Part 5, Episodes 41-50

41. A New Threat and An Old Agenda

MUGGLE-BORNS MURDERED – FAMILY OF FIVE DEAD!

Edinburgh. A family of Muggle-born wizards, the parents along with their three children, were killed in their beds during the night of Saturday, November 27.

The deaths of herbalist Thomas Richardson (37) and his wife Sorcha (36), a stay-at-home-witch, along with their three children, Ian (9), Peter (6) and Jenny (4), were discovered by friends of the family who arrived at the Edinburgh family home for an afternoon of Quidditch playing on Sunday.

When the Richardsons did not react to doorbells and Floo-calls, Aurors were alerted and decided to Apparate directly into the house in order to determine if an accident had occurred. Inside the house nothing pointed towards any unusual occurrence or a fight, but when the Aurors entered the main bedroom, they found the parents lying dead in their bed. Upon entering the children's rooms, the Aurors were faced with exactly the same scene: the three children had been killed in their beds as well.

"They looked as if they were sleeping," said Harry Potter, Auror-in-training, who was first on the scene. The young man – famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Voldemort in 1998 – was visibly shaken when he told our correspondent that there are no clues at all as to what happened, but that it can be assumed that the infamous Unforgivable curse "Avada Kedavra" was used to kill the family.

"We can only assume that the tragedy was caused by followers of Voldemort, so-called Death Eaters, who are still on the loose and seeking revenge even more than a year after the Dark Lord's defeat," stated the head of the Office of Aurors, Gawain Robards, yesterday. "We urge all Muggle-born wizards and witches to be extremely alert for any suspicious activities and not to hesitate to Floo-call the Office of Aurors."

The story continues with interviews of colleagues of Thomas Richardson and background information on the killing curse on page 5.

oooOooo

The Daily Prophet of Monday, November 29, 1999, dropped from Hermione's hands and fell to the floor.

Annoyed at the disturbance of his lunch routine (which consisted mainly in keeping a keen eye out for pranks among the student body), Snape turned towards Hermione with a scowl that faded to a look of concern as he took in her pallor and her shaking hands. He picked up the paper and quickly scanned the front page.

'Damn,' Snape muttered and glanced at the empty seat where Headmistress McGonagall was suspiciously absent today.

He considered the Order meeting last summer, when he had heard the first report about disappearing Death Eaters. He'd had a bad feeling about the situation even then: how likely was it for Aurors and Order members to lose track of five confirmed Death Eaters in three countries at the same time? Ever since then, the leads the Order and the Ministry had been following in order to apprehend members of Voldemort's organisation that still were at large had been thinning out. Since the beginning of October, there had been no useful information about any of those criminals at all. And now this.

The bad feeling in his stomach intensified to the point of nausea.

Regrouping, that's what they have been doing, the analytical part of his mind lectured coolly. At some point last summer, someone has started to pick up the remains of Voldemort's organization. Someone who is powerful and cunning enough to make Death Eaters virtually disappear from under the noses of our Aurors, the Sorcerers' Secret Service and the Order. Now the new organization is firmly established and they have decided to send a message.

'Damn,' he repeated, swearing in a soft voice.

The signal couldn't possibly be any clearer. Killing people in their beds, not even sparing the children. The ruthlessness of the execution was chilling, the agenda of whoever was behind this all too easy to perceive: eliminate Muggle-born wizards and intimidate the Purebloods.

He looked back at the article, trying to connect faces with the names. The parents had been a bit younger than he was, but they had probably been at Hogwarts together for a couple of years. He couldn't place the name of the man, but he thought he remembered the name of a Sorcha Friskin. A Hufflepuff, if he wasn't mistaken. Brown hair and green eyes. A round face.

No more. And their eldest had been almost old enough to come to Hogwarts.

'Damn,' he whispered once more, before he met the eyes of his apprentice and had to bite his tongue not to repeat himself for a fourth time.

Hermione – after she'd saved his damn life yet again, there was really no use in persisting to call her 'Miss Granger' within the sheltered confines of his mind – looked thoroughly shaken. No, worse: she was shaking.

'He...' He cleared his throat. 'Miss Granger, are you feeling quite all right?'

Of course she was not, that much was easy to see. He frowned irritably at her. 'Do you need an Invigoration Draught? Or some Pepper-Up-Potion?'

She blinked at him.

'Miss Granger?'

