cloak. But what caused him to instantly drop out of quick-time and straighten up again, was the incredibly beautiful smile and the open arms of welcome that accompanied her heart wrenchingly familiar face.

"Ash!" she cried as she threw herself on him.

Overwhelmed by the memories of his beloved circle-sister, Harry instinctively grabbed her low around the waist, and lifted her up off the floor to spin her around in joyful welcome. "Silver!" he laughed as he put her down and hugged her for all he was worth.

The familiar scent of earth and forest blossoms assailed Harry's senses. Happily, he opened up the first layer of his defensive spells -- not deactivating them, but simply inviting her to merge the outermost layer of her own magic with his. It was a gesture of trust and welcome between lovers within the circle -- or between those who had once been lovers.

She stiffened in his arms.

In shock Harry suddenly remembered that this Silver didn't know him. Hastily, and with a pang of loss and loneliness, Harry re-sealed his outer defensive spells, and released her. She took a half step back, but refused to let go of him entirely. In elven, she said, "~Ash -- I'm sorry for deceiving you, but when Ell'evisor told us about the Mirror -- and that you claimed to know me...~"

"~...You needed proof.~" Harry replied sadly. "~I understand. I-I'm sorry for the familiarity...~"

"~Don't be,~" Silver reassured him. "~For you, it was not a familiarity, but a cherished memory. I'm sorry I'm not the one you remember.~" And then she smiled impishly at him, "~But perhaps I might become that person? If you know me at all, then you know how curious I am -- especially when it comes to humans!~"

Harry could feel his face turning red. He remembered Silver's curiosity very well indeed. The first time they'd tumbled into bed together, she'd explored every inch of his body like he was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

Silver laughed at his expression. "By the colour of that blush," she said in English, "you remember my curiosity only too well!" and then she finally let go of him in order to throw her cloak back over her shoulders -- thus exposing a very low-cut tunic and a very nice cleavage.

"Silver!" Harry cried in mock-outrage. "We're in public!"

"~Oh, pooh,~" she responded as she dropped back into Elven, "~Don't tell me you're another stodgy male mage! We have far too many of them in the circle as it is!~"

Harry began laughing helplessly. Nothing, it seemed, would ever change Silver. She was still a sugar-addicted hyperactive child in a woman's body -- and she had no sense of propriety at all! Without even looking, Harry knew that most of the male senior students were currently staring at her. A few were probably even drooling.

"~Then perhaps, my dear Silver,~" came a second voice, "~you should learn to appreciate the benefits of modesty and peaceful contemplation.~"

Harry turned to see a wrinkled old elf leaning on a wooden staff just inside the hall. He was dressed much the same as Silver, but bore it with an indefinable air of wisdom and dignity. He reminded Harry very strongly of Albus.

"~Blah, blah, blah...~" Silver retorted. "~This from the man who keeps telling us we have to work to our strengths!~"

An amused smile graced the ancient elf's face as he walked over to them. After his first few steps, a third person was also revealed -- it was Ell'evisor, who was no longer hidden from view behind the long, flowing cloak of the circle's most senior War Mage. Politely silent in the company of his elders, Ell'evisor trotted along behind the venerable old elf. The ancient one himself -- with an air of long-suffering patience -- looked sternly towards the unrepentant War Mage Silver. "~But if you simply ignore your weaknesses,~" he berated her, "~they will be used against you. You must --~"

"~-- acknowledge your flaws and work to minimise them!~" both Harry and Silver finished together.

The old elf blinked. Then he scowled. "~I am surrounded by children...~" he muttered.

"~And you love it, my most respected Course Guide,~" Harry cheekily told him.

"~Ah,~" he responded, "~So I was your Course Guide, was I?~"

"~Ly'haniir,~" Harry smiled, "~would you really have let someone else guide the first human to join the circle in generations?~"

"~Probably not,~" Ly'haniir acknowledged. "~And yet, I cannot remember being greeted as anyone's Course Guide so far today.~"

Knowing that he was about to be tested again, Harry happily took his position in front of the ancient elf, and made the deep bow of respect that acknowledged his debt to the other mage for all the education and training he had received. He also listened very carefully for the telltale sound of Ly'haniir's staff as it left the floor. Harry moved his head suddenly to the left as the gnarled end of the staff whistled through the air beside him. Then he moved his right foot just before the end of the staff smashed into the floor. As Harry straightened, he continued to shift and turn as the staff alternately poked and swished the air around him. As he ended the bow with the traditional words of greeting, Harry suddenly stopped moving and held perfectly still.

The solid length of wood flew through the air straight towards his face.

There was a universal gasp from the students in the hall as the tip of Ly'haniir's staff halted a hair's breadth above Harry's skin -- right between his eyes. The lesson of the staff was one of avoidance -- to remind a War Mage that not all battles should be fought. But the final blow was more complicated than that. It was an acknowledgement of the trust between teacher and student, as well as a reminder that some battles must not be avoided -- even if there was nothing you could do but stand there in silent protest.

The staff slowly made its way back to the floor.

"~I am honoured to be so well greeted,~" Ly'haniir nodded with approval.

There was a polite cough off to one side.

Harry and all three elves turned to see Professor Dumbledore, flanked by several staff members, watching them curiously. "Professor Ash," Albus smiled, "I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I would very much like to make the acquaintance of your most intriguing friends."

----oo00oo----

As the students watched their Dark Arts teacher and the Headmaster disappear from the hall -- followed by an entire entourage of strange elves and curious professors -- the whispered speculation about Professor Ash's guests suddenly swelled to a dull roar. Gossip and guesses abounded, and those who'd noticed the War Mage insignia on two of the strange elves quickly spread the news to everyone else. Some students ran off to their House common rooms -- intent on being the first ones to tell those who weren't present what was going on; while others dashed off to the owlery -- hurriedly composing letters to their parents and families.

Seamus, who was tired of losing at chess anyway, quickly abandoned Ron and their current game, in order to spread the news about the two new War Mages he'd seen at lunch, and the totally amazing way Professor Ash had stood perfectly still while some crazy old elf nearly brained him.

Ron himself was still processing the fact that the lady elf had greeted Professor Ash like a long-lost friend -- a really really... close... long-lost friend. "Hey 'Mione?" he whispered as he leaned over towards her. "If there are other War Mages who know Ash, doesn't that mean he can't be...?"

Hermione was still looking speculatively at the door through which everyone had exited. "Well..." she began slowly, "it's possible he met them over the summer. But it does look like they've been friends for a quite while, doesn't it?"

"More than just 'friends' with her, I reckon."

Hermione looked at him, and then rolled her eyes.

"What?" Ron asked indignantly. "I was just saying --"

"Something that's none of our business," she interrupted. "Honestly Ron, sometimes you're such a... a boy!" There were a couple of giggles from nearby, and Hermione realised she'd said that last part loud enough to be overheard by several of the other girls sitting at their table.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, well -- it's gotta be better than the alternattive!" And then he ran for his life before Hermione or any of the others had a chance to hex him.

There were a few of cries of feminine outrage, but he needn't have worried about Hermione. She merely rolled her eyes again, and then promptly ignored the rest of the world in favour of her latest project. Looking down at the digital watch in front of her, she noted that the rectangular display screen was still blank. Absently, she wondered whether she would have better luck activating the watch if she took out the dead battery.

"No," she murmured to herself, "if magic and electricity are at all related, then I should be able to make this work whether the battery is there or not." But of course she was only guessing about magic and electricity being related. She didn't actually know enough about how electricity worked to be sure that that was true. //I really need a book about this,// she reflected. But of course, there were no books in the library about electricity -- not even in the Muggle Studies section.

And there certainly wasn't anybody she could ask.

----oo00oo----

A few hours later, Harry finally managed to get Ly'haniir, Silver, and Ell'evisor out of Dumbledore's clutches and back to the privacy of his own rooms.

It was with some sense of relief that he shut the door behind them, and leaned heavily against the supporting wooden surface. Albus and Ly'haniir had hit it off far too well for Harry's peace of mind -- and that was even with Silver and himself acting as interpreters. Thankfully, nobody had mentioned the Mirror, and when Albus politely enquired after Harry Potter, Silver had simply reassured him that Harry was well and would undoubtedly turn out to be a formidable War Mage. None of the elves had even blinked at the question.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry pushed himself away from the door and followed his guests into the living room.

Ell'evisor -- having seen the room before -- was sitting comfortably in one of Harry's battered old chairs. Ly'haniir and Silver were curiously staring at all the strange human odds and ends scattered about the place. For once, Harry's guests didn't look twice at the elven lighting.

"~Can I offer anyone a drink that isn't tea?~" Harry asked.

"~I don't suppose you have Corella, do you?~" Ly'haniir asked.

"~I'd settle for 'mushed mellows',~" Silver added. "And just what is a 'mellow' by the way?"

Harry laughed. "~They're called 'marshmallows', and I have no idea what the name means.~"

Ell'evisor, who'd been as quiet as a mouse all afternoon, finally spoke up: "~War Mage Ash --~"

"In English, Ell'evisor!" Silver instructed him.

The young man looked embarrassed, but gave it his best shot. "Please War Mage, all have hot chocolate and marshmallows? Then all we be good."

Ell'evisor obviously knew he sounded like an idiot, but really, when you thought about the fact that Silver had only been teaching him for a couple of weeks, it was remarkable progress. Mind you, it had probably been two weeks of nothing but English day and night, so a certain amount of progress was only to be expected.

Normally, Ell'evisor would not have been included in Ly'haniir and Silver's visit. But where the teacher went, so too went the student. So when Ell'evisor had been assigned to Silver for training, and Silver had been chosen to accompany Ly'haniir to Hogwarts, the young mage-in-training had automatically been added to the mission. Harry could see that the young man was pleased to return, but also that he was still somewhat ashamed of his previous actions.

Out of consideration for Ly'haniir -- who couldn't speak a word of English -- Harry replied in elven. "~Hot chocolate is an excellent suggestion, Ell'evisor. I'll be right back with drinks for everyone,~" and with that, Harry departed for his small kitchen, leaving behind a young man who was both pleased that he'd managed to get his suggestion across, and also gratified that neither of the English-speaking Mages had laughed at his attempt.

A few minutes later, they were all comfortably seated, drinks in hand. Somehow Silver had managed to magic the marshmallow out of Harry's cup and into her own, but since Harry very deliberately didn't bring the whole packet out with him, he decided to let her subtle hint to go and get the rest of them, pass unnoticed.

Curious about something, Harry began the conversation with a question. "~Ly'haniir, why did the three of you appear in the dining hall before so many humans? And why were you so open with Albus about the circle's existence? Has the circle decided to make itself known to the wizarding world?~"

"~It seems to me,~" the ancient elf replied, "~that Albus Dumbledore was not greatly surprised about the circle's existence anyway.~"

Harry blushed at being so easily caught out. "~Yes... well, I ehm... sort of mentioned it... in passing... but only to Albus, and I know he wouldn't tell another without great need. What you three did today goes far beyond that.~"

"~Mmm, so it does,~" Ly'haniir agreed. "~But before I give you my reasons, would you tell us as much as you can about yourself and this 'Mirror' that Ell'evisor has reported?~" It was a delicately phrased request, reflecting the old mage's understanding of the fact that -- as with any issue that involved a War Mage -- there might well be things that it would be... unwise... to tell anybody.

Briefly, Harry outlined his life up until the moment he was pulled into the Mirror, and then he told them as much as he'd told Ell'evisor about how the Mirror worked and what it had done to him. He also gave them a brief description of what had happened during his time in the probability-generated Mirror world, but nothing very specific beyond 'We had a war with Voldemort. It sucked. I'm going to put a stop to it'.

It was at that point that both Ly'haniir and Silver began to look concerned.

The non-interference policy of the mage circle was well known to Harry, and he'd been expecting their arguments against his active participation. However he had three points on his side that very effectively silenced them on the topic. First, he reminded them that he was the only human War Mage, and as such, was also the one whose advice would traditionally carry the most weight when human matters were discussed in council. Second, he flat out stated that he was a full War Mage -- not a student -- and he could damn well act on his own authority whether they liked it or not. And third, Harry told them that within the Mirror of Maybe, Voldemort had somehow managed to become a mage, which definitely made him the circle's business. "~And not just any mage," Harry finished grimly, "but a Soul Mage!~"

All three elves paled at that bit of information. Voldemort's acts during his last campaign were not entirely unknown within the circle. The idea of such a being with the power of a Soul Mage... It was unthinkable!

"~Soul Mages are the rarest of the rare,~" Ly'haniir said after some consideration. "~If this wizard does not have the ability now... Do you know how he came to hold such power?~"

Harry shook his head regretfully. "~No, that was never discovered...~"

"~Then perhaps,~" Silver suggested, "~he will not gain the ability at all here in the real world.~"

"~Is that truly a risk you're prepared to take?~" Harry demanded. "~In the Mirror there were those who thought that perhaps the time Voldemort spent as a disembodied spirit gave him a greater understanding of what a soul is. If that's the case, then he may already be walking the path towards this ability.~"

"~And yet we still have time,~" Ly'haniir broke in, "~or you, Ash, would not be settled here within these walls, involved with the teaching of children. You would have come to us immediately, instead of allowing us to come to you.~"

"~Yes,~" Harry admitted, "~I believe we have a few years yet before he reaches for this knowledge. No matter how he learned it -- or will learn it -- using Soul Magic is inherently dangerous for the one who wields it. For all his plans and power, Voldemort's first concern has always been for his own survival. There are other, safer, avenues to power that he is currently exploring.~"

"~Thank the Green Lord for that,~" Silver muttered.

"~And so,~" Ly'haniir finally sighed, "~it becomes obvious that the circle must become involved -- just as we knew it would.~"

Harry blinked. Ell'evisor blinked with him, but Silver was nodding her head in agreement. "~Excuse me,~" Harry said politely, "~but did you say... you knew the circle was going to be involved? You knew?! How did you know!?~"

"~Effie saw it,~" Ly'haniir said simply.

Harry was taken aback. "Oh," was all he could say. 'Effie' was the name of the circle's most powerful Sight Mage. It was an Ephemeral -- a being who existed in several dimensions at the same time. The name of their kind meant 'short-lived', but Effie had been part of the circle for as long as elven memory could recall.

Looking at an ephemeral was a bit like staring at solid fog, shot through with muted colours and strangely moving shapes. Most people couldn't look at Effie too long without starting to feel a bit... odd. Its presence was always accompanied by a vague sense of awe, which was perhaps why it had chosen such a silly name for itself. It was difficult to be in awe of someone who insisted on being called 'Effie'.

"~And then,~" Silver added, "~every Sight Mage in the damned circle shut up tighter than a goblin's money belt. Even the Healing Mages couldn't get anything out of them.~"

"~We can only hope,~" Ly'haniir said quietly, "~that this means there will be few casualties.~" Normally the Sight Mages would warn the Healers in plenty of time to prepare sufficient spells and magics whenever the circle was about to become involved in something nasty. "~But of course,~" the old mage continued, "~there is always the possibility that it's simply too soon for such warnings.~"

Much too soon for Harry's liking. In the Mirror, the Sight Mages hadn't become involved until sometime later. "Bugger," he said to himself. "I really hate it when Seers get involved."

"I'll second that," Silver replied sourly. Ly'haniir -- not understanding English -- looked at them curiously.

"~Sorry,~" Harry told him. "~Just bemoaning the inconsistent contributions of a certain group within the circle.~"

"~Not every mage is destined to study war,~" Ly'haniir offered mildly. "~And I do not recall being told much about the possible future you experienced either.~"

Harry flushed. He was hardly one to criticize the Sight Mages when he was withholding information for precisely the same reason. In order to manipulate the future, you had to be very careful about how much you revealed, and to whom you revealed it.

"~So then,~" Harry sighed, "~this is why you decided to expose the circle? Because Effie said you would become involved anyway?~"

"~We have not exposed the circle,~" Ly'haniir disagreed. "~We have only revealed two more War Mages, and a student whom they have already seen. The other groups within the circle remain unknown, as does the number of War Mages and our association with one another.~" Then the ancient elf grimaced. "~Believe me when I say this was not my preferred course of action. Sight Mage Effie, however, was adamant that if we chose to send someone, then they should not take the trouble to disguise or conceal themselves.~"

"~As you can understand,~" the old elf finished, "~there was no question about the need to contact an unknown human War Mage with knowledge of a possible future who was involving himself in human affairs.~"

"~And so here you are,~" Harry said wearily. After a moment of silence, he added: "~I really hope Effie knows what the hell it's doing...~"

Silver chuckled. "~I've had the same thought about you a few times this afternoon, too,~" she told him.

Harry laughed. "~Yes, I suppose you have. All I can tell you is that I'm doing my best to get all of us through this with as little bloodshed as possible.~"

"~Which brings us to the next question,~" Ly'haniir said. "Are you going to require the assistance of your fellow War Mages?~"

"~Because if you are,~" Silver added, "~then we're most definitely going to have to hold an Acceptance for you.~"

An Acceptance ceremony was the way a student mage was graduated to the status of full mage. But more importantly for a War Mage, it also incorporated a secondary link that allowed each of them to know in precise and intimate detail exactly what every other War Mage in the circle was capable of. A side effect of this link was an awareness of the various personalities that made up the War Mage sub-circle. This awareness helped to further cement understanding and trust between the War Mages -- and incidentally helped to highlight any destructive traits or problems before a War Mage had the chance to become dangerous to themselves or to others.

A similar secondary link existed for each of the various types of mage within the circle, but for the War Mages -- whose very lives depended on their abilities and their trust in one another -- it was invaluable. So invaluable, in fact, that there was a lesser version of the Acceptance link that was performed regularly amongst the War Mages simply to update everyone's knowledge as to skill levels, and the various magics acquired since the last Acceptance.

If Harry wanted to work with other War Mages, then he was going to need to know what they could do, in the same way that they would need to know what he was capable of in return. Hence -- an Acceptance.

The problem was, an Acceptance would involve pretty much the whole circle, and took a lot of time and effort to organise. What's more, the War Mage version required an area the size of a Quidditch pitch, and was traditionally held at or near, the heart-home of the mage being Accepted. In Harry's case, that meant Hogwarts.

Harry looked at Silver and raised an eyebrow. "~If the wizarding world doesn't know about the circle yet, it certainly would after we held an Acceptance here!~"

After hearing a condensed version of Harry's life, Silver wasn't surprised that the school was Harry's heart-home. "~Hey,~" she reminded him, "~it's only tradition that says it has to be held at your heart-home! We could have it anywhere, really.~"

Harry felt a strange reluctance to agree with that sentiment. His Acceptance in the Mirror had been a rushed affair -- held in the field with only a few War Mages and two Healing Mages in attendance. Providing it didn't endanger his chances for successfully altering the future, Harry suddenly realised that he would really like to do the whole full-on, all-out ceremony. And he really wanted to do it at Hogwarts.

Silver must have read something of his desire in his face. "~Well,~" she said softly, "~the original question still stands: are you going to require the assistance of your fellow War Mages?~"

Harry considered it. "~No,~" he decided at last. "~Or at least... not for a long while yet.~" //And by then,// Harry silently hoped, //the circle might be general knowledge anyway, and it won't matter where we hold it.//

"~Be careful not to leave it too long,~" Ly'haniir warned him, "~or you may find yourself having to entrust your battles to another in the heat of the moment.~"

"~I will be very careful, Ly'haniir,~" Harry avowed.

After that, they spoke of other things. The elves were each trying to get to know War Mage Ash, while Harry was trying to figure out how closely these younger versions resembled his beloved friends. In Ly’haniir’s case, there was very little difference, save that he had no memory of Harry's training. With Ell'evisor, the differences were quite marked. But with Silver, it was hard to pick. In some things she seemed exactly the same, while in others there was a huge discrepancy.

Silver herself was particularly interested in knowing how closely she resembled her Mirror-self. "~She obviously had my Name and appearance,~" Silver mused. "~Did she earn her Name the same way I earned mine?~"

"~I really have no idea,~" Harry said with some surprise, "~Although it was from then that her -- your -- fascination with humans began.~"

"~Yes,~" Silver persisted, "~but do you know what happened?~"

"~Um... let me see,~" Harry concentrated for a moment. "~As I recall, you -- she -- was living with the Dwarves. The circle knew she had mage potential, but she'd never tried anything but elven spells. They asked her what non-elven magic she thought she might like to attempt, and she chose the Dwarven magic for metal-shaping.~" Harry looked over at Silver with an amused twinkle in his eye. "~She also said she wasn't having much luck with it. Something about the height of the ceilings...?~"

Silver scowled. "~What ceilings!? -- All they have is oversized rabbit holes dug into the side of treeless mountains!~"

"~With an attitude like that,~" Ly'haniir said mildly, "~it's not surprising you were having trouble.~"

Silver stuck out her tongue at the ancient mage, and he promptly burst out laughing.

"~Silver!~" Harry laughed, "~What kind of example is that for Ell'evisor?~"

"~A perfectly good one,~" she replied haughtily. "~I'm teaching him to do exactly as I say -- not what I do. If he pokes his tongue out at me, he knows very well that I'll stick the end of it to his chin for two days.~"

This was too much for Ell'evisor, who'd been desperately trying not to snigger at his elders' antics. He finally gave up and laughed along with the rest of them. Eventually, he managed to ask: "~So, how did you gain the ability to manipulate metals, War Mage Silver?~" Ell'evisor knew she could, because he'd seen her do it.

"~He's telling the story,~" she replied, pointing to Ash.

"~Mm,~" Harry mused, "~Well, the Silver I knew said she just couldn't take it anymore and had to see the sky and open space again before she went crazy. So she sneaked up to the surface -- without her teacher's permission I might add -- and found herself a little way uphill from the edge of the local forest. Unfortunately -- having been underground for so long -- she didn't realise that it was the middle of the night!~"

"~Disobedient and careless,~" Ly'haniir nodded. "~That sounds like our Silver.~"

"~How would you like to be sporting that staff in an interesting new location?~" she retorted.

The corners of Ly'haniir's mouth were twitching with suppressed amusement. Baiting Silver was one of the old mage's favourite pastimes. Her refusal to treat him with the awe and courtesy that his age and abilities entitled him to, was a never-ending source of delight for him. It was also the attitude that made Silver so well known throughout the circle. However, judging by Ell’evisor’s eyes -- which were now as huge as dinner plates -- it was probably the first time he'd actually witnessed their... unique... form of respect for one another.

Ly’haniir corrected himself: "~I meant, of course, a very young version of you, my dear. You are no doubt far too mature to display such behaviour now.~"

Harry quickly decided to finish the story, while Silver -- who hated 'stodgy' mages -- was trying to work out whether she'd been insulted again. "~So anyway,~" he continued, "~there she was -- standing on the side of a mountain looking at the stars, when suddenly a human comes running out of the trees. It turned out to be a witch whose husband was a werewolf, and guess what -- it was a full moon.~"

"~The woman was frantic. She'd been trying to bind him or stun him for hours, and she was nearing the end of her strength. She didn't want to kill him of course, because he was her husband and she loved him. But in his wolf form, he was too fast and too strong -- and because of that she hadn't managedd to actually hit him with any of her spells. She'd only slowed him down.~"

"~It was just as she collapsed into Silver's arms that the wolf appeared.~"

Ell'evisor was riveted by the tale. It was a romantic tragedy in the making. If the husband killed his wife, he would be devastated the next morning, and yet the wife couldn't bring herself to kill her husband. And there was his teacher, still without her Mage Name, and right in the middle of it!

"~With an armful of exhausted witch, Silver couldn't make it back to the safety of the Dwarven halls before the wolf reached them, and none of the Elven spells she knew at the time were of any use.~"

"~But --~" Ell'evisor protested.

"~Remember,~" Harry told him, "~she was not then a mage, and certainly not a War Mage. She'd had little physical training, and only the basic lessons in magic that everyone receives. Also, she was very young and completely inexperienced.~"

Forgetting that this was supposed to be Harry's tale, Silver interjected: "~What Ash is so politely trying to say, youngster, is that I flat-out panicked.~"

"~You?!~" Ell'evisor exclaimed.

"~Yes,~" she confirmed. "~Me. Damned near wet myself, actually.~" Ell'evisor seemed to be having a hard time with the concept of Silver panicking. "~Mind you,~" she continued, "~it was probably the only thing that allowed all three of us get to survive the situation.~" That was another shock for Ell'evisor to absorb. "~You see,~" she told him, "~when I panicked, my mind did the usual blank moment, and then instinctively turned to the one thing I'd been focused on day and night for three weeks solid: Dwarven magic. Only this time, instead of hating those pokey little holes they live in, I really, truly, and desperately wanted to be back inside them. At that moment, I loved those tunnels with everything I had, and then all the rest of it just sort of... fell into place.~"

"~Suddenly,~" Silver explained, "~I could understand why they lived inside mountains -- why they loved the hidden treasures in the earth so much. I could appreciate the beauty and the strength of their people and see in my mind's eye how that beauty and strength was reflected in their homes and their crafts. I remember thinking 'why didn't I see this before?' and wondering how I could've been so blind...~"

"~And then,~" she added, "~I opened my eyes and thought I was blind. Everything was dark, but when I looked up, I could still see the stars.~" Then Silver laughed. "~When I wished myself back into the tunnels, I accidentally created one of my own! Except that it went straight down! And up on top was this really confused werewolf, trying to decide whether he could get out again if he decided to jump in after us.~"

"~After that,~" Silver finished, "~the rest was easy. I simply called up a mass of silver from the earth below us, and bound him up in it. End of story.~"

"~Not quite,~" Harry added with a smirk. "~I seem to recall a bit more to it than that.~" Ell'evisor looked at Harry curiously. "~Young mage, your esteemed guide has failed to mention two things! First: that she and the witch spent the rest of the night in that hole because she couldn't figure out how she'd made it and therefore how to un-make it!~"

"~Hey,~" Silver protested, "~I was studying metal-shaping, not rock-shaping! It was instinct that first time!~"

"~And it took you how long to get the hang of rock-shaping after that?~" Silver mumbled something unintelligible, and Harry laughed again, "~The witch would have rescued them herself, except that she'd lost her wand in all the excitement. So the two of them spent the rest of the night huddled together at the bottom of a pit, gossiping.~"

Ell'evisor's eyes lit up with understanding. "~So that's why you like humans so much!~" he said to his current teacher. "~The witch is your human friend -- the one you visit sometimes!~"

"~Yes,~" Silver agreed with a smile. "Her name is Violet, and one of her grandchildren is named after me. She and her husband are both true friends.~"

"~The werewolf?~" Ell'evisor asked uncertainly. Silver nodded. The young mage then turned back to Harry. "~You said there were two things?~"

Harry smirked at Silver as she turned beet red, but didn't protest. "~Why yes, I believe I did. The second thing she failed to mention -- well, you can probably guess what it was, if you just ask yourself where all the silver she used to bind the werewolf came from."

Ell'evisor frowned. "~Where it came from? Well, from the earth I assume...~"

"And silver is so plentiful, then, that you can just call up a huge mass of it to tie up werewolves?~"

"~Ehm... no, I suppose not.~" Ell'evisor thought about it for a while before finally surrendering. "~I give up,~" he said, "~Where did all the silver come from?~"

Still smirking at his fellow mage's embarrassment, Harry said, "~It came from the Dwarves. She sucked up everything made of silver in three family homes beneath her, as well as every last bit of silver in the master silversmith's workshop, which was underneath those homes. I understand that some folk were a trifle... upset... with her for a while after that.~"

Ell'evisor and Ly'haniir both snickered. Silver was looking anywhere except at the rest of them.

"~Can't you just see it?~" Harry chuckled. Then he pitched his voice to mimic a small child's. "~Mummy, mummy! The cutlery's running away!~" Ell'evisor and Ly'haniir burst into outright laughter. "~Oh, dearest,~" Harry said in a terrible imitation of a woman's voice, "~why is our wedding 'photo on the floor -- and where's the picture frame gone?~"

Even Silver was laughing now, and after they'd all calmed down a bit she ended the tale by telling them: "~The master silversmith made me replace everything -- right down to a couple of decorative hairpins! It took me nearly a month! And after all that, what Name other than 'Silver' could I possibly choose?~"

----oo00oo----

Shortly thereafter, Ly'haniir suggested that it might be time to depart while there was still some daylight left.

"~Ash,~" he said as he drew himself to his feet, "~I think I can safely say that the circle will follow your lead in the matter of Voldemort and his followers. Please be careful, and remember that we will come if you call.~"

"~I'll remember,~" Harry said as he accompanied them to the door. When Ly'haniir and Ell'evisor stepped out into the hallway, Silver suddenly spun back to face him, and pressed her body close against his. "~I'm sure I could come back...~" she suggested.

Harry was severely tempted. Silver was a beautiful woman, his circle-sister, and a generous lover. He knew her well, and from the tightening in his groin, there was no doubt that his body remembered her equally well. He felt himself reacting to the warm presence pressed so ardently -- and skilfully -- against him. A slender and well-shaped leg slipped between his thighs.

But as wonderful as those memories were, Silver was not the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. She was too bright and too inconsistent for him. All it took was the memory of another pair of eyes -- like dark pools of the blackest ink -- for Harry to step back from Silver's curiosity and decline her offer.

"Dearheart," he said in English, "you flatter me -- but our time together is part of my past, not my present or my future. I hope you understand."

Silver pulled away and studied him for a moment. "Bugger," she said at length, "you're in love with someone."

Harry laughed. "Way to spoil the moment, woman! See if I try being soft and romantic with you again!"

"Not that I'm ever going to get a chance for that now!" she retorted.

"~Ahem,~" came a polite cough from the corridor. "~If you two are quite finished...?~"

Silver and Harry looked up to see Ly'haniir and Ell'evisor staring interestedly at them from the doorway. Harry went red, but Silver breezed unashamedly past them into the corridor. With Ly'haniir still chuckling to himself, Harry began to escort them down to the castle gates.

It was simply random chance that they happened to pass Severus Snape on their way through the castle.

Harry gave the Potions Master a slight bow of greeting and the cheerful acknowledgement of "Professor," as they passed one another. Harry knew Severus' sharp and thoughtful gaze would miss nothing about his companions -- most especially not their War Mage insignias. He could practically feel the other man's curiosity as Severus returned his greeting with the words "War Mage" and a slight nod in his direction. And then they were past one another -- headed in opposite directions.

It was the longest conversation he'd shared with Sev' all week.

"~He's still watching us, you know,~" Ly'haniir said calmly.

"~Yes,~" Harry agreed. "~He would be.~"

"~Tall, dark and evil.~" Silver stated. "~How intriguing.~"

"~Don't even think it,~" Harry warned her sharply. "~And don't call him evil! He's not.~"

Silver stared at him for a moment. They walked together in silence until she softly stepped up to his shoulder. Tactfully, Ly’haniir and Ell'evisor fell behind a few paces. "~I'm sorry,~" she said quietly. "~That was rude of me.~"

After a short pause Harry replied, "~I shouldn't have snapped at you. I apologise. It's just that...~"

"~... that your Silver would never have been so flippant about someone she knew you loved.~"

Ruefully, Harry asked, "~Is it so obvious?~"

"~To me? Yes,~" she replied. "~But then, I'd say you and I were very close in that Mirror world of yours. You're not used to hiding things from me, are you?~"

"~No,~" Harry said. "~I guess not.~"

----oo00oo----

When they eventually arrived at the castle gates, Harry knew they'd attracted quite a crowd of onlookers. However, the miserable weather -- now a light drizzle of cold rain -- kept the gawkers mostly indoors, and gave the four mages at least the illusion of privacy. A simple water-repellent spell developed by the feathered Kyrii, and cast by Harry and Ly’haniir, kept the mages themselves completely dry.

