Part One

A/N: Special thanks to M for her alpha work and to Clairvoyant for her superior knowledge of grammar. They are awesome!

May 22, 2010

Dear Rose,

I am still in disbelief over this day. Perhaps you have inherited my gift for near eidetic recollection, but writing it down will firmly establish this as reality. The two of us were enjoying our afternoon tea...we have developed quite the taste for blackcurrant...when your father arrived most unexpectedly.

"Ron!"

Your father should have been at the Ministry during this hour. Naturally, you were already in his arms as I struggled to pull myself from my chair.

"Hullo, sweetie. Hi, Hermione."

"Are you well? Is the Ministry collapsing?"

Ron laughed. "Do I need a reason to skip a day and visit my family?"

"Yes, if you are not Potter."

My breath caught. That voice...the slightest bit of rasp in it barely altered the memory of smooth tones, which caress and flay you simultaneously. Now I saw that you were peeking shyly over your dad's shoulder at his unseen companion.

Ron rolled his eyes as he stepped aside. "Not even Harry takes advantage of that perk."

Professor Snape stood in my doorway. Ron, of all people, had brought me Severus Snape.

It was a good thing I was unable to extract myself from the chair. I know I gaped at him, inwardly battling between shock and fury. The anger won.

"Ronald," I hissed, my eyes narrowing. Ron unconsciously set you down as he squared his shoulders, trying to hide you from my line of sight.

"Hermione," he replied, stepping close to me.

"We promised! All three of us!"

I am sure you have been told some of your dad's, Uncle Harry's, and my childhood and of the Battle of Hogwarts. One of my many regrets was leaving Severus Snape behind as he lay dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. None of us had guessed his true loyalty until the memories began to pour out of those unfathomable eyes. Only Harry viewed them, of course, but he told Ron and I a little: how Professor Snape loved Harry's mum from childhood; how his growing friendship with future Death Eaters drove them apart; how he turned to Dumbledore when Voldemort condemned the Potters to death in order to undo the wrong he had committed by passing on the prophecy in the first place and became Dumbledore's spy for life.

The body had vanished by the time we had returned to the Shack, and your uncle became obsessed with honouring Professor Snape. There were no plans to hang a portrait in the Headmaster's Office (as Professor Snape had abandoned the post), and Harry adopted the portrait as his next crusade. We were about to go to the Wizengamot when Kingsley Shacklebolt (interim Minister at the time) called the three of us to his office.

Severus Snape was alive, he told us. No portrait would appear until his death, although Kingsley promised Harry that a portrait had been commissioned. We were also sworn to secrecy (as you've seen him, I can tell you all of this), as Professor Snape had no desire to return to the public spotlight. I cannot blame him either, with Wizarding Britain obsessed with the Dickensian anti-hero.

That is an amusing thought! Perhaps he finally understands how Harry truly feels about the press.

Although we swore before Kingsley not to reveal any details, Ron, Harry, and I made a private pact never to bother Severus Snape again. Yes, there was that awful book by Rita Skeeter about him...Harry gave another Quibbler interview to set straight Skeeter's assumptions. That woman is unbelievable. She vows to deliver actual facts, and then explains them with barbed suppositions. I am rather proud of catching her as a beetle...I'll tell you that story another time...but she's registered now, and I cannot blackmail her any more.

Other than that one interview, the three of us have done our best to honour Professor Snape's memory as if he were dead. I am sure you can understand my anger at your dad for betraying the privacy of a man to whom we owed everything and who had only asked to be left alone.

"Hermione." Ron's voice was low as well. "I know you are upset, but I had to see him! You know this is not a normal disease. Blimey, Hermione! You are the youngest head of the Administrative Office for the MLE ever...after a successful career in Magical Creatures. There are people fighting every bill you introduce to the Wizengamot...hasn't it occurred to you that someone might wish you dead?"

"It wouldn't be the first time, Ron."

"Hermione!" Ron wore a look of shocked exasperation on his face. Gallows humour didn't suit me, apparently.