She shook herself. 'I...I'm sorry, Professor. I ... that article ... the poor children ...' She trailed off helplessly, giving a strange, stiff shrug. 'I...I think I need to be a-alone for a bit. If you will excuse me, sir?'

'Very well. Don't...'

He shook his head. There was really no reason to admonish Hermione about punctuality. She'd never been late for an appointment in her life.

'Sir?'

'Nothing. I-I will see you later, then.'

She only nodded, before she awkwardly turned around and slowly shuffled to the door that led out of the Great Hall from the dais of the High Table.

He felt his frown deepen. Something was wrong about the way Hermione held herself, so stiffly, and about the way she moved, so carefully. As if she was not only shook up by the news, but in considerable pain. Was she keeping something from him? He should probably consult Poppy ...

oooOooo

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oooOooo

42. To Hold You Through the Night

What with one thing and another, Hermione hadn't managed to gather her courage to ask her master for assistance concerning potions to help her deal with the long-term effects of the Cruciatus Curse. A neglect she was deeply regretting at the moment.

The first night of December 1999 was the coldest night of the autumn so far, heralding the advent of winter with first flurries of snowflakes. Dancing above the towers of the castle they turned into icy droplets of rain further down and the day before hoarfrost had glittered all over the gardens for the first time.

A big blaze was roaring in the fireplace of Hermione's room, she lay huddled under a heap of blankets with Crookshanks at her feet, a hot-water bottle clutched to her stomach, but to no avail. She didn't seem to be able to chase the chill out of her bones. Instead, the aching stiffness was slowly sliding into the realm of pain, with a hint of agony flashing through her whenever she breathed too deeply.

This is not happening, she thought. Instinctively she curled up into a ball, but the movement ripped through her body as if she were being struck by red hot pokers. Or freezing pokers?

But it was happening. She knew the signs by now and dreaded them.

First there were days of stiffness and aching joints. Of being cold and never getting warm. Then the sensations of cold and heat became mixed up, until they faded, faded into fiery pain. The next stage had her muscles seizing up. Agony.

I'm not weak. I'm not weak. I'm ... what did Healer Mugwort say about it? 'You are merely having a harder time with the after-effects of a horrible curse than other witches might have.' Right. Not weak.

A first cramp. She buried her face in the pillow and muffled her moan.

Not too bad yet. Just like ten times the feeling of the worst menstrual cramp imaginable.

She swallowed carefully.

I'm not throwing up. Not yet.

Her legs were on fire, they were twitching and she couldn't stop, and every movement felt like knives slashing through her flesh. Crookshanks leapt from the bed, to avoid her helpless kicks.

Not weak.

Just having a harder time.

The muscles along her spine seized up, bending her head backwards.

Not weak. And the real thing was much worse.

Much.

Worse.

Then she remembered Bellatrix' eyes again, filled with madness and hate, and she heard Bellatrix' harsh voice again, as the Death Eater shouted at her: '... Tell the truth, tell the truth!'

And then Hermione screamed.

oooOooo

From somewhere far away she heard a voice, a voice that sounded a little hoarse, but surprisingly soft, 'You foolish, foolish girl, why didn't you tell me? I don't have any of the potions that might help you now in stock.'

Gentle fingers brushed her curls away from her face. Of course. He must have heard her.

Somehow she managed to open her eyes.

Snape was sitting next to her on her bed, still dressed in his teacher's robes. Although it must be close to midnight, he hadn't retired for the night yet. He had probably come back from his rounds just in time to hear her.

'Didn't get round to it,' she breathed, then clenched her teeth as another wave of pain made her shudder.

'Sorry to disturb you, sir,' Hermione pressed on. 'I think ... I think the worst is ...' She balled her hands, ignoring the agony shooting up her arms in a feeble attempt to keep control of her body. '... over,' she wheezed.

'Oh, really?' A black eyebrow rose in a sarcastic quirk. 'Do you mind if we ... test that admirably Gryffindor sentiment?'

She just stared at him, trying to get her breath back.

Impatiently he shook his head, but when he reached for her, his hands were careful, his movements as precise as ever. He gripped her under the arms to pull her body up against him, just as she had done with him not even two weeks ago. Not much of a movement, but it was enough to make her muscles cramp again.

She wanted to pull away from him, but her body wasn't cooperating. Her arms and legs were shaking, as she writhed. Hermione ended up with her face buried in her master's robes. Strong hands clasped her arms and held her tightly.