They'd already said their final goodbyes, when Harry suddenly thought of something: "~Ly’haniir? Would you be able to send me a balance stone for one of my students?~"

"~A balance stone?~" Ly'haniir considered it. "~I don't see why not. Did you only want the one?~"

"~One's fine,~" Harry told him. "~Just don't send it by Fold.~"

Ly'haniir frowned. The spell that mapped two locations to the same point -- in effect 'folding' the physical world like a sheet of paper until two points of reality touched -- was the standard way mages of the circle delivered messages and small items to one another. The spell wasn't suitable for large objects or living things, but it was the standard spell Ly'haniir would've used to send Harry something like a balance stone.

"~Why is Folding unsuitable?~" Ly'haniir asked curiously.

"~Because this castle has a lot of very old and rather... unique... enchantments on it. No wizard can apparate within the school grounds, and as I'm sure you discovered this morning, Shifting is also impossible. Quite frankly, I have no idea how a Fold would interact with the spells that are active here. It's better not to risk it.~"

Ly'haniir stared off towards the school, trying to distinguish between the spells he could sense on and within the ancient stonework. But there were too many, and they were too interwoven for him to make sense of them without a long period of study. "~So,~" he agreed, "~no Folds. But then how am I to send you a balance stone?~"

Harry grinned. "~Use an owl.~"

"~An owl!?~" the old mage exclaimed. "~How is an owl supposed to carry a balance stone?~"

"~Make a small bag for the stone and tie the bag to one of the owl's feet,~" Harry explained. "~Then tell the owl to deliver it to War Mage Ash at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The owl will do the rest.~"

"~Any particular type of owl?~" Ly'haniir asked sceptically.

"~No, any kind is fine,~" Harry replied.

"~You're sure about this?~" Ly'haniir asked. "~You really want me to send an owl...~"

Harry just smiled. "~Consider this the first step in your introduction to the wizarding world. Human magic-users send things by owl post.~"

And shortly thereafter, Harry was once again the only War Mage in the wizarding world.

Chapter 14: Truth, Trust, and Veritaserum

After a week that included strange Sev' behaviour, a typically bizarre conversation with Albus, and then all the excitement and emotion of meeting the non-Mirror versions of Ly'haniir and Silver, Harry summarily decided that he'd earned the right to indulge himself on Sunday morning by sleeping late and ignoring the stack of homework scrolls waiting for him in his office. As a consequence, he missed the arrival of the owl that habitually delivered his morning paper to the dining room. In hindsight, this turned out to be rather a good thing, since -- if he'd been on time -- he probably would've been in the middle of a mouthful of eggs and toast when he saw the front page.

As it was, he was spared the embarrassment of spitting his breakfast out all over the table, simply because the Daily Prophet was already there when he finally arrived. The innocuous-looking newspaper was neatly folded, face-down beside his plate, and as soon as Harry was seated, he automatically picked it up and turned it over.

'WAR MAGES AT HOGWARTS' the headline screamed in large print. And below that, in only marginally smaller text: 'Dozens of mysterious War Mages reported at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -- secret meetings held!'

In shock, Harry hastily scanned down the article. It rapidly became clear that the Daily Prophet's ability to exaggerate had been working overtime. Strictly speaking, the word 'reported' made the overblown writing style completely accurate. Harry had no doubt that quite a few young and excitable first-years had scribbled off letters describing the arrival of several strange and unknown War Mages at the castle yesterday. However, the Daily Prophet had used those so-called 'reports' to make it sound as though there'd been a full-scale invasion by an entire battalion of dangerous battle-mad soldiers.

But even that nasty bit of misinformation paled in comparison to the implications of the story's last few paragraphs.

By the end of the article, the Daily Prophet's reporter was blatantly stating that a secret organisation of War Mages obviously existed somewhere in the world, and that such a trained and cohesive army of warriors might well pose a serious threat to the safety and security of Magical Great Britain. Harry's own appearance as Ash had not gone unremarked either, and it was strongly hinted that it was no coincidence he'd shown up shortly after Mr Harry Potter disappeared. The mention of 'secret meetings' held behind locked doors only served to complete the picture of a diabolical organisation with sinister goals lurking on the fringes of the wizarding world.

The author's closing statement essentially called for a full-scale investigation into War Mage activity by the Ministry.

It appeared that Harry would not be having breakfast after all.

He was now feeling decidedly ill.

Laying the paper gently back down on the table, Harry deliberately took a few deep calming breaths. Once the initial sense of impending disaster had faded a bit, he tried to look at the situation rationally.

It had always been his intention to hide the circle's existence from the wizarding world -- and most especially from Voldemort -- for as long as possible.

Harry's reasons for this were many and varied, with the most obvious one being that you didn't reveal your true strength to an enemy until you were sure you could use it to win -- or until you were desperate enough to need it for survival. But another less obvious reason was that in the Mirror of Maybe Voldemort hadn't known about the circle yet.

The Dark Lord's current plans all revolved around the fact that he thought his enemies were the Aurors in the Ministry, Albus Dumbledore, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix -- all of whom were human wizards and witches. Even Harry's inclusion as 'Ash' hadn't been too bad since he was, after all, only one man, and his interest in Severus gave the Dark Lord a possible way to gain influence and/or control over him.

But now Voldemort was faced with the possibility that his enemies were more varied and powerful than he'd expected, and Harry was desperately afraid that this turn of events would goad the Dark Lord into premature action. If that was the case, then Harry would lose two big advantages: time to prepare his own power base; and the benefit of knowing what Voldemort's plans were by remembering what he'd done in the Mirror.

And as if all that wasn't bad enough, the Daily Prophet's front page disaster also caused Harry one more little headache...

...the thought of a War Mage 'organisation' was now firmly planted in the public's mind, and was very unlikely to go away.

Harry was all too aware that people tended to fear the unknown -- especially unknowns which were potentially dangerous and magically powerful. The circle of mages qualified as both, and if public opinion was set against them, it would make things very difficult in the future when he needed the circle's support.

Somehow, Harry was going to have to apply damage control to this mess -- and quickly.

He didn't even bother with the thought of simply denying the circle's existence. Harry was fairly sure no-one would believe him anyway, and absolutely sure that such a lie would completely destroy any credibility and trust he'd built up once the truth became obvious.

No, the damage was already done. What he needed to do now was minimise it somehow.

Ideally, he would be able to find a way to reassure both Voldemort and the wizarding public that the circle was not their enemy. It would be even better if he could somehow make the circle look weaker and less cohesive than it really was. And of course, the public -- and Voldemort -- would have to believe whatever he came up with.

If there was anything he could come up with...

A short time later Harry suddenly realised that he was still sitting in the dining hall, staring sightlessly at his newspaper, and conspicuously not eating breakfast. Hastily, he folded the Daily Prophet in half, arose from the table, and departed for the privacy of his own rooms.

He had some serious thinking to do.

----oo00oo----

A couple of hours later, Harry decided that he might have come up with a workable idea -- and the first step in his plan called for an appointment with Albus Dumbledore.

Decision made, Harry wasted no time and was soon staring at Albus' likeness in the flames of his living room hearth. He was amused to note that the Headmaster was still wearing his nightcap. Apparently Harry wasn't the only one who sometimes indulged in a bit of Sunday morning laziness.

Entertained by the ridiculous sight of a tattered little pom-pom dangling off the end of Albus' headwear, Harry quickly related the contents of the morning paper to the old wizard, and then requested a private meeting. Albus immediately agreed, but suggested a time several hours hence so he could read his own copy of the Daily Prophet first, and then contact a few people to get a feel for the general reaction.

Albus ended their conversation with the comment: "If it's a bad as you say, then we're probably fortunate the article appeared in the Sunday edition. If this had happened during the week, I daresay we would already have the Minister and a dozen Aurors camped out on our doorstep. Thank Heavens for the weekend!"

Harry then spent the next hour or so writing a letter to Ly'haniir and Silver. He described the newspaper article in general terms, and then his conclusions and concerns. He strongly suggested that there be no more unannounced or public visits, and politely mentioned that anyone who needed to see him should send an owl first. He also tore off the Daily Prophet's front page and pinned it to the letter, along with his recommendation that Silver should translate the offensive bit of journalism for the benefit of the council.

After that, he wrote a separate letter to Silver -- in English -- telling her to find that meddling cloud of smog calling itself 'Effie' and throw stink bombs into it until it explained just how the bloody hell exposing the War Mages to this kind of publicity -- and at this point in time -- could possibly be helpful to anybody but Voldemort.

By the time he'd finished the second letter, his appointment with Albus was fast approaching. Harry sealed both messages with a touch of magic, and summoned Dobby to take them to the owlery for him. The enthusiastic house elf was only too pleased to be of assistance, which allowed Harry to avoid a visit to the owlery himself, and the painful reminder that his own owl, Hedwig, was no longer with him. He didn't know whether she was actually in the owlery, or whether Albus had given her away to someone, but if she was there, then it was probably best for him to stay away. There was always the chance that she might recognise him through the disguise spell somehow, and he couldn't afford to have Harry Potter's owl following him around, trying to deliver his mail.

And then it was time to see Albus.

----oo00oo----

//Sometimes,// Harry mused as he stood outside the Headmaster's office, //I think I spend my life running to this man for help.// But Albus was the only one he could think of who had the political clout and the near-universal respect that would be necessary to carry out his idea.

He would just have to hope that Albus was also honourable enough not to abuse the power he was about to offer the man.

He knocked once to give Albus some warning, and then uttered the password and walked in.

He found the Headmaster -- now dressed in his usual robes -- standing by the fireplace, finishing up a conversation with Ron Weasley's father. The elder Weasley was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and one of several contacts Albus' maintained within the Ministry.

"...should expect the Aurors tomorrow, Albus," Mr Weasley was saying. "People have been frightened by this, and since Fudge can't protect them from You-Know-Who, he'll be looking to make himself a hero by 'protecting' them from War Mages."

"Yes," Albus agreed seriously, "I do see what you mean Arthur."

"I wish I could give you better news," Mr Weasley sighed.

"I would rather have your honest opinion," Albus told him candidly. "Especially since we may yet manage to salvage something of the situation."

"You have a plan?"

"Not as yet," Albus replied. "But I suspect our resident War Mage may have something up his sleeve. In fact, he's just arrived, so I had better go and find out what it is."

Mr Weasley's image seemed to shudder in the flames. "You and a War Mage plotting together -- what a terrifying idea!"

"Arthur!" The Headmaster objected in hurt tones, but the image of wounded dignity was ruined by the twinkle of laugher in his eyes. "Your confidence in my abilities is really quite flattering. I shall do my best to ensure it is not misplaced."

"I don't want to know," Mr Weasley stated. "Fred and George are still living at home -- and that's really all a man should havve to cope with at one time." The Headmaster laughed as Arthur signed off, and the fire returned to its normal state.

Harry momentarily felt himself grinning alongside Albus' laughter. It was sort of scary to contemplate the two of them plotting together. But then his smile faded as he remembered why they were plotting together.

His sober expression did not escape Albus' notice, and the Headmaster soon had them both seated over his favourite tea set. Surprisingly however, this was almost instantly followed up by the appearance of a coffee pot and a platter of sandwiches.

Harry's stomach rumbled embarrassingly. He had missed both breakfast and lunch. "How did you know?" he asked as Albus poured him a large cup of hot dark coffee, and then pushed the sandwiches in his direction.

"I do have some passing acquaintance with Xiomara's caffeine addiction," Albus replied with a smile, "and more than enough experience with Severus' habit of forgetting to eat when he's distracted by a potion or problem. I thought it might be best if you were not suffering from a withdrawal headache or hunger pangs while we are deciding what to do about this morning's little surprise in the newspaper."

Harry could only nod gratefully as he sipped his coffee and proceeded to demolish the plate of sandwiches.

While he was eating, Albus summarised the situation. First the Headmaster outlined what the article had stated, and then what it had implied. After that, he followed up with a list of the resulting problems. Albus' list was virtually identical to Harry's except for the part where Harry would no longer be able to predict what Voldemort was going to do. But then, Albus still didn't know about the Mirror, so that was only to be expected.

Harry wasn't surprised that Albus was taking the matter so seriously. The Headmaster already knew that 'Ash' intended to oppose Voldemort, and he'd obviously guessed that the elves' very public appearance yesterday meant that the circle might be willing to follow where their human colleague led. It was therefore every bit as important to Albus as it was to Harry that such a powerful group of potential allies was made to look as harmless as possible for the benefit of the public and the Dark Lord.

Harry was just finishing his coffee when Albus ended his analysis with the comment: "I'm curious to know how you originally planned to introduce your fellow mages to the wizarding world."

Harry blinked. "What makes you think I had a plan?" he asked. "I thought I told you about the circle's policy of non-interference."

Albus just looked at him.

"All right, all right," Harry grumbled, "yes, I had a plan -- and yes, I was fairly sure I could convince them to get involved. But it wasn't supposed to happen for a couple of years yet!"

"Originally," he explained, "I was going to allow the wizarding world to get used to the idea of War Mages by letting them get used to me first. And while they were getting used to me, I would've been teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to their children. Those kids would then have gone back to their parents and out into the world with first-hand knowledge of the fact that I'm not some invincible fighting demon, but only a man with a bit more ability and training."

"Hmm," Albus mused. "I suppose watching you play hopscotch and flying with Xiomara would've helped, but I don't think it would've been enough to overcome the entire problem."

Harry smirked. "Yes it would," he disagreed. "once you add in the fact that I intended to wait until you and the Aurors needed their help. By waiting for the right moment, I could've made the circle's existence look like a gift from the gods."

"Ah," Albus nodded, "Of course. And after that, you would've explained their reluctance to become involved in strictly human affairs. We would actually have had to ask for their help and then try to convince them to join us."

Harry grinned. "By the time the general population found out about the circle," he said, "the War Mages would already have an established history of friendship and support amongst the forces of Light -- as well as the kind of respect and trust that comes from surviving life-threatening battles together."

"Brilliant," Albus complimented him.

"And now shot completely to hell," Harry finished.

"But you have a new plan," Albus countered, "or we would not be sitting in my office on a Sunday afternoon calmly discussing might-have-beens."

Harry grimaced. "It's risky," he sighed, "and I don't know how effective it's going to be." He paused for a moment, before adding, "We're also going to need Professor Snape's help."

Albus merely raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I'm going to need Veritaserum," Harry admitted, "and someone to administer it."

----oo00oo----

The next morning Fudge and his entourage arrived almost before Harry had finished eating breakfast.

They arrogantly marched right up through the students and arrayed themselves in front of the high table. From Harry's seat next to Xiomara, he could see that at least one of the people accompanying Fudge was not an Auror. In fact, the man looked rather more like a reporter than anything else. Harry would've bet his last knut that this was the man who'd written yesterday's article for the Daily Prophet.

The rest of Fudge's people -- Aurors all -- were eying him with suspicion and thinly veiled hostility. Harry calmly ignored them and focused on Fudge.

"Cornelius!" Dumbledore exclaimed in apparent surprise. "What an unexpected pleasure! Would you care to join us for breakfast?"

The Minister -- who'd been trying to look stern and forbidding -- was momentarily confused. "Er... no... uh, thank you all the same."

"Are you sure? The kippers are particularly good today."

"What? No, no -- I..." and then Fudge paused and visibly pulled himself together. In a much more forceful tone, he said, "Now see here, Albus, I haven't come all the way from London at this ungodly hour of the morning just for breakfast! I'm here on a matter of national security!"

"National security! Dear me," Albus said, stroking his long beard. "And my morning was going to be taken up with that silly press conference. But for a matter of national security, I suppose I'd better cancel it."

"P-press conference?" Fudge stuttered.

"Oh yes," Albus confirmed. "Over a dozen reporters are all having breakfast in the staff common room as we speak. I'm afraid they're going to be terribly put out with me -- dragging them all the way up here and then cancelling. But if it's a matter of national security..."

Fudge was starting to look a bit nervous when the Auror beside him decided to speak up. "Headmaster Dumbledore," the man growled, "we're here in response to reports of an entire group of War Mages suddenly appearing on the school grounds. We have no information on who these people are, where they came from, how they got here, or what they were doing here. There are further reports of secret meetings being held for unknown reasons, and rumours of an entire army of War Mages gathering intelligence through their advance scout -- your current Dark Arts teacher."

Albus stared at the man in apparent surprise. Towards the end of the table, Harry launched the next step in their plan and burst out laughing. Every eye in the hall was drawn to him -- and his evident amusement suddenly made the Auror's litany of suspicion sound like the ravings of a lunatic.

While Harry continued to laugh -- along with quite a few others in the hall -- Albus simply sighed and said, "Well, it looks as though I won't have to cancel the press conference after all."

Now thoroughly confused, Fudge simply asked, "Why not?"

"Because," Albus replied, "that ridiculous rumour the Daily Prophet printed yesterday is why I called the press conference."

----oo00oo----

Shortly thereafter Harry found himself trailing along behind Albus and Fudge, surrounded by five Aurors who were trying to look as though they were holding him in custody, while at the same time being very careful not to lay a hand on him. It would have been laughable if it weren't so serious.

When they eventually arrived at the correct corridor, it was with some relief that Harry spied Severus waiting for them. In keeping with his new habit of avoiding the resident War Mage, Severus had been absent from breakfast this morning. However, Albus had assured Harry that the Potions Master was quite willing to supply and administer the veritaserum, and that he would be on hand when they needed him.

//As if he would've said 'no',// Harry thought sourly. //Sev's curiosity has got to be eating him alive.// In the Mirror, Sev' had occasionally remarked that anyone who willingly allowed themselves to be dosed with veritaserum was certifiably insane. "Everyone has something to hide," he'd cynically explained.

"What's that doing here?" one of the Aurors asked in a disgusted tone. He had an expression on his face as though he'd just swallowed something unpleasant. He was also pointing directly at Severus. Harry noted that the loud-mouthed Auror was the same man he'd laughed at in the dining hall. Harry felt his eyes narrow slightly as he took careful note of the man's face. There were fanatics among the Aurors who would cheerfully murder Severus because of his past. Harry intended to make sure that none of them were ever in a position to get the chance.

"That would be Professor Snape," Albus replied with the merest hint of steel in his voice, "who -- unlike you -- was actually invited here this morning." Harry practically had to bite his tongue to keep from smirking as Albus verbally slapped the obnoxious Auror in the face.

"Now now, Albus," Fudge soothed -- trying to placate the man who would be addressing a dozen reporters in a few minutes, "I'm sure Auror Whitcombe didn't mean anything by it. You are perfectly entitled to have anyone you like at your press conference. It's simply that it seems a bit strange inviting a Potions professor to such a function. That's all he meant."

A memory nudged Harry's thoughts. //Whitcombe...// he pondered. //Now where have I heard that name before?//

"Yes," Whitcombe was saying in a snide tone, "a... Potions professor... hardly seems necessary. Why, the next thing you know we'll be inviting Death Eaters along so that You-Know-Who can find out all about the War Mage army. But I suppose that won't be necessary if you've kept in touch with all your old comrades, eh Professor?"

Fudge looked as though he wanted to kick Auror 'Loudmouth' Whitcombe. Harry knew he certainly did. But it was Albus' reaction that ultimately drew his attention. The Headmaster's eyes flicked briefly in Sev's direction, before coming to settle on Harry's face with a look of mild concern. Confused, Harry looked back towards the Potions Master, only to be greeted by a blank mask that gave absolutely nothing away.

For such an obnoxious pest, Whitcombe was surprisingly perceptive.

"Oh," the Auror said with casual malice as he turned towards Harry, "didn't they tell you, War Mage? Well, I suppose they wouldn't after what you did to that last one. Professor Snape is a former Death Eater -- and he even has the Dark Mark to prove it!"

"Whitcombe!" Fudge shouted. "What's wrong with you, man?! Are you trying to get yourself thrown --"

Harry tuned him out. Fudge's need to find better bootlickers wasn't his problem. His problem was the dark haired Potions Master standing just beyond Fudge's angry features, awaiting Harry's acceptance or condemnation with no attempt to defend or justify Whitcombe's spiteful denunciation.

With a tiny shock, Harry realised that this was what Albus had been trying to tell him last Friday night. This was what 'Ash' would not know, but that 'Harry' had known for years.

Severus Snape had once been a Death Eater and still bore the Dark Mark on his left arm.

//Well no bloody wonder he's been dithering around!// Harry thought dazedly. //So far as he knows, the last time I encountered wizards with the Dark Mark, I killed one of them!// Harry felt such a fool. To him, the Dark Mark was so much a part of Severus that he couldn't imagine not knowing it was there.

Which was precisely why he'd been unable to come up with Albus' mystery question last Friday night.

Suddenly Whitcombe's voice jolted Harry back to reality.

"-- should be in Azkaban! Everybody knows it!" Whitcombe was screaming. "Just because he escaped justice eighteen years ago --"

//Ah. Escaped.// Harry suddenly remembered where he'd heard the name Whitcombe before. Wallace Whitcombe -- Whitcombe, Wallace -- the Auror who'd once been known as 'Witless Wally'.

In the Mirror, Wallace Whitcombe had been an excellent Auror with a fanatical hatred of Death Eaters. It had been that hatred -- and therefore his potential threat to Severus -- that had originally brought the man's name to Harry's attention, even though they'd never actually met.

"What in Merlin's name is going on out here!?"

Whitcombe and Fudge were both startled into silence as the staffroom door was flung open. Standing in the entrance was Deveroe Quillpen -- the top British newshound for Wizarding World Today. The man blinked as he noted the presence of the Headmaster, the Minister for Magic, War Mage Ash, five Aurors, a Potions Master, and...

With a huge smirk, Quillpen said, "Hello there Edward. I didn't know you were invited. But then, I suppose it's only fair after the drivel your lot printed in yesterday's rag. Got to make up for it somehow, eh?"

The Daily Prophet reporter -- whose name was apparently 'Edward' -- started to puff up with indignation, but was cut off as Albus decided to take control of the situation. There were several curious faces in the doorway now, and the last thing anybody needed was a press conference in the halls on Monday morning.

"Good morning Mr Quillpen," the Headmaster smiled as he stepped forward. "I do hope you enjoyed breakfast. I know it was small recompense for dragging you all this way on such short notice."

"Oh, yes," Quillpen agreed -- eyes now fixed firmly on the Minister and Whitcombe. As he studied the tableau before him, Deveroe absently added, "The kippers were excellent."

Noting that Albus now had the situation well in hand, Harry allowed himself to concentrate on Severus. Silently, he turned and deliberately locked eyes with the Potions Master. Severus, of course, hadn't taken his eyes off Harry. While Whitcombe might be more vocal, it was War Mage Ash who was far more dangerous, and who -- so far as Severus knew -- had just received a nasty shock.

Harry allowed his face to soften into a friendly half-smile, and was rewarded with a surprised blink, followed by an almost imperceptible lessening of the tension in Sev's shoulders. But best of all, the opaque quality disappeared from his eyes, and the man himself was once more present behind the almost expressionless face.

But Harry wasn't finished yet.

Without moving, he flicked his eyes over to Whitcombe and allowed a truly evil grin to momentarily overtake his face. Then he looked back at Sev and raised an eyebrow as if to say 'I've got an idea -- wanna play?'

The corner of Sev's lips twitched. 'Maybe,' they told him. 'Show me your idea first.'

Calmly, Harry turned back to Albus. The Headmaster was presently suggesting that everyone move back from the doorway to allow the Minister and the Aurors to enter. "Headmaster," Harry interrupted apologetically. "I'm afraid that I must object to Auror Wallace Whitcombe's presence here today."

"Witless Wally's here?" a voice asked from behind the sea of faces surrounding Deveroe Quillpen. Whitcombe turned purple and did an impressive impersonation of a thundercloud.

Ignoring the anonymous question, Albus turned an amused but questioning glance on his Dark Arts teacher. "For what reason, Professor Ash?" he asked politely.

"Auror Whitcombe seems to have a problem with Professor Snape's presence," Harry replied. Someone in the crowd of reporters snickered. "Since the Professor is going to be dosing me with veritaserum in a few minutes, and as he will also be monitoring my health throughout the interview, you will understand that I would prefer he not be distracted by... um..." Harry allowed the sentence to trail off, knowing that most people would fill in the blank with some variation of 'a nutcase with a grudge'.

Whereas 'Auror Whitcombe' might not be too well known, 'Witless Wally' was a little slice of history to the old hands in the newspaper game. As an arrogant, overconfident, and pushy junior Auror, Whitcombe had once been given the relatively easy job of escorting an equally young Death Eater from his holding cell to an interrogation room. Somehow, in the short distance between the cell and the room, the Death Eater had escaped. Whitcombe had subsequently been found sitting on the floor of the holding cell mumbling to himself and trying to poke his wand up his nose.

The spell used on Whitcombe had left him in a state of partial mental shutdown for nearly two weeks. When he was finally cured and returned to work, he'd been heckled as 'Witless Wally' -- a nickname he'd earned for being an arrrogant jerk as much as for screwing up such a simple job so spectacularly. Ever since then, he'd despised all Death Eaters with a passion -- particularly those he felt had 'escaped' their due punishment.

And Fudge wanted to bring this man into the same room as Severus Snape?

"Hmm," Albus nodded. "You do have a point. I myself would not wish to be under the care of someone whose attention was not wholly focused on my well-being."

Which was the exact moment when the word 'veritaserum' finally sank into Fudge's brain. "You... you're really going to take v-veritaserum?" the Minister stammered. If the War Mage was that confident, then he could be in big trouble here. Some serious face-saving might be in order.

"Well," Harry replied, "I couldn't think of any other way to convince everyone that a visit by two old friends wasn't a prelude to invasion."

"Two..?!" Fudge exclaimed. "But... but the paper said..."

Harry just smiled at him.

Someone in the staff lounge laughed.

"Perhaps," Harry suggested after a moment, "I shouldn't speak for Professor Snape." And he turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at the Potions Master.

Unseen by those behind him, Harry's eyes glinted evilly. 'Your turn,' he silently offered.

Coolly, the Potions Master regarded Whitcombe. He eyed the man as though he belonged to a species of vermin that required dissection before it could lead a useful existence as potion ingredients.

Whitcombe flushed, and Harry almost laughed aloud as the Minister for Magic himself unobtrusively stepped on the Auror's foot. "Ah, no," Fudge said before Severus could say a word. "I'm sure there's no need. Tricky substance, veritaserum. Even the thought of a distraction... Whitcombe, I'm sure you see how it is. You don't mind, do you? Of course not. Just go and wait outside, eh? Jamieson, why don't you keep him company? Better yet, why don't you both go and enjoy a butterbeer in Hogsmeade? On me, all right? No telling how long we'll be. No sense in making you hang about."

Fudge was practically babbling. He was also pushing Whitcombe and the youngest of the Aurors off down the hallway. Once they were both moving, he simply let go of them, and their momentum seemed to carry them forwards.

Whitcombe looked like he was going to explode, but the younger Auror was actively pulling on his arm by the time they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Smiling and subtly wiping his hands on his jacket, Fudge sauntered back. "Right then," he said brightly, "what's all this nonsense about an army of War Mages?"

----oo00oo----

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sitting on a chair in the middle of the staff lounge with a semi-circle of witches and wizards all staring at him.

//I must be insane,// he thought to himself -- a sentiment that was reflected in Sev's expression as he approached with a small bottle of liquid and a tiny measuring cup.

They'd already been through the 'How do we know that's really veritaserum?' question. Severus had simply asked for a volunteer to test it. Strangely enough, Deveroe Quillpen had even thought to bring his own volunteer -- a young wizard who worked in the copy room at the newspaper. The fact that Quillpen had known veritaserum was going to be used this morning came as no surprise to anyone but Fudge and his group. Albus had used the promise of a War Mage under the influence to lure them all up there overnight.

Severus had then watered down the drug and administered only enough to last a few minutes. The lad's subsequent honesty and minor embarrassment were enough to convince everyone that the veritaserum was genuine.

And now it was War Mage Ash's turn.

After ascertaining Harry's weight, what he had consumed for breakfast, and whether he had any known allergies, Severus carefully measured out a small quantity of concentrated veritaserum and passed him the cup.

Trying to look confident, Harry offered up a silent prayer to any god who might be listening... and drank.

Then they all waited.

----oo00oo----

//The human mind is an amazingly complex thing,// Harry thought while the veritaserum worked its way into his system.

Well actually, it had probably taken effect almost immediately. They were now waiting to see whether he was going to have an adverse reaction to it.

Wholly aside from the fact that some people were violently allergic to veritaserum, it was also a tricky drug to administer if you didn't know what you were doing. It worked by impairing the brain's ability to process thought and memory before engaging speech. Thus, what came out of someone's mouth came directly from their honest personal opinion or recollection of an event. The point at which such things could be twisted or altered was bypassed entirely.

In low dosages, Veritaserum was useless because it only forced someone to tell the truth if they chose to answer the question. However, too high a dose was just as bad, since it then impaired a person's ability to discriminate between what was relevant to the question and what was pointless trivia. In extreme cases of overdose, people had been known to tell the truth about everything they'd ever done simply because they believed everything was relevant to the question in some obscure way. Not surprisingly, significant psychological trauma was generally associated with such instances.

Somewhere in the middle lay the ideal, whereby a person would be forced to answer any question that was asked, but would still have enough control so as not to run off on useless tangents. It was that tiny bit of control that meant Harry would actually be capable of thinking about a question before answering it.

And that was really all he needed.

Briefly, Harry's thoughts flicked back to his time as an apprentice War Mage. In the beginning, his lessons on dealing with truth drugs and interrogation spells had been more like a course in philosophy than anything else.

The first thing he'd learned was that he should always consider the nature of the question that was being asked. For instance, if someone were to ask 'Where's your command centre?', Harry first had to decide whether they were asking what country it was in, what its address was, or whether 'two doors up from the post office' would be sufficient information. But of course, a reply like 'Britain' or 'Europe' would only make an enemy phrase their questions more carefully.

So with a question like that, the correct thing to do was to ask yourself 'Which command centre?'. If the interrogator didn't actually specify which one, then Harry was quite free to rattle off the location of any command centre he could legitimately regard as being 'his'. As a British citizen, Harry knew of quite a few such centres scattered around the world -- particularly those left over from muggle World War II. After all, it wasn't like anyone had specified a command centre that was still in use.

The next thing Harry learned was that being asked a question did not mean you had to provide a comprehensible answer. By definition, mages could think in concepts that were completely foreign to their own species. This meant that if Voldemort were to ask him how to undo the spell he'd placed on the Gringotts' Foundation Stones, then he would have to give at least part of his answer in goblin. English simply didn't have words to describe the goblin components of the spell.

Actually, Harry could theoretically supply every answer in various language combinations if he chose. But doing something like that generally caused your enemy to up the dosage of drug, or to strengthen whichever spell was being used against you. This reduced your ability to think about how best to answer a question, and generally caused you to lapse into your native tongue anyway.

The best idea was to stick with a language your captors understood and simply provide the most accurate translation you could manage. It was still a truthful answer -- just not a useful one. But then, the correct answer in goblin wouldn't have been useful either, so there was no conflict.

After that, Harry's instructors taught him that 'truth' was actually very hard to pin down. An awful lot depended on your personal beliefs and the assumptions you made about the nature of reality. For instance, if someone were to ask him 'How powerful are you?", he could honestly say that he wasn't very powerful at all. He could also say he was extremely powerful. Both answers were true, depending on your point of view. Compared to a volcanic eruption, he wasn't very powerful. But compared to a mouse, he might as well be a god.

But whichever answer he gave, Harry was not responsible for the assumptions an enemy might make based upon what they thought he was saying.

And therein lay the art of answering questions under Veritaserum.