"You are my best friend and the mother of our child. I am not going to let you give up! We can't say that we've seen everyone yet...Snape knows more about poisons and hexes than the entire Auror force combined! If finding a cure means breaking all my promises, I will."

Oh. Tears came to my eyes. "You really are the best ex-husband ever, Ronald," I whispered as he kissed the top of my head.

"Always the tone of surprise," he said dryly.

The clearing of a throat would have been embarrassing if I wasn't sure whether I was shocked more by the lack of a sneering comment on sensibility or by the sight of Professor Snape sitting back on his heels as he finished speaking with you!

Ron returned to standing normally, his hand still on my shoulder. "Rosie, do you want to show me your books?"

You dragged your dad away, leaving Professor Snape to observe me silently. He is a tall man, and the height difference brought back memories of him looming over my cauldron and sneering at the (usually) expected results. The last time I had seen him, he was bleeding to death, and I observed that being Headmaster had not been good to him. He had always been sallow and pale, but there he had looked positively gaunt.

Twelve years later, I would deduce that he had spent some time abroad. While he is not exactly tan, there is a bit of colour in his cheeks and a general air of good health. Being free of two masters is undoubtedly good medicine. His hair is better, too. Would he be the type to see a Muggle stylist, I wonder. It is cut now and frames his face quite nicely. He is still swathed in black. With his poise, he cuts a striking figure...not handsome, mind you, but strangely appealing.

Don't roll your eyes at me! I am a thirty-year-old divorcee, Rose. I can look and admire!

I did blush, though, when he raised one eyebrow; he had caught me staring. Although, he must have expected it...it is not everyday you meet someone you thought you would never encounter again. I sincerely hope he wasn't reading my mind (as he excels at Occlumency and Legilimency).

"Would you like a seat, sir?"

"No...thank you...I would prefer to stand, Mrs. Weasley." He studied me, leaving me rather exposed. Flustered, I tried to think of something refined to say, but all that came out was the rather inane:

"It is Granger, actually, since the divorce. And I am terribly sorry about the imposition..."

"There is no need to apologize, Miss Granger," he smoothly cut in. "Weasley could not have forced me to come here if he tried, although his finding my home and convincing me to listen demonstrates that he is no longer an imbecile. Your condition, and that alone, interests me."

That, Rose, is classic Snape. With a single inflection, he reduces me to a student and grudgingly compliments your dad even as he slights him. Your father must have been incredible...I'll have to drag the tale out of him!

"Well, I thank you for your fascination, then," I muttered. His lip curled.

"May I see the area in question?"

I carefully peeled off the two sets of handmade socks Grandma Molly knitted me, exposing my numb feet. Instantly, worries hit me. Did they smell from being enclosed in wool all day in the summer warmth? Would I consider them to be shapely or unattractive?

That was rather ridiculous of me.

Professor Snape was most professional, however, despite a slight sneer at my varnished toenails. He held a foot delicately with one hand, probing with the other, all the while asking about my pain threshold. Next, he moved his wand over them, muttering spells.

After about ten minutes or so, he put my feet down and turned to look out the back window.

"What have the specialists said?"

I recounted all the doctors and Healers we visited and their diagnoses. At the end, he shook his head.

"I found no trace of any known hex or creation of a Death Eater. Either you have a degenerative disease, Miss Granger, or you have absorbed an extremely creative poison."

"But the bezoar should have acted as an antidote!"

"You should remember your lessons better, Miss Granger. A poison can enter the body in more ways than ingestion. The bezoar would have counteracted any poison to enter your stomach, and clearly you are not paralysed there. There are more tests I can perform, but I must have time to prepare. I will owl you with the particulars. Good day, Miss Granger."

Once again, I struggled with my crutches but succeeded this time in propelling myself out of my chair. I hobbled after him as he made his way to the kitchen door.

"Wait...thank you!"

He paused, turning to observe me with unfathomable eyes.

"Your daughter is quite remarkable, Miss Granger. Tell me, have you trained her since infancy to be a know-it-all?"

My mouth fell open...was I flattered or offended? As I reflect back on it now...seeing his outer robe sweeping around as he strode out the door...I am leaning towards the former.