'It is best if you move as little as possible,' he murmured. 'Try to keep still. Try to relax. This will pass.'

She tried to obey his command, to relax in his embrace. A shallow breath brought his scent to her nose. Vetyver wood. Bergamot. Rosemary. Cypress. Nutmeg.

Distantly she realised that under different circumstances she would have loved to be held in his embrace like that. For such a slender man he was surprisingly strong. And even through the haze of pain, his arms felt good around her.

When the next cramp seized her, she turned fully towards him, her fingers involuntarily clutching at him.

oooOooo

She had finally fallen asleep in the wee hours of morning, utterly spent from fighting down the echo of a Cruciatus Curse that would have killed or driven mad any lesser witch.

Her face was pressed against his chest, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. In spite of his constant admonishments to relax, she had chosen to fight each convulsion in typical, hare-brained Gryffindor fashion. Absentmindedly he smoothed a sweat-damp curl away from her painfully creased forehead. Her hands were still clinging to his robes, as if he were her only hope to last through the night. She felt fragile in his arms. Too thin. And oh, Merlin, too stubborn for her own good.

Snape allowed himself a minute sigh.

She must have heard him even in her sleep. She stirred slightly, snuggling closer to his body.

'... not weak,' she mumbled. 'Not weak ...'

'No,' he whispered, 'you're not weak. Not weak at all. You foolish, foolish girl.'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

43. Waking in Your Arms

When Hermione woke, his arms were still wrapped around her.

She lay with her face pressed against his shoulder. Her bones and muscles still ached in the aftermath of the night, but for the first time in weeks she felt warm. For the first time in months she felt safe and secure. His right hand rested lightly on her left shoulder. When she took a deep breath, and no cramps seized her, intense relief washed over her. Snape reacted to her slight movement by curling the fingers of his left hand tighter around her waist and pulling her closer to him, but he did not wake.

She closed her eyes again and kept very still, just breathing, inhaling his familiar fragrance. The spicy scent caused a fluttering sensation in her stomach, and suddenly a strange ache formed in the middle of her chest. She felt light and heavy at the same time, as if her heart were a soap-bubble, shimmering, pretty, but fragile: a soft breeze would shatter her and rip her apart.

Breathe in. Her cheek, the way it rested on the rough woollen fabric of his robe. Breathe out. The weight of his right arm on her shoulders. Breathe in. The warmth of his body around her and beneath her. Breathe out. His left arm slung around her back. His hand holding her. Breathe in. Why did her eyes burn with tears all at once? Breathe out.

She opened her eyes and blinked.

His face so close to hers, unguarded and vulnerable in his sleep. She loved the proud arc of his nose. The sweep of his black lashes. And most of all, to see him at peace for once, the harsh lines in his face smoothed by quiet slumber.

... loved?

Oh.

She must have tensed, because his lids fluttered and then opened. Black eyes glinted in the pale morning light.

'How are you feeling?' he asked. His voice was low, but to Hermione's surprise she realised that it sounded the way she remembered it from earlier years.

Smooth.

She exhaled in a sigh. 'Better.'

A faint, relieved smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 'Good.'

Tightening his hold on her, he sat up in a slow, awkward movement, grunting a little. Once seated, he carefully lowered her to a lying position, all the time watching her intently. After a moment, he seemed satisfied that she did not exhibit any negative reactions to being moved.

'Can you sit up?'

'I think so.' She attempted to raise herself the way she usually did, sitting up and swinging her legs around in one fluid movement – and failed. She slumped back against him.

'Shit.' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'Oops. Sorry, sir.'

He merely raised his eyebrows a little. 'I would suggest taking things a little more slowly today, Miss Granger. A Cruciatus relapse like the one you suffered last night is not a trifling matter.'

She bit down on her lip and tried again, more slowly. This time he helped her, gently pushing her back into an upright position. She felt stiffer than ever before, and her muscles protested every inch. But in the end she was sitting next to Snape, and although every bone and sinew in her body ached, there were no cramps, no agonised spasms.

His lips curled into a slight smile. 'For future reference, Miss Granger: this is what it looks like when the worst of a Cruciatus relapse is over.'

When she glared at him, she could have sworn that a spark of relieved amusement glittered in the depth of his eyes.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, before she burst out with a question, 'Why didn't you call Madam Pomfrey?'