The final part of Harry's training on this topic had simply been practice -- and of course, incorporating quick-time into the whole process. Interrogation potions and spells were supposed to loosen a prisoner's tongue. If you took your time thinking about how to answer a question, then your enemy would know something was wrong. By dropping in and out of quick-time, Harry could consider his answer without any discernable pause between the question and his reply.

By the end of it all, Harry had gained considerable experience with being drugged and spelled.

And yet...

Too much Veritaserum, or a question phrased too precisely, or even just a moment of stupidity on Harry's part -- and disaster would follow. Nobody submitted themselves to a drug like Veritaserum without risk.

Harry knew he was playing with fire the moment he'd mentioned the potion to Albus -- but he hadn't been able to think of any other way to convince the wizarding world of the 'truth' he needed them to believe.

Harry was abruptly pulled from his internal reverie when Severus leaned down and placed his fingers over Harry's wrist.

The Potions Master was checking his pulse.

Harry was well aware that his heart rate was a bit on the high side -- and not all of it was due to the stress of knowing he was about to be questioned under Veritaserum.

This was the first time since Harry had emerged from the Mirror that Sev' had actually laid hands on him.

Touched him.

Even without the Veritaserum, his pulse would've been fast.

"Focus on my hand," Sev ordered, and Harry dutifully watched Sev's hand move back and forth while the Potions Master checked the whites of his eyes and the dilation of his pupils.

When Severus was finally satisfied, he stepped back and said, "Your pulse is a little fast, but not dangerously so. If you feel any dizziness, numbness, tingling, itching, or tightness in your chest -- say so immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," Harry replied automatically, and there was a slight rustle as the gathered reporters noted the speed and directness of his reply.

Sev' moved off to one side and sat down in a position where he could monitor 'Ash' for any sign that he was having a bad reaction to the veritaserum. Harry was counting on Sev's presence as his last line of defence if the interview started to turn sour. While Harry couldn't lie -- and didn't want to look like he had something to hide by answering in another language -- he was quite capable of faking a slight tremor in his hands, or of limiting his breathing until he really did feel dizzy. At that point Sev' would step in and bring things to a halt. Whether the Potions Master figured out that Harry was faking it was of no consequence, since by then he would be in the Hospital Wing and safely away from public scrutiny.

As soon as Professor Snape was seated, Albus stepped up and drew his wand with a theatrical flourish. There was minor confusion behind the Headmaster as he pointed his wand at Harry and said "Auris Silencio Ego Exceptum".

"Hey!" "You can't do that!" "What's going on here?!" A number of outraged and angry voices clamoured from the watching group of reporters.

But Harry heard none of it.

Indeed, all he would be able to hear until Albus removed the spell, was the Headmaster's voice.

Harry risked a glance in Severus' direction and saw a combination of surprise and admiration for the unorthodox spell Albus had just used.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the Headmaster announced, "for those who might not have recognised the spell I just cast, I will explain." Harry could see people shifting restlessly, but he heard nothing until Albus continued. "Auris Silencio is a spell which renders its target completely deaf. However, I have added an exception to the spell whereby Professor Ash will still be able to hear my voice."

Harry saw several angry looks at this announcement, but could only imagine the outraged comments that were being thrown around the room.

This then, was the power Harry had freely handed over to the old wizard -- the ability to ask 'Ash' any question at all and be assured that he would be forced to answer -- and answer honestly. Harry was under no illusions about the precision of the questions someone like Albus Dumbledore would ask. He was a master of misdirection and relative truths himself. Harry was placing enormous faith in Albus' integrity, for if the Headmaster asked even part of what he must privately suspect, it would be a disaster that spelled the end of several of Harry's hopes and plans.

Finally, Albus was able to get his audience to calm down so that he could continue.

"No," Harry heard him say in response to someone's comment, "I do not consider this to be either a cheat or a sham, since I have not done this for Professor Ash's protection. Indeed, War Mage Ash does not require such protection! Rather, I have done this for the protection of his family, his friends, and his privacy."

There were a few startled looks.

"Consider if you will," Albus told them, "the fact that a War Mage -- any War Mage -- must inevitably acquire enemies." Albus then looked sternly at the massed group of reporters over the top of his glasses. "For instance, you are all well aware of the Professor's dislike for Voldemort." And Harry saw most of the people in the room flinch at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. "A single careless question," Albus told them, "and you could easily be responsible for the death or kidnapping of any member of the Professor's family."

The Headmaster gave them a second or two to absorb that, and then added, "There is also the question of his privacy. How many of you would have asked for Professor Ash's private name?" Several reporters looked away in embarrassment. "And you would have done that," Albus chided them, "in spite of the fact that historical records -- which I'm certain you've all examined -- clearly indicate that it's the height of insult to use that name without the Mage's express permission."

"If there are those among you," Albus continued, "who are prepared to ask such a question, then what else might you be prepared to ask? His most embarrassing moment? His most terrible failure? His first date? His shoe size? Where would you stop?"

Several people were now fidgeting and looking at the floor. Harry had always been amazed by Albus' ability to turn grown men and women back into naughty children who'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"And finally," Albus concluded, "I cast the spell in order to prevent Professor Ash from going insane while trying to remember and answer a dozen different questions at once."

Most of the reporters looked startled again. They obviously hadn't thought of that.

"Remember," Albus warned, "that War Mage Ash has voluntarily taken veritaserum. He will be compelled to answer every question he is asked, regardless of how many are asked at one time." Then, with a hint of amusement, the Headmaster added, "I think you will find that this is the reason veritaserum has never been used at a press conference before -- and also why our courtrooms are spelled so that participants cannot hear anyone sitting in the public galleries."

There was a general nodding of heads, and Harry could tell that although they didn't like it, the crowd of reporters had pretty much accepted the need for what Albus had done.

"So," Albus stated, "without further ado, let us begin, shall we?"

----oo00oo----

Under Albus' direction, they first established a few basics facts.

Harry stated that 'Ash' was most definitely his name -- although not his entire name -- and that he really was a War Mage and was presently employed as the Hogwarts DADA teacher. He also assured everyone that he was -- so far as he knew -- 100% human.

The act of answering felt very peculiar to Harry, and something of the sensation must have shown on his face.

"All right there, my boy?" Albus asked him quietly.

"I'm fine, Albus," he answered. "It's just a bit strange not being able to hear my own voice."

"Oops," Albus murmured. "Sorry about that." Then he frowned a little. "I could probably come up with something..."

"No," Harry replied. "Don't bother -- it's not that important."

And so they continued.

Albus thought the next question bordered on personal, so instead of asking he simply stated, "They would like to know where you were born and how old you are." Harry considered that. They were essentially trying to find out who he was by narrowing down the time and location of his birth. He decided to answer the question anyway, and voluntarily stated that he was 29 -- which he was in his own mind -- and that he'd been born and raised in Britain. Then he added that if any of them thought his accent was Scottish or Welsh, they should probably have their hearing checked.

Harry noted the amused looks and wondered whether anybody had actually laughed aloud.

After that, they started in on the serious questions.

"How many War Mages are there?" Albus relayed.

"I don't know." //Although,// Harry thought, //I could probably make a reasonably accurate guess. Too bad nobody asked for one.//

"Why don't you know?"

"The circle of War Mages doesn't keep membership records. I've also been absent from the circle for a while, so new mages may have been Accepted in my absence, just as existing mages may have been killed." In a slightly sad tone, Harry added, "Being a War Mage doesn't make us immortal, you know."

There was some debate over what the next question should be. Eventually Albus asked, "You mentioned the 'circle of War Mages' -- is this a military organisation?"

And here Harry had to be careful. "Yes and no," he replied. "Yes, it's a military organisation in that we learn about military strategy, tactics, weapons, and magic. We are War Mages after all. But no, it's not a military organisation in the sense that we don't have a military structure. There are no privates, captains, or generals, and although we do sometimes work together, there's no formalised chain of command and nobody who's 'in charge' of anybody else."

This answer caused a bit of debate. Minister Fudge in particular, seemed to be having some difficulty with the concept of nobody being 'in charge'. Eventually, Albus simply turned to Harry and said, "In general terms, how does the circle of War Mages work?"

"Basically," Harry replied. "We have an apprentice system. When someone with War Mage potential is discovered, the mage who found them becomes responsible for their education. If this person can't fulfil that obligation -- say for instance, they already have an apprentice, or if they think someone else would better fulfil this duty -- then they'll hand the trainee over to another War Mage. Eventually, someone will accept the new mage as their apprentice, and that person becomes the mage-in-training's Course Guide."

"A Course Guide," Harry continued, "is responsible for the entirety of their apprentice's training up until they're Accepted as a full War Mage, or until they decide they don't want to be a War Mage at all. However, it's very unusual for a Course Guide to do much of the actual teaching. That's because every mage has different abilities. It would be just too bad if you had an affinity for elven magic and your Course Guide didn't. Then too, the best person to learn elven magic from is an elf. So what tends to happen is that an apprentice will be sent to a variety of teachers to find out whether they have any ability in a range of different magics. Then they'll get further education in the magics for which they show an aptitude."

Harry's audience showed surprise at this information, but Harry wasn't quite finished yet. "The same system," he added, "also applies to all non-magical studies. When we learn hand-to-hand fighting, we learn it from whoever our Course Guide thinks would be the best one to teach us. In some cases that may be the Course Guide themselves, but most of the time it isn't. The real job of a Course Guide is to make sure their apprentice has the opportunity to learn as many different kinds of magic as they're capable of performing, and to ensure that they're proficient in all the non-magical studies that are required of a full War Mage. So a Course Guide essentially oversees an apprentice's entire course of study."

"At the same time," Harry concluded, "a Course Guide may also have several 'students' who've been sent to them from other Course Guides. This is especially true if the War Mage is known to be particularly skilled at something. Mostly, they'll take on students while their own apprentice is away studying with someone else."

"So you have no standardised program at all?" Albus asked curiously. As the Headmaster of a school himself, his professional interest had obviously been aroused.

"Not in theory," Harry answered. "But in practice there are a number of core skills that have to be mastered before you'll be Accepted. Everybody does tactics and strategy for example -- whether they have an aptitude for it or not. In the end though, it's up to your Course Guide to decide when you're ready to be tested. At that point, they'll pick out three War Mages who haven't had anything to do with your previous training, and ask them to test you." Harry smiled wryly and added, "Of course they don't tell you you're being tested. You just happen to fall into some of the worst situations you can imagine. It's a common joke among apprentices that if you're having an abysmally bad run of luck, then you're probably being tested."

"In the end," Harry finished, "you'll only be Accepted if those three different War Mages all agree that you're good enough to stand beside them when the shit hits the fan and curses are falling all around you like rain."

The faces staring at Harry had taken on something of a stunned expression.

"So," the Headmaster asked after a little pause, "there's no War Mage army?"

"No," Harry replied succinctly, "and I sincerely doubt there ever will be since no two War Mages have ever had exactly the same skills and abilities. In fact, you couldn't even get us to march in step! Can you honestly imagine an elf striding along beside a dwarf? The dwarf would need three steps for every elven one! And worse, what about a canis who has four feet? Or a naga who doesn't have any?" Suddenly, Harry laughed. "And don't even get me started on uniforms! You can't get an elf to wear anything that doesn't look like a forest, while the Kyrii hardly wear anything at all!" Ruefully, Harry added, "I'm afraid the circle of War Mages is far too diverse and individual to ever form something as structured as an army."

Of course, what Harry wasn't telling them was that War Mages didn't need to form an army. What they were when they worked together was so far outside human understanding that there wasn't even a word for it.

War Mages working in concert maintained an underlying mental link with each other that allowed them to be subconsciously aware of what every other mage in the link was doing. If someone died, or for some other reason couldn't complete their part of a planned assault, then the other mages were aware of it and could work around the loss, or alter the plan to account for it. Similarly, if one of them discovered an unexpected advantage during battle, then the others were instantly conscious of the fact, and the whole group could move to take advantage of it. In effect, linked War Mages functioned as separate self-aware beings and as a single subconscious mind. That kind of cohesive individuality took quite a bit of getting used to, and was one more reason why Harry would need to be Accepted before he could work efficiently with others from the circle.

After a little more debate, which Harry couldn't hear, Albus eventually asked, "If a person or group wanted to deal with the entire circle of War Mages, how would they do it?"

Now that was a very intelligent question. Harry almost smiled as he silently admired the way someone had managed to ask if there was a person or group that wasn't actually in command, but that all the War Mages would nonetheless listen to. With a little bit of care, this was the perfect opening for Harry to lead his questioners to a very important bit of information that he desperately wanted the wizarding world to have.

"They would approach the council," he replied. //And now that you know about the council,// Harry thought with satisfaction, //one of you had better have enough brains to ask whether it sets any circle-wide policies.//

There was a lot of confusion and shuffling. Fudge was practically bouncing in his seat, and Harry could only imagine him going on and on about knowing somebody had to be in charge after all. It wasn't long before Albus asked him, "How can there be a council when you told us there was nobody in charge of the War Mage circle?"

"The council is not a governing body," Harry easily replied. "Its purpose is to advise members of the circle about things they should know. It's also responsible for storing any information or equipment that should be commonly available, and acts as a point of contact for anyone who wants to deal with the circle as a whole. The council is more for administration than anything else, although it does make recommendations from time to time. Circle policy and rules are voted in by a majority decision from the members themselves."

Deveroe Quillpen practically pounced on Albus to provide the next question.

Albus turned to Harry and asked, "Do the War Mages generally go along with recommendations from the council?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "It's very unusual for the circle to make a decision that the council doesn't approve of."

"Then," Albus said with a slight frown, "even though they're not a governing body in name, isn't the council effectively the ruling authority for the circle?"

Harry could have kissed him. This was the perfect opening. "No," he replied. "And the reason for that is that the council in no way, shape, or form enforces the circle's policies on any War Mage. If it did, I would not be sitting here now."

"What do you mean?"

Harry smiled wryly. "I told you that I've been absent from the circle for a while. One of the reasons I'm teaching at Hogwarts is that I didn't feel I could be intimately involved with the circle while it still maintained a policy of non-interference in human affairs."

The surrounding wizards and witches looked stunned again. Quick to emphasize that information, Albus asked, "Are you saying that the War Mages will not involve themselves in any conflict with the wizarding world?"

Harry frowned, although inwardly he was cheering. "I can't say what the circle might or might not do in the future. I'm not a seer. What I'm saying is that the policy of non-interference -- which was in effect long before I joined the circle -- has so far discouraged members from involving themselves with the wizarding and muggle world in any way, shape, or form. That means that so long as the policy is in place, they won't start a conflict, won't move to end a conflict, and certainly won't participate in one -- even if you ask them to."

And that was the information Harry wanted to get out to the wizarding world. He wanted the public to know that they were safe from rampaging hordes of invading War Mages, while at the same time allowing them -- and Voldemort -- to believe that there would be no help for either side in any wars that humans started amongst themselves.

Harry could see from the expression on one or two faces that the concept of War Mages as allies had only just occurred to some people.

Albus asked another question. "Do you think it might be possible to gain War Mage assistance in our attempt to defeat Voldemort?" Harry could practically see everyone wishing Albus would stop saying that name.

"You already have War Mage assistance," Harry replied. "As I said before, I don't agree with the non-interference policy. However, if you mean War Mages other than myself, then I think it would be highly unlikely while the non-interference policy is in effect. And by the way, it's been in effect for at least a couple of centuries now." What Harry didn't say was that the policy would be scrapped very shortly, if it hadn't been already. Instead -- and just to rub it in -- Harry looked directly at Edward the Daily Prophet reporter and added, "That article in yesterday's paper certainly didn't help. The only message that sent to the circle was one of mistrust and paranoia."

Edward shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

One of the Aurors posed a question. Albus looked a little dubious about it, but passed it along anyway. "You said you would assist in the fight against Voldemort. Are you, or have you ever been in league with him -- or would you consider joining him for any reason at some point in the future?"

Harry made an effort to remain calm. It would not do to let anyone to see how much that question offended him. A generalised and distant hatred of Voldemort could be overcome using many different spells and potions. A specific and deep-seated personal abhorrence would be harder to deal with. Harry didn't want to give Voldemort any reason to think Sev' might have trouble gaining control over him. Carefully, he replied, "I have never been in league with Voldemort. As for the rest of it -- not long ago, one of his Death Eaters asked me much the same question. My answer was the same then as it would be today. I told him to sod off. As I've said before, I'm not a seer -- so I don't know what the future holds. But what I can say is that I cannot imagine a situation or circumstance wherein I would ever agree to work with him or for him."

Albus passed along another question: "Will you be working with the Ministry on the Voldemort problem?"

//The Voldemort 'problem'?// Harry thought incredulously. //Someone just made the most powerful and evil wizard since Grindelwald sound like an infestation of rats!// But aloud, he merely replied, "No I will not. For now, I'm committed to teaching a full year here at Hogwarts -- and besides, the Ministry hasn't asked for my help. I'm not an Auror and I don't think they'd know what to do with someone like me anymore than I'd know how to work in with their methods and procedures." The Aurors in the audience were looking somewhat relieved to hear it. "And besides," Harry continued, "as you all know I've only recently returned home, so I'm not yet as familiar with things as I should be. At this point, I expect I'd be more likely to botch up a Ministry operation than be of any real assistance." All of which was true, but didn't include the rest of Harry's reason -- that he had his own plans to work on over the coming year and no time to be bothered with the Ministry or its Aurors. However, the Aurors in the audience were nodding sagely in agreement and looking quite pleased with the War Mage's modest assessment of his own abilities.

Harry was severely tempted to laugh at them.

After that, the rest of the interview was not quite so fraught with tension and suspicion. The War Mage circle was now accepted as a loosely associated group of people with no particular relevance to the wizarding or muggle world. They were obviously not a 'proper' organisation at all, being little more than a social club with a haphazard system of education and no defined standards for professional membership. Why some of them were very likely not much better than an ordinary wizard or witch!

For the next hour and a half, Harry fielded several questions of varying importance. He explained that his elven visitors had been his Course Guide and an old friend from the circle. The third elf had simply been his friend's current student. They'd come to visit because they hadn't known where he was since he'd left the circle and they wanted to catch up with him.

Again, this was the complete truth since Ly’haniir and Silver hadn't known he existed -- let alone where he was -- from the moment he'd stepped out of the Mirror. And nobody could deny that they'd definitely wanted to talk to him once they found out where -- and who -- he was. It was made all the more plausible since the three elves hadn't made any attempt to hide their presence.

Harry also explained that the 'secret meetings' had in fact simply been three old friends discussing such things as how War Mage Silver earned her Name, and what Ash had been up to since he'd rejoined the wizarding world.

Again, all completely true and entirely misleading.

The only question of any real interest after that, was the one where a reporter wanted to know why Ash was the only War Mage to defy the circle's non-interference policy.

"I can't tell you what anyone else is thinking," Harry had replied. "But I can tell you that as far as I know I'm currently the only human War Mage in existence. I'll let you draw your own conclusions from that." Which cemented the idea in a number of minds that the circle of War Mages really didn't care about the wizarding world.

----oo00oo----

It was well past mid-morning by the time the veritaserum wore off and the interview broke up. Albus cancelled the Auris Silencio spell, and Fudge -- who was offering every reporter in sight the chance to interview him too -- finally made himself useful by proposing a free round of drinks back in Hogsmeade.

A few minutes later Albus, Harry, and Severus were the only ones left in the silent staff lounge.

"Thank Merlin that's over," Albus sighed. "This sort of thing is always so exhausting."

Harry knew exactly what the Headmaster meant. He was practically reeling on his chair, and he felt like he'd just survived an all-out assault -- one where someone had managed to hit him with a headache hex. After such a long time with no sound but Albus' voice, even the quietest background noise now seemed loud to Harry's ears.

"My dear fellow-Professors," Albus said tiredly, "please feel free to take the rest of the morning off. I've arranged for your classes to be covered until after lunch." And with that, he turned and left Harry and Severus alone.

Alone.

Together.

For the first time since Harry had propositioned the man.

Too tired to engage in verbal sparring, Harry looked over at Sev' and simply said, "I know about your past Professor. And I know what I would see if you were to roll up the shirtsleeve covering your left arm. Are you going to continue avoiding me?"

Severus -- who had not spent the last couple of hours being grilled by a bunch of reporters -- looked back at Harry with something that might almost have been sympathy. "Do you really wish to discuss this now?" he asked in a neutral tone. "From your appearance, I would hazard a guess that you're hardly capable of coherent conversation at the moment."

Harry gave him a weak smile. "I just need to know that now isn't the last chance I'm ever going to get to talk to you."

There was a moment's hesitation before Sev' quietly replied, "It won't be."

"Thank-you," Harry acknowledged gratefully.

Severus snorted. "I haven't agreed to anything you realise."

Harry laughed. "Of course," he replied fondly. Then he leaned forwards and pushed himself up off the chair. He wobbled a bit before steadying himself.

"Do you require assistance?"

"Only if you're heading back to our corridor," Harry replied. "I think I'll grab a couple of hours sleep before I have to face my classes this afternoon."

"It... would not be out of my way," Sev' replied, and then slipped a steadying hand under Harry's left arm.

Somewhat suspiciously Harry asked, "Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?"

"Perhaps I enjoy conversing with you while you're too exhausted to guard your tongue."

"The Veritaserum’s worn off, Professor."

"Then," Severus replied in an odd tone, "perhaps this morning's events have simply reminded me of someone else in your situation -- someone who was not offered such assistance when they had need of it."

//Someone like you during the Death Eater Trials,// Harry thought sadly.

As they made their way towards the door, Harry suddenly said, "You do realise I knew, don't you? I mean, before Whitcombe told me. Even before I found your potions book, actually."

Severus didn't look surprised. "I... thought it likely. But I couldn't be certain." They were in the hallway before he finally added, "Who told you?"

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Draco too, come to think of it."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes." Then Harry added, "He isn't going around telling people if you're worried. It's... umm... Draco and I talk from time to time... and somewhere along the line he realised I knew."

Severus was silent, and Harry wondered what he was thinking. At length, the taller man said, "Draco has needed someone to talk to for quite some time. I am his Head-of-House, but for various reasons I cannot fulfil that particular need. I'm... pleased... that it seems you can."

They spent the rest of the walk back to Harry's quarters in silence. It wasn't until they reached the door that Severus hesitantly asked, "What... precisely... did Draco say about me?"

Closing the door behind them, Harry decided to give Sev' the most honest answer he's given anyone so far today. "He said that you were -- and still are -- one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, and that you're currently under orders to seduce me and deliver me to Voldemort."

Severus was standing stock still in the entryway behind him. After a second or two, he relaxed and moved further into the living room. "You don't believe him," Severus said.

"Albus trusts you," Harry replied. "That alone tells me you aren't a Death Eater -- or at least that you aren't one anymore. I personally believe you're Albus' spy, so it makes sense that Lucius Malfoy's son would think you were still loyal to Voldemort."

There was a little silence. "And the orders for your seduction?"

"Oh," Harry said casually, "that's real enough. Draco has been instructed to watch both of us for signs of a developing 'friendship'."

"And the fact that I would have no choice in the matter doesn't bother you," Severus said in a flat tone.

"It would," Harry replied, "except for the fact that you will have a choice because I'm offering to pretend to be your lover -- even if you decide not to turn that deception into reality."

"You... Why would you do that?" Severus asked in confusion.

Amused, Harry said, "I told you -- I'm tired of notches. I want the real thing, and I want it to last." Then Harry paused for a moment before adding, "But I will admit, the thought of stringing you along did cross my mind."

Severus gave him a considering look. "What brought about the sudden change of heart?"

"One," Harry ticked off on his fingers, "I'm tired -- and as you observed earlier, I'm probably not thinking very well." The corner of Severus' mouth twitched upwards in amusement. "Two," Harry continued, "after due consideration, I do believe I'd be royally pissed if someone did that to me. And three, you frightened the life out of me by avoiding me for two weeks. If you were actually willing to risk Voldemort's anger over this... well... I just... Ah hell, I just decided to remind myself that a lasting relationship isn't based on blackmail."

"Oh, I don't know," Severus smirked, "that would depend on the how skilled you were as a blackmailer."

"Not very," Harry replied dryly. Then he made his way over to the kitchen for a glass of water. The veritaserum had left a funny taste in his mouth and answering questions all morning had made him thirsty.

He'd already drunk half the glass when Severus suddenly asked, "Did you mean it? You would... pretend... to be my lover? -- no strings attached? No... conditions?"

"I swear it on my oath as a War Mage," Harry replied very seriously. "Yes -- I meant it. No string attached."

Severus seemed to be thinking that over.

"Look," Harry finally sighed, "nobody has to decide anything right now, all right? How about... how about if you have dinner with me next Saturday? That'll give you the rest of the week to think about what I've said, and it'll also give you something favourable to report if Voldemort decides to ask."

"Right now though," Harry finished with a huge yawn, "I think I need to fall down somewhere comfortable for a few hours." And leaving his glass right where he'd finished it, Harry headed towards the bedroom. "You're more than welcome to join me..."

Behind him, Severus snorted.

"Yeah, yeah... it was just a thought..." Harry mumbled. "Oh," he said, turning back from the bedroom door, "since blackmail is out of the question now, would bribery be all right?"

Severus blinked, and then looked amused again. "You've already offered me your physical... charms. What else could you possibly have that I would be interested in?"

"A slightly-used potions book?" Harry asked hopefully, and he was rewarded by a genuine laugh from the tall Potions Master.

"Bring it with you next Saturday," Severus told him. Then a swirl of black robes signalled his departure.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 15: Problems and Perspectives –

----oo00oo----

After such a momentous start to the week, Harry wasn't too surprised when he had another visitor a few days later. As it happened, he had a free period on Thursday afternoon and was just returning to his quarters when a voice from behind called out, "Ash! Wait up!"

Harry turned to see a complete stranger approaching.

"Hey there," the man smiled as he clapped Harry lightly on the shoulder. "I was just coming to see you. Are you on your way to back to your rooms?"

"I was, yes," Harry replied easily. The fact that the man was so relaxed and familiar with him told Harry that this apparent stranger was probably Sirius or Remus hidden under the disguise spell. He'd been half expecting either or both of them ever since news of the Veritaserum interview had been published in every major newspaper in the wizarding world.

They reached Harry's quarters without interruption, and Harry politely ushered the man inside.

The stranger admired Harry's apartment -- turning in place to observe the lighting, the furniture, and the odd assortment of books, equipment, and curios.

"Hey!" the man suddenly exclaimed, "is that...? Merlin’s beard, it is!" His interest had been caught by an old tapestry hanging on the far wall. One corner was missing -- burned away in a fire of some kind -- and some of the remaining edges were a bit singed. But Harry found the geometric pattern and the warm earthy colours soothing, so he'd rescued it from the dusty storeroom where he'd found it, and hung it on his wall.

"You know," the man commented as he ran a gentle hand over the worn threads, "I'd forgotten all about this old thing. I thought they must have thrown it out." Turning to Harry he chuckled, "Do you know how it got burned?" Amused, Harry simply shook his head. "I set fire to it," the man laughed. "I didn't mean to, of course -- but Remus and James were still pretty ticked off with me afterwards."

"Sirius," Harry smiled, pleased to finally discover his guest's identity, "what on earth were you doing that would set fire to a tapestry?"

His godfather grinned at him. "At the time, we were studying middle-eastern wizards in History of Magic. Remus was fascinated by the idea of flying carpets, and wanted to see if we could make one." With a semi-embarrassed look, he added, "I didn't see the point myself. Give me a good broom any day."

"A bit hard in countries that are mostly desert," Harry replied. "There isn't exactly a lot of wood lying around to make brooms out of."

"Yeah, well... Anyway, we couldn't find a suitable carpet. We needed one that wouldn't be missed and that wasn't too big or too small." Then Sirius got a far-away look in his eyes as he added, "The one in the Headmaster's office would've been perfect..."

Harry laughed. "Don't tell me you tried to steal that one!"

Sirius snorted. "Are you kidding? Even Remus wasn't that desperate."

"So," Harry prompted, "I take it you couldn't find a carpet you liked. What made you decide on a tapestry?"

"A couple of things," Sirius explained. "For starters, this particular tapestry was hanging in our dormitory, so none of the teachers would notice if it went missing. It was also just the right size -- and the pattern on it looks sort of middle-eastern. Remus figured it was close enough, and by that stage I would've agreed to just about anything so long as I didn't have to look at any more carpets. Unfortunately, James liked this tapestry -- he always said it helped him relax -- so he wasn't too keen on the idea of us experimenting on it. But Remus and I eventually talked him into it."

Harry looked at the singed wall hanging with renewed appreciation. There were a number of treasured items that he'd deliberately searched for when he and Dobby had been rummaging around in the castle storerooms. Neville's old Remembrall and Sev's dented cauldron were two of them. But this was an unexpected gift. For some unknown reason, he'd never come across this tapestry in the Mirror -- and so Sirius had never been reminded of it, and had never thought to tell him about it. Harry had so few of his parents’ belongings...

"I didn't know," he said simply. "When I found it, I just liked the look of it. But I can understand what Dad meant about it helping him to relax. I find the pattern... calming -- especially when I'm tired or stressed."

"Doesn't surprise me," Sirius smiled. "There's a lot of your Dad in you at times." Then he turned back to stare critically at the old tapestry. "I could never see it myself," he shrugged apologetically. "To me, it's just something to hang on the wall."

"Which still doesn't explain why you set fire to it," Harry commented.

Sirius grinned. "Remus kept telling us that when we were done it would hold at least two of us. Back then, we'd never seen a tandem broom, so we all thought having something two of us could fly together would be pretty cool. But I wasn't so sure. I mean, if you look at it, it isn't nearly as thick or strong as a proper carpet, and the thought kept going through my mind that it was all well and good for the rest of them... That damned rat," and Sirius' face darkened at the memory of Peter Pettigrew, "was always small -- and even though Remus and James were taller, they never bulked up the way I did. Of the four of us, I was always the heaviest, and I... well, I never trusted the idea of a carpet the way I did a broom." Sirius looked a little embarrassed before admitting, "I was more than a little concerned about the damned thing sagging at whichever end I was sitting on."

"Of course," he continued, "I didn't tell anyone how worried I was. Instead, I just sneaked back to our dorm' one night before dinner and cast a strengthening charm on it. Or at least, I thought I cast a strengthening charm on it. Unfortunately, I used 'a-duro' instead of 'duro' in the spell, and --"

"-- up she went!" Harry laughed.

"Like I'd poured Incendius Solution on it," Sirius agreed with a laugh. "It caught the drapes on my bed alight before I knew what was happening. McGonagall made me fill up six feet of parchment with 'Duro is for durable. Aduro is for arsonists. I will not experiment with charms by myself. I will not set fire to school property.' Then she gave me two weeks detention."

Harry found that pretty funny, and Sirius had to wait patiently for his godson to stop laughing before he could continue. "They confiscated the tapestry of course, and James didn't speak to me for two days. The rat had a panic attack over the fact that I might've burned down the tower, and then he avoided me until James let me off the hook and forgave me. Remus was just glad I didn't implicate the rest of them while I was trying to explain what I was doing with a tapestry in the first place."

"And speaking of Moony," Harry grinned, "where is your partner in crime?"

Sirius dropped himself into an armchair and replied, "He's off seeing Dumbledore. We're here to report on some Order business he's had us looking into. Since I'm still a wanted man and you don't want Albus knowing about the disguise spell, Remus is the one who's currently sitting in the Headmaster's office looking like his normal self."

A thought suddenly occurred to Sirius, "Hey! How did you know it was me? You didn't tell us you had a way of seeing through the spell."

Harry laughed as he made his way to the kitchen. "I don't." he assured his godfather. "But there aren't many total strangers who'd have the nerve to walk up and slap me on the shoulder. When you started talking about Remus and my Dad, it was fairly obvious. D'you want a drink?"