What on earth did you say to him?

Love as always,

Mum

May 23, 2010

Rose!!!

I am so proud of you!!! Of course, I am always proud of you. Never doubt that. Still, you are quite the accomplished young lady. May I first say that most four-year-olds cannot read yet, and today you read me a chapter from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe! If that wasn't enough, you even asked what the words you stumbled over meant. Despite what Professor Snape said, I am not training you to be a know-it-all. Your father and I will always encourage you to ask questions and seek understanding of the world around you. We read to you because we want to open up your imagination. There are few Wizarding novels for children (or adults, as I've found), and so, I hope you will read as many Muggle books as you can. I will leave your dad a list in the hopes that he will continue our daily reading, or at least take you to Nana and Grandpa Granger's home for read-alouds. I'm not sure your dad would find the non-fiction we are also reading as interesting.

Although I am sometimes disparaging of your dad, Rose, he really is a wonderful man. We are better friends now than we were when we were married. He and Uncle Harry are revolutionizing the Auror Department, and your dad is finally getting recognition as the brilliant strategist that he is. He beat McGonagall's giant chess set in our first year, you know, but we forgot that over the years. Something about being a boy, I would wager, limited our perceptions of him. Over the past few years, however, he has demonstrated an ability to see patterns and relationships that most of us overlook. I somewhat disparage the lack of mathematics, literature, and critical thinking in Hogwarts' education. If I were to have lived longer, I would have campaigned for additional classes in the curriculum. Ron agrees with me that you should have a Muggle education before going to Hogwarts, and he has started talking about teaching you chess. Your dad loves you so much!

How typical of me to expound an idea in great detail.

You are not only a flourishing reader; today you turned Apri blue. Spontaneous magic is not uncommon to young children as you well know, but you turned him back! I have never heard before of an untrained witch or wizard reversing his or her own magic without help.

Never doubt your abilities, Rose. I was such an insecure girl, trying to prove myself through knowledge in a world reluctant to embrace me. You may be questioned, or question yourself, but never doubt that you can rise to the challenge.

No word from Professor Snape, yet.

Love you,

Mum

May 25, 2010

Just a quick note, Rose.

I hope you are okay at Grandma Molly's. We'll Floo-chat later. I am in St. Mungo's with your dad, Uncle Harry, and Luna. All I want to do is hold you in my arms and tell you it was not your fault. Running after you in grass on crutches is a recipe for disaster when you can't feel your feet; I'm lucky I only broke one ankle. It was a quick fix, but the Healers want me to stay overnight just to see if the injury or the healing process affects the nerve disintegration. I'm more than a little tired, but at least I didn't have to swallow Skele-Gro. Has Uncle Harry ever told you about Lockhart removing his bones?

Don't be upset, Rosie. I cannot wait to see you tomorrow!

I hope Professor Snape writes soon.

Love,

Mum

May 26, 2010

Dear Rose,

I am so happy to be back at home with you! I love hearing you chatter about playing with your cousins and helping Grandma Molly make pies. These past few weeks with you have been such a joy. I am somewhat torn between working and being a mother. My work is extremely important, as we try to eliminate prejudices from our world, but spending time watching and helping you grow is becoming the most important thing in my life. I can easily draw up timetables for my department to follow after I am gone. Many of my ideas are already drafted out, and my colleagues are equally committed to social justice. A timetable, on the other hand, is no way to raise a child.

Your father is right. I have given up hope. But the very act of spending what time I have left with the people I love has made me realise that giving up is not living. I want to teach you to ride a bicycle (even a witch should know how) in case you inherit my fear of flying, take you to museums, and run after you in the backyard without falling. I want to be a successful mother who also convinces purebloods that we Muggle-borns are just as talented and committed to a magical society.

I want to live. And so, my life must be brought back under my control. Therefore:

1. I will wait for Professor Snape's letter and diagnosis before committing myself to the grave.

2. Once I have received a diagnosis, I will visit libraries and research.

3. I will spend as much time as possible with my family and friends (although we are practically all related by now).

4. We will go on as many trips and do as many activities as possible.

5. I will temporarily go on leave as head of my department but hire myself as a consultant. I'm sure I could advise from the comforts of my sitting room.