Snape shifted until he sat on the edge of the bed, his back straight and tense. He did not look at her, but stared at the opposite wall, the shoulder-length curtain of black hair hiding his expression.

'She couldn't have done anything else for you than what I did,' he said softly. 'And as long as you are my apprentice, I am bound to do all that is within my power to take care of you.'

oooOooo

'Are you sure that you're feeling better?' Lois asked. 'You look terrible.'

Hermione smiled. 'Yes, I am. With the cramps gone, Professor Snape could give me something for the pain. And he's going to brew potions for me that should prevent another relapse.'

'That's good.' But the concerned look didn't leave the eyes of the dark-haired Muggle woman. 'It was a ... spell ... that caused those problems?'

Hermione curled her fingers tighter around her mug of hot chocolate. She was ensconced in an armchair in the Potions master's library, snuggled into a soft blanket. Lois had come to visit her after the latest therapy session. Hermione sighed. She didn't particularly want to talk about the Cruciatus today. Or ever, really.

'Yes,' Hermione said at last. 'An especially nasty curse, one of the Unforgivables. It's called the 'Cruciatus' Curse. It causes pain. Apparently it can have quite ... uncomfortable long-term effects.'

'I think I can see that,' Lois commented wryly.

Hermione shook her head. 'No. You can't. I had cramps, convulsions. No control over my body. The tiniest movement caused spasms of pain. And all that was nothing compared to the real thing.'

She swallowed hard. She didn't want to remember Bellatrix. Or the final battle. The memory of the article about the murdered family burned in her brain. Would it happen all over again? War, torture, death? And little Alina ... as a Muggle-born witch her life was at risk, too.

'I'm sorry, Lois. I'm afraid the wizarding world is not a very nice place.'

For a while Lois didn't reply. When she finally met Hermione's eyes, her expression was grim, but calm. 'I don't know how well you've kept up with the Muggle world, Hermione. But you should realise that it has never been a 'nice' place. Why should the wizarding world be any different?'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

44. A White and Woolly Christmas

Outside, the world was drowning in white. It had been snowing for three days straight now. The lake was completely frozen and some of the icicles hanging from the merlons of the parapet were as big as First Year students.

Inside, fires blazed in every room, and the flagstones in the hallways and dungeons of the castle had been enchanted to function as magical under-floor heating.

Now, just a week before Christmas, everyone was in high spirits. The students who had returned to Hogwarts for the accelerated Seventh Year had sat their NEWTs just a week ago. They would receive their results on Christmas day – a present most of them looked forward to with very mixed feelings.

Most of them, that was. Neville Longbottom was standing behind Professor Sprout right now and grinning like a fool.

'... if he gets to have an apprentice,' Professor Sprout was saying, 'then I don't see why I shouldn't have one, too. I'm as much a Master of my subject as Professor Snape is, and I have just as much work teaching and as head of house as he does.'

'I rather doubt that handling a handful of harmless Hufflepuffs amounts to quite the same challenge as supervising Slytherins,' Professor Snape sneered, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down his long nose at the dumpy, wild-haired witch.

Instantly the glow on Neville's face diminished, like a Muggle light bulb being turned down a notch. Hermione snorted, then sheepishly ducked her head when her master directed a dark scowl at her. She knew very well that Professor Snape would have no say in the decision of whether or not Professor Sprout took Neville on as her apprentice. If Neville passed his NEWTs with satisfactory grades and Headmistress McGonagall agreed, there was no reason why he shouldn't get the position if Professor Sprout was willing to take him on.

Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat and irritably narrowed her eyes at Snape over the rims of her glasses. 'I think the results of Mr Longbottom's NEWTs are due on Christmas day, Pomona. Maybe we should resume this conversation then?'

oooOooo

Peals of laughter caught her attention. Headmistress McGonagall looked down at the long tables of the Great Hall and frowned. Not far from the dais, a group of students occupied the end of one of the tables, playing an enchanted board game. Two Slytherins – Alina Petrel and Geilis Duncan – along with a Ravenclaw girl, Prudentia Halleywell, all of them First Years, and a Hufflepuff Second Year. Percely Parkinson was the younger brother of Pansy; originally an embarrassment to his family for having been Sorted into Hufflepuff, he now served as their favourite proverbial fig leaf.