"Yes thanks," Sirius replied, "-- orange juice if you've got it."

"Coming right up."

As Harry walked back with two glasses in hand, Sirius leaned forwards and made the comment, "Y'know, this disguise spell is absolutely brilliant! It's the first time since I escaped that I've been able to walk around like an ordinary wizard. I was shaking like a leaf the first time Moony and I walked into the Leaky Cauldron. But nobody even blinked! It was fantastic!"

Harry handed Sirius his drink and watched as his godfather settled back into his chair. "I'm glad," Harry told him. "And I hope you haven't been spending all your time working for Albus."

Grinning madly, Sirius replied, "No fear of that. It's been a revelation for Remus too. It's the first time in his adult life that he hasn't had to worry about the prejudice against werewolves everywhere he goes. So trust me -- we're definitely not spending all our time working!"

"Just don't get too carried away," Harry grinned back.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Good Lord," he moaned, "my godson is giving me parental advice!" Harry laughed again. "But seriously," the older man added, "don't worry about us. Marauders we may be, but stupid we're not. While it's been a real blessing for us to walk around so freely, we're both well aware of the risks we're taking. Having different faces won't save us if a Death Eater catches us snooping around -- or if an Auror thinks we're acting suspiciously."

Harry was relieved. "I wasn't really worried --" he began.

"Yes you were," Sirius interrupted cheerfully. "And you had every right to be. It's an exhilarating feeling -- the freedom you've given us. The first time we walked into a pub for dinner... it felt like... like I was finally out of Azkaban for real -- like I was finally me again! It would've been very easy for the two of us to get absolutely smashed off our faces that night." With a wry grin, he added, "Very easy. Too easy. But we both know we can't afford that sort of thing right now."

"But later?" Harry asked.

"You'd better believe it," Sirius smirked. "But not until after we get rid of old Voldie --" and Harry snickered at the irreverent nickname, "-- and we find that rat and get me acquitted!"

"More power to you," Harry toasted as he raised his glass.

"You mean to us," Sirius countered as he leaned forwards and clinked his own tumbler against his godson's. "And speaking of Voldie and his Death Eaters --"

"You're really stuck on that nickname, aren't you?"

"You got me started on it," Sirius replied, "so you don't get to complain about it. Now -- as I was about to say, Remus is off updating Dumbledore, so I'm here to update you." And with that, the conversation turned to more serious matters.

Mostly, Padfoot and Moony had been trying to track the movement of various Death Eaters in an attempt to locate the Dark Lord's current headquarters. They'd also been investigating rumours of suspicious activity in a variety of locations in the hope that any clues they could pick up might point the way to a larger pattern.

Every member of the Order of the Phoenix fed information back to their leader: Albus Dumbledore. He, in turn, tried to create an overall picture of the Dark Lord's plans from the little bits and pieces his people brought him. It was painstaking labour, often relying on guesswork and probabilities -- which was why Sev's role as a spy was so very vital to the effort.

By the time Sirius was winding down his report, Harry still hadn't heard anything that might require him to change his own plans. Indeed, a lot of what he'd been told meant very little to him and was probably unrelated to the Dark Lord, except incidentally. He'd asked for more detail once or twice, but even then Sirius' replies had only served to reassure him that Voldemort was proceeding pretty much just as Harry had anticipated.

It wasn't until the very end of Sirius' account that an offhand comment suddenly made Harry's blood run cold.

"Oh," Sirius was saying, "by the way, Remus and I came across some odd stories about a Death Eater attack on a muggle university."

"A muggle university?" Harry asked sharply. "Do you know which one?"

Surprised by Harry's acute interest, Sirius could only shake his head. "I'm afraid not," he replied. "The rumours were vague at best, and it's been over three months since the attack supposedly happened. Every lead disappeared like smoke when we tried to find something concrete to go on."

"Normally," Sirius continued, "we wouldn't even bother chasing down something like this, but it was rumoured that this attack occurred back in June -- about a week after you 'disappeared'. I thought it might be worth looking into because of the timing, and also because it's not very common for a problem in the muggle world to end up as a rumour in the wizarding one."

Worriedly, Sirius watched as Harry's attention focused inwards and a vague frown appeared on his godson's face. "Harry?" he prompted. "What's wrong?"

"Maybe nothing," Harry slowly replied. Then he looked up and asked, "Have you heard anything more about Voldemort's interest in dragons? That hasn't changed, has it?"

Sirius thought for a moment. "I don't -- no, wait a minute, I did hear something just recently... I think Remus might have mentioned it. Something about a Death Eater we'd been tailing. The man was saying something... I wasn't listening too closely since we already knew Voldemort was interested in that -- and I was watching our backs at the time..."

Suddenly Sirius snapped his fingers. "Got it!" he remembered. "The one we were following was whining to his mate about being forced to study dragons in Romania, and then suddenly being called home and replaced by some kid with only half a brain. Remus joked about it later, saying that half a brain was probably a step up for most Death Eaters."

"Damn," Harry said darkly. "That sounds like Voldemort has pulled his researchers out of Romania, and replaced them with regular grunts."

"Grunts?" Sirius asked.

"Semi-skilled or unskilled soldiers," Harry explained. "Someone like Voldemort assigns them to do all the nasty or boring jobs because they don't have the expertise to do the important ones. In this case, it may indicate that Voldemort has found something more important to focus on than research into Dragonfire."

"Dragonfire!" Sirius exclaimed. "I thought that was a myth!"

"No," Harry replied. "Dragonfire is real enough. It's just very rare -- probably because dragons themselves aren't as common as they once were. And even when they were, it was only the oldest members of one or two species that were ever able to produce it. But Dragonfire most definitely exists."

"And they're researching it in Romania?"

"Yes and no," Harry replied. "Charlie Weasley became interested in it a while back and has been pursuing it along with his officially approved research. But that fact isn't widely known."

"That explains why Voldemort was interested," Sirius muttered to himself.

"But not why he's suddenly become less interested," Harry added.

"Well, he hasn't given up on it altogether," Sirius pointed out. "He's still got people there, even if they are 'grunts'."

"Yes," Harry argued, "but that's not what he did in the Mirror. It's not what I remember! -- and it begs the question: what's so important that he's called his researchers home?"

"Something to do with a muggle university?" Sirius hazarded.

"I sincerely hope not," Harry grimly replied.

Without realising what he was doing, Harry rose from his chair and began pacing back and forth. //It's too soon!// he thought to himself. //Robert should still be doing his undergraduate degree. His work on technomagic won't even get started for another three years! He couldn't possibly have drawn Voldemort's interest so soon. Could he?//

Sirius watched his godson silently, wondering what could possibly have happened in that damned Mirror to cause so much worry over a rumour about a muggle university. Absently, he noted how strange it was to see this man -- a War Mage -- pacing up and down, and to know that tthis was Harry -- his godson -- hidden away under the same spell that Sirius was currently wearing himself.

Suddenly, Harry stopped pacing and turned to face him.

"Sirius, you've spent a lot of time in the muggle world haven't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," he acknowledged. "It's always fascinated me. That's one of the reasons I used to own a muggle motorcycle -- but I'm not an expert or anything."

"But you can blend in well enough to make some enquiries for me? -- Without being conspicuous?"

Sirius considered it. "Yes, I think so. I've spent quite a bit of time in the muggle world since I escaped from Azkaban." Wryly, he added, "You don't tend to encounter a lot of Dementors or Aurors when you're passing yourself off as a muggle."

Harry smiled a little at that, and dropped back into the chair beside his godfather. Leaning forwards, he explained: "I need you to go to the University of Cambridge and find out if there's a muggle there named Robert Thomas. He should be enrolled as a student, but I can't remember what course he's supposed to be in. However, he'll either be in the Physics or the Engineering Department, so you won't have to search the entire university for him."

"Physics or Engineering," Sirius repeated carefully, "and I'm looking for Robert Thomas."

"Discreet enquiries only," Harry cautioned. "I just want to know if he's there and whether he's all right. You don't need to speak to him -- or anyone official -- if you can avoid it."

Sirius nodded. "Find out where the students hang out and ask around. Don't attract official attention. Got it." Then he looked over at Harry. "Should I take Remus with me?"

"So long as you can get him to blend in, yes. I don't know how much experience he has with muggles though."

"It won't be a problem," Sirius assured him. "I'll do most of the talking."

"Don't wait until you get back to report in," Harry told him. "Send an owl. I need to know whether Mr Thomas is all right as soon as possible. A lot could change if there really was a Death Eater attack at that particular university."

By now Sirius was intensely curious. "Can you at least tell me why this muggle's so important?" he asked.

"I really wish I could, Padfoot. But I need to know what's going on first. I might be worrying over nothing, in which case it would be better for Mr Thomas if you and Moony just forgot you ever heard of him."

"Best for him..." Sirius repeated slowly, watching his godson thoughtfully. "Safety through anonymity?"

Harry made no reply.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay," he capitulated. "No more questions."

Harry snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it!"

"You know me too well," Sirius laughed. "But I'll promise no more questions for now. How's that?"

"What, not even about my personal life?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sirius scoffed. "It's my duty as your godfather to hassle you about your personal life until you cave in and tell me everything."

Harry laughed.

----oo00oo----

It was shortly after sunset that Sirius -- still disguised as an anonymous stranger -- walked brazenly out of the castle and off the school grounds.

He and Remus had agreed to meet at the Shrieking Shack, and Sirius was supposed to arrive first and then wait for Remus to join him. Once there, they would both apply new disguises to themselves, and then apparate to London together. Nobody who saw them enter the Shack would see them leave -- or recognise the two men when they appeared seconds later in London.

----oo00oo----

Once Sirius departed, Harry ruefully admitted that his godfather hadn't been joking about Harry's personal life. Sirius was intensely curious about Harry's mysterious 'boyfriend-to-be', and had repeatedly mentioned the unidentified man in the hope that Harry might give him some details.

//Too bad for him I've been trained to resist interrogation,// Harry smirked to himself. Mind you, the first time Sirius had used the word 'boyfriend', Harry had nearly fallen off his chair laughing. The mental image of Severus Snape just did not go with the word 'boyfriend'. To Harry, Sev' had always been his lover, his mate, or his partner -- never his 'boyfriend'.

Fortunately, Sirius had been more teasing than annoying. He obviously wanted to know, but freely acknowledged that Harry didn't have to tell him. So instead of demanding details, he simply kept 'reminding' Harry that if Harry wanted help/advice/someone-to-listen, then his godfather was 'there' for him.

As for the rest of it, Harry thoroughly enjoyed telling Sirius about the Veritaserum interview and about how he and Albus had managed to outwit a room full of reporters. Sirius hadn't been quite as happy about his godson trusting his health to Severus Snape, but Harry tried to mitigate the effect by describing Witless Wally's plight and the expression on the Auror's face when Fudge had deliberately stepped on his foot. Sirius and Sev' didn't see eye-to-eye on most things, but they did share a certain amount of contempt for Ministry Aurors. Harry was rewarded by a grudging smile from his godfather over Wally's eventual exile from the press conference.

Harry was also finally free to describe how bizarre it felt to actually be a Hogwarts professor. Sirius laughed with him about calling Ron and Hermione 'Mr Weasley' and 'Miss Granger', and made sympathetic noises about Harry's discomfort when awarding House points. In return, Sirius told Harry about his experiences as a travelling spy for the Order of the Phoenix, and the places he and Remus had visited together. By the time Harry was once more alone in his apartment, they'd both had a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, and Harry was mentally thanking his parents for having such good taste in friends.

It wasn't until he finally turned back to face an empty room -- and noticed the silent shadows spreading outward from the corners -- that Harry's thoughts once more returned to Robert Thomas.

//If he has been taken,// Harry thought darkly, //then I'll just have to find a way to rescue him.// Harry knew he wouldn't be able to ignore the young man's plight if Voldemort really did have him. The memory of their first meeting -- of finding the man beaten, broken, eyes downcast, with the word 'master' always on his lips -- no, Harry could not allow that to happen again anymore than he could allow Draco to walk blindly down the same path he'd followed in the Mirror.

//But this is all conjecture at the moment,// Harry reminded himself. //I don't know that anything's happened to Robert. He could be perfectly all right.// But the thought that Voldemort might have recalled even some of his researchers nibbled at the back of Harry's thoughts -- reminding him that things were already different from the Mirror, and whispering to him that perhaps... just perhaps... this was the beginning of a major divergence.

"Dammit!" Harry swore aloud. "He was supposed to be safe! He wasn't even supposed to get involved this time!"

And along with the worry for Robert Thomas' safety came the knowledge that if Padfoot and Moony couldn't vouch for his whereabouts, then finding a single muggle prisoner among the Death Eaters could take months.

And those were months Harry wouldn't wish on anyone.

----oo00oo----

Elsewhere in the wizarding world, Voldemort was also contemplating an unforseen difficulty involving his enemies.

The Dark Lord was currently seated at a large desk in his personal quarters. Most of his followers would've been surprised by the simple furnishings that surrounded him. Yet the desk, while plain and undetailed, was made of a dark richly-coloured wood that had been smoothed back to a perfect satin finish. The polish laid over it was likewise of the highest quality, and served only to enhance the fine grain of the expensive timber. If it could be said that a wizard's chosen surroundings reflected their owner, then Voldemort was a man who had stripped away every part of himself that was not essential to his quest for power. Caring, sympathy, joy, sorrow -- none of it held any more meaning for him than the useless little adornments that others commonly enjoyed on their possessions. And out of all that was left -- anger, intelligence, strength, and a raw heated desire for power -- Voldemort had fashioned a clear and focused resolve that would allow him to carry out the darkest and most vile of acts without remorse or regret.

But for the moment, that cold calculating mind was focused intently upon the desktop before him, where a three-day-old copy of the Daily Prophet lay neatly folded under his gaze. The headline read: "War Mage Secrets Revealed -- the Veritaserum Interview!"

Leaning back in his chair, Voldemort mentally reviewed what he'd learned about War Mages since Ash's sudden arrival approximately four months ago.

At first, he'd given little thought to the possibility that other War Mages might exist. He had assumed -- as most people had -- that Ash was simply a wizard who'd stumbled across the secret of being able to work non-human magic all by himself. This was not an unreasonable assumption since mages had always been rare in the wizarding world, and there were several historical examples of witches and wizards who'd managed to become perfectly competent at non-human magic without ever seeing another mage, let alone meeting one.

For the gullible masses this was a perfectly understandable phenomenon. If you were foolish enough to believe that thinking like a non-human resulted in the ability to use non-human magic, then mage-ability was obviously something inherent in the witch or wizard. That meant it could be triggered simply by exposing a potential mage to non-human cultures and ideas.

But of course, Voldemort knew better.

A careful study of recorded history revealed that whenever an experienced mage appeared in the wizarding world, the probability that at least one or two other mages would be 'discovered' suddenly increased. Why then, if mage-ability was inborn, should this be the case? It made no sense -- unless the existing mage was somehow passing on the ability whenever he or she decided to take an apprentice or assistant. Which meant that it was not an inborn ability at all.

So there was definitely some trick to performing other-species magic, and the fact that mages were so rare simply meant that whatever the trick was, it had to be either very obscure, very difficult, or both. Thus, Voldemort naturally assumed that Ash had simply been lucky enough -- or desperate enough -- to stumble over the secret by accident, just as those isolated wizards and witches of the past must have done.

It never even occurred to the Dark Lord that an experienced mage might find it easier to recognise others with mage-potential -- or that they would certainly know how best to evoke that ability in those who might otherwise have gone undiscovered.

But of course, now -- after the much-publicized Veritaserum interview -- Voldemort could plainly see that Ash had not, in fact, stumbled over the secret by himself. He'd obviously met up with his so-called 'Course Guide' at some point in the past, and then somehow managed to convince the aged elf to take him on as an apprentice.

//I wonder how he did it...// Voldemort mused curiously. //Blackmail? Bribery? Repayment of a debt? Perhaps some form of emotional or mental manipulation...// All the demons in hell knew Voldemort had never had any luck at convincing a mage to reveal the secret to him.

Which -- when combined with his contempt for thhe Daily Prophet's usual standard of reporting -- had been reason enough to demand confirmation of the so-called 'Veritaserum interview' before he gave any serious consideration to the possibility that an organised group of War Mages might actually exist.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze shifted to the small stack of reports lying beside the newspaper on his desk. Three days since the Daily Prophet's headline, and his servants had easily managed to provide more than enough evidence to convince him that the Veritaserum interview was genuine. On the same day that the Daily Prophet had run their article, several other newspapers had run the same story. The writers were all different, yet the details were all the same. But the most damning bit of evidence had arrived only yesterday: an owl from Severus confirming that he had brewed and administered the Veritaserum himself. So unless the mage could somehow overcome the drug's effects -- which was unlikely in Severus' opinion -- then reports of the interview were neither lies nor exaggerations –- and the circle of War Mages was real.

Abruptly, Voldemort pushed away from his desk and crossed the room to the fireplace. A flick of his wand conveyed his voice to the kitchens. "Bring a meal to the audience chamber," he instructed. Then he dismissed the spell and departed for the chamber himself.

It was time to feed his new 'pet'.

----oo00oo----

As he moved among his servants, the Dark Lord hardly noticed the deep bows and the alternately fearful and adoring looks that were accorded him. His Death Eaters were only of note when he required something of them -- or when they failed him. And few of them wanted his attention for the second reason.

Heedless of those around him, Voldemort silently reviewed his analysis of the serious problem that Ash and his damned circle of War Mages now represented.

To begin with, it was obvious that War Mage Ash despised him. That in itself was not an insurmountable problem since, mage or not, he was still only one man. Even more, his interest in Severus was a weakness that could, and would, be exploited for Voldemort's benefit. The problem was that he had assumed Ash would be the same as every other mage: completely unwilling to give up his magical advantage by sharing the secret of magecraft with others.

But Voldemort was now faced with the disastrous possibility that this was not the case.

The man had suddenly appeared in the wizarding world with little more than the clothes on his back. That indicated a hasty and ill-prepared departure from a place that was unknown to the wizarding world. Given that there were not too many things a War Mage would run from, and that the War Mage circle itself had previously been unknown to the wizarding world, then it was not too difficult to work out that Ash had been fleeing from his fellow mages.

From there, it was a simple matter to deduce that Ash had probably argued with the War Mage council about their policy of non-interference in human affairs. It was obvious that the man had every intention of interfering, and that he'd managed to escape from the circle's influence before the other War Mages could prevent him from leaving. After that, it seemed that Ash had somehow found a way to prevent the circle from simply killing him or forcing him to return. Voldemort half suspected that Dumbledore might've had something to do with that. Why else would the mage be wasting his time and talent by teaching at that cursed school?

And now that the newly-revealed circle of War Mages had located their missing comrade, they were obviously checking up on him. The fact that they'd sent the man's teacher as well as one of his friends conveniently allowed Ash to explain away their visit as a mere social call. But it was clear that, in reality, the circle had chosen to send the two people who would best be able to judge Ash's mood and intentions.

Given that the man was fanatical enough about opposing Voldemort to betray his fellow mages, then it was very possible that Ash might just be fanatical enough to sacrifice his own magical superiority and begin training other wizards to become mages. Shortly after that, the secret of using non-human magic would be no secret at all. But by then Voldemort's enemies would've had sufficient time to become proficient in the use of other-species magic, and it would be a race against time to train his own servants before their opponents decimated them.

Voldemort contemplated that possibility for a few moments as he approached the open doors of his audience chamber. Silently, he swept past the impressive entry and made his way to the ornate throne at the far end of the hall. The large room was always brilliantly lit and ready for use, subtly reinforcing the idea that the Dark Lord was not ruled by the hours of the day or the vagaries of time as other men were. It also served to reinforce the lesson that his servants were expected to be submissive to his will, and would therefore answer his summons whenever it suited him, regardless of their own convenience.

At the moment, however, the audience hall was empty save for himself -- and unless he chose to summon someone, it would remain so until his pet's dinner arrived. Nobody would dare intrude upon him without a very good reason.

As he settled himself into the overdone filigree of the impressive throne, Voldemort carefully considered the repercussions of Ash's one-man crusade against him.

The Dark Lord inherently understood that the War Mage circle would not want their rogue brother spreading the secret of magecraft throughout the wizarding world. That would destroy the other War Mages' magical advantage and forever weaken their power amongst their own races. Yet for some reason, they were currently unable to silence or control the man.

Which meant they would inevitably be forced to negotiate with him.

Such negotiations would very likely mean that the policy of non-interference would be scrapped and the circle of War Mages would reluctantly ally itself with Ash -- a man who was already working for Albuus Dumbledore. And unlike those idiots in the Ministry, Voldemort was under no illusions about the danger the circle of War Mages represented.

Others might believe the circle to be a disorganised group of mis-matched individuals, but Voldemort had ruled his Death Eaters as both master and military commander for longer than many of them had been alive. He well understood the damage that even a small number of highly-skilled professionals could inflict. What's more, once a certain level of professional competency was achieved, it wouldn't matter whether they were trained to work together or not -- they would be experienced and professional enough to find ways to work together.

But what disturbed Voldemort most about the entire situation, was the possibility that while the circle of War Mages would probably agree to an alliance, Ash himself might well go ahead and secretly train other wizards anyway. After all, how trustworthy could such reluctant allies be? Better by far to have the best of both worlds.

It was certainly what Voldemort would do in the same situation.

//But then,// Voldemort considered, //I must not forget my knife, hidden away in the folds of Dumbledore's very own robes. If Severus could gain control of the mage before he moves against me...//

But no -- Voldemort could not rely on that. As Severus had rightly pointed out, he would have to move carefully so as to avoid arousing the suspicion of both Dumbledore and the mage himself. Ash's eventual enslavement was still a worthy goal -- but the timing of it could not be predicted.

Just then a black-robed figure entered at the far end of the hall. It was a young man -- newly-initiated into the Death Eaters -- and he was carrying a tray with food and drink on it. The boy moved quietly and respectfully, carefully balancing the tray as he knelt before his master.

Voldemort cast a levitation charm on the tray and its contents, relieving the young man of his burden.

The boy remained on his knees.

"You my go," Voldemort finally allowed, and the youngster silently rose, bowed, and departed.

Voldemort watched him leave with something akin to approval. The boy knew his place and hadn't whined about what an honour it was to be serving his master. Then too, no-one had made the mistake of allowing a house elf into his presence. While Voldemort acknowledged that the annoying creatures had their uses, he certainly didn't trust them. As a consequence, he'd cast spells that made it impossible for them to leave the lower levels without an escort to supervise their work. And should one ever try to set foot inside his personal quarters...

...well, its death would be extremely painful and unpleasant.

As the Dark Lord arose from his chair, he pointed his wand at the hovering tray and commanded it to follow him. Then he made his way over to an unobtrusive door that led to a smaller and less gaudy room off to one side of the hall.

Voldemort generally preferred to use the adjacent room when dealing with his more useful servants. The useful ones were assigned tasks that Voldemort didn't want discussed in the echoing audience chamber. They were also his more intelligent servants and were not usually impressed by the size and lavishness of the main hall anyway.

Recently however, Voldemort had been using this smaller room for an entirely different purpose...

A simple spell unlocked the door and Voldemort watched as it swung open into darkness. As he entered -- the tray still floating obediently along behind him -- he called "Lumos" into the cchilled air and was unsurprised by the rattle of chains as the muggle reacted to the sudden brightness.

The boy was currently huddled into his corner under several blankets, trying to keep warm and covering his eyes until they had time to adjust to the light.

"Let me see you," Voldemort commanded.

The muggle quickly complied, pushing the blankets away and kneeling on his makeshift bedding.

Carefully, Voldemort studied him. The boy looked to be around 18 or 19, and was dressed in plain brown pants and a non-descript t-shirt. He was at least neat and clean, although still rather pale and pathetic-looking. Still -- it was a vast improvement over the filthy smelly animal covered in welts and bruises that the Dark Lord had rescued from his over-enthusiastic servants three weeks ago.

A wave of Voldemort's wand caused the tray to descend to the floor in front of the muggle.

The boy made no move towards it -- even though he'd had nothing but water for well over twelve hours.

Pleased with the muggle's obedience, Voldemort summoned a nearby chair and a tiny round low-set table. "Put the tray on the table," he commanded, and the muggle carefully lifted the platter, setting it down with slightly-trembling hands.

Settling himself down onto the chair, Voldemort randomly selected a piece of cheese and offered it to the boy. The young man crept nearer until he could reach out and take the bit of food from Voldemort's hand. As soon as the muggle was finished with the cheese, Voldemort picked up a knife and sliced off a small bit of roast beef. He held it out on the end of the knife, and again the muggle carefully lifted it away.

As the Dark Lord continued to silently feed the muggle, he pondered the odd twist of fate that first brought the boy to his attention.

----oo00oo----

Several months ago, one of Voldemort's younger servants had been trying to escape from a pair of Aurors who'd managed to cast an anti-apparition charm on him. The inexperienced young Death Eater eventually managed to elude his hunters at a muggle university in Cambridge. He'd accomplished this by transfiguring his robes to match the muggle attire of the university students. Then, while trying to blend in, the young Death Eater had inadvertently been drawn into an intriguing conversation about another muggle who claimed that some kind of accident had caused every object in one of the university labs to levitate for a few seconds. While the other muggles had laughed and joked -- claiming that this was a pretty lame excuse for breaking most of the lab equipment -- Voldemort's servant had thought it worth investigating. After all, until the Aurors left the area, he couldn't contact any of his fellow Death Eaters to get the anti-apparition charm removed -- so he might as well pass the time by investigating the muggle's unlikely claim.

The faint traces of magic that still clung to the university lab were enough to bring two of Voldemort's older and more experienced servants to the university in order to verify their younger associate's claim. After that, the matter had been brought to Voldemort's attention and he, in turn, had casually ordered them to kidnap the muggle and bring him to a secure location so that Voldemort could examine the boy for himself.

Voldemort did not believe the boy could actually perform magic any more than his servants did. But there was some slight evidence that he might have used muggle machinery to tap into an unknown source of magical energy. At the time, however, Voldemort had placed little importance on such an unlikely event. The muggle had been 'acquired' as more of a curiosity than anything else. There was the possibility that he might become useful at some point in the future, but the Dark Lord already knew that Dragonfire existed and would be a formidable weapon. Why waste valuable resources on a muggle when he already had a line of research that promised power enough to defeat any spell his enemies could cast?

And so, when the two older Death Eaters reported the boy's capture, Voldemort had gone to see the muggle with little expectation of finding anything useful. And indeed, he had been proven correct. The foolish muggle had been stupefied during his abduction and upon waking hadn't realised that his captors were wizards. Amazingly, the boy hadn't even believed in magic until Voldemort entered the room. The Dark Lord's physical appearance had apparently caused the boy something of a shock. Although, it was undoubtedly far more shocking the first time Voldemort used Crucio on him for his disrespectful attitude.

Once the attitude problem had been corrected, Voldemort had listened to the muggle's story for himself. By the end of it, he was still not convinced that the boy would be of much use. However, the Dark Lord's curiosity had been peaked, and on the off chance that the muggle might actually have done what he claimed, Voldemort had left orders to keep the boy alive and out of the way until such time as the Dark Lord was free to devote more resources to studying him.

The muggle would not be going anywhere, and Voldemort could study the brat whenever he got around to it. By then however, the Potter boy had been missing for two full weeks and a War Mage had turned up in Knockturn Alley, and was reportedly making secret deals for unknown reasons with the goblins at Gringotts.

Voldemort had more important matters to consider than one paltry little muggle.

Unfortunately, the paltry little muggle had become somewhat more important nearly three months later when Voldemort received two pieces of rather disturbing news. The first was that some crazed elf had attacked the War Mage at Hogwarts. This had been unwelcome news since elves did not traditionally interfere with humans. The fact that the elf -- crazy or not -- had known who Ash was, and was willing to follow him into the wizarding world, meant that the War Mage had obviously had contact with elves before -- most likely when he'd been studying their magic.

Previously, Voldemort had only considered the War Mage as an isolated individual. But now he was confronted with the fact that the man probably had teachers, friends, and allies amongst any number of foreign powers. It was disturbing to think of inhuman magic-users fighting against his Death Eaters at Ash's invitation.

It was unlikely, though, that the War Mage would gain more than a handful of allies who were willing to help. After all, Ash was more likely to owe them for the privilege of his training, than they were to owe him any favours of assistance.

Still, it was cause for concern.

The second piece of news was from his servants in Romania who reluctantly informed him that research into Dragonfire was still too new and too inconclusive to be of any immediate use. The Death Eater who'd been placed as one of Charlie Weasley's co-workers was of the opinion that it might be years, if ever, before wizards would be able to duplicate and control Dragonfire.

//Too little too late,// Voldemort had sneered. Then he'd called his researchers home, leaving observers behind to throw off any spies who might've been watching.

Had there been no War Mage and no threat of non-human enemies, Voldemort would have left his researchers right where they were. Without those two things, Voldemort's forces would not have been opposed by anything worse than Dumbledore's ridiculous little band of followers and the Ministry's semi-competent Aurors -- and if not for the damned Potter boy, Voldemort would have overcome them nearly twenty years ago. Thus, the Dark Lord would've had no qualms about continuing to build up his own forces while at the same time waiting patiently for Dragonfire to become a viable weapon. But as it was, he no longer had the luxury of time to indulge in that kind of patience.

Naturally, once his researchers arrived back in England, Voldemort immediately set them to work trying to find any possible means of creating a weapon or power great enough to defeat the new set of enemies he knew would shortly be arrayed against him.

It was then that he'd remembered the muggle and his tale of an unknown source of magical energy.

Where once he had dismissed the boy as a mere curiosity who might someday be of use, now the Dark Lord was willing to entertain more extreme possibilities -- if the potential gain was worthwhile.

And -- upon due consideration -- it was certaainly that.

An outside source of magical energy would be of immense use to him -- if he could somehow use that energy to fuel the spells and enchantments of his followers. If that was possible, then his servants would never grow tired or weary in battle, while their enemies would exhaust themselves casting spell after spell against them. Even better, many shielding spells were not particularly complex -- they simply required a great deal of sstrength to maintain. With an outside source to draw upon, Voldemort's forces would be unassailable, and the enemy could then be worn down at their leisure.

Even if there was no way to properly control whatever power the muggle had tapped into, then it should at least still be possible to create a magical explosive device of some kind. You wouldn't need to control such a thing -- you could simply set it up inside a powerful shield and allow the magical energy to build up until the shield failed. Depending on how strong the shield was, and how much raw magic had built up inside it, you might even be able to create varying degrees of destruction.

Very useful indeed - if the muggle could be made to replicate whatever it was he'd done.

But Voldemort's plans for the boy had suffered an unexpected setback.

The Dark Lord had not thought to check on the muggle since ordering his imprisonment some three months before. So when he arrived at the cell where the muggle was being kept, he'd been enraged to discover that the boy had been mistreated to the point where he was of absolutely no use to anyone!

The muggle had been starved and beaten, ignored for days at a time, and only allowed to wash on a semi-regular basis. The cell stank of fear, blood, and bodily waste, and Voldemort was disgusted to see an overflowing bucket in one corner that the muggle had obviously been using as a makeshift latrine.

The muggle himself was barely alive.

The first thing Voldemort did was summon one of his lesser potion-makers to pour healing draughts into the boy. Not surprisingly, the man first had to cast some minor spells to get the muggle into a state where he was conscious enough to drink the potions.

After that, Voldemort quickly had the boy transferred to the small meeting room next to his audience chamber. From there, he would be able to personally oversee the muggle's obedience training and return to health.

The last thing Voldemort did was send for the boy's keepers.

They did not long survive the meeting.

----oo00oo----

But now, three weeks later, Voldemort found himself wondering whether he hadn't been a bit hasty in killing those two idiots.