I still might only have six months, but I will accept my body's current difficulties and learn to work around them until then. No disease is incurable; I haven't tried every cure yet.

What is taking Professor Snape so long?

Determinedly yours,

Mum

May 27, 2010

Darling Rosie,

Finally! We were eating breakfast in the kitchen when you spotted an owl landing in the window box. You are always so excited when the post arrives; I will have to remind your dad to send you lots of letters at school.

My fingers were shaking when I saw the familiar spiky handwriting on the envelope. Despite yesterday's resolution, I was still somewhat frightened by the possibilities of the future.

You kept pulling on my robe, asking whom the letter was from.

"It's from Professor Snape, dear," I told you, still staring at the unopened letter.

"Can he fix your legs?" You looked eager. Had he made as favourable an impression on you as you had on him?

I slit the letter with a finger. By now, you've learned to wait until after I've read a letter to ask for a summary rather than demand that I read it out loud.

As it is, I've copied it here for you.

Miss Granger,

Please come tomorrow at noon. Weasley or Shacklebolt will be able to take you to my residence.

SS

The nerve of that man! To assume I have no plans (our trip to the British Museum will have to wait) and that the deputy head of the Auror Department or the Minister of Magic is at my disposal! And he conveniently forgot an explanation as well.

"I don't know," I told you. "But if there is anyone who can, it is Professor Snape."

I do hope so. But for now, we are going to finger-paint. I have been told one is never too old to finger-paint; this will be my first experience as well!

Love,

Mum

May 28, 2010

Dear Rose,

Severus Snape may be a bastard. He may also be the most romantic anti-hero since Sydney Carton; I don't know. But he is the most brilliant mind I have ever encountered. Spending an afternoon with him (minus his temperament) is exhilarating. I am passionate about law, but after today, I could throw it all away for research. Then again, I would most likely discover some misrepresented group associated with it and put aside any research in order to fight for their rights. Today was fascinating, however, and I would love to have a chance to collaborate with Professor Snape again.

Ron was kind of enough to take the morning off from work; the three of us had a lovely breakfast before taking you to my parents for the afternoon. Ron and Uncle Harry know me better than anyone, and your dad could tell I was nervous after we gave you to your grandparents.

"I've been thinking about buying an automobile," he commented as we passed my father's car on the way to our Apparation point. I was lucky not to drop my crutches.

"Ronald!" I gasped. As a distraction, it was perfect. "You're not joking?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "I've had my eye on an Aston Martin ever since Harry introduced me to that Band fellow."

"Bond, Ron. Honestly, it's just like you to remember a sports car rather than the main character."

"I couldn't afford the Aston Martin on my salary now, anyway. But I've been thinking lately that it would be useful to be able to drive you and Rosie around."

I was touched.

"Dad's been tinkering with a hybrid engine, trying to use magic to make it... I don't understand it, but... green?"

I smiled. Trust your granddad to keep up with the latest Muggle fads. "Arthur is trying to reduce the amount of carbon released into the atmosphere by the burning of gasoline. Many companies are trying to make hybrid or electric-powered vehicles. Many Muggles are concerned about the rising temperatures of the earth."

"Of course you would know. Dad offered to make some alterations...most of them are pretty reliable now, you know."

"Are you aware you'll have to take the driver's examination?"

"But I already know how to drive!" he protested.

"Yes, and the last time you did, you and Harry landed in the Whomping Willow."

Ron rolled his eyes, but smiled ruefully. "That was one hell of a landing. Fine. I'll take your ruddy test."

"You had better not Confund the examiner," I warned. Your dad put up his hands to ward me off.

"Bloody woman! Can't you trust me?" What a silly question.

"Thank you, Ron," I spoke softly.

He looked fondly at me. "Anything for you."

I had to ask. "Do you regret it?"

"The divorce?" He was surprised.