'Tadaaa! I proudly present ... the monopoly card! And now I want to see sheep, ladies and gentleman, give me your sheep, come on, herd them over!' Alina's voice rang bright with glee.

Geilis sighed, Prue scowled, but both girls tapped the small wooden sheds set up on the table before them with their wands and proceeded to prod what looked like miniature sheep over towards Alina's shed. Percely didn't move, but glowered at Alina instead.

'Come on, Perce, I know you've got some sheep in there. Hand them over!'

Percely still didn't budge.

McGonagall felt her eyebrows rise. Sometimes Hufflepuff steadfastness went hand in hand with Hufflepuff pigheadedness in a rather unfortunate way.

'Peeerce. Perce! Oh, for GOD'S SAKE! I'll hex you into that desert down there if you don't give me your sheep right now.'

Percely, by now in full denial, had crossed his arms in front of his chest and was shaking his head. 'I need my sheep.'

Alina had had enough. She whipped out her wand, pointed it at Percely's shed and cried, 'Accio sheep!'

Unfortunately she flicked her wand rather too energetically, and a number of tiny woollen objects zoomed past her head towards the teachers' table.

Hot tea spattered over Minerva's hand. A marble-sized something was paddling frantically in her cup, bleating with fright.

'Merlin's ba...beard!' the Headmistress cried, plucking the tiny creature out of her cup and holding it away from her with stiff, elegant fingers, so the droplets of tea dripping from the animal's sodden coat wouldn't hit her frilly blouse.

'Miss Petrel!' She stalked down to the long table. 'Five points from Slytherin. We do not threaten to hex other students. And a detention to be served with Professor Flitwick. By now you really should have more control with that charm. If you do play games with enchanted figures, treat them respectfully.'

'Yes, Headmistress.' The small face paled, the dark eyes growing huge and frightened. Minerva ignored her, and turned to Percely Parkinson. 'And ten points from Hufflepuff. If you agree to join in a board game, Mr Parkinson, you will follow the rules of that game.'

oooOooo

Snape and Harry had arrived early for the Order meeting. While Harry expected Hermione to show up on time, he also knew that she was doing some last minute Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley.

Probably buying something for her master, he thought with some discomfiture. But of course she would. It was only proper, and given The Plan ...

He sighed and pretended to be intensely interested in the showers of sleet that were pounding the high windows of the library in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. But out of the corner of his eye he unobtrusively observed the Potions master, who was hiding behind the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

Snape looked weary and sick.

Small wonder. There had been another attack. Another family of Muggle-born wizards killed in their beds. Father, mother, and two children, one of them just a baby. All dead, and no sign of whoever had murdered them.

Finally Snape lowered the paper. Their eyes met, and when Snape failed to utter one of his customary acerbic remarks, Harry sighed again. Snape not snarky? That was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

oooOooo

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oooOooo

45. All I Want for Christmas

The Mark was gone. Only scars were left. If enough time passed, the Muggle Physician had told him, even they would fade.

But he still dreamed of the skull and the snake coiling around his arm. First the faint lines grew clearer, until they were black like coal on his white skin. Then a burning sensation crept over the tattoo. Increased. Warmth, heat. Fire! When he tried to flex his fingers, they remained frozen. Pain throbbed in his arm. Sweat formed on his forehead, ran down his cheeks. His throat constricted, his breath hitched, reduced to gasps, as the pain increased. Until the black lines burst apart. Charred like coal, the skin peeled back around the Mark, revealing raw flesh. Still he burned. And he couldn't avert his gaze. His flesh crumbled away until only bones remained, strangely white and fragile. A gust of wind tore at him. And his bones turned to dust.

He lay clutching his arm while his tears grew cold. At last he turned onto his back and counted his heartbeats. Finally he rose, went to the window. Turned back. Passed the table with the newspapers. Five attacks. Eighteen dead. Ten adults. Eight children. And one cat. Turned around. Back to the window. And again.

Three years. He'd hoped for only three years! Of relative peace. Of well-known routines and small comforts. No nightmares. Control over his life. Better yet: Control over his death, thanks to a perfect plan that would grant him a painless end at the date of his choice.

Now ... He stared at the picture below the headline. A balding, middle-aged wizard, his arm around a dumpy witch, smiling at him. Now the Dark was rising again.

He gazed across the lake towards the Forbidden Forest. Pearlescent mists drifted over the frozen surface. Beyond, the woods beckoned. The woods are lovely, dark and deep ...