After three months at the mercy of his jailers, the muggle had been both physically and mentally shattered. As a result, Voldemort had discovered that training the boy was much easier than he'd anticipated.

//But then again,// Voldemort reminded himself, //they did disobey my command to keep the boy alive and available.// -- and nobody disobeyed the Dark Lord.

Or at least, nobody did it twice.

But even so, the useful side-effects were undeniable.

The first time the muggle woke, Voldemort had been standing right in front of him, directly in his line of sight -- and the boy hadn't even flinched. He'd simply stared at Voldemort for a while, and then drifted off back to sleep. Subsequent awakenings had echoed the first, and it was impossible to tell whether the muggle even realised that he was still alive.

But it made no difference to the boy's training, and Voldemort had taken full advantage of the muggle's strange behaviour. The oddly half-aware state only lasted three or four days, but during that time the boy did whatever he was told without the faintest hint of resentment or resistance. It was almost as if some part of the muggle was still asleep -- or in a state of profound shock.

Because of this, it was no problem at all to get the muggle into the habit of calling him 'Master' and of obeying him at every turn. Voldemort further reinforced the boy's understanding of his place in the world by making him physically dependent upon the Dark Lord's own presence for his day-to-day existence. As a consequence, the muggle slept only when Voldemort allowed it. He ate only what Voldemort hand-fed him. He wore only what Voldemort brought for him. The boy had been almost pathetically grateful first time Voldemort had taken him to a small bathroom and told him he would be allowed to use the facilities. To Voldemort it was not a kindness, but simply another measure of control. The boy had easily accepted that he now had to ask permission every time he wanted to use the bathroom.

By the time the muggle's mind began to rouse from its numbed state, Voldemort had already established a pattern of behaviour that the boy was used to following. As the Dark Lord noted the muggle's increasing awareness of his surroundings, he took care to ensure that any deviation from that pattern was immediately and severely punished.

After his first reminder of what Crucio felt like, the boy had quickly re-learned fear.

From there, the muggle had easily come to accept the familiar obedience that had been his entire world since Voldemort rescued him.

The Dark Lord was well satisfied with that acceptance, since he didn't want to use Crucio too often on the muggle. With no natural resistance to magic, muggles were particularly susceptible to spells, and the unforgivable curse might well cause even a healthy muggle to suffer a heart attack or brain haemorrhage -- and Voldemort had too much invested in the boy to let him drop dead anytime soon.

Which brought the Dark Lord's attention back to the current moment. Absently, he watched as the boy carefully pulled the last slice of apple from the tip of the proffered knife. As the muggle silently finished the last of the food, the Dark Lord studied him -- weighing up whether the boy was now sufficiently recovered to begin performing the task for which Voldemort had saved him.

Abruptly, the Dark Lord realised that it didn't matter. His tactical situation had been bad enough when he'd only been expecting a single mage and a handful of inhuman allies. Now that the existence of an entire circle of War Mages had been revealed, Voldemort had run out of time. He needed whatever power this muggle might have uncovered, and he needed it now. If he waited much longer, then it wouldn't matter what the muggle knew because Voldemort would no longer be in a position to use it.

"Boy."

Fearfully, the muggle looked up at him. Voldemort found it interesting to note that even after all the time the boy had spent in his presence, the muggle was still profoundly disturbed by the sight of his red eyes.

"I will be assigning you a new keeper today."

The fear turned to horror, but the muggle made no protest.

"Killion is one of my more talented servants," Voldemort informed him, "and I will be providing him with detailed instructions on how you are to be handled and cared for." The boy looked somewhat reassured, but still rather nervous. "You will address him as 'Sir', and obey him as you would obey me. Should you defy him, he will punish you just as I would. Do you understand?"

"Y-y-yes, Master," the boy stuttered.

"Good. Your task will be to tell Killion everything you know about your accident at the muggle university. I want him to re-enact that accident, and you are to answer any question -- perform any task -- that will assist him in doing so."

For a moment, it seemed as though the muggle wanted to say something, but then he obviously thought better of it.

Voldemort looked at the boy speculatively. "You had something to say?" he inquired. He'd taught the boy that it was not appropriate for a muggle to speak in the presence of his betters unless his advice or opinion was specifically requested. For the boy to knowingly come so close to another punishment made him curious as to what the muggle was thinking.

The boy seemed indecisive -- as though he didn't know whether it would be better to remain silent.

"Answer me," Voldemort told him flatly.

"M-M-Master, the l-lab where the accident h-h-happened -- it h-has a lot of v-v-ery complicated and d-delicate equipment in it. I-It's very exp-pensive and s-s-some of it was damaged. T-T-they might not h-have r-r-replaced it..."

"That is of no concern," Voldemort replied, "since you will not be returning to that particular laboratory. A more secure location has been acquired, and everything Killion needs -- including your muggle machinery -- will be supplied as and when he requires it."

The muggle looked surprised, and actually dared to protest: "B-but, what if t-the accident was c-caused by s-s-something at the u-university? O-Or s-s-something about that eq-q-quipment?" D-do wizards e-e-even have e-electricity? H-How can --"

Voldemort -- who had been watching the boy through flat half-lidded eyes -- suddenly leaned forward and backhanded him across the face. The muggle fell backwards in pain and surprise.

"Get up," Voldemort commanded, and as soon as the boy was once again kneeling before him, the Dark Lord reached out and grabbed the muggle by the chin, forcing him to look up.

"It is not your place to question my decisions, muggle," he hissed at the boy. "Your place is simply to obey. I thought I had made that abundantly clear." Through his grip on the muggle, Voldemort could feel the boy trembling. "But," he continued, "in the event that mere pain is not sufficient incentive for you, let me ask you a few simple questions --"

"Tell me, boy -- do you have friends? -- family?" The muggle looked horrified, and Voldemort smiled cruelly. "I dare say it would not be hard to find them, would it?" He paused to let that sink in. "And of course, while your assistance might be of some small use, the fate of your relatives is less than nothing to me."

"P-P-Please..." the boy whispered brokenly.

Voldemort released the muggle and leaned back into his chair, acting as though the boy hadn't said anything. "However," the Dark Lord continued, "it's a tedious business keeping muggles, and I really have no desire to inflict any more of you on my servants than I have to." With callous detachment, he looked at the boy and added, "For sake of your 'loved ones' -- and of course the convenience of my Death Eaters -- I would suggest that you do everything you can to ensure that Killion's work is a complete success."

And with that, Voldemort arose from his chair, summarily ending the conversation. A short spell and casual wave of his wand caused the now-empty serving platter to rise into the air beside him, and it followed dutifully along behind as the Dark Lord moved silently off towards the exit.

Just before he passed through the doorway, Voldemort had a sudden thought, and turned back to face the boy chained down in the far corner.

"It occurs to me," he commented, "that a muggle might just be stupid enough to try lying to a wizard. I would not advise it, since your sincere co-operation will be verified with Veritaserum -- a potion I believe muggles refer to as 'truth-serum'."

Then he turned away, casually aiming his wand over his shoulder and calling "Nox" into the room behind him.

The door closed and locked itself, sealing its prisoner back into darkness.

----oo00oo----

As he departed the well-lit audience chamber, Voldemort used a word and an offhand gesture to send the empty platter sailing off back towards the kitchens. As he continued on towards his personal quarters, the Dark Lord resumed his consideration of the situation in which he now found himself.

Although his plans for the muggle were both necessary and important, whatever power Killion might discover would not be one the Dark Lord could reserve for his personal use. In order to turn the tide of the coming war, his servants would have to have access to whatever weapon might be developed -- no matter whether it was a way to empower a wizard's existing spells, or a crude magical explosive device.

Unfortunately, allowing his followers to become more powerful would inevitably close the gap between them and himself -- which was something that might well tempt the more ambitious among them to challenge his authority. Added to that, his enemies were already masters of wandless magic, and mages were commonly acknowledged to be magically superior to mere wizards. The implications that held for his personal safety were disturbing enough, but Voldemort also knew that it lessened his power in the eyes of the public, which in turn lessened their fear of him and increased morale amongst his enemies.

All in all, it was an intolerable situation, which the Dark Lord did not intend to allow to continue.

Voldemort was aware of several things that would -- if successful -- grant him the magical superiority he desired. Up until recently however, the chance of being killed while performing one of those spells or rituals had been too great. But now -- driven by the unacceptable possibility that he might become personally vulnerable -- the Dark Lord had finally come up with a way to complete one of those Dark ceremonies that would probably allow him to survive it.

The ritual he was considering had almost never been performed simply because it invariably resulted in a fate far worse than death for those who invoked it. When he'd first discovered it, Voldemort had been researching an idea that had occurred to him while he was still a disembodied spirit. After reading a description of the ceremony, he knew it would be exactly what he needed -- if he could only find a way to avoid the more... undesirable... side-effects.

Even now -- when he had come up with a way to do just that -- Voldemort knew the ritual was still extremely dangerous. However, the stakes were much higher now and so greater risks would have to be taken in order to guarantee success.

If it worked, every man woman and child on the face of the planet would eventually learn to fear him.

Everything that could be done to ensure the survival of his Death Eaters was already being done.

Now it was time to see to his own power.

----oo00oo----

Left behind in the cold darkness of his prison, Robert Thomas huddled into the scant warmth of the blankets that He had supplied. Robert suspected that he was being kept somewhere underground, and was grateful that whoever was next door always left the lights turned on. He might think Robert was being left in total darkness, but in reality there was always a thin line of light that glowed strongly along the bottom of the door. It wasn't enough to illuminate the room, but it was enough to remind Robert that there was still light in the world -- and also to reassure him that he could still tell the difference when he opened or closed his eyes. At least he knew he wasn't blind.

Robert's memory before waking up in this cold dark room was blurry at best. He could easily recall his childhood, his family, his years at school, and his time at Cambridge. But after the accident in the lab, things started to fade out on him. The accident itself was still clear and memorable: equipment levitating in front of his astonished eyes, and the scornful laughter of his peers who thought he was just making it up. The professors had been so angry with him, demanding to know what had really happened, and threatening to expel him for damaging so much valuable equipment.

But after that... it just sort of... slipped away from him.

And then He was there, with his pain and darkness.

Of course, Robert knew what his tormentor was trying to do. He couldn't remember where he'd learned about brainwashing and behaviour modification -- a book perhaps? -- but Robert recognised the techniques being used on him. Starvation, pain, always calling him 'Boy' -- they were all ways to try and take away his sense of self -- to make him forget who he was, and shape him into someone new -- someone submissive and obedient. >

//But it won't work,// Robert promised himself. //I know the techniques -- I know how it works. That means I know how to fight it.//

And he did.

//My name is Robert James Thomas,// he repeated silently over and over to himself. //I am nineteen years old. I go to Cambridge University. My Mum and Dad love me, and Mandy thinks I'm a complete embarrassment as an older brother.//

With care and deliberation Robert continued to remind himself of who he was and of the things that had shaped him over the course of his life. He recalled friends, birthdays, Christmases spent with family -- his mad auntie Dot who hated being called 'Dorothy'. He especially focused on his parents and his little sister, praying that He wouldn't hurt them.

Robert found it painful to remember his previous life. Of course it felt good too, but the comparison between then and now was... unpleasant. He'd had so much, and now he had so little. It was tempting to just forget the past in an effort to make the present seem less horrific than it really was. Without the memory of better times, his current life of obedience would be easier to swallow.

But if he did that, then soon there would nothing left of him.

"Better to be in pain," he murmured to himself.

He did that occasionally -- the talking to himself thing. He's done it all his life, in an absent-minded sort of way. But now he was doing it more and more. He found it soothing to listen to a voice that wasn't full of cruelty or anger -- even if it was his own. It also helpedd him with his self-respect since he didn't stutter when he talked to himself. He'd never stuttered before, and he hated the fact that he did now.

It wasn't the stuttering itself that bothered him. It was the fact that his imprisonment had successfully changed something so basic about him. He had succeeded -- at least partially -- in changing something about Robert.

//But I will overcome it,// Robert promised himself. //I will not die here. I will survive this. I will not give that monster the satisfaction!// He would learn to speak again too -- even if it took him years of therapy. "Which it probably will," Robert muttered cynically to himself.

But of course, in the meantime, he would have to go on allowing himself to follow the pattern of behaviour laid down for him by his captors. He tried to divorce himself from it as much as possible, but sometimes he worried about the fact that it didn't bother him nearly as much as he thought it should. Shouldn't he be angry about being treated like some sort of overly-intelligent animal? Robert shuddered at the thought that he actually found His presence reassuring in some twisted sort of way.

Part of Robert wished he could remember why he felt like that.

The rest of him was grateful that he couldn't.

Robert knew he was fairly intelligent. The word 'genius' had even been mentioned around him once or twice. His parents had never let him get a swelled head over it, but he was still -- just quietly -- a little bit smug about it.

But the point of being smart, was that Robert could reason out the nature of things from relatively little information.

//He said he rules the wizarding world,// Robert mused -- and hadn't that been a shock: that wizards and witches actually existed and that magic was likewise real. //But if that's the case,// Robert continued to reason, //then why go to all the bother of finding out what happened at the lab?// His 'master' had made it plain that he considered muggles to be a waste of time.

Robert wasn't sure he liked being called a 'muggle', but it wasn't like he was in a position to argue.

What was interesting though, was that He obviously needed whatever power he thought Robert had uncovered -- and he needed it so badly that he was willing to overcome his disgust for muggles and put up with Robert's presence in order to get it.

//And if he really is a king or something,// Robert wondered, //then why doesn't anyone know about him -- or about wizards?// He didn't strike Robert as the kind of person who would settle for ruling the wizarding world when there was a 'muggle' world out there to conquer as well.

"Maybe he doesn't rule anything at all," Robert told himself. "Maybe he's a criminal of some sort." Actually, Robert wasn't even sure He was human. With those horrible red eyes, and that skeletal white body, he certainly didn't look human. But He had occasionally referred to himself as a wizard in the same way that he referred to the others as wizards. Although... that could simply refer to the ability to use magic.

//But I haven't seen anything else that looks like him,// Robert thought. Actually, the monster’s slit nose vaguely reminded him of something he'd seen in history classes. There'd been some rather gruesome pictures in some of the text books of men who'd been exposed to mustard gas and other atrocities in WWI. So maybe He was an example of what happened to people in a magical war.

//Which,// Robert concluded, //would support the theory that He probably wasn't the ruler of the wizarding world.// In fact, the more Robert thought about it, the more it seemed likely that his 'master' was in the process of trying to become ruler of the wizarding world -- and if he succeeded in that, would probably start in on Robert's world too.//

But the fact that He had enemies powerful enough to oppose him, also raised a whole new group of questions.

Would those enemies be any better than the monster that was currently holding him prisoner? After all, the monster's enemies would also be wizards wouldn't they? Did all wizards share the belief that people like him -- 'muggles' -- were a lower form of life? There was a fairly good chance they wouldn't care about the well-being of muggles any more than the monster did.

But Robert could at least hope that His enemies were the ones who wanted to continue living in secret away from the muggle world. Robert could support that if nothing else.

He wondered if he might be able to find a way to contact those enemies.

If the opportunity ever came up, he would take it. But in the meantime, he had to hang onto as much of himself as he could –

"My name is Robert James Thomas. I am nineteen years old. I go to Cambridge University. My Mum and Dad love me..."

----oo00oo----

Chapter 16: Key Incident

----oo00oo----

By the time Saturday night arrived, Harry had managed to work himself up into a mild state of nervousness. He really really wanted tonight to go well. He'd debated inviting Sev' to his quarters and cooking dinner himself, but he wasn't that good a cook and it was a little close to his bedroom for his own peace of mind -- to say nothing of giving Sev' the wrong impression.

So instead, Harry had booked a table in Hogsmeade at a small out-of-the-way place that offered wonderful home-cooked meals at reasonable prices. But most of all, it boasted several intimate alcove tables that were private without being closed in or claustrophobic. It was a wonder to Harry that the restaurant wasn't more widely known. But then he supposed a lot of people didn't see why they should pay for a meal that many of them could prepare themselves if they simply put a bit of effort into it -- and the wealthy usually had house elves who could do just as well anyway.

But that wasn't the point of tonight. Tonight Harry wanted to take Sev' out of the school grounds to a place that was welcoming and enjoyable where they could talk and get to know each other. Harry wasn't so arrogant as to believe that Sev' was exactly the same now as he'd been 13 years in a future that hadn't really happened. He was curious about what Severus Snape was like now, and he sincerely hoped Sev' was curious about him too.

It was around 7 o'clock that evening while Harry was nervously checking himself over one last time, that his plans for dinner were unexpectedly and painfully cancelled.

----oo00oo----

Harry had been standing in front of his bedroom mirror, pulling his shirt-sleeves straight and smoothing down the front of his robe. //This is silly,// he told himself. //I look fine.// And indeed he did. For the sake of the occasion, he'd forgone his usual attire and changed into black slacks with a shimmering deep green silk shirt. He'd retained his battle robe and War Mage pin, but forsaken the gloves, arm guards, and potion-belt. His wand was safely tucked away in a pocket of his battle robes, and as for his gun -- well, if he'd had a shoulder holster, he would've been wearing it, but unfortunately he didn't, and the dratted thing was too heavy to hide in his robe, so it was unfortunately staying home tonight.

Harry was a little uncomfortable with so much of his wardrobe stripped away, but he hadn't been kidding when he'd told Draco that he'd been trained to defeat opponents while posing as a muggle. Part of that training had involved living without all the weaponry and magical tools he was used to carrying.

//It'll probably even be good for me,// Harry told himself. //I can just hear Ly'haniir now -- telling me to rely on myself and not all the accessories.//

And after all, tonight was just for himself -- not for Ly'haniir, or training, or the good of the wizarding world, or anything else. And that thought alone was enough to bring a smile to his face. Suddenly, Harry was eager to be off. //The table's booked for 7:30,// he reminded himself. //We have plenty of time, and Sev' will be waiting... Why am I still standing here?//

Quickly, Harry passed into the living room, intent on picking up Sev's potions book before heading out to meet the man to whom it belonged. But just as he reached the middle of the room, Harry was suddenly struck by the most excruciating pain imaginable.

He fell to the floor instantly, convulsing as his muscles twitched and spasmed in sympathy with his mind, and through the searing agony Harry realised that it was all in his mind -- as though someone had cast Cruciatus on him without being present...

//Voldemort,// his pain-addled thoughts supplied. And hard on the heels of that understanding came the memory of an identical pain -- this exact moment in precise and terrifying detail -- just as he had lived it in the Mirror.

"Noooo!" he screamed. It couldn't be the same! It just couldn't! If it was, that would mean...

"Severus!" Harry gasped. Merlin, no! If this really was the same thing that had happened in the Mirror, then there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. But Severus...

He couldn't focus -- couldn't stop the agony in his scar from stabbing into his mind. //Voldemort... have to stop it... stop...//

But he couldn't. The walls Harry had built to squeeze down his connection to the Dark Lord were being overwhelmed -- and the very nature of the pain told him that he was not the only one suffering. Linked to Voldemort by his scar, and to Severus by years of physical and emotional intimacy in the Mirror, Harry had long ago learned how to recognise the second-hand sensation of Severus' own link to the Dark Lord. He could feel it whenever Sev' was summoned, and in the same way he knew that at this moment Sev' was hurting -- and hurting badly.

Whatever Voldemort was doing was also flushing power back through his followers -- back through everyone who was connected to him by the Dark Mark he'd burned into their skin.

"Severus..." Harry forced himself to his knees. He had to get to Severus while his battered walls were still -- mostly -- holding. Nearly blind with pain, he staggered to the door and wrenched it open.

There were many curses that inflicted just as much pain as Cruciatus. But only Cruciatus was an unforgivable. That knowledge was not comforting as Harry hauled himself brokenly down the corridor, clinging desperately to the cold stone walls.

Whereas other curses might burn, or smash bones, or even liquefy you from the inside out -- only Cruciatus did nothing at all to the physical body. Instead, it forced the sensation of pain directly into the mind itself.

Without a physical source for the suffering, there was no way to relieve the agony of the victim. With other curses, there were spells or potions that could be applied to deaden the sensations. A victim might die, but they would not die screaming in agony. With Cruciatus, it was the opposite. A victim was unlikely to die, but they would continue to scream until they shredded their own vocal chords -- and even then, they would continue trying to scream.

Put simply, Crucio hurt just as much ten seconds after being cast, as it did ten hours later. That first instant of pain held the same intensity of suffering as every other moment under the curse. There was nothing that could alleviate it.

And that was what made it unforgivable.

Finally, Harry felt wood under his fingers: the door to Severus' rooms. With his eyes squeezed shut, he forced himself to concentrate long enough to magically reach out into Sev's wards and demand entry. Thank Merlin for the fact that he was so familiar with those wards from his time in the Mirror. If he'd actually had to think about them, he would probably have been forced to just blow the door off its hinges.

As he shoved his way inside, a scream of agony greeted his ears.

Harry slammed the wooden door closed behind him, grateful for Sev's silencing and privacy spells. With the door shut, nobody would be able to hear them, and Harry would be able to do what he must without being interrupted.

Forcing his eyes open -- fighting the instinct to keep them screwed shut against the pain -- Harry spied Severus writhing on the floor of the main room. The man's teeth were tightly clenched in an effort to avoid screaming again, but it was obvious he wouldn't be able to hold out for long. The tendons on Severus' normally smooth neck stood out like ropey snakes under his skin. Every muscle was taut and straining. Shakily, Harry drew his wand and hoarsely whispered, "Petrificus Totalis." Instantly, Severus' body relaxed into the frozen stiffness of a full body bind.

As quickly as he could, Harry magically floated the immobile Potions Master into the bedroom, and lowered the man's body onto the bed. After clinging to the bedroom doorframe for a few moments, Harry then turned and lurched desperately towards the locked and warded storage cupboard in Sev's personal workroom.

As he fell into the spotless laboratory -- still fiercely trying to maintain his eroding mental walls -- a small part of Harry's mind replayed what he knew of the three ways to escape Cruciatus.

The first way was simple: you died. Centuries ago, when Cruciatus had originally been conceived, there'd been no way to remove it. Even 'Finite Incantatum' had been ineffective. In those days, it was considered a kindness to put an end to such suffering, and it became common for ruthless wizards and witches to kidnap someone close to their enemy, cast Crucio on them, and then return them -- still living -- to their grieving family and friends.

However, that particular horror underwent an abrupt change with the discovery of the second way to escape Cruciatus. In the end, it was revealed that because the curse had no anchor in the physical body, its connection to the victim was especially weak. The secret to breaking it turned out to be nothing more than a simple wand motion coupled with the true desire to put an end to it and a modicum of concentration. It didn't even require a spoken word.

These days the only way to die of Crucio was through physical weakness -- for although the curse itself did no physical harm, the body's natural reaction to perceived pain still applied. The victim's heart rate soared, adrenalin flooded the bloodstream, and tendon stretched and snapped tightly over straining muscle and bone. Muggles -- who were more susceptible to the curse than wizards -- had been known to contort their bodies with such force that they fractured their own limbs. Blood vessels could burst -- and some grimoires still contained images of victims weeping bloody tears as the delicate blood vessels of the eye were ruptured. A weakened blood vessel in the brain could be fatal, and the strain on a victim's heart could cause a coronary.

Had anyone in the wizarding world stopped to think about it, they would have noticed that there was no such thing as an obese or unfit Death Eater. For while a wizard's innate magic nearly always protected the body well enough to avoid permanent injury, those who struggled with the additional burden of poor health simply didn't survive repeated exposure to Voldemort's treatment of them.

But wizard or not, minor damage -- such as lacerated vocal chords -- was all too common. Which was why Harry had used Petrificus Totalis on Severus. The binding spell would keep his body from harming itself until Harry could gather what he needed to prevent both Severus and himself from becoming so consumed with pain that they succumbed to the final method of escaping Cruciatus.

Abruptly, Harry crashed against Sev's storage cupboard. It was both locked and warded, and he couldn't focus well enough to practice the niceties of getting it open. So instead, he simply destroyed the wards and smashed the glass to get at the potions inside.

After tucking his wand into the waistband of his pants, Harry carefully began pawing his way through the delicate bottles and sealed flasks. As he desperately searched for the right potions, Harry found himself wishing that he and Severus really were under Cruciatus. It would be so easy to remove the curse if that was all it was. But they weren't. What they were going through was only like Cruciatus, and since no spell had been cast on them, there was no magic to be broken. They were simply caught up in the backwash of Voldemort's insane greed for power.

Finally Harry found everything he needed -- four potions, two of which he would be drinking almost immediately, and two that he and Sev' would need in a few hours. Carefully cradling the bottles against his chest, Harry staggered away from the wrecked cupboard, heedless of the broken glass crunching beneath his boots.

When he finally stumbled back into the bedroom, Harry all but collapsed onto the bed next to Severus. His own pain was becoming worse, and he knew that soon he wouldn't be able to think at all. //How long has it been?// he worried. //Did it take this long last time?// But he had no way of knowing since his time-sense had been stretched and distorted by the ever-increasing pain and his panicked fear for Severus' safety.

Unlike Harry, Severus had no walls pressing down on his link to the Dark Lord, so the Potions Master had already suffered the full weight of Voldemort's brutality for several minutes. Severus had a strong and well-ordered mind, but when your whole world was nothing but agony and suffering, there was only so much pain anyone could take before succumbing to madness.

And it was madness that was the third and final escape from the pain of Cruciatus.

The first time Crucio had been cured, ordinary wizards and witches had rejoiced. Their loved ones could no longer be placed under eternal torture. No-one would ever again be forced to kill a relative or lover in order to stop the screams.

But the joy had been short-lived.

Instead of being ended, the horror had merely been altered. Cruel enemies discovered that if the curse was not lifted quickly enough, then the victim's mind retreated from the pain by retreating from sanity. Instead of a grave, survivors now inherited the never-ending helplessness of caring for someone who alternately drooled and howled, becoming randomly violent or near-comatose, with no hope of recovery.

Such was the cruelty Voldemort had visited upon Neville Longbottom's parents.

//But that's not going to happen to us,// Harry promised himself. //We survived this in the Mirror. We will survive it now!//

Mindful of the potions still cradled in his arms, Harry carefully shifted one hand in order to pull out his wand. The waistband of his pants was not the safest or most comfortable place for it. Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold onto it while he still had to worry about the potions -- and he couldn't afford to risk dropping his wand or having it roll out of reach under the bed before he released Severus from the body bind. So instead, Harry simply left it on the covers beside Severus' body. Then he deliberately allowed himself to slip gently to the floor.

There was a rug covering the cold stone beneath him, and Harry gratefully sagged forwards until he could relax and let the delicate glass potion bottles slide from his arms onto the soft material. He noted the slight tremor in his hands as he separated out the two potions he and Sev' would need later. Carefully, he pushed those two bottles safely up against the wall beside the bed. Between the pain in his mind and the shaking in his body, Harry knew he wouldn't have had much chance of getting those potions safely onto the nightstand -- and where they were now, he couldn't step on them or accidentally knock them over.

Then Harry shrugged his way out of his battle robe. It was the only piece of clothing he was currently wearing that would present a danger if Severus tried to remove it. But other than that, Harry didn't waste any more time before roughly grabbing up the first of the two remaining potions. He unstoppered the first bottle and downed the contents in a single gulp. A frission of hot desire burst into life within him. He'd just drunk one of the most potent aphrodisiacs in the wizarding world, and given that he hadn't bothered to dilute it, the effects would last hours.

Even the pain of Crucio would not be enough to drown it out.

Harry was already gasping at the drug-induced ache in his groin when he opened the remaining potion and swallowed it to the last drop. This one required a few minutes to become effective, and when it did he would have to be ready for it because afterwards reality would become more than a little... blurred.

He was nearly done. With an immense effort, Harry managed to get his knees under him and haul himself back up onto the bed. His blood was surging through his veins like molten fire, and he cursed himself for not thinking to open the front of his pants before he'd tried to move. The erection between his legs was painfully hard and not at all happy about the restriction of clothing. But he couldn't afford to worry about it now. Severus had been left alone with the pain for far too long already.

Quickly, Harry located his wand and retrieved it. Then he gently straddled Severus' unmoving form, seating himself low over the other man's hips. Leaning forwards, Harry closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Severus' warm chest.

Concentrating, Harry reached inwards for the magic -- and then he reached out...

Power flowed.

Instantly, Harry's pain was doubled -- tripled -- multiplied beyond bearability. His internal walls vanished without a flicker. The world whited out with pain. He might have screamed... he wasn't sure... but with the last of his concentration, he managed to croak out the words that would release the body beneath him from its spell...

----oo00oo----

Severus was lost -- cocooned in a world of hurt and unable to feel anything but searing agony.

There was a part of him that knew what was happening. After all, it wasn't the first time he'd suffered Crucio. But this time it was different. It didn't stop -- didn't end. He could feel himself beginning to slip. He was losing control -- panicking. Losing faith that it would ever end.

Then suddenly, there was something else -- someone else. And he'd never had a companion in his pain before -- never someone to share it...

The Other's presence in his mind was instantly followed up with need -- a hot desire that flared up and burned him from the inside out.

Pain. Companionship. Lust.

And then... Freedom.

He fought the instinct to scream as his body was suddenly released and physical sensation crashed back into his awareness. But that first involuntary flex of muscle shifted a weight over his hips and the scream turned to strangled gasp as the friction rubbed heat into aroused flesh. His awareness of the Other intensified as lust and desire flooded into him from outside -- from the Other lying atop him. The Other's need fuelled his own, and came to him laced with the familiar echoes of his own desire.

Hot breath panted next to his ear and teeth nibbled down one side of his throat before reaching the junction of neck and shoulder. Suddenly those teeth bit down.

Hard.

Severus gasped, arched, and clawed at the Other's back.

He understood.

The pain could not be stopped.

But it could be made bearable.

The Other's presence in his mind forced him to acknowledge the existence of a world beyond himself -- anchoring him in reality and preventing him from fleeing inwards in an effort to cut off the pain. It also carried the comfort of a companion -- someone who shared the pain -- who understood it because they also suffered it. He was not alone.

The lust and overwhelming need for sex -- for climax -- pushed a sharp needle of pleasure into the blinding agony. It speared a single thread of physical gratification into his awareness, giving him something other than pain to focus on. It was something he could hold onto that prevented the pain from becoming all-encompassing -- from becoming all there was.

The teeth in his neck offered genuine physical pain -- a location on his body he could feel and know why it hurt. The pain of Crucio could be blended into it, tying a purely mental torture to a physical response. What's more, it was a physical response he could choose to participate in, thus gaining a measure of control -- of choice -- back for himself.

These realisations never made it to Severus' conscious mind. He was hardly capable of conscious thought by the time the Other came to him. But something within him understood nonetheless, and the will to survive that had carried him through eighteen years of public mistrust and hidden betrayal accepted the implied offer of salvation with desperate enthusiasm.

He reached over and pulled the Other's head up -- forcing their lips together into a bruising kiss. Then he deliberately bit down, returning the gift of physical pain and filling both their mouths with the sharp tang of blood. The Other moaned and pushed back, pinning him down and tearing at his clothes.

But it was all too much -- too sharp -- too stark. The pain heightened all his senses when it should have dulled them. Every touch both inflamed him and burned him with no middle ground. And then -- somehow -- the sharpness of it all began to fade. His senses became... blurred... softened... and Severus gratefully surrendered all pretence of control, giving himself over to a pain-filled pleasure that ebbed and surged unpleasantly within him.

And in letting go, an unquiet voice disturbed him with the vague impression that he was also giving himself over into the Other's care -- giving of himself in a way that he had not contemplated for many years –

-- if indeed he ever had.