"Yes." With the way our lives and relationship had progressed, I needed to know. Ron was quiet as we crossed the street.

"No, I guess. We're better together when we're not in each other's hair. I mean, while making up was loads of fun..."

I smiled in agreement.

"I don't think we could have argued and had make-up sex (sorry Rose) the rest of our lives. At some point, we would have had an argument like in our third year, and there would be no traitorous rat to bring us back together. I'm glad we did get married, though."

"We have Rose," I answered. You were the highlight of our marriage.

"And naturally, having us for parents, we proved it's possible to parent better divorced than married."

I rolled my eyes. We reached our destination, and Ron stepped in front of me.

"Do you regret it?" he asked seriously.

Yes. No. If we didn't know each other as well, I could have fallen in love with him all over...your dad has finally grown up. But Ron was correct. The friendship we have developed over the past two years is stronger than any we had before and during our marriage.

"I love you," I told him.

"But you don't want to snog me any more," he finished, grinning.

"Professor Snape was right. You aren't an imbecile any more," I teased back.

"Speaking of which," he wrapped his arms around me and turned on one foot. The familiar squeezing overwhelmed the senses, and then we appeared under a gigantic willow, the sounds of running water nearby.

"Cambridge," Ron explained. "You were an Oxford girl, or else I'm sure you would have run into him eventually." I spent three years after the war at Oxford being tutored in law. Traditionally, Cambridge and Oxford are rivals, but I have never been particularly enthusiastic about the rivalry. Therefore, I felt no guilt in my sudden urge to drag Ron to the university's library after our visit!

"Snape's place isn't far from here. The walking hasn't tired you out yet?"

My arms were getting tired, I admitted, but I wasn't so much of an invalid that I required assistance. Ron guided me through the park towards a residential area. Professor Snape lives in a brick, two-story house in the Tudor style. Overgrown foliage obscured the neighbouring houses.

We paused in front of the house. I looked curiously at your dad.

"However did you find him?"

"I was damn lucky the house wasn't Secret–Kept; I would never have found Snape otherwise. As it was, I remembered Kingsley had mentioned that the Ministry would send him an annual stipend and give him his 'posthumous' Order of Merlin as thanks for his service. I popped into the Accounting Office and looked at the payrolls. It took days." Ron shuddered. "But I finally found a name not associated with any office...I checked...and copied the address listed. It was a bit of a gamble...especially because Snape was disguised when I met him...but I think he was so surprised that I, of all people, stood on his doorstep that he broke character immediately."

"Does Harry know what you are up to?" I couldn't imagine your uncle not noticing Ron's absences.

Ron nodded. "He tried to prevent me from going at first, too, but he is as anxious as I to find a cure. Technically, I should be on a case right now, but Harry is covering for me."

Once again, I found myself surprised by the strength of my friends' love. Treasure your friends, Rose; they are infinitely more valuable than a first edition Hogwarts, a History, which, you must understand, is priceless.

When we reached the house, Ron knocked firmly on the door. I was surprised to hear a volley of barks approaching from the other side. The idea of Professor Snape, who hated Sirius Black (whose Animagus form was a dog) with a passion, owning a dog seemed so far-fetched that I nearly told the aristocratic-looking blond opening the door that we had mistakenly chosen the wrong house.

"Miss Granger, Weasley. Please." Professor Snape's voice incongruously emerged from the strange body as he stepped aside to let us in. Immediately, we were set upon by a large, friendly Old English sheepdog.

"Down, Calla," he said firmly. The dog pulled her front paws off Ron's chest, and went to lean against her owner. With a flick of his wand, the Glamour fell away.

"Your tardiness has cost you a fresh pot of tea, but I'm sure you are still capable of casting a warming charm. If you will follow me." He led us through the hallway into a small library, Calla following at his feet. It was absolutely beautiful, with wood panelling and shelves and shelves of old books. I smiled in delight. Two chairs sat in front of a large mantel, a tea tray hovering mid-air between them. He gestured for your dad and me to take the seats while he took his place by the mantel like a Shakespearean stage actor.