The darkest evening of the year. And then there was Christmas, the day of gifts and fake smiles.

It would be nicely symbolic, he surmised. And for the first and the last time in his life – he'd receive the gift he really wanted.

oooOooo

It was incredibly difficult to find a suitable Christmas present for Professor Snape. Hermione wanted to give him something special, something he would cherish and value. Yet it also needed to be appropriate, something an apprentice could give to her master. In the end she had Charmed Muggle CDs to produce their music at a wand-tip, choosing songs Professor Snape seemed to have enjoyed at the Slytherin House party. Hermione was quite pleased with the result.

As she approached his library, she imagined his reaction. That special smirk. Maybe an appreciative glint in his black eyes?

But when she stood before him, she knew instantly that something was wrong. He was even paler than usual, his sallow skin tinged with yellow. 'Miss Granger? What are you doing here? The feast is in the Great Hall.'

'I've come to bring you your Christmas gift, sir. I hope you like it. I've created the Charms myself.'

He appeared startled, almost shocked at her words. For a second she caught a hint of unbearable sadness in his fathomless eyes. Suddenly she felt scared.

'Ah, yes,' Professor Snape sneered. 'Christmas ... a day of celebration and exchanging ... gifts.'

'Tell me, Miss Granger, have you ever wondered why I have taken you on as my Apprentice?' he asked silkily.

'I...Yes, of course I have, sir. I assumed that...'

He held up his hand to silence her. 'Let that be my gift to you,' he announced, 'I shall tell you why I accepted you. And then I shall ask you for something in return. For the only ... gift ... shall we say ... that I will ever ask of you.'

She frowned. Her heart began to race. But if he wants to ask me to marry him, why does he look so awful?

'It's just a little thing,' he murmured. 'Something you are Bound to do anyway, by your oath and by your blood.'

Her breath caught in her throat, as a horrible premonition gripped her. What if he did not want to marry her? What if he did not ever want to marry?

'Sir,' she started.

But he would not let her speak. Anger flared in his eyes, as he swooped down on her. 'I shall ask no more of you than Dumbledore asked of me. Surely even a bloody Gryffindor such as you can one, just one time in my life give to me what I really want!'

His gift slipped from her grasp. 'No,' she cried, her voice shrill with anguish. 'Please! At least hear me out – please!'

'Why should I...'

'Just three minutes, please! I promise – I will do whatever you order me to do, even help you to – to – I did swear – just hear me out, please!'

He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. 'Very well.'

'Sir, please! I can – I can understand that you don't want to go to Azkaban. I mean, who'd ever want to go to Azkaban. No one,' she babbled. 'And I also understand if you don't want a wife, I mean, I know that you loved Lily Potter.'

Though she didn't really understand. Lily had married someone else, for God's sake!

'Maybe – we – there could be another solution!' she stammered. 'There must be a loophole! Something. I'm smart, I can find a way.

'Please,' she begged. 'Let me try! I promise, if there's no other way, I'll do it. Just not yet. Not when there is still time...' She fell silent, choking on her tears. She couldn't look away from him, from his eyes, so black, so bleak.

'Please,' she rasped. 'Don't ask this of me. Not yet.'

He slumped down on one of the armchairs near the fireplace. The silence grew, expanded, reached for her, strangled her.

'Very well,' he sighed at last. 'Not yet. Now go.'

oooOooo

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oooOooo

46. Worrying and Worse

Harry Potter was worried. This was nothing new. Rather, it was his customary state of mind. In fact, he barely remembered how it felt not being worried, or worse.

Absentmindedly, he rubbed the scar on his forehead, before turning his attention back to Hermione's letter.

Harry was aware of the conditions of Hermione's apprenticeship. She had explained the magical contract very carefully to him, since its clauses meant she would probably not be able to tell him about some developments concerning The Plan. She was sworn to keep her master's secrets. Things might come up that she couldn't tell him, even if she wanted to. Harry would have to read between the lines.

He sighed and read the letter again.

... I am glad Christmas is over. All that noise and turmoil, you cannot concentrate at all. The apprenticeship is really demanding. Sometimes I wonder about failure. How do you live with yourself when the best you can do simply isn't good enough? Oh well, I am probably overreacting – you know me ...