----oo00oo----

By the time the second potion began to take effect, Harry was no more capable of coherent thought than Severus. But as sensation and perception were slowly blurred and blended together, the connection he'd forged with the other man suddenly surged and deepened. Harry gasped at the sensation, intuitively knowing that Severus had just surrendered the last of himself to the magic that would save them both.

Together, they tore at each other's clothing, desperate to reach skin -- to feel the press and dig of strong hands over muscle. They bit and clawed, leaving bruises and welts as offerings to their mutual desire for survival. They ground their bodies together, seeking sensation as a distraction -- as a lifeline to cling to against the torture that existed within their minds.

They inflicted damage upon one another in a drug-induced craving for physical release, while the link between them fed that craving from one to the other and back again. Reality blurred and dimmed. Pleasure and pain were smeared into each other until it was impossible to tell where one left off and the other began.

And somewhere deep in the recesses of Harry's mind, each moment called forth the unwanted memory of a similar moment -- another night played out in a Mirror-world that others could not remember. Of all the things he had promised himself he would change, how could it be that this had to happen again? How could he have let it happen?. And yet, without the gift of foresight...

...how could he have stopped it?

Unnoticed through potion-blurred perceptions, Harry's tears mingled with the sweat that sheened their skin and soaked the sheets.

Time likewise passed unnoticed, until -- in the hour before midnight -- the drugs that had burned so fiercely in Harry's blood finally wavered and flickered out. The pain that had been so much like Crucio had ebbed and faded some time before, but neither man had been in any condition to note its passing. Even now, there was not enough strength left in either of them to acknowledge that their ordeal was finally over. Instead, there was simply an exhausted need to rest -- and to rest so deeply that it bordered on unconsciousness.

And so they slept.

----oo00oo----

Sometime later, Harry woke. He opened his eyes, and the ceiling of Severus' bedroom gradually wavered into view. Harry felt a moment's disorientation before he remembered what had happened. A pang of sorrow shot through him. //I couldn't stop it,// he told himself, trying to alleviate the wave of guilt. //There was no way I could've known...//

The torches on the walls had apparently been spelled to burn for an unnatural length of time. Even with half the night gone, they were still alight, casting a soft golden glow over the room. There was no warmth coming from the fireplace, and the chill of the cold stone had begun to settle into Harry's stiff and sore muscles.

Tentatively, Harry tried to roll over.

//Ow,// he thought, //that hurt.// Worriedly, Harry managed to lever himself up onto one elbow. Severus lay beside him, still deeply asleep.

The other man was a mess.

Scratches, bruises, and blood marred the normally smooth pale skin. Harry suspected that he didn't look much better himself. //As if I needed another reason to avoid mirrors,// he thought tiredly. But of course, it wasn't only Sev's physical condition that concerned him. Right now, Harry was more worried about whether the Potions Master had weathered the pain of their ordeal with that brilliant mind still intact.

Unbidden, the memory of Sev's beautifully muscled shoulders flexing beneath his hands appeared in Harry's thoughts. He'd always adored the graceful lines of Severus' body -- especially the elegant curve of his spine. Harry loved to indulge himself by smoothing his hands down the path it made to the small of Sev's back, and then sweeping his palms out across the narrow hips. But the memory that assaulted him now was unfortunately not quite so pleasant. No -- tonight that beloved body beneath his hands had been covered in scratches, bites, and blood. Harry almost shuddered at the recollection.

Severus had been pinned beneath him from the start, and after they'd managed to strip the clothes from one another, their mutual drug-driven need for release -- for orgasm -- had barely allowed them to do more than frantically crush their bodies together while clawing at one another. It was not until some time in the middle of those terrible hours that Harry had used his skill and strength to flip Severus over onto his stomach and take him from behind.

Harry's only consolation from that memory was that it hadn't been rape. The connection he'd created between them did more than simply allow Severus to experience the effects of the potions in Harry's veins. It also allowed Harry to experience Severus' emotions and physical reactions in return. Thus, Harry knew that the older man had not only been willing, but had also taken some enjoyment from it -- or at least... as much enjoyment as waas possible given the circumstances.

In fact, had the idea occurred to Severus first, it probably would've been Harry gasping and tearing at the sheets beneath his lover. But as it was, the faster recovery time of Harry's teenaged body, coupled with the fact that he had missed Severus so much and wanted him so badly, had given Harry the opportunity and initiative to take the lead.

Harry knew Severus would not blame him -- that the other man would, in fact, probably even thank 'Ash' for his survival. But Harry still felt like... like Dobby when he used to bang his head on the furniture crying out 'bad elf -- bad Dobby'. How on earth would Harry ever be able to explain to his love that this was the second time this had happened? That he should've seen it coming -- should've known...

//Enough!// Harry told himself sternly. //It happened. It's over. You didn't -- couldn't -- change it. Deal with the fallout and minimise the damage.// He took a deep breath. //Right. Fallout...//

Physically Severus would be in worse shape than he was. There'd been no slippery lubricant -- no spell to ease the way when Harry haad spread his lover open and pushed himself inside. There would be tearing -- internal damage. In fact, both of them ran the risk of infection -- and the number of shallow open wounds on their bodies would not help. As well, they were currently lying in a bed that was damp with their combined sweat, and cold wherever the chill night air touched it. Pneumonia was the last thing either of them needed.

Harry couldn't even begin to guess where his wand had ended up, but a word and a gesture easily took care of the possibility of pneumonia. The fireplace burst into life with a sudden whoosh of heated air, and with a second word, the rest of the room was instantly several degrees warmer. That taken care of, Harry hauled his protesting body upright and dropped his legs off the side of the bed. Carefully, he slid to the floor and retrieved one of the two potions he'd left safely pushed up against the wall. He opened it and drank the contents, breathing out a sigh of relief as the healing magic took effect.

The potion wasn't very powerful, but then it didn't need to be. Neither he nor Severus were sporting any broken bones or major life-threatening injuries. They were going to be stiff and sore for a day or two, but as long as the cuts, scratches, bruises, and other minor internal wounds were healed, then they wouldn't need to worry about infection or fever -- or the embarrassment of having to explain all this to Poppy.

Providing, of course, that Severus' mind was still whole and intact.

Harry reached out for the second healing potion, and forced himself up onto his feet. //Whoa...// His head spun, and he quickly lowered himself back down to the bed. A few moments later -- once the light-headed feeling was gone -- he cautiously sat up and crawled over to Severus.

"Professor," he croaked. The word sounded strange in his ears -- 'Severus' would've felt more natural on his tongue, but the prickly Potions Master had not yet granted 'Ash' that familiarity. Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "Professor," he said more clearly. "C'mon Professor, wake up." There was no response. Harry sighed. He put the potion down on a pillow and then started lifting the other man's shoulder until he could manoeuvre himself under it. He needed to get Sev' into a sitting position so that the Potions Master could drink the other healing draught.

Somewhere in the middle of being pushed upright, Severus started to wake up.

"Hnn," came the inarticulate protest.

"Yes," Harry told him, struggling to ease the man forward, "I know you're tired, but I need you to drink something."

"G'way... hurts..."

Relief flooded him. Severus was all right. He might be cranky and still mostly asleep, but he was definitely not insane. Thank God.

"I know it hurts," Harry smiled in response, "but hey, we both know what Cruciatus feels like, don't we?" He pushed Sev' a little more upright. "C'mon Professor," he coaxed, "I have a nice healing potion right here that will help." Harry lifted the potion and uncorked it. Then he offered it to Severus, holding it up to the other man's lips.

But the former Death Eater's suspicious nature had him twisting away. "No..."

Harry was fast running out of energy. He wasn't in any condition to be arguing with stubborn Potion Masters in the middle of the night like this. "Merlin's balls -- take the bloody potion you mistrustful bastard! It's one of yours, so unless you made a mistake, it's perfectly safe!"

The insult to Severus' potion-making skills apparently woke him up a little more. "Don't make mistakes..." came the half-conscious protest.

"Then drink the damn thing," Harry told him bluntly.

"Mmm," Sev' agreed. He was apparently conscious enough to know that his own potions were safe, but not conscious enough to realise that Harry might be lying to him about it being one that he'd brewed himself.

He drank. And Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry watched as the multitude of bruises faded out, and the welts he'd left across Severus' pale skin closed over and healed. Exhausted, Harry held the other man close, enjoying the simple feeling of having Severus in his arms. It was a matter of moments before the Potions Master was once more deeply asleep.

"I'm so sorry, love," Harry whispered. "I never wanted this to happen again."

----oo00oo----

In the Mirror, tonight's suffering had been years away in the future. Albus had still been alive, and Harry had temporarily returned to Hogwarts from fieldwork. He'd been injured -- though not seriously -- and Poppy had insisted that he stay a while to give himself time to recover properly. Albus had also insisted, and Harry had known better than to fight them both. His acceptance had caused Poppy to remark that he must've been more unwell than she'd thought, but in reality Harry was simply tired and knew that he needed a break. His War Mage training had taught him to respect his limitations, and part of that was the knowledge that he would be much more effective later if he simply took the time to rest now.

By that stage, Harry had been involved in the war as both apprentice and fully qualified War Mage. He'd been graduated in the field, and had worked in secret with Professor Snape on several occasions. Dealing with the Death-Eater-turned-spy on adult terms had been something of a shock for both of them.

At first, Severus had remained cynical about Ash's skills and abilities. He'd simply stated that an idiot mage was ten times as likely to blow himself up as an idiot wizard -- and that he had no desire to be present when it happened since he would probably be blamed for it.

Harry, on the other hand, still saw Severus as the prejudiced, spiteful, vindictive ex-Death Eater who'd enjoyed torturing him and his friends for too many years at Hogwarts.

It hadn't been what you'd call a wonderful working relationship.

At that point, Harry wouldn't have picked Snape for his lover even if he'd been the only other human being on the face of the planet. And the Potions Master himself undoubtedly felt the same way.

But even though love was the furthest thing from either man's thoughts, in the end neither of them had been able to avoid learning respect.

Grudgingly, Severus Snape came to appreciate that War Mage Ash was not the same person as the spoiled little brat he'd taught in Potions. Ash was, of course, still irritatingly cheerful and annoying at times, but now there was a darker side to him as well. It had shocked Severus to the core the first time he'd seen Harry use Crucio. Not because the boy -- man -- had used it, but because he'd used it so ruthlessly and effectively. And afterwards, Harry had simply looked at him with desolate eyes that contained a world of sorrow and regret. Neither man had said anything. It was simply understood between them that what had been done was necessary, and would probably be necessary again in the future.

Such understanding both pleased and saddened Severus. Too often such work was left to the ex-Death Eater simply because he was able to get answers where others could not. But it also seemed to him that one or two of his so-called 'allies' felt that because he was an ex-Death Eater and a Slytherin, it was only right that he should be the one to deal with the nasty and unpleasant jobs. Far be it from them to sully their self-righteous little souls with the darker side of war. But Ash never once tried to avoid a task simply because it was distasteful, and although he didn't like Severus, Ash never ignored his former teacher, or trivialised his presence, or tried to imply that Severus was somehow less than human because of the Mark on his arm. Severus was intimately involved in the dirtiest part of the war, and when Harry was partnered with him, the War Mage was right down there in the dirt alongside him.

As inconceivable as it seemed, Severus actually began to trust War Mage Ash in a way that he'd trusted few others in his life.

For his part, Harry gradually came to appreciate the fine mind behind Severus Snape's unreadable dark eyes. He learned to appreciate the black humour and the dry wit -- the creativity of the sarcasm and insults that Severus doled out in seemingly endless supply. But most of all, Harry came to understand why Severus was so dark -- so aloof, and so... disappointed with the world -- and himself.

It was a very small thing that triggered that understanding, but the knowledge it engendered was based on years of proximity to Severus Snape and a thousand different moments of observation -- all falling together in six simple words.

Harry accidentally overhead those six words at the end of a high-level strategy meeting. At the end of the gathering, Harry had been waiting patiently to speak with Albus when he noticed Snape approach one of the other members with a potion in his hands. It looked rather like a bottle of Dreamless Sleep -- and these days there were a lot of people suffering nightmares who would've loved to get hold of the stuff. Curiously, Harry noted the surprise on the other man's face as the Potions Master handed him the bottle. He missed the man's astonished question, but clearly heard Snape's irritated answer: "Of course I did. I said I would didn't I?" Later, Harry discovered that the man -- one of Dumbledore's operatives -- had indeed requested a bottle of Dreamless Sleep for some of the people under his command. Apparently, the lack of restful sleep was beginning to affect their performance. Plainly, the man hadn't expected Snape to actually go ahead and make the stuff.

But it was the last part of the Potion Master's reply that changed the way Harry saw Severus Snape forever.

"I said I would didn't I?"

Six words. That's all. And yet Harry had known respected men and women -- heroes even -- who could not say those words with the same weight -- the same honesty -- that Snape gave them. Looking back oveer everything he knew about the Potions Master, Harry suddenly realised that the man had never failed to live up to those words. What he said he would do -- he did. There was no swearing of oaths, no promises, no special ritual to guarantee his actions. Snape didn't need them. And what that implied about the man was nothing short of astonishing. After all, Severus Snape was a spy. His life -- and the lives of thousands of others -- depended upon his remarkable ability to lie -- and to lie so well that even Voldemort couldn't tell the difference. And yet... when it wasn't a matter of life and death, or the protection of others, Snape was the most honest man Harry had ever known. Painfully honest in fact. If you asked him for an opinion, he would give it to you -- warts and all. If you asked him a question -- and he deigned to answer -- then you would get the plain unvarnished truth, regardless of how much it hurt.

Most people believed Snape said such things because he was a callous unfeeling bastard. But Harry could recall times when Snape's honesty had likewise wounded the man himself. It wasn't callousness -- it was simply a personal standard of behaviour that was so high that it sometimes bordered on cruelty.

Harry's mage training had taught him how to lie to the best of his ability. But he'd also been instructed on the ethics of lying, and it was in those classes that Harry had discovered lying was a natural part of society. Everybody lied, and people even expected you to do so in certain circumstances. You didn't tell a bereaved wife that her husband had been a complete arsehole and you were glad he was dead. You didn't tell a friend who'd spent four hours in the kitchen that dinner was awful and you were going to buy take-out on the way home. You didn't tell a child that you couldn't really figure out what on earth the picture on the front of your birthday card was supposed to be. From big things to little things, people lied all the time. The only difference between all the lies people uttered, lay in the motive behind them. 'Good' lies were to help and protect others, while 'bad' ones were for selfish or cruel reasons. Lying only became complicated when it was possible that a 'good' lie might be discovered, and end up causing more harm than if the truth had only been told in the first place.

But Snape evidently considered any lie to be beneath him -- unless of course it was directly related to his spying activities. And even then, Harry suspected that he only did it as a form of penance, and because he knew how much depended on him doing it. It was a peculiar outlook on life, and Harry could only wonder about what strange circumstances might have produced such a strict code of behaviour.

Yet, in the wake of this new understanding, Harry couldn't help but admire Severus Snape. To be so ruthlessly truthful demanded a great deal of courage. It also explained the man's cynicism and disappointment with the people around him. To Snape it must have seemed like the world was full of deceit and cowardice. No wonder he was so angry with Gryffindors. The very people reputed to be the most courageous, were -- in his eyes -- no more willing to face up to the hard truths about themselves, and life in general, than anyone else. What's more, while Snape was growing up, he would've become more and more distrustful of other people as each one of them successively failed to live up to his personal standard of ethical behaviour. As a young man, he had become a solitary figure, contemptuous of others, and never really understanding why the world had turned on him.

Of course, there were other reasons too -- such as a certain natural arrogance that came from his pureblood background, and the knowledge that he was smarter and more talented than most of the people around him. But it was primarily his unwillingness to make allowances for the sake of others that earned him his harshest criticism.

And oddly enough, it was that same brutal honesty that lured Harry in like a moth to a flame.

As a child, Harry had been lied to all his life. His parents had not died in a car crash, magic really did exist, and he was not a freak, or useless, or un-loveable. At Hogwarts, people had invented things about him -- calling him "Slytherin's Heir", or saying that he was only interested in fame and publicity. People had accused him of lying at various times -- especially Snape, to whom he actually had lied upon occasion. But he'd tried to be mostly honest, and it had hurt a lot when Ron didn't believe that he hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire during fourth year. And of course, the lies Rita Skeeter and Cornelius Fudge came up with were beyond belief -- except that they had been believed by far too many people who read the Daily Prophet.

For someone like Harry, the knowledge that Snape would not lie to him or about him only served to increase his sense of fascination until it became too strong to resist. It was strangely comforting to know that Snape would not lie to him for anything less crucial than a life or death situation. And once he found out just how little Snape understood his fellow human beings, Harry was able to see more clearly the difference between a man who could mix the most complex and delicate potions, and a man who could manipulate people and events through the most complex and delicate negotiations. Snape and Dumbledore were both geniuses -- but it was a completely different kindd of genius in each case. This also explained how an idiot like Fudge could've been elected as the Minister for Magic. The man had almost no common sense, but a great deal of talent when it came to self-promotion and getting favourable press coverage.

And so Harry had indulged himself in Snape's company -- spending time with the man under the pretence of private discussions about the state of the war and what Voldemort might do, and what their side was doing in return. And for some unknown reason Snape reluctantly allowed Harry to continue invading his privacy, until it eventually became an unspoken agreement between them that anytime they were in the same place with no other pressing duties, they would meet somewhere and simply sit and talk. If they were both at Hogwarts, that meeting was inevitably held in Severus' living room, and more often than not they shared a few glasses of wine after dinner and allowed their conversation to range widely over a multitude of subjects and ideas.

Somewhere along the line, Harry was surprised to find that 'Snape' had become 'Severus' to him, and that -- if given the choice -- he would willingly pick Sev's company over just about anyone else's. But it still never occurred to him to look at the other man with anything more than friendship and respect.

And then that night had occurred.

Nobody ever did manage to find out what spell or ritual Voldemort had performed. That it was Dark magic of the blackest kind went without saying -- but beyond that, only its effects were eventually uncovered.

The first of those effects made itself known as Harry was approaching Severus' quarters one evening. Without warning, Harry had been blindsided by an agony that threatened to overwhelm the internal walls that shielded him from Voldemort. From there, that fateful night in the Mirror had followed almost exactly the same pattern as the one that had just occurred in reality.

And in the Mirror, when Harry and Severus awoke the next morning, neither of them had been able to look at one another in quite the same way...

... although it took Harry damn near forever to convince the stubborn git that they should try repeating that night without all the pain and potions.

----oo00oo----

Harry was abruptly startled awake when his head finally dropped too far down towards his chest.

He felt a brief moment of disorientation as the memory he'd been reliving from his time in the Mirror warred with the reality that he suddenly found himself in. But reality quickly asserted itself as he realised that he was still cradling Severus in his arms, and that if he fell asleep like this he would have one hell of a crick in his neck when he next woke up.

Gently, Harry slid out from underneath his lover, lowering Severus back down onto the bed.

The other man didn't so much as twitch when Harry carefully extricated himself.

Watching Sev's sleeping form, Harry reached out and delicately traced one finger lightly down the Potion Master's bare neck and shoulder. Spreading his palm out over the warm skin, Harry marvelled that it felt so very familiar to him -- and then frowned as he recalled just how unpleasantly recognisable the last few hours had also been.

And yet... tonight had not been an exact duplicate of the Mirror version. For one thing, Harry had not originally thought to use the second potion that blurred and softened the senses. It was only his prior experience with the Mirror that made him think of it the second time around. As a result, the last few hours had been somewhat easier to endure than in the original version. Another difference lay in the fact that last time he'd been forced to drag himself back to Severus' smashed cupboard in order to retrieve the two healing potions, whereas this time he'd remembered to bring them with him into the bedroom. There were other small discrepancies too -- subtle ones that reflected the change in circumstances leading up to this night. But even so, it was all far too similar for Harry's peace of mind.

Given that tonight's events had been a crucial turning point in the Mirror for both himself and Voldemort, Harry was almost certain that this evening had played host to a Key Incident. For Harry, this night was supposed to be the beginning of a relationship that would support and strengthen him for the rest of his life. For Voldemort, this was the night that would grant him the greatest amount of personal power he would ever achieve.

They were two vastly different outcomes, tied to two very different men -- yet those outcomes were linked together by the same moment in history, just as the men themselves were connected and bound.

Harry knew that the follow-on effects from whatever the Dark Lord had done would eventually be felt across the entire wizarding world. Somehow he had to put a stop to it -- and from tonight, time would be against him.

But there was still a little of it left -- still enough to do what was needed.

All his plans would have to be moved up, and the War Mage circle would have to be notified. Briefly, Harry wondered whether this was something the Sight Mages had foreseen when they told Ly'haniir and Silver not to hide their visit. Should he tell Albus what had happened? How much would Severus need to know? Some of it certainly, if Sev' was to avoid being caught out by the Death Eaters. After all, what had happened to Sev' was not the same as what had happened to others with the Dark Mark.

Plans and anxious thoughts swirled through Harry's tired mind in a confusing storm of worry. But ultimately, the exhaustion in his body caught up with him again, and he moved reluctantly away from Severus', not wanting to disturb the other man's rest with his own tossing and turning.

Carelessly, Harry dropped his head onto a pillow and rolled onto his side so that he could watch Sev' as he fell asleep.

Something jabbed him in the ribs.

"Mmph," he grunted. //Bloody hell, what's that?// Ugh -- his wand. //...wonder where Sev's is... probably here somewhere too...//

Harry dug the offending bit of wood out of the bedclothes and relaxed back into the pillows.

Vaguely, he noted that the bed smelled of dried sweat and sex, but he was far too tired to care.

Harry gave a lazy wave of his wand. "Nox," he whispered and the torches -- now sputtering and dying anyway -- were finally extinguished.

Darkness enveloped the room, and Harry -- ever vigilant as Mad-Eye would say -- tucked his wand under his pillow and followed Severus into dreams.

----oo00oo----

Chapter 17: Conversation by Candlelight

----oo00oo----

The next time Harry woke, he drifted into consciousness enfolded by warm soft sheets and surrounded by the familiar scent of clean Hogwarts linen. The comforting sensation of a much-loved touch ghosted lightly over the scar on his forehead, and that familiar presence reassured the deepest parts of himself that all was well.

It therefore took several minutes for Harry's drowsy thoughts to idly connect the fact that Severus was tracing the outline of his curse scar, with the vague impression that for some reason the other man wasn't supposed to know the scar was there. When it finally dawned on him why Severus wasn't supposed to know the scar was there, Harry abruptly went from half-asleep to wide awake without so much as twitching an eyelid.

To all outward appearances, he was still sleeping -- curled up on one side facing the middle of the bed. But inside, Harry was mentally cursing himself for not realising that all the... activity... last night would have ruined the makeup concealing his scar.

Briefly, he wondered what he should do about Severus' discovery. 'Obliviate' was out of the question. He couldn't do that to Severus, and it would be pointless anyway since he definitely wanted an intimate relationship with the other wizard, which would only bring them back to this same situation all over again.

After a short internal debate, Harry finally decided that he simply didn't have enough information to make a decision. Whatever he said or did next would have to be based on Severus' response to the situation -- and right now Harry had no clue as to what the other man might be thinking. That meant that all he could really do was let Severus know that he was awake and then allow the Potions Master to set the tone for any revelations or accusations.

Still feigning sleep, Harry shifted a little and then breathed in deeply as though he was about to wake up. The touch disappeared from his face, and Harry let out an involuntary sigh at the loss of contact. Sleepily, he allowed his eyes to flutter open.

Severus was lying naked in front of him with the sheet pulled loosely up around his hips and his head propped up on one elbow. Harry allowed himself a few moments to drink in the sight of his lover's bare skin before regretfully shifting his attention to the rest of his surroundings. Over Severus' shoulder, Harry could see a couple of chubby half-melted candles burning silently on a wall-mounted shelf. With surprise, he realised that it was still some time before dawn, and the house elves had not yet been around to replace the torches that had burned out during the night. The fire he'd lit in the hearth earlier was now reduced to a few glowing coals, but the air in the room was still warm -- probably due to something Severus had done when he'd cleaned up both the bed and its occupants.

With another sigh -- and mindful of his sore muscles -- Harry rolled onto his back and allowed himself a careful stretch. He absently noted that the dying fire and the various candles scattered around the room were creating a soft golden light that was accentuated by a pinpoint of tiny brilliance wherever a solitary flame burned steadily in the darkness.

He turned his head back towards Severus -- watching him. Waiting.

At length, Severus looked at the scar on his forehead and asked, "Was it the Killing Curse?"

"Yes," Harry replied quietly. There was no point in lying -- Severus wasn't stupid, and a mage wouldn't normally use muggle makeup to hide an ordinary scar. It was interesting though, that the other man apparently still believed War Mage Ash and Harry Potter were two different people. After all, Severus already knew how 'The Boy-Who-Lived' had received his scar.

Severus seemed to consider Harry's answer for a moment before making the comment: "I was unaware that anyone other than the Potter boy had ever survived it."

Harry made no reply to this.

"But then," Severus continued, "since it seems no-one knew you existed until recently, I suppose it's not that surprising." There was another short silence before Severus asked hopefully, "You wouldn't happen to know how you survived it, would you?"

Ah. That explained why Severus was asking questions about a curse-scar instead of their pain-filled encounter earlier this evening. After all, the Death-Eater-turned-spy was far more likely to run into the Killing Curse than a repeat performance of something that had never happened before and might never happen again. Trust Severus to have his priorities in order.

"Strangely enough," Harry replied, "-- yes, I do. But I don't think the information will do you any good, since I haven't been able to repeat the experience with any other spell, and I'm not about to start experimenting with the Killing Curse just to see if it was a fluke."

"Still," Severus prompted, "if there's the slightest possibility..."

And so Harry explained about instinctively tapping into the magic of the curse in an attempt to use its power to sustain himself, and then went on to describe how -- instead of allowing the curse in past his own defences -- the magic had connected him back to the very man who'd been trying to kill him. "So you see," Harry finished, "when he tried to get away from me, it tore some sort of... hole... in his magic -- and he basically just bled out through it until he had almost nothing left."

"He died then?" Severus asked thoughtfully.

"Not quite," Harry admitted, and then grimly added: "But I fixed that problem for him a few years later."

"Ah," Severus said delicately. He noted the stony expression on his bedmate's face and curiously added: "You don't seem too pleased about his demise."

"You don't know what I had to do to get rid of him." Harry shuddered involuntarily. "And... I thought I'd be happy when he was gone. But I wasn't. I was just tired and sore and... well -- relieved, I guess. Like a heavy weight had been lifted off me. But I can't say I was really happy about it. I don't like killing people -- not even him."

Severus was silent for a moment. "We do what we must," he said softly. "The day you come to enjoy it, is the day you become the enemy." Then -- mercifully -- he changed the subject. "It's strange," Severus commented as his eyes flicked back to Harry's forehead, "that you and Potter should have the same scar in exactly the same place. I would've thought it might look different -- or at the very least, would be locatedd somewhere else."

"What -- like on my butt or something?"

Severus arched an amused eyebrow. "More like your chest or back actually -- since most people aim for the largest target in order to have the best chance of actually hitting it."

"I suppose," Harry agreed. "But you're forgetting that people who enjoy killing also tend to enjoy having helpless victims who can't run away."

"Yes, of course," Severus responded bleakly. "On their knees..."

"-- where a curse to the head is convenient," Harry finished. It wasn't quite what had happened to him, but as a baby lying in his crib, Harry had certainly been helpless and unable to run away.

Severus frowned. "But you're a mage. Even without your wand --"

This time it was Harry's turn to be amused. "Surely you don't imagine I was born with the encyclopaedia of other-species spells in my head, do you?" Severus looked momentarily embarrassed. "At the time I was attacked," Harry explained, "I didn't even know I was a mage."

"And yet," Severus mused, "you still managed to live through the Killing Curse -- just as Potter did. I wonder if the fact that you're both mages is significant?"

Harry was half-upright with astonishment before he knew what he was doing. "You knew?!" he demanded.

This time it was Severus' turn to roll calmly onto his back while Harry stared down at him.

"I'm not an idiot, War Mage," he disdainfully replied. Then he calmly laced his fingers together across his bare chest and added: "The boy has no idea of the power he could potentially wield, and is still young enough to be flexible in his thinking. Given his astonishing ability to find trouble -- and then somehow survive it -- it doesn't surprise me that he would turn out to be a mage."

"Which doesn't tell me how you knew in the first place!" Harry objected.

A smirk played at the edges of Severus' mouth. Eventually he replied: "If you're worried about others coming to the same conclusion -- don't be. My reasoning involves facts that are not widely known."

When it became obvious that the irritating man beside him wasn't going to add anything more, Harry finally caved in. "All right," he capitulated, "I give up. Please tell me how you knew Harry Potter is a mage."

With a smug look at having forced Ash to ask him for the information, Severus blandly stated: "My first clue was the fact that you happened to turn up the day after Potter mysteriously disappeared. Very coincidental. And then of course Albus decided to hire you -- even though you were a dangerous unknown with no background or references --"

"He's hired worse than me," Harry protested.

"I am -- unfortunately -- all too aware of that," Severus rreplied. "However, I do not recall any of our previous Dark Arts teachers knowing about my Mark, let alone the fact that I'm a spy and not loyal to Voldemort."

"Draco --"

"-- doesn't know that I'm a spy, and would never have told you about my Mark unless he believed you already knew -- which you have previously admitted he did."

"Ms Granger and Mr --"

"Yes, I can well believe she and Weasley would tell you all about their nasty Potions Professor and his less-than-trustworthy past. I'll even allow that you might have learned about my Mark from them. But I do not believe they would ever tell you that I'm spying on Voldemort for the Headmaster. I'm not even certain they know I'm a spy. Of the three of them, only Potter was actually present when Albus asked me to return to Voldemort -- and I sincerely pray the boy had more respect for my life than to go blabbing that all over the school. More to the point however, I doubt that either of his hangers-on -- and Weasley in particular -- would ever tell you something that might sway you towards trusting me when they aren't entirely certain they can trust me themselves. In fact, if Potter did tell them, then I'd be more inclined to believe they conveniently forgot to mention that I might be a spy, in favour of warning you against placing your faith in me."

Harry had no reply to that. The matter-of-fact way that Severus acknowledged Ron and Hermione's opinion of him was heartbreaking. Not because they didn't like him -- Severus didn't care whether they liked him or not -- but because they didn't trust him. A single mistake all those years ago, and Severus had been forever branded a traitor -- even by two teenagers who knew he'd saved Harry's life on more than one occasion over the past five years.

"Albus trusts you," he offered quietly.

"And you are so enamoured of the Headmaster's opinion," Severus asked wryly, "that you believe he made the right choice in trusting our previous Dark Arts teachers? I hardly think so. And yet, you're convinced that I hold no loyalty towards Voldemort -- that I am, in fact, a spy for the so-called 'Light' side. Now why would that be?"

"Uh... I'm a good judge of character?"

Severus snorted cynically. "Or perhaps," he retorted, "your knowledge of my Mark and your belief that I am completely trustworthy come from someone who's had the opportunity to observe me more closely than Granger or Weasley -- someone who has directly benefited from my protection as his friends have not. Mr Potter -- spoiled brat that he is -- is at least in possession of enough brain power to understand the difference between hating someone and wanting to believe the worst about them simply because he hates them."

"Does he hate you?" Harry asked softly.

Severus looked surprised by the question. "I would assume so," he replied indifferently. "Merlin knows I certainly loathe him. But that's entirely beside the point. The point is that he disappeared at approximately the same time you arrived -- and that you've been in possession of secrets known to very few people for quite some time. We were only in the third week of classes when you told me that you knew more about me than I would believe possible. Do you really expect me to believe that Albus would betray my secrets to you? Or that Granger and Weasley would willingly give you reason to trust me? -- and all some time before the third week of term?"