I sipped the proffered Earl Grey tea, wondering whether we would be required to make small talk. The sheepdog lay curled in front of us, her eyes fixed on the biscuits Ron was removing from the tray. I looked up from my cup to see Professor Snape studying me.

"No doubt you have wondered at the delay," he began. "It has taken longer than I expected to determine the best way to proceed. The tests I propose have never been performed on a human before, and there were necessary preparations to ensure that they would be effective and safe. I am confident that you have been poisoned, Miss Granger; today I should be able to identify the method."

"What if the poison is undetectable?" Ron interjected. Professor Snape sneered.

"There is no such thing as an undetectable poison, Weasley. It may possess characteristics of invisibility, but that implies that the source or components of the poison have magical characteristics. Each individual magical specimen leaves behind a residue that characterizes the magical qualities of the source. I can extract that residue from Miss Granger and identify its characteristics."

I watched Professor Snape with interest, observing how easily he returned to lecturing. His subject was fascinating, but something about it tugged at my memory. When he paused, I jumped into the conversation.

"You're Royal Havisham!" Both Ron and Professor Snape turned to me with incredulity. I deduced that was one detail Ron had failed to share with me outside.

"Your reasoning?" Professor Snape challenged, one eyebrow raised.

"I read Potions Quarterly," I admitted. Ron rolled his eyes. "He's one of my favourite contributors...the article on identifying the individual qualities of potions ingredients and its application to improving and developing new potions was inspiring! You could have adopted the method of extracting magical residuals, but the pseudonym alludes to your former title." The Half-Blood Prince... a youth's defiant, desperate, and dramatic attempt to establish and justify his own worth and power.

He nodded reluctantly. "A stretch, but correct in essentials."

A proud smile lit my face only to be wiped away in concern.

"How can you be sure you are extracting the poison's residue? Surely there are magical traces from other sources that collect in the body."

"An astute question. You failed to mention the innate magic of an individual, which also posed a problem. If you remember my earlier postulate, each source has its individual characteristics. Fortunately, there are overall commonalities between sources that allow one to distinguish a plant from a wizard or an animal. Magical traces are...if you are as well read in Muggle science...similar to the DNA that makes up the body's structure.

"Furthermore, there is no better source for your own residue than your wand. As Weasley undoubtedly performed the Side-Along Apparition, I will be able to identify his residue on you by examining his own wand. Residuals also appear only in affected areas; therefore, it will be possible to identify the poison by its location. You spoke highly of Havisham's methods...I trust you will extend me the same courtesy?"

"Absolutely," I affirmed, incredulous that he would consider me so callous. "When can we begin?"

"Now, if you are through with the questions. Weasley..."

Ron looked up, his hands entwined in Calla's fur.

"There will be little need for your assistance. If you are so inclined," his voice was sceptical, "you are welcome to remain in the library. There are only benign texts on these shelves. I would hardly allow an Auror in here if it were otherwise."

Ron snorted. "I suppose you keep the others locked in your bedside cupboard?"

"How quickly you jump to conclusions," Professor Snape sneered. Strangely, I had a slight suspicion that this animosity covered up the tiniest bit of respect.

"Thanks, but I think I'll take a walk. Would she like to come along?" Ron gestured at Calla, who had perked up at the familiar word. Professor Snape hesitated, looking at the dog leaning contentedly against your father.

"Calla is at her own disposal," he said oddly. I swear he sounded wistful. "I believe this will take a half of an hour to complete, at which point I will need to collect a trace sample from your wand. The wards will recognize you when you return. I need not remind you that the rest of the house is off-limits?"

Ron shrugged. "Then I'm off. Good luck, Hermione. Want to go for a walk, Calla?"

I've never had a dog, but watching Calla dance to the door in her excitement makes me seriously consider getting you a puppy. Ron would be delighted, of course, but would the two of you be up to puppy care?

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape spoke softly. "Please follow me." It is somewhat strange, I must admit, to hear such courtesy from him. Is it that I am a grown woman with a child and a career? Or is it a token of respect for a dying girl? I cannot make him out. He uses sarcasm more effectively than his wand (and he is one of the most accomplished wizards I know) and yet considerately offers tea and says 'please.' But then again, he has made no gesture of friendship, nothing to understand him with except a vial full of memories, and even then, I make no claim to know him. Would I wish to?