Hermione had looked awful at the last Order meeting. Her face had a pinched, painful look, the skin almost as pasty as Snape's, plum-coloured circles under her eyes. She'd been jumpy, too. Nervous. And when she'd picked up her glass of pumpkin juice, her hand had been shaking.

Come to think of, Snape hadn't looked a whit better. Harry frowned in concentration. A good part of his Auror training was devoted to noticing things, little details that other wizards would miss. While Hermione guarded Snape's secrets, Lois Petrel was not bound by any oaths or magical contracts. (Another frown and a mental note – one of these days he had to look into whatever was going on between Lois and Ron.) Anyway, Lois had told Ron about the incident with the Dark Mark and its subsequent removal by Muggle means. Ron in turn had told Harry, who'd had enough by that time of all that talking around corners and had gone straight to McGonagall. At first pretending that she didn't know what he was talking about, the Headmistress' frustration had finally made her spill the whole story.

Apparently recurring nightmares had pushed Snape into using Dark Magic of all things to try to remove the Mark, almost killing him in the process. McGonagall had been utterly furious at Snape's unprecedented foolhardiness and lack of trust. But Harry suspected that Minerva's uncharacteristically emotional reaction to the incident was mainly due to her concern for the well-being of the Potions master.

Well-being, my arse, he thought, his mind jumping to the latest news from the Ministry of Magic. With Umbridge appointed the new Probations Officer, Snape's happiness was the least of their worries. Arthur had managed to get his hands on Umbridge's timetable, and it seemed her first check-up visit with the notorious ex-Death Eater was scheduled for the second week of January.

He put Hermione's letter on the table, but he couldn't get it out of his mind. Placing his palms on either side of the missive, he leant over the table, scanning the lines once more.

Something really bothered him about that letter. Something he couldn't quite pinpoint.

How do you live with yourself when the best you can do simply is not good enough?

He couldn't say why, but there was something about that question that chased shivers down his spine. Harry shook himself. It's probably my imagination, an overreaction on my part, he thought. Just an augurey flying over my grave ...

DAMN. Grave. That was it. How do you live with yourself – a question that implied an alternative. Death.

Overreacting. Reacting. Something must have happened.

oooOooo

'Arbroath,' he muttered, and the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the office of the Headmistress slid aside. While Professor Dumbledore's passwords had reflected his sweet-tooth, Professor McGonagall attempted to educate anyone who had access to her office in the history of Scotland.

Arbroath for instance, Harry's reasearch had revealed, referred to a declaration of Scottish independence and confirmation of Scotland's status as a sovereign state in 1320.

As the revolving staircase elevated him to the office, he wondered how the hell he should go about discussing Snape and Hermione with the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

oooOooo

When Harry Potter announced his desire to discuss Severus Snape and Hermione Granger with her, Minerva McGonagall cast a longing glance at the shelf that held her impressive collection of single malt whiskies. Unfortunately – and contrary to the beliefs of her beloved grandfather, who had held fast to the conviction that it was never too early for a wee dram – the headmistress didn't regard eleven o' clock on a Sunday morning as the appropriate time to indulge in the water of life.

'Well,' she said, adjusting her spectacles. Harry appeared to be more than concerned. And he did not have the doubtful pleasure to observe the Potions Master and his apprentice on a daily basis. 'Well,' she repeated, took off her glasses and carefully rubbed them clean with an embroidered handkerchief.

'As far as her apprenticeship is concerned, Hermione is doing very well indeed. She is teaching the First and the Second Years and supervising the study groups of the Third and the Fourth Years. Additionally she is involved in Professor Snape's private research and has started a potions project of her own.'

'Yes, yes.' Impatiently Harry waved away those technical details. 'I want to know how they are. I know that Hermione is doing well, she's Hermione, for God's sake.'

'Not well, I'm afraid. Not well at all.'

Since the Wizengamot had pronounced the ridiculous conditions for Snape's probation, not a day had passed when she hadn't worried about the younger man. While Minerva admired Hermione's determination to save Severus' life, she had rather serious doubts concerning the young woman's plan and its prospects of success.

And to top things off she had to allow Umbridge inside Hogwarts again. The evening and the opportunity to enjoy a rather hefty nightcap really couldn't come too soon.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

47. Black Rose

'Dolores.'

A wave of sweet musk drifted to her, almost making her gag with revulsion.

'Minerva.'

'What a lovely scent you are wearing.' Minerva's polite smile froze into a grimace on her face.