"And yet," Harry pointed out, "you seem to be implying that Mr Potter would tell me such things on the very day we met."

Severus smirked at Ash's tacit admission that he had indeed met Harry Potter before the young wizard had disappeared. "In Potter's case," Severus responded, "it's not an unreasonable assumption. Given that you and he possess an identical scar and survived the same curse, I'm quite certain that he was intensely curious about you. From there, it would've been easy for you to convince him that you were a genuine mage simply by demonstrating a bit of wandless magic. And after that, you would've made your grand offer -- everything the Gryffindor Golden Boy could possibly want: a place to go where Voldemort cannot find him; a school where he can learn magic to a level that will place him above that of ordinary wizards; a group of people who will regard him as different -- special -- simply by virtue of being human." Severus sneered slightly as he added, "Potter was probably mouthing his acceptance before you even finished the offer."

Inwardly, Harry winced at Severus' low opinion of him. He very much wanted to tell the Potions Master the truth about himself and the Mirror of Maybe. But unfortunately, it was now all too clear that Severus still thought Harry was an arrogant child who'd been raised in the lap of luxury on tales of his own magnificence. Harry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he revealed himself now, Severus would reject him out of hand -- and probably accuse him of some kind of plot or petty revenge as well. For now at least, he would have to allow Severus to believe the same half-truths that the Headmaster had figured out.

But that didn't mean he was going to let Severus get away with giving him only half an explanation...

"There are one or two things I'm still curious about," he began. "You believe I only met with Mr Potter in order to offer him an apprenticeship within the circle. Given the circle's reluctance to deal with humans for any other reason, I'll admit that makes sense. And of course that naturally makes him a mage. However, your certainty that I did meet with him hinges on your belief that he was the only one who could -- or would -- have told me your secrets. But as yet, I've heard nothing that would cause him to even mention you."

That smirk was back on Severus' face. "I note," the Potions Master commented, "that you're not trying to deny any of this."

Harry grimaced. "Would you believe me if I did?"

"No," came the succinct reply.

"Then what would be the point?"

Severus merely raised an eyebrow before finally answering Harry's unspoken request for the final piece of the puzzle. "Sometime during your various explanations," Severus told him, "Potter's impertinent curiosity undoubtedly caused him to ask why he'd never heard of you or your 'circle' before. That, in turn, would've uncovered your personal disagreement with the circle's policy of non-interference in the human world. And once Potter learned of your... dislike... for Voldemort and his followers -- and of your intention to remain in the wizarding world to oppose him -- the boy would've felt compelled to warn you against harming me."

"Oh?" Harry asked hopefully. "So you're saying he doesn't entirely hate you?"

"Not at all," Severus smoothly replied. "I'm simply saying that he understands my value as a spy and that his foolish Gryffindor honour would never allow him to remain silent if there was the slightest possibility that you might mistake me for a loyal Death Eater and attack me before explanations could be offered."

"I see," Harry said with silent regret. "And of course Albus hired me because --"

"-- he knows you're connected to Potter's disappearance I would assume," Severus finished.

----oo00oo----

Harry sighed.

He was once more lying on his back in Severus' bed, having collapsed back onto the mattress when the Potion Master's last statement suddenly made him realise just how many people were now privy to the truth -- or part thereof -- about the current Hogwarts' Dark Arts teacher. Just what was it about this school that made keeping secrets so impossible? As Albus had once told him: 'What happened... is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows'. Well, it wasn't quite the whole school yet, but still -- this was becoming ridiculous. //How many other people are going to figure this out?// he wondered. //First Albus, then Ron and Hermione...// He'd actually told Sirius and Remus -- and of course the circle of mages. And now Severus had also connected Ash with Harry Potter. Although, to be fair, Severus had been right about the fact that his reasoning involved secrets that were not widely known.

"Your silence is not reassuring," came a voice from the other side of the bed. Harry looked over at Severus, who was once again propped up on one arm looking down at him. "Was I wrong in my assumption that Albus knows where his favourite Gryffindor is?" And then, with a faint hint of suspicion, he added, "And if so, why does he not know?"

"He knows." Harry reassured his paranoid bedmate.

"How much?" Severus pressed.

"Not much more than you," Harry reluctantly admitted. "He knows Mr Potter is studying to be a War Mage, and he knows that I'm aware of his location. But beyond that..."

"And the Headmaster accepted that?!" Severus asked incredulously.

This time it was Harry's turn to smirk. "I didn't give him a lot of choice."

Severus blinked. "Wish I'd been there," he muttered to himself.

"I think," Harry mused, "that he didn't protest too much since it meant he could honestly tell the Ministry and the papers that he had no idea where Mr Potter was."

Severus' gave him an ironic look. "I doubt Merlin himself could get the Headmaster to cough up a secret he wasn't ready to share."

Harry laughed. It felt astonishingly good to be lying in Sev's bed, sharing their opinion of Albus together. But, when he looked back towards the Potions Master, Harry realised that the other man's dark eyes were watching him with a curiously tense expression. "What?" he finally asked, more than a little disconcerted.

"Do you expect... favours... because of this? -- because you saved my life?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed with a shocked look. "Certainly not! Why on earth would you think...?" His voice trailed off as he realised that Severus didn't know Harry had been in just as much pain as the Potions Master himself. Briefly, Harry considered hiding the fact that he'd been in the same situation as Severus. If he didn't confess, then the existence of his own link to the Dark Lord would remain a secret. But in the end, he knew he couldn't do it. Severus hated owing debts, and to owe a life debt -- to him of all people...

"You think I nobly sacrificed myself to save your life?" Harry laughed. "Sorry Professor, but it was most definitely a case of mutual survival." And he watched with satisfaction as the subtle tension gradually left Severus' face.

"Then you felt it too," Severus remarked. Suddenly he looked worried. "Would anyone else in the castle have been affected?"

"No," Harry hastened to reassure him. "Everyone else is fine."

Severus relaxed again. "Well, in that case perhaps now you'd care to explain exactly what happened -- and why the two of us were the only ones affected."

"Um, yes. Right. What happened..." Harry tried to collect his thoughts. //How do I explain this without giving too much away?// "Well," he began, "basically Voldemort performed a spell or ritual of some kind. Don't ask me exactly what he did, because I honestly don't know. All I can really tell you is that it was the blackest sort of Dark Magic -- and that it went way beyond mere Unforgivables." Harry paused for a moment, trying to decide on the best way to describe what had happened.

"But even though I don't know how he did it," Harry continued, "I am familiar with the... side-effects... that we experienced. Basically, Voldemort somehow became a conduit for more magical energy than he could handle. And while he probably dumped most of it into something nearby, there was still a kind of 'backwash' that flowed over into all the people magically connected to him."

Severus' face held a faint tinge of glee, but his next question was tempered with caution -- as though he somehow knew it was too good to be true. "Are you saying that every Death Eater experienced something remarkably like the Cruciatus Curse? For several hours?"

Harry snorted. "I wish. No, unfortunately the power that was filtered back was... well, I guess you could say 'aligned' according to your relationship with the link along which it travelled."

Severus' eyebrows rose. "My relationship with it!? We are talking about the Dark Mark here are we not?"

"Yes," Harry chuckled. "But the power that flowed into you was... well, it responds to living beings -- to their emotions and beliefs. And the Dark Mark -- while not alive in and of itself -- is still part of you. So the power became... 'attuned' so to speak... when it passed along the link and into you through your Mark."

"And that affected what I felt?"

"Oh yes." Harry confirmed. "In your case, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet that you have a rather negative attitude towards your Mark."

"Something of an understatement," Severus assured him dryly.

"And therefore," Harry finished, "the power manifested itself in a negative way -- as pain."

Severus looked at him speculatively. "And the reason you felt it would be...?"

//Let's hope he buys this,// Harry thought to himself. "Because Harry Potter is connected to Voldemort through his scar -- and I'm connected to Harry through mine." Severus' eyes widened at this information, but he didn't interrupt. "I believe," Harry continued, "that you already know Mr Potter's scar hurts whenever Voldemort is nearby." Severus gave a short nod of assent. "Well," Harry continued, "he also has visions -- dreams about the Dark Lord which are sometimes past memories, and occasionally present events."

"You mean he's actually witnessed...?" Severus looked horrified.

"Death Eater meetings? Some of their... field trips? Dark Revels? Yes. He's seen all of that and more since Voldemort's return to power. And that's on top of the things he's actually lived through himself." Quietly, Harry added, "He has rather horrific nightmares actually. Which is one of the reasons he was out of bed so often after hours."

Severus' face had gone pale. "I had no idea..."

Inwardly, Harry was very pleased by the other man's reaction. While Severus might not like the Harry Potter that he imagined he knew, the Potions Master would never wish harm or horror on someone he considered to be a student under his care. If Ash was ever going to reveal his true self, then he was going to have to change the other man's opinion about The Boy-Who-Lived. Disabusing Severus of his assumptions about Harry Potter's life would help tremendously, and this first revelation was a good step since Harry knew that Severus occasionally endured some rather horrific nightmares himself.

Which meant the Potions Master had just discovered he had something in common with Harry Potter.

"Don't let it worry you," Harry smiled -- and then chuckled at the sour look Severus gave him for assuming he was worried about Potter. "I'm sure you realise how important it was for me to establish that Voldemort wasn't having similar dreams about Mr Potter's life. When I examined his scar, I found that it was a purely one-way link. Voldemort doesn't even know it exists. But while I was studying it, I also found that my own scar was... sympathetic."

"Which was not all that unlikely," Severus mused, "given that both scars were formed by the same curse with the same intent." Then he added, "You realise that this also lends weight to the theory that Potter survived by doing the same thing you did -- linking himself back to Voldemort through the spell. Simply having scars that look similar would not be enough to cause a magically sympathetic reaction."

"Probably," Harry allowed. "But it was important to me at the time because it meant I could use that sympathy to forge a secondary link between my scar and Mr Potter's. Now the visions and pain he used to feel flow through his scar and into mine. In effect, they now bypass him and end up with me."

There was a little silence while Severus digested that.

"All right," the Potions Master eventually replied, "that explains why you felt the same pain I did. You're linked to Voldemort through Potter, and both of you dislike the Dark Lord easily as much as I do. But I fail to see why you created such a link -- or why a self-sacrificing Gryffindor like Potter would allow it."

"Because," Harry explained, "unlike Mr Potter, I have both the training and control to implement magical barriers within my mind that can squeeze down the link to the point where I don't really notice it. Normally, I don't suffer at all. Tonight was more of an... aberration... than anything else. So I simply asked Harry why he should suffer -- and potentially fall behind in his mage studies -- when I can simply take away the problem without suffering it myself."

"And then of course," Harry finished, "I pointed out that at some point, it might actually be useful to have visions of whatever Voldemort is up to. Naturally, I won't subject myself to that if I don't have to -- but who can tell whether it will become necessary at some point in the future? This way I have the option if I need it."

"A perfectly reasonable argument," Severus noted. "And one which also explains how you were able to resist last night's... 'side-effects'... long enough to reach my quarters and cast the necessary spells." Then he looked at Harry with a thoughtful expression. "And yet, you say you felt the same thing I did. I assume that means those 'barriers' of yours didn't last very long after you got here."

"No," Harry agreed ruefully. "In fact I think my desperation might've been the only thing propping them up towards the end. But they lasted long enough."

"Hmm," Severus commented in a non-committal sort of way.

"You don't agree?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Don't be ridiculous," Severus told him. "We're both still alive and capable of forming coherent sentences. I'm certainly not going to criticize your abilities -- or your methods -- for that."

"Then what...?"

"I was simply wondering whether such internal barriers might be able to block the effects of Voldemort's summons -- and if so, whether you could teach me how to create them."

Harry blinked. The Mirror version of Severus had also made this request, so Harry already knew that such barriers couldn't fully protect the Death Eater-turned-spy from Voldemort's wrath. "I could teach you," Harry admitted slowly, "but it won't... I mean they can't..." He stopped and sighed. "As I understand it, when Voldemort summons you through the Dark Mark there's a gradual increase in the level of pain until -- if you ignore it long enough -- you're effectively placed under a modified and weaker version of Cruciatus."

"Essentially, yes," Severus agreed. "Over time the pain becomes more and more severe until you quite literally cannot do anything except try to answer the summons. It's not so completely debilitating as Cruciatus -- and the risk of insanity is minimal -- but unlike the standard curse, you cann't banish it with the flick of a wand."

"That's what I thought," Harry confirmed. "The barriers I can teach you to build won't hold up against that level of pain."

Severus frowned. "But they withstood a great deal more for you last night."

"Yes," Harry acknowledged, "but my link to Voldemort isn't the same as yours. My scar wasn't branded onto me with the intention of forming a deliberate link. Neither was it purposefully created to convey pain. What happened to us last night was an unintentional side-effect of something Voldemort was doing, and as such, it affected both of us in much the same way. But what happens when you're summoned is deliberate, and doesn't affect me at all." Which wasn't quite true since Harry could always tell when Sev' was being called, but that wasn't something he wanted Severus to know just yet. "It's not the same," Harry repeated, "and the barriers I use aren't as effective for something like the Dark Mark. They won't hold up if you try to resist a summons for too long."

Severus considered that for a moment. "But they will provide protection for a time. Correct?"

"Yes -- until the intensity overwhelms them."

"Then I'd still like to learn, if you're willing to teach me. I'm not so enamoured of pain that I enjoy being summoned with an arm that feels like someone used hot pokers on it."

What Severus didn't say was that there would inevitably come a time when answering Voldemort's summons would mean his death. Once that happened, he would have to ignore any pain coming from the Dark Mark as best he could. While internal magical barriers might not hold up against the worst of it, it was also true that the Dark Lord couldn't keep the pain at that level indefinitely. And for the rest of the time -- with the barriers in place -- Severus wouldn't have to worry about it. What concerned Harry, however, was the possibility that the Death Eater-turned-spy might unknowingly answer a summons after the Dark Lord discovered his defection. With the way reality was currently diverging from his memories of the Mirror, Harry couldn't be certain that he would recognise that particular summons when it came.

But in the meantime, he could certainly prepare for it by teaching Severus the things he would need to know when the Dark Mark's call became too dangerous to answer. And of course, when dealing with irascible Potion Masters, it was always best to ensure that Severus didn't feel indebted to him for it...

"Tell you what," Harry suggested, "I'll teach you the spells and technique for creating barriers around your Mark if you'll help me with a combined Potions/Defence class."

Severus looked pleased by the War Mage's offer, but also somewhat surprised. "You actually did want to hold a combined class? I thought..."

He didn't finish that statement, but Harry could practically hear the ending. "You thought I made it up as an excuse to spend time with you," he finished, "-- and to try and get you into bed." Severus' mouth quirked with amusement as Harry realised what he'd just said. At the moment, they were in bed together -- and it had nothing to do with any plot or plan on Harry's part.

Sev's appreciation of the irony inherent in their rather... intimate... situation wasn't quite enough to make Harry blush, but the expectant look on Sev's face certainly made him wish they could drop the whole conversation right there. It was obvious that the Potions Master was still awaiting some sort of denial of any ulterior motive. The problem was... Harry couldn't honestly give him one.

"Um... ah..." Harry found himself somewhat flustered. After all, he had intended to use the combined class as an opportunity to pursue his seduction of the other man -- but that didn't mean it was the only reason he'd suggested it. He really did believe the class would be a valuable learning experience. But how could he explain that without making it sound like an excuse?

Just then Severus' expectant look transformed itself into a small chuckle, and Harry's embarrassment dissolved upon hearing the rare and welcome sound. //I'm an idiot,// Harry berated himself. //There's no way Sev' would ever believe I didn't intend to use the class as an opportunity to get to him. He just didn't realise I also wanted it purely on its own merits.//

Trust Severus to let him flounder around in his own embarrassment.

//Sadistic bloody Slytherin,// Harry thought fondly. But then, Harry didn't really care what kind of fool he made of himself if got Severus to laugh.

His bedmate soon quieted and they lay there for a few moments regarding each other silently.

"May I ask you something... personal?" Severus tentatively inquired.

"If you like," Harry replied with a curious tilt of his head. Severus guarded his own privacy fiercely -- and generally avoided any interest in other people's private lives as well. Hopefully, Sev's curiosity was a sign that he was interested in Ash as more than just a professional colleague.

"Why do you hide your curse scar with muggle makeup?"

"Because concealment charms don't work," Harry replied simply. It didn't seem like a particularly personal question to him, but then he supposed it might seem like one to Severus given the fact that Harry obviously didn't want people to know about it.

"No," Severus frowned. "I mean why hide it at all? I could understand it if you were trying to conceal yourself amongst the general population, but you aren't. In fact you go out of your way to make sure everyone recognises who and what you are." Harry was about to protest when Severus held up a hand and added, "I understand that you aren't doing it out of conceit or arrogance. After Albus' little demonstration at the welcoming feast, I recognised it as a necessity that allows those around you to take appropriate care with their behaviour. However, since you're forced to live with the notoriety anyway, why bother with the annoying task of acquiring and applying muggle cosmetics every day?"

"Mostly," Harry replied, "because I don't want people to associate me with Harry Potter. The public isn't supposed to know I had anything to do with his disappearance. Ideally, they shouldn't even be thinking about the two of us at the same time." Then ruefully Harry added, "Although in your case -- and Albus' too I might add -- it doesn't seem to have worked."

Severus looked faintly amused. "I think you're overestimating the similarities between yourself and Potter. A set of matching scars does not make you twins. In fact, the two of you are nothing alike at all."

"No?" Harry asked with much amusement. "And how would you say we're different?"

Severus snorted derisively. "How are you not different? Potter is a whiny, selfish child who goes out of his way to make himself the centre of attention wherever he is. He's a lazy student whose whims have been indulged far too often. He breaks rules constantly -- secure in the knowledge that he will not be punished as anyone else would."

"You on the other hand," Severus continued, "are self-disciplined enough to have mastered several different types of magic, as well as your own emotions and reactions. I have no doubt that as a War Mage you've known both pain and loss -- yet you don't sit about whining over iit or demanding special treatment because of it. And most telling of all -- you have a reputation for being fair to all the Houses -- even mine. The fact that Draco is willing to talk to you at all means that you know being Slytherin does not automatically make someone evil. That, in itself, is an understanding that has eluded many adult wizards -- and is something completely beyond Potter's mindless black and white view of the world." Severus paused momentarily, then added, "I don't envy your fellow mages the task of pounding some sense into Potter's thick skull."

Harry sighed. The process of teaching Severus what his life had really been like would have to be a gradual one. The man simply wasn't ready to hear the entire truth in one sitting. He would never believe it. But it didn't matter -- the need for time suited Harry perfectly. After all, he also needed Severus to know -- and believe -- that he sincerely wanted the Potions Master as a permanent part of his life. The only way that sort of surety could be achieved was through experience -- and experience would only come with time.

But that didn't mean he couldn't try and soften Severus' opinions along the way.

"Perhaps," Harry suggested, "you're being too harsh on Mr Potter. He is, after all, only sixteen. I know several people who've told me that if they were to meet their sixteen-year-old selves on the street, they'd most likely punch themselves in the nose. Can you honestly say you'd be happy to have your sixteen-year-old self sitting in your Potions class as a student?"

Severus took a few minutes to consider the question. His conclusion was evidenced by the slight grimace that appeared on his face. "No," he reluctantly admitted. "Although I would much prefer the presumption of my younger self's intellectual arrogance than the righteous moral arrogance certain Gryffindors like to practice." Then he added: "I would also like to point out that your observation about Potter's age only furthers my argument that the two of you are nothing alike. You are most certainly not sixteen."

"No," Harry wryly agreed. "But the fact that I turn thirty on my next birthday hardly means I've got one foot in the grave."

"I should hope not given that I'm only thirty-five myself."

"Ah," Harry smiled. "An older man! Lucky me to reap the benefit of all those extra years of experience." But the smile didn't reach Harry's eyes, and he anxiously searched Severus' face, awaiting the answer to his unspoken question.

On the surface, Harry's comment was little more than light-heated teasing. But beneath that, it was a very Slytherin way of asking the Potions Master whether Ash really would be allowed to experience the benefit of Severus' skills as a lover. Harry wasn't stupid enough to believe that a few hours of violent sex would sway Severus one way or the other, but the fact that Sev' was still here -- in bed with him -- still naked and asking him personal questions, gave Harry hope that perhaps the other man had already made his decision. And that perhaps it might even be the one Harry was hoping for.

Severus looked back at him with those ink-black eyes. Weighing him. Measuring him against the fact that he was even asking this question, and not presuming upon the answer simply because of their current situation.

The moment stretched.

Then the corner Severus' mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly. "Impertinent whelp," he replied with a hint of exasperation. "You should have more respect for your elders."

Answer given.

"Yes, Professor," Harry agreed -- and this time the smile sparkled in his eyes, reflecting both candlelight and happiness. Daringly, Harry reached out and traced a finger down Severus' neck, smoothing his palm out across the other man's warm skin as he reached the pale chest.

Severus watched him -- apparently amused by the fact that Ash seemed to feel it was some sort of privilege to be allowed to touch him this way. Quickly, Severus trapped Harry's hand in his own before it could move any lower, and in warm tones that reflected his amusement Severus commented: "If you're expecting anything more to happen between us tonight, then you've got a problem."

"More?!" Harry returned in amazement. "Good Gods Professor! I haven't got anything left to do more with!"

"As I said," Severus replied with a smirk, "you would definitely have some sort of medical problem if you were expecting more."

Harry laughed, and then felt a tug on his imprisoned hand. Severus gave another small tug, indicating that the War Mage should move over to join him. Harry was only too happy to oblige, and was soon settled alongside the other man with his head resting on Severus' shoulder, and their arms wrapped loosely around one another. Harry was warm, comfortable, and deliriously happy. "Professor..." he whispered into the warm flesh under his cheek.

"Why do you call me that?" Severus asked curiously. "I'm the only member of staff you don't address by their given name. In fact, you rarely even call me by my last name. I would've thought, considering our present situation..."

There was a small silence. "At first," Harry said softly, "it was simply because you never gave me permission. The others all gave me their names to use freely, but you never did... and mages are funny about names. Naming something gives you a certain... power... over it. There are very few things that will get you to respond so quickly -- or so instinctively -- as hearing your name called. I sometimes think that's why so many people are afraid of Voldemort -- because they're afraid to name him."

"You said 'At first'. Does that mean the reason changed?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "I'm not sure when, but it did. Now... now I don't want to use your name until I can give you mine in return -- and I don't mean my War Mage name. I want to give you my private name -- the name my parents gave me -- the name my lover should use."

Severus mimicked his earlier moment of silence. "That... isn't necessary," Severus told him hesitantly. "We've made no promises..."

Harry heard the uncertainty in Severus' voice. Carefully, he propped himself up so that he could look at the other man's face. "Using my private name doesn't place you under any obligation," he gently explained. "It's simply an acknowledgement that you're important to me. You aren't required to give me anything in return, or even to use it if you don't want to. I just... want to be free to give you my name before I start using yours."

"And you aren't free to do so now?" Severus asked curiously.

"No," Harry replied. "It would tell you too much about me -- and about those who could be used against me."

"I can't imagine you giving in to blackmail."

"You're right," Harry agreed heavily. "I wouldn't." It an admission that contained terrible implications for anyone held hostage to ensure his co-operation. Rescue would be their only chance, and without it they would be killed -- or worse: tortured and maimed before being returned to him as a 'lesson'.

"For what it's worth," Harry added, "I swear that my reason for not telling you is not lack of trust -- it will never be for lack of trust."

Severus looked momentarily stunned. Then, in a somewhat strained voice, he said: "You are... unwise... to trust so easily, based on so little."

"Perhaps," Harry murmured. "But then, you forget: after tonight I'm not simply relying on the word of others. No-one who was loyal to Voldemort would've been in pain a few hours ago. There could be no better proof of where your loyalties lie."

Severus' eyes widened. "War Mage," he said in an urgent tone, "do you know whether Voldemort will be able to tell what my reaction was?"

Harry looked momentarily taken aback. He considered it for a second before replying with certainty: "No, he won't. Definitely not. But then, he wouldn't need to, would he? Voldemort will soon figure out -- if he hasn't already -- what effect his power surge would've had on anyone with the Mark. The fact that you weren't driven insane would be proof enough that you're loyal." Then Harry chuckled. "In fact, you might even find he's a bit less paranoid about spies simply because he knows what would've happened to them."

Severus looked partially relieved, but it was obvious something was still bothering him. His next question revealed the cause: "Do you know what reaction a loyal Death Eater would've had? I'll need to know if anyone asks me about it, and it will be easier if I don't have to find out from one of the others."

Harry smirked. "I don't think anyone's going to ask you about it, actually. It's not the sort of thing one generally talks about in public."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Really," he said in a disbelieving tone.

"Yes. Really," Harry mimicked. "Think about it for a second. If you felt pain because you don't like Voldemort and his Dark Mark, then someone who wanted to be a Death Eater would feel...?"

"-- Pleasure obviously," Severus finished. "I had managed to work that much out for myself."

"Sorry," Harry apologised. "I seem to be underestimating you again."

"Not necessarily a bad thing," Severus told him. "-- for me that is. But... as I was going to say, pleasure can take many forms: physical, emotional, and/or intellectual. The pain we experienced was much like Cruciatus, which is a purely mental form of torture. Any physical effects were secondary. What I need to know is: in what form did the pleasurable effect manifest itself for loyal Death Eaters? -- and from your earlier comment, I'm going to assume it was somewhat embarrassing."

"Depends on what embarrasses you," Harry replied with a grin. "But to answer your question -- the pleasure would've been a purely mental form of ecstasy." Severus nodded his understanding. "-- with secondary physical effects."

"Secondary...?"

"Physical effects," Harry confirmed. "As in sexual secondary physical effects." Both of Severus' eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Gleefully, Harry added: "So you won't even have to worry about faking the appropriate symptoms!"

Severus looked completely blank for a moment. Then -- without warning -- he burst into hysterical laughter. He was literally doubled over with the force of it while a shocked War Mage stared at him in befuddlement.

"It wasn't that funny!" Harry protested. "Professor? Hey! Snape, are you all right!?"

But Severus continued to laugh and even went so far as to pound on one of the pillows while holding his stomach.

"Well, whatever the hell it is," Harry said in exasperation, "if it's all that bloody funny, then for Merlin's sake share it!"

Once Severus managed to calm down a bit, he shakily began: "You... you don't know..." then he burst into laughter again.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Harry muttered. Frustrated, he got up and stalked out of the room. A few moments later he was back with a small vial from Severus' broken storage cupboard. "Drink this," he ordered, and then watched as Severus managed to gulp down the mild calming potion between breaths.

Once the Potions Master was a bit more coherent, Harry tried again. "Now, what's so bloody funny?"

Severus took a breath. "Draco's father..." he began, and then started sniggering.

Harry waited patiently. "So it's about Lucius Malfoy," he said calmly. "Go on..."

"He was... he was..."

"Yes?" Harry prompted. "Lucius Malfoy was what?"

"-- hosting a dinner party last night!" Severus burst out. "For that imbecile Fudge and... and..." Severus was losing it again. "...and for half the top people in the bloody Ministry!"

Harry sat there with the same blank look on his face that Severus had initially displayed. Then he too was rolling around on the mattress laughing hysterically at the thought of Lucius Malfoy -- proud defender of the aristocratic pureblood Malfoy name -- suddenly moaning and screaming in ecstasy at the head of the dinner table.

"He probably came in his pants right there at the table!" Harry laughed.

"I can just see Narcissa," Severus added with tears forming in his eyes, "having to make his excuses..."

"And dragging him away..."

"...with a raging hard-on..."

"...and an obvious wet spot!"

Together they collapsed back into laughter.

----oo00oo----

Some time later, after aching muscles and tired bodies finally overwhelmed their sense of the ridiculous, the two men found themselves back in each others arms, lying close while Harry gently traced soft patterns across Severus' chest and shoulders. Severus himself had one hand entwined in Harry's hair, and was absently twisting the thick strands around one long elegant finger.

Harry was gradually falling asleep. He noted fuzzily that Severus still seemed to be wide awake and somewhat distracted by whatever he was thinking. Harry found that mildly amusing. As the younger and supposedly more vigorous man, he was the one who should've had more energy. Yet here he was, drifting off to sleep, trying to convince himself that it was only because Severus was used to being awake at all hours of the night...

"Ash?"

"Mmm?" Harry loved the sound of Severus' voice. Rich and smooth, even in whispers. He could listen to Severus for hours.

"You said you didn't know what spell or ritual Voldemort used."

"Mm-hmm," Harry agreed.

"But you were familiar with the side-effects."

"Mmm," Harry agreed again.

There was a thoughtful pause.

"You never said you didn't know what the results of that spell or ritual were."

Silence.

Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, a little voice was congratulating him on the fact that not one single muscle in his entire body had tensed up. But unfortunately, during the split second that his brain had gone from half-asleep to wide awake, the hand that had been tracing aimless patterns over Sev's warm skin had stopped moving. And it was still paused there -- perfectly motionless -- blatantly advertising his shock, and silently hinting at guilty secrets.

Beside him, Severus raised his own hand to gently cover the one Harry still hadn't moved.

"Ash," came Sev's perfectly calm voice, "I don't know what sort of liaisons you've had in the past, but with me there must be a certain level of trust. If we do this, we won't just be sharing a few simple trysts between the sheets. A... relationship... between the two of us would inherently involve Voldemort, Death Eaters, Aurors, the Headmaster, and quite possibly half the wizarding world. I would be trusting you with my life -- and the lives of a great many others. Likewise, you would be trusting me with your life in return -- and perhaps even the lives of your fellow mages."

Severus paused then, gently stroking his thumb over back of Harry's captured hand -- giving the War Mage a chance to comment -- to argue his words. But Harry remained silent, acknowledging the truth of them and awaiting the rest.

After a few moments Severus continued. "You must also consider that if you and I start down this road there will be no turning back. You won't be able to simply break it off with me when you finally tire of my company. You won't be able to just slip away and find someone else while pretending to be with me for Voldemort's benefit. There's no way of knowing how long we'll need to maintain the façade of lovers. If you can't give me a level of trust that will match the risks -- the obligations that we would both have -- then we cannot do this."

There was a brief pause before Harry whispered, "You're so certain I'll tire of you..."

"You're avoiding the issue," Severus chastised.

Harry lifted himself away from the other man's chest in order to look down into Severus' face. "I do trust you," he said with obvious sincerity. "It's just that... if I tell you the result of tonight's madness, then you might behave differently -- or say something... and it would be obvious that you must've heard about it from someone here, because none of Voldemort's followers will have any idea..." Harry trailed off momentarily, then carefully added: "Professor... Voldemort would want to know why you didn't tell him that his enemies know what he did -- and what it gained him. Is there any way you could answer that question without being executed for it?"

"You were trying to protect me?" Severus asked in surprise.

"I... yes," Harry admitted. "But I swear I was going to tell Albus first thing in the morning."

Severus frowned. "Ash," he said carefully, "while I appreciate the fact that you don't want to see me dead, your chosen method of 'protecting' me is both pointless and insulting." Harry blinked. It was? He had the sudden sinking feeling that he might've just screwed something up. Severus' next words confirmed it. "It may have escaped your notice," the Potions Master continued, "but as much as I despise lying, I have -- of necessity -- become exceptionally good at it. And while I freely admit to a certain sense of surprise at having survived so long, it's patently self-evident that I'm still here. And that's in spite of the fact that there are literally hundreds of different ways I could betray myself, and any number of spies and Dark Lord supporters to whom I might do so."

Then Severus looked pointedly at Harry and added: "None of which has anything whatsoever to do with you."