Anyway, I was not thinking this as I followed him slowly back into the hallway. I actually was considering what Professor Snape would use to identify the characteristics of the residuals. My recollection of Professor Snape's article included a brief mention of ley lines, but I couldn't recall how they were used or if they were further explained at all. However, Professor Snape had already offered me a chance to ask questions, and I was unsure that there would be another opportunity. He is such an imposing figure, and I found myself unable to break the silence.

He stopped and turned. "Are you... capable of stairs?" Naturally, his laboratory would be below ground, in what used to be a cellar. How maladroit of us to have forgotten.

"Only if they are wide and deep. Even then, descending is usually difficult."

He frowned. "I am able to Apparate within these walls, but it would distort the readings. I'm afraid–that is, if you are willing–the best course would be for you to allow me to carry you downstairs."

I blushed. That was the most inelegant statement I have ever heard him utter. I believe I was embarrassed because he was, of all things, unsettled. And then, I had my first understanding. A spy must be in control of his faculties at all times (something, I will say, Professor Snape had not always maintained in the presence of your Uncle Harry) and be prepared, be able to adapt to any situation.

In the midst of his thorough preparations, Professor Snape had forgotten my inability to walk without crutches. It is one thing to pick up an injured person in a battle and carry them to safety, but to carry a woman in your arms through your own house must be seen as positively matrimonial or at least sexual. He was doubly embarrassed.

"Very well," I agreed, hoping his discomfiture would not sour his temperament. He swallowed and picked me up, leaving my crutches leaning against the wall. It was not romantic at all. Yes, he is much taller than me and smells very nicely, but mostly I was aware of the stiffness radiating from him. His arms were rigid as they held me, and I was more concerned that in his wish to seem as professional as possible I would be dropped.

We made it down the stairs without mishap, however, and I summoned my crutches as he set me down. We stood in front of a door, which had been installed when the cellar was converted into a laboratory, I assumed.

Professor Snape tapped his wand against the door in a pattern I won't repeat for the sake of his privacy and spoke a single word softly. The door opened, but I was surprised to see that the room did not look like a laboratory. It was dark inside, the light from the hallway spilling in to illuminate a heavy worktable. After we entered, he directed me towards the table and went around the room, lighting several sconces with matches he produced from his trouser pocket. I should mention that he had left off his robe in the library and wore a crisp white shirt over black trousers (another thing I had never seen before).

"What is this room?" I asked.

"My laboratory," he replied as he lit candles. "With some modifications, as you see. Usually, this procedure is done in a small container, but the subject is obviously different here. The environment must still be as free of magic as possible."

"How did you do that?" My curiosity won out over my hesitance.

"Burnt rosemary. Would you lie on the table?" I complied. Did you know that rosemary is often used to purify a place before doing an old working? By old, I mean druidic. There are some fascinating books on the druids and the evolution of practising magic at Hogwarts. Professor Binns liked to focus on the Goblin Wars, but Madame Pince had some wonderful suggestions of history books to read as supplemental material.

Professor Snape began moving his wand up and down my body, although several inches above it. The incantation was long, involving bits and pieces of various languages. He repeated it every couple of passes. It didn't feel particularly druidic, which made me wonder if he had invented the spell himself (not surprising at all).

I was surprised, though, when the first colours began to rise from my body. They reminded me of the aurora borealis, streams of particles glowing in various shades as they danced above me. Most prominent was a beautiful teal ribbon, brighter than the others. I also saw orange, lavender, rose, burgundy, brown, and green flash here and there. Looking up at Professor Snape, I saw a silver glow around his wand that I suspected was his own trace. Tears came to my eyes. Pure magic danced above me.

A few more colours rose, and then Professor Snape changed the incantation. Individual colours separated from the whirling mass, and his wand directed them to a vial. I felt disappointment in seeing them trapped inside the glasses. Finally, they were all contained, and Professor Snape slumped against the table, his forehead covered in sweat.