Harry felt his stomach tighten. Severus' blunt description of the constant danger that surrounded him wasn't very reassuring. But it did highlight exactly how 'pointless' Harry's reason for withholding information was. It really didn't matter whether he told Severus what Voldemort had done. The Potions Master was already hiding so many secrets that one more would hardly make a difference. And as for 'insulting'... well, his comments had sort of implied that Severus wasn't a very competent spy -- which was blatantly untrue, and certainly a slur on his abilities.

In hindsight, Harry decided that his desire to protect Severus by leaving him in ignorance was pretty much an instinctive reaction that had little or no reasoned thought behind it.

He was still mentally kicking himself when the Potions Master surprised him yet again by abruptly adding: "It occurs to me that there may be another reason why you don't want to tell me what happened." Then he was silent for a moment before reluctantly admitting: "We both know that if Voldemort discovered I was a traitor, he wouldn't hesitate to use Veritaserum on me -- and that in the end, willing or not, I would tell him everything." That the Dark Lord would also use torture was left unspoken and understood between them. "Because of that risk," Severus continued, "I understand that secrets must sometimes be kept from me. Even Albus doesn't tell me everything. He tells me as much as he can, but he can't afford to be completely open with me when he knows just how precarious my position really is." Then Severus added: "If you deem it too dangerous for me to know what Voldemort gained from tonight's work, then I'm willing to accept your judgement on the matter. But if that's the case, then please don't try to disguise it as some sort of irrational concern for my welfare."

It would've been so easy for Harry to cover up his momentary bout of thoughtlessness by claiming Severus' reasoning as his own. But it wasn't true, and while his Slytherin side had no problems with lying for a higher purpose, his Gryffindor sensibilities objected to this particular lie as both petty and self-serving.

"Professor," Harry sighed, intent on owning up, "the result of whatever Voldemort did a few hours ago isn't something you can betray. As the one who did it, Voldemort already knows what happened. And as for telling him how you knew -- what could you possibly say that would be of any use to him? 'War Mage Ash recognised the side-effects'? Does that mean that someone told me about them; I read about them somewhere; or that I've experienced them myself some time in the past?" Harry sighed again. "I'm afraid, I really was just trying to protect you -- as silly as that might sound right now."

There was an oddly neutral silence -- as though Severus was trying to decide how he felt about Harry's admission. At length, he finally said: "In that case, I don't think you have the right to withhold information." The Potions Master didn't sound angry -- more sort of... disappointed... which only made Harry feel worse. "Ash," Severus continued seriously, "I'm a grown man -- my safety is my responsibility. How much or how little I choose to risk is just that: my choice -- and my decision. Naturally, I don't want to die, and I'm certainly not going to turn down any help I can get, but the word 'help' implies that I get a say in the decision. There are too many people in my life already who think they have the right to make decisions for me. I'm not looking to add another one."

Now Harry felt really guilty. If their situations were reversed, he knew he'd feel much the same way. And while Severus hadn't said it in so many words, it actually was a matter of trust. Harry had to trust that his beloved Potions Master wasn't going to put himself at risk without a damn good reason. Harry also had to trust Severus when he said that he knew what he was doing. And if Harry admitted the truth to himself, then he was forced to concede that his fear was -- at least in part -- a purely selfish thing. He was scared that he might lose Severus -- that the Death Eater-turned-spy would risk things Harry didn't think he should, simply because the other man placed too little value on his own life.

But Harry couldn't justify any of that as a reason to hide Voldemort's latest horror from the other man. If he tried, then he would only drive the Potions Master away. So instead, he simply replied: "You're right. And I apologise. I just... wasn't thinking."

Severus made a brief sound of amusement. "At least you admit you were wrong," he said. "That's more than I usually get."

Harry frowned slightly. "You know, for someone I just insulted and belittled -- albeit accidentally -- you don't sound very upset."

There was a little silence.

"It's barely possible," Severus began quietly, "that you actually do care whether I live or die. That doesn't excuse your reasoning, but... it helps."

Harry felt somewhat relieved. Severus wasn't generally the forgiving sort, but occasionally he could be convinced to... overlook... certain things -- providing, of course, that the original stupidity wasn't repeated.

"You still haven't told me what Voldemort gained from tonight," Severus suddenly reminded him.

Harry felt oddly reluctant to admit what had happened out loud. Now however, he wasn't sure whether it was for Severus' sake or his own. "The result was... fairly horrific," he said quietly. "Many would consider ignorance a kindness. Are you sure...?"

"I have never considered ignorance a kindness," Severus replied steadily.

Harry closed his eyes and gently lowered his cheek to rest on Severus' chest. "No," he whispered, "I don't suppose you have." Then he said the words that made it all far too real...

"He's made himself into a Soul Mage."

----oo00oo----

Chapter 18 Aftermath (Part I)

----oo00oo----

It was not until several minutes later that Harry finally convinced Severus that yes, he actually had said 'Soul Mage' and yes, he was deadly serious about it, and no, the chance of him being mistaken was vanishingly small.

"We need to tell Albus," was Severus' first reaction as he hastily started to climb out of bed.

"Not right now we don't," Harry argued, pulling him back down.

"But--"

"Look, it's not as bad as it sounds -- well, at least not yet."

"The Dark Lord just became a Soul Mage and it's not as bad as it sounds?!" Severus demanded incredulously.

"That's right," Harry told him firmly. "He's only performed the first step. He now has the ability to perform Soul Magic -- but he's never actually done it! And as with any spell or ability that's never been used, he won't be very good at it until he's had the chance to practice and... uh... experiment." Severus shuddered, but Harry doggedly continued. "He's also just expended a lot of energy, and his magic would've been taxed to its limit trying to cope with the surge of power. He won't be weak -- but he'll be exhausted and sore. If we're lucky, it might even be painful for him to cast spells for a day or two -- which means there could be a sizeable delay before he even starts trying to figure out how to use this new ability."

"And if that isn't enough for you," Harry added, "then consider this -- performing Soul Magic takes a lot of regular magical ability. It will drain him significantly every time he uses it. That'll leave him vulnerable after each instance, and he'll hate that." Harry paused to see how Severus was taking his explanations. The Potions Master looked somewhat calmer, though not significantly reassured.

"If we knew where Voldemort was," Harry finished, "it would be the ideal time to attack. But we don't -- or at least I don't," and he looked questioningly at Severus. The Potions Master shook his head slightly to indicate that he didn't either, and that he knew Albus would be just as ignorant. "Then there's absolutely nothing we can do right now is there? So why disturb Albus in the middle of the night? It's only a few more hours until breakfast. Let the man sleep -- we can tell him in the morning."

Severus still looked dubious, but grudgingly allowed himself to be coaxed back down into a sitting position on the bed. Harry chose to display his own lack of anxiety by stretching out across his side of the mattress, wincing a little as several muscles protested their earlier abuse.

Severus -- who'd been watching the display of barre skin with appreciative eyes -- noticed both the wince and the shift to a slightly more comfortable position. Harry watched as a somewhat troubled expression appeared on the other man's face. "Something wrong?" he asked curiously.

Severus seemed to consider that for a moment -- as though he wasn't quite sure. When he finally replied, there was a cautious note to his voice.

"It seems we're both a bit the worse for wear," he commented, "even though I vaguely recall something about a healing potion -- one of mine I think."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "I knew we'd need them. Although I may have done a bit of... damage... to your storage cupboard while I was getting them. Sorry about that..."

Severus was looking at him with an indecipherable expression. "You knew we'd need them," he repeated carefully. Harry nodded, not quite sure where this was leading.

"So you've... done that before?" Severus asked. "Last night was some sort of... War Mage thing?"

Harry looked at him blankly. "What... breaking into potions cupboards?"

Severus stared at him as though he was a complete moron.

"Sleeping with Potions Professors?" Harry hazarded.

There was a disgusted noise from the man beside him. "No you idiot," Severus told him scornfully, "I mean the... the mix of pleasure and pain. During sex."

The light dawned. Severus was worried that Ash -- being a War Mage -- might like a little pain during sex. Harry could feel his face turning red. //Hell,// he thought desperately, //I haven't blushed this much in one night since I really was sixteen.// How on earth was he going to explain this?

"It's true," he began carefully, "that War Mages are taught how to balance pleasure and pain so as not to be overwhelmed by either one. But it's not... I mean... the skill can be applied to sex, but that's not why -- or how -- we learn it. We study our bodies to know what they're capable of and how we'll react in certain situations. Pleasure and pain are just about the most basic stimuli anyone can be subjected to -- and when they're used against us, we can be broken, healed, controlled, freed, or simply made to behave in ways that are completely foreign to our normal behaviour. By understanding pleasure and pain, and how we're affected by it, a War Mage can gain a measure of control over those effects -- as the we did last night."

"Ah," Severus nodded, looking somewhat relieved. "I believe I understand."

At which point Harry decided it might be fun to tease Sev just a little. "But of course," he continued innocently, "pretty much every War Mage I know of has, um... experimented... with those particular lessons. And of course, sex is such an interesting way to test all the practical applications." Then Harry cheerfully added: "A few members of the circle even come to prefer a bit more... variety... in their physical relationships."

Severus blinked at him. "Really," he said with a carefully neutral expression.

Harry laughed, and then quickly added: "But I promise you I'm not one of them. I do not enjoy pain in any form -- and what happened last night wasn't what I wanted or would have chosen."

Severus shot him a disgusted look that said quite a bit about his opinion of Ash's sense of humour. Then Sev tilted his head thoughtfully. "But you wanted me," he mused quietly.

"Yes." There didn't seem to be much more Harry could say to that.

"Why?" Severus asked bluntly. "Is it because we conveniently happen to work together? Or because we both prefer men and you can't be bothered looking for anyone else who shares our preference in partners?"

Harry snorted with amusement. "Well first off, I'm quite capable of apparating anywhere I want. If you moved to Timbuktu, you'd still find me hanging around after I'd finished classes for the day. And secondly, I don't prefer men."

Severus shot him a surprised look. "You're bisexual?"

"Professor," Harry said with a heavy touch of sarcasm. "I'm a mage. That means I have the ability to see things from a completely non-human perspective. It should come as no surprise to you that every intelligent being believes its own kind is the most attractive when it comes to sex. Quite frankly, I sometimes wake up grateful for the fact that I still prefer my own species!"

Severus looked a bit shocked. "You haven't... that is... with dwarves... or anything?"

It was all Harry could do not to fall back into hysterical laughter. "No I haven't... with dwarves anyway. But I hope you're not going to hold elves against me -- of either gender."

By now Severus had the look of someone who wasn't sure if they were still being teased or not. But at least elves were all strikingly attractive by human standards. Elves he could understand. Dwarves or -- Merlin forbid -- goblins, would've been way too much information.

But Harry -- who was still secretly laughing at Sev's confusion -- had one more bit of entertainment to throw out. "You know," he added casually, "you're actually the second person at Hogwarts to ask me about my sexual preferences. Draco wanted to know whether flobberworms looked any good to me."

Flobberworms? And Severus suddenly realised how absurd the conversation had become. "He didn't!" the Potions Master laughed. "The cheeky little bugger! I hope you gave him detention for a week!"

"I probably should have," Harry agreed, "but somehow he 'wormed' his way out of it."

Severus winced at the awful pun.

"Sorry," Harry smirked.

"Not as sorry as you should be," Severus replied looking pained.

Harry's smirk only got wider, and Severus regarded it -- and him -- with a mildly irritated expression. But the irritation soon faded as Severus realised that he'd been very effectively diverted from his question.

"Ash," Severus said firmly -- determined to finally have an answer. "I really would like to know: why me? If it's not due to convenience or sexual preference, then why have you been pursuing me? If it's information you're after, you'd be much better off speaking to Albus."

"Professor..." Harry sighed. How could he explain this to Severus so that he'd believe it? Perhaps it was time to call upon his more Slytherin side -- time to explain some of the darker aspects of the man named War Mage Ash.

"You know I'm a War Mage--" Harry began.

"No -- really?" came the sarcastic interrruption. "I'd never have guessed."

"Shut up," Harry responded automatically. "You asked. I'm answering. Don't interrupt."

Severus looked torn between amusement and indignation. But he stayed silent.

"As I was saying," Harry continued, "you know I'm a War Mage, but you haven't really stopped to consider all the implications of that title. The most obvious one is that I react suddenly and violently to being surprised. But just think about that for a second, and then tell me what kind of person -- wizard or witch -- wants to be with someone who might hex them simply for sneaking back to bed after a quick trip to the bathroom?"

Severus frowned. "But they would know about that reaction. Why would they 'sneak' as you so quaintly put it?"

"Because," Harry explained, "it's the polite thing to do -- trying not to wake your lover. And they'd be half-asleep themselves and not expecting an attack from the person in bed with them."

Severus was still frowning. "If they knew that person was you, then they'd have to be an idiot not to expect it."

Harry laughed. "According to you half the world is made up of idiots." Severus acknowledged that with a little snort of derision. "And as if that wasn't enough," Harry added, "just think about what happened here tonight. Even though you were half out of your mind with pain, you still knew exactly what I was trying to accomplish when I joined our minds -- you understood what I was offering and how to use it to survive. You don't seriously think some pretty young witch I picked up in Hogsmeade would've coped with that do you?"

"Probably not," Severus agreed. "But somehow I don't think tonight's events are likely to repeat themselves."

"But they still happened," Harry argued, "and even if that particular example never crops up again, who's to say some other horror won't? I'm a War Mage Professor. That means I've seen things -- done things -- that would send most wizarding folk screaming into the night."

"But not me," Severus replied slowly. His eyes on Harry were shadowed and unreadable.

"No," Harry agreed softly. "Not you. Never you. You've walked in shadows just as I have -- and even if they weren't the same shadows, it doesn't matter. They taught us both the same lessons."

"Such as?"

Harry gave him a considering look, and then asked: "Are you afraid of the Killing Curse?"

"Of course," Severus replied. "What fool isn't?"

Harry ignored Sev's question in favour of his own. "Why?" he asked intently. "Why do you fear it?"

"I... it's too much -- too much power. It... corrupts -- pulls you in. The ability to say who lives and who dies -- the fear in their faces -- it's addictive. And it... warps you."

"Yes," Harry agreed quietly. "I know."

Severus looked surprised for a moment. Then a look of understanding crossed his face as he murmured, "Most people would've said they were afraid because they don't want to die." Then with certainty, he added: "But you would've given me the same answer I just gave you."

Harry gave him a sad little half-smile. "And that," Harry stated, "is why I want you. You understand. There is Darkness -- and then there is Evil. And although most people don't realise it, they're not the same thing. But you already know that -- so you won't suddenly hate me, or flee in terror, when I eventually do something that proves I'm every bit as Dark as I am Light."

Severus was silent, and Harry noticed his eyes straying to the battle-scarred lion imprinted on his chest. Aside from Harry's curse scar, Severus had yet to make any comment on the long-healed wounds that criss-crossed Harry's skin -- or on the tattoos embedded beneath them.

Only Dark and malicious magic caused permanent scars on a wizard -- and even then, only if the healers couldn't get to the wound in time, or couldn't neutralize the foreign magic before the scar stabilised.

Severus too, wore scars upon his body. They were far fewer in number than Harry's, but they were still there -- puckered flesh marring his otherwise ssmooth skin. The War Mage knew they were not something the other man was proud of, and it was then that he realised why Severus hadn't asked about any of Harry's other scars. The one-time Death Eater obviously didn't want Ash asking questions about his own wounds, or any of the awful ways he had acquired them.

//I won't ask,// Harry silently promised. //But you once trusted me enough to want to tell me -- and one day you will again.//

However it wasn't Harry's scars that currently held such fascination for the Potions Master.

"A Dark Gryffindor..." Severus murmured while staring at the tattoo on Harry's chest. For some reason, he seemed... surprised.

Amused, Harry silently reached out and took Severus' hand. The Potions Master was still sitting upright on the bed, and he unconsciously shifted closer as Harry gently pulled the captured hand down towards his chest. Harry laid it palm-down, with fingers spread, over the vivid image of Gryffindor's famous lion.

Severus' eyes widened in shock.

Harry could feel the image on his chest shifting subtly beneath his skin, and knew that his beloved Potions Master was presently experiencing the ghostly sensation of warm fur between his fingers.

The soft rumble of a great cat echoed silently in the air. It was impossible to tell whether the sound was real. Like the memory of a dream -- it was there, but not.

"Life Ink..." Severus breathed, awe and appreciation written on his face.

Well of course. The man was a Potions Master -- and there were few, even among Masters, with the skill to successfully create Life Ink. This was quite possibly the first time Severus had ever seen the substance actually in use. Watching the shadows play across the other man's face, Harry idly wondered whether Severus had ever brewed Life Ink himself. But it seemed unlikely, given that the precious liquid was so expensive to make and had such a limited market.

Severus tugged his hand away and Harry allowed it.

The Potions Master looked at him with a curious expression. "I know how Life Ink works," he began. "The image is, in part, generated from you -- from your thoughts and memories. I have no particular liking for Gryffindors, but even I can see that this is... magnificent work. How you can be Dark -- be anything other than completely Light -- when you have that on you?"

With a start, Harry realised that Severus didn't know about his other tattoo. This confused him until he remembered that neither of them had been in any shape to notice such things earlier. And after they'd awoken, Harry had always been facing the other man -- well, except for when he'd gone to get the calming potion. But Severus had been laughing too hard to pay any attention to it then. Had there been any time after that when Severus had touched his back? A brief moment when the other man might've been felt the cool slide of smooth scales under his fingers?

No.

//Right now,// Harry mused, //he must think I'm the most stereotypical Gryffindor since Godric himself walked these halls.//

Well. It was definitely time to disabuse Severus of that idea.

"Professor," Harry began in a low dangerous purr, "don't make the mistake of assuming that all Gryffindors are arrogant, self-righteous, and brave to the point of stupidity."

"Then you are a Gryffindor?" Severus asked suspiciously. "You attended Hogwarts as a student?" Harry could practically hear the Potions Master wondering whether he could rely on someone whose House was so notorious for it's inflexible adherence to 'right' and 'wrong'.

"Attended Hogwarts? Oh yes," Harry confirmed, still using that low sultry tone. "But not under the name 'Ash' of course. I didn't earn that name until later..." Abruptly Harry sat up, ignoring the protest of sore muscles. At the same time, Severus twitched backwards, instinctively wary of the predatory light that had appeared in the War Mage's eyes. Harry tilted his head thoughtfully as he watched Severus trying to deal with the fact that 'Ash' was currently displaying some very dangerous and decidedly non-Gryffindor behaviour patterns.

Harry smirked at him. "But even if you did try to find my name on the roles," he added, "there's no guarantee you'd find it in Gryffindor..." Gracefully, Harry arched his back, exposing his throat and drawing Severus' gaze. "Look..." he commanded, and then suddenly turned away.

Shoulders flexed. Muscle shifted under candlelight. A soft hiss teased at the edge of hearing.

Behind him, Severus gasped.

Harry could almost feel Severus' hand moving towards his spine -- pulled in by the desire to actually touch the deadly beauty that was the emblem of his House -- of their House.

"Stop," Harry commanded -- and Severus' hand froze, mere inches from his skin.

"This isn't like the lion," Harry explained softly. "You have more than enough courage to be worthy of him, but it's not in your nature to be part of him. You aren't Gryffindor, and you never will be. And even if you could -- you wouldn't want to. But the serpent... You're as much Slytherin as I, and because of that your touch on my other tattoo would be very different -- far more... personal." Harry paused. No words could ever truly explain what he was trying to say. It would be more useful to simply give Severus the warning, and then let him choose.

"There's a risk," Harry whispered, "associated with touching it. But if you still want to -- then you'll have to do exactly as I say."

There was a moment's silence. Then: "Tell me."

Harry made himself comfortable, settling himself closer to the edge of the bed so that he could swing both legs over the side and sit upright more easily. "You need to be closer," he told Severus. "I need you to rest your hand on my shoulder without feeling uncomfortable, or getting tired. If we're going to do this, then you can't pull away. You mustn’t take your hand off my shoulder until I say you can -- no matter what happens. If you pull away too soon, I'm not sure what will happen -- to either of us."

"I understand," Severus replied as he shifted closer. The other man's curiosity was almost a physical sensation, and Harry imagined that he could sense it radiating from Severus like the heat of the other man's body close behind him. In comparison, the rest of the room suddenly seemed cold.

Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to feel every moment of this. "All right," he said softly. "Put one hand on my shoulder and for Merlin's sake -- keep it there!"

Severus' hand brushed his bare skin, and then settled steadily onto his left shoulder.

Harry focused on Slytherin and everything that being Slytherin meant to him.

On his back -- under his skin -- the serpent came alive.

----oo00oo----

When Severus had first glimpsed the snake twisting its way down Ash's spine, his immediate reaction had been one of sheer disbelief.

//How is that possible!?// came the astonished thought. Oh, he understood well enough that most people had a little bit of all four Houses in them. Some of his Slytherins for example, could be almost as studious as Ravenclaws. But there was usually one dominant characteristic that had more influence on a person's behaviour than any other, and that was what determined which House they belonged in.

Occasionally a child would be evenly balanced between two or more Houses. But even then, it was virtually guaranteed that after seven years of living with the attitudes and beliefs of their Housemates, the characteristics of the House they ended up in would be reinforced until the wizard or witch actually did belong there rather than anywhere else.

So how could it be that War Mage Ash -- whose mind could produce such a powerful image of the Gryffindor lion -- was also wearing an equally powerful and stunning image of Slytherin's emerald serpent?

It shouldn't be possible.

Particularly with those two Houses.

"Stop."

And Severus automatically obeyed, hearing the underlying warning in Ash's voice. He hadn't even realised his hand was moving. But in hindsight, he wasn't surprised. He'd been astonished by the feel of the lion under his fingers, and also by the fact that -- if the strangely silent purr was any indication -- the beast actually seemed to approve of him! But the snake...

It was... compelling...

He was drawn to it -- identifying with it as he never would with the lion. Small wonder his hand had moved of its own volition.

And now Ash was telling him about what it might be like to actually feel those gleaming scales beneath his fingertips.

Different from the lion? Of course. How could it not be? Far more personal? Oh, yes -- always.

But there was apparently some sort of danger involved. A 'risk' Ash was saying. //Naturally,// he thought. //We are talking about Slytherin after all.// He considered the warning carefully. But Ash seemed willing -- so long as Severus followed instructions. He could do that. And he really wanted to touch...

"Tell me."

And Ash did.

Cautiously, Severus moved closer, folding his right leg in behind Ash's back, and draping the other down beside Ash's thigh. So close...

At Ash's instruction, he gently laid his left hand on the other man's shoulder.

And the serpent moved.

Severus' breath caught in his throat as he watched the snake unwind itself from Ash's spine and twist its head towards the hand on its master's shoulder.

Incredible.

All wizarding tattoos moved -- but not like this. Their shifting beneath the skin was supposed to be subtle -- a small thing that caught the eye, giving the image more life than it would've otherwise had. But the range of movement varied depending on the power of the owner's magic -- and the depth of emotion and meaning imbued into the Life Ink.

Severus watched -- mesmerised -- as the scaled body flowed like water over muscle and bone -- falling in and out of darkness where Severus' body cast shadows against Ash's golden skin. The serpent's head disappeared under the edge of his hand. Severus shuddered slightly as the feeling of dry scales rustled against his palm. A soothing hiss echoed in his mind.

And then...

Gasp.

His hand clutched reflexively at Ash's shoulder, and Severus stared in horrified wonder as the tip of the snake's head slithered into view -- on the back of his hand!

No -- not on his hand... under his skin!

"Merlin," came his strangled gasp.

And then the magic hit him.

The emotion -- the power -- everything Ash had put into the creation of his Slytherin tattoo poured into Severus. He could feel it, hear it, see it -- even taste it. He was part of it. Slytherin in him -- under his skin. No wonder Ash had warned him. No wonder Ash couldn't explain what he was warning him about.

Without conscious thought, Severus' eyes followed the snake as it slithered further up his forearm. He let the sensations -- both physical and magical -- wash over him. This was... there were no words. Darkness was everywhere. It lived and breathed in him -- and in the man before him. But it was a clean Darkness -- a natural thing -- the way Severus had always known it should be -- before Voldemort had come and twisted everything.

Still clutching Ash's shoulder, Severus closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead came to rest on Ash's shoulders. He was Slytherin. They were Slytherin. Severus kissed the skin beneath his lips, then turned his head and rested his cheek against the warm body of his lover. He opened his eyes. The snake's unblinking gaze glittered at him as it turned, moving down and around -- assiduously avoiding the Dark Mark unttil it could begin its return journey on the underside of his forearm.

A little less than half the snake's length now graced Severus' skin, and the Potions Master realised that by the time the first half had made its way back along the bottom, the snake's tail would be just arriving at the edge of his hand. At no time would the tattoo ever be entirely upon him -- and he suddenly understood what Ash had meant about not knowing what would happen if he unexpectedly pulled his hand away. Who knew what the consequences might be if such a strong and... intimate... magical connection was abruptly destroyed by being literally torn in half.

Ash's hand came around to pull his right arm forward. Severus gave in and draped himself across Ash's back, allowing the War Mage to embrace his right arm until -- once again -- Severus found himself wiith lion's fur trailing soft warmth beneath his fingertips. //Gryffindor,// Severus remembered. But the memory seemed vague and distant. It was Slytherin that dominated his mind and emotions now. //I am Slytherin. He is Slytherin.// But a silent growl forced the memory into reality -- demanding the acknowledgement: //He is Gryffindor too.// The growl returned to its previous purr. //But the Gryffindor in him is willing to accept me.//

Then Ash's voice came to him -- a whispered understanding breathed out in candlelight and cold dungeons in the middle of the night -- "It's hard," the War Mage told him, "to find someone who understands -- someone who shares your underlying beliefs -- even though they might seem nothing like you on the surface. Wizarding tattoos can only be shared like this when two people have the same understanding of the concept that formed the tattoo."

"No two people ever have exactly the same understanding of anything," Severus protested quietly. His right hand was lazily stroking soft fur, and absently mapping a well-defined chest.

"It's close enough," Ash told him.

And after that, they were both silent.

The serpent continued its journey until Severus could feel it moving across Ash's back wherever his own skin pressed up against the War Mage. The tattoo was once more under its master's skin and not his own, which both relieved and disappointed him. It had been an amazing experience, but overwhelming too, and he wasn't sure he wanted to feel that... exposed... again for a very long time.

Eventually, Ash sighed and one of the hands that had been cradling his right arm came up and pulled Severus' hand down from the mage's shoulder. Ash wrapped Severus' left arm around himself and leaned back into the Potions Master's embrace. Severus could feel the muted presence of the lion under his arms, and the snake pressed against his chest. Two Houses -- one man. In his arms.

"What if it's not?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Close enough," Severus explained. "What if it's -- we're -- not close enough? Not... compatible?"

"But what if we are?" Ash asked him in return. Severus was silent, and the War Mage sighed again. "I don't know what to tell you," he continued, "-- what I could say to convince you..."

"I don't know either."

Ash stirred and pulled away from him. Severus let him go.

But he didn't go far.

"Professor," Ash began as he turned and brought a hand up to the side of Severus' jaw, "I may not be able to give you my name as yet, but I can at least give you this: I swear upon my oath as a War Mage that whatever happens -- or doesn't happen -- between us, I will not abandon you to Voldemort's wrath. I've been told I'm a fair actor when I need to be, and you know that my profession means I understand the value of a spy so highly-placed amongst the enemy. I hope my acting skills won't be needed, but even if they are, Voldemort will never doubt my attachment to you."

It seemed a rash promise to Severus. But as far as he could tell, Ash appeared to be sincere. And it was true that a War Mage would know how critical it was to have a spy in Voldemort's ranks. Ash would protect him for that reason alone if he had to.

He still didn't know whether Ash's interest in him would last out the week, but at least the consequences of its decline wouldn't be life-threatening. And with that thought, Severus suddenly realised that he'd already made up his mind. //I must be mad,// he told himself. But for some reason it was a strangely exuberant madness. //And I suppose,// he mused, //there's always the hope that even if we aren't compatible as lovers, we may at least become friends.// He'd never considered that option with any of his previous lovers, but with Ash he thought it might be possible. From what little he knew, the War Mage didn't seem to be the sort of man who wallowed in blame and recriminations at the end of a relationship. In fact, now that he knew Ash didn't limit himself only to men, Severus strongly suspected that the very... enthusiastic... female War Mage was probably one of Ash's former lovers -- and she was obviously still a good friend.

He could live with that.

And with that thought, Severus suddenly became aware of a calloused thumb that was gently stroking the line of his jaw, and the naked man who was still sitting so close.

Ash seemed to realise that he'd made a decision.

"May I stay?" he asked.

So eager. So hopeful.

"You may," Severus replied. The he smiled just a little and added, "If you can manage to do so without the necessity for any more healing potions."

Ash leaned forward and kissed him very lightly on the lips. Unbelievably, Severus felt the distant vague stirrings of desire. "No more of that," he cautioned, laying a finger over Ash's lips, "or you really will be the death of me."

Ash nipped at the finger, but Severus was too fast for him. "Then you'll let me come here again? To your rooms?" the War Mage queried, still seeking reassurance of Severus' decision.

"Most definitely," Severus chuckled as he lay down, pulling the other man along with him. "In fact," he added smugly, "I intend to make you 'come' here as often as possible." It was a crude double entendre, but he knew it had been successful when the War Mage gave a chuckle that held faint overtones of giggling.

Ash quieted as Severus gently stroked his back -- still fascinated by the occasional sensation of scales as he brushed lightly past Ash's less-visible tattoo. //Such a Slytherin place for it,// Severus mused. //Hidden away where no-one can see it unless he chooses to show it to them.//

Ash was almost asleep. He was obviously not used to being awake in the early hours between midnight and dawn. Severus noted the way the other man unconsciously arched into his touch. //So responsive...// he thought. That pleased him. It would be fun later to find out just how responsive Ash really was.

But something about it also bothered him. It almost seemed as though Ash was... touch-starved. As though the other man had spent a large part of his life with little or no positive physical contact. Severus had seen similar reactions in children who'd been abused or neglected. Sometimes such treatment manifested as a desire to avoid any kind of physical contact at all, while at other times it showed itself as a desperate need for all forms of touch -- whether socially acceptable or not. But in a rare few, it shaped a never-ending reverence and joy for the privilege of being allowed to hold another person in their arms.

Ash touched him like that -- as though he felt honoured that Severus would allow him such intimacy. The Potions Master wondered what could have happened -- how it could be that someone like Ash might've been mistreated as a child.

But then, he was probably reading too much into it. He knew hardly anything about War Mages and their training. Perhaps it was simply a consequence of something they were taught. He'd heard from some of the other teachers that the female War Mage certainly seemed to enjoy physical contact. And Ash had already told him that all War Mages experimented with sex -- which naturally included touching. Yes, that was probably a more reasonable explanation.

Ash snuggled closer, and Severus felt the Gryffindor tattoo brushing up against his side. There was such power in those tattoos -- so much magic and emotion embodied in them. The man himself would be no less powerful -- and clearly no less passionate. It was frightening -- but intoxicating at the same time. Severus wondered -- not for the first time -- what the hell he was doing.

He sighed quietly to himself. //No-one could ever claim my life is boring,// he reflected. But at least he'd be able to entertain himself by watching the rest of the Hogwarts population when they realised that he and Ash were involved. In fact the shocked looks and sudden silences he could foresee might prove to be very entertaining indeed. That is, if the shock didn't kill off too many of them first.

And then, with dawning horror, Severus remembered.

Not every staff member was going to be surprised.

//Oh hell,// he thought. //Albus is going to have a field day.//

Chapter 16: Key Incident

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