"Do you need something to drink?" I whispered. I, too, felt drained. He swiped at his face with a trembling hand.

"Whiskey, I think." He waved his wand, and two glasses appeared with a bottle. He filled them both and offered one to me. I am not a fan of hard liquor, but the whiskey burned through me and I felt somewhat better.

He drained half his glass before he explained, "You will need food to replenish your energy, but this will have to do until we leave the lab."

"Would I be correct in assuming that my own magic was extracted? If I remember correctly, you completely extracted the residuals from the potions ingredients in your paper."

"Yes. I was afraid that some of it might be drawn out with its residue."

I observed him, noting with concern the pallor of his cheeks.

"I wouldn't have expected it to be so exhausting."

"It is a complex procedure only being performed on a human for the first time," he snapped, but his exhaustion took away the bite. Sighing, he admitted, "The focus required to manipulate so many different residuals was more than I expected."

We continued to drink our whiskey in silence. I thought about the beautiful colours in the vials before us. I suspected–or rather, I hoped–that the teal residue was my own, due to its brilliance and quantity. Which vial contained my poison?

"What do we do next?"

"I require an extraction from yours and Weasley's wands. Your assistance will no longer be necessary after that. I will analyse the samples over the next few days."

So long! But I suppose it would take time to identify all the different residuals and determine their origin.

"If you are feeling refreshed, perhaps we could return upstairs and finish this?"

I nodded and manoeuvred myself off the table. He placed the vials in a small chest and set it on a counter I had not seen until now. He returned to my side.

"I will Apparate us now." He waited for my nod in consent before placing his hands on my upper arms and Apparating us to his library. Ron jumped up, his wand ready.

"Bloody hell! A little notice, please?"

"Impossible while Apparating, Weasley," Professor Snape sneered. Does his need to be derisive override his sense of humour?

"I will require you to cast Priori Incantatem on Weasley, Miss Granger."

"Oh! You are using the reverse spell effect to extract the residuals as Ron's spells appear!"

Professor Snape opened his mouth, most likely to make a comment on my exclamation, when Ron interrupted.

"Hang on. We just started doing Priori analysis during cases last year. You invented it?"

"Brilliant assumption, Weasley." He drawled. "Yes, my work is occasionally conscripted by Shacklebolt for Ministry usage."

"It's bloody brilliant; that's what it is." Ron turned to me. "Remember how Crouch used Harry's wand to cast the Dark Mark? Before, Harry would have been arrested because his wand registered the curse. With Snape's spell, though, we can identify whether a different wizard used the wand by comparing the different magic colours that show during the spell. You're going to use it to find out what our magic looks like?"

"A crude explanation, but yes. Miss Granger, are you recovered enough or do you require further sustenance?"

I hadn't fainted yet, so I lined up my wand (I bought a new one after the war: elm, twelve inches, with a core of dragon heartstring) with Ron's and cast the spell. The shadow of a ball being summoned appeared, and Professor Snape began casting the Extraction Spell. Ron watched, entranced, as orange residues appeared in the air around the shadow and his wand, while I was delighted to see that my own residue was teal.

Professor Snape directed the residuals to two more vials.

"I will be in touch again shortly. Thank you for your time today. Good day." He swept back down the stairs towards the cellar. He is so infuriating at times! Ron shrugged, but escorted me outside.

"Abruptness isn't the same as unpleasantness. That much. Come on, there's a pub in town I saw that said something about that D stuff Snape mentioned."

"DNA, Ron."

We had a lovely lunch at the Anchor in the City Centre and then returned to spend the rest of the afternoon with my parents and you. It is nearly midnight, and I've rambled on for over an hour! I'd better get to bed if I'm going to be alert tomorrow when we visit the London Zoo!

Once again, I find myself waiting for Professor Snape's letter. It is annoyingly like waiting for a certain obtuse boy to notice you. Although he smells nicely... I'll stop now, I promise!

Loads of love from

Mum

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you'll consider leaving a review!