'Isn't it amazing, it's the most magical perfume I've ever had,' Umbridge gushed. 'Now, about this meeting ... I have to apprise myself of the situation of convicts who have been released under probation and to ascertain that the requirements of the relevant probations' conditions are met.

'There is really no need to look so worried, Minerva; I am sure you've been doing a wonderful job of keeping an eye on Snape,' simpered Umbridge.

'Thank you.' Minerva's tone was so sour it curdled the milk in her tea. Next time Umbridge shows up, order Earl Grey, she noted mentally, as she reached for a stack of papers on her desk. 'This is Professor Snape's schedule. And copies of my weekly reports.'

'Hem hem.' With grunts that reminded McGonagall of a pig looking for truffles, Umbridge rifled through the parchments in her pudgy hands.

'I see that you have allowed him to patrol the castle. And you've even granted him free evenings. Are you sure that is wise, Minerva?' Umbridge's eyelashes fluttered, reminding McGonagall of the twitching legs of flies in the throes of death.

Clamping firmly down on a vision of a giant fly swatter, Minerva forced herself to reply without outright hostility. She couldn't afford to antagonise Umbridge. 'I was not aware that the conditions of his probation contained any implication that I am supposed to curtail his freedom of movement, especially within the castle.'

'Of course, of course. I just meant to say ... in some situations it is wiser to err on the side of caution, isn't it? After all, he was one of the most dangerous followers of V– V– of the Dark Lord.'

oooOooo

'Well, well, Severus,' Umbridge simpered from behind the dragon-clawed desk. Snape could just imagine Minerva's face at having her study appropriated by the Probations Officer.

He was not surprised to see that there was no chair provided for him. Drawing himself up to his full height, he had a hard time to keep himself from imperiously crossing his arms in front of his chest. But even he knew that it was not exactly smart to start out with annoying Umbridge with the simple expedient of body language.

'Dolores,' Snape sneered. Somehow he managed to resist the temptation of mimicking her silly mannerism.

'It's Ms. Umbridge for you, Snape.'

He smirked as the sugary sweetness drained from Umbridge's voice. Her round eyes bulged a little as she leant forwards, pushing the expanse of her pink cleavage onto the desk. His nostrils flared as he caught the cloying candied scent of her perfume. Idly he wondered how many jarveys had died for that perfume, while listening with half an ear to her sermon delineating the preposterous conditions for his probation.

'... so what have you been doing in order to fulfil the requirements of your probation, Snape?'

'Are you interested, Ms. Umbridge?' He quirked an eyebrow. Red spots of rage appeared on Umbridge's cheekbones, and her bosom heaved under layers of garish tweed. He felt a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and swiftly continued, as it was probably not the best of his ideas to drive his Probations Officer into apoplexy, 'Whatever I choose to do about the conditions of my probation, Ms. Umbridge, is solely between myself and the Wizarding Genealogy Offices.

'And the lucky witch,' he added as an afterthought, painfully aware of how bitter his voice suddenly sounded.

Umbridge's slack, wide mouth expanded into a malicious smile. 'Dear Severus, surely a hero of the war and a martyr for the cause will be able to find one witch willing to sacrifice herself in gratitude?'

She obviously didn't expect him to reply. Instead she went on, her high voice shrill and cutting, 'And if I were you, dear Severus, I wouldn't underestimate the influence of the Wizengamot on the other offices of the Ministry.'

oooOooo

Hermione's feet dragged as she walked towards the office of Headmistress McGonagall for her interview with Umbridge. The badly hidden stares of the students she passed in the corridors were burning holes into the back of her robes.

She wasn't ready for this. She was so damn tired. Even with Professor Snape's anti-Cruciatus potions to ward off another relapse, her bones and joints ached, and she could sleep all day. A turn of phrase from the book she was reading with the Slytherins meandered through her mind: 'thin, like butter spread over too much bread'. Yes, that was exactly how she felt. And worse, her mental state affected her magic.

If Umbridge tried anything, Hermione knew she wouldn't have the strength to defend herself. But of course that was stupid. Umbridge was a Ministry official. She wouldn't 'try' anything. And besides, during her time as High Inquisitor, Umbridge hadn't been able to do Legilimency, so why should she able to do it now?

Still, for some reason Hermione's thoughts revolved around Occlumency as she approached the gargoyle that hid the entrance to Minerva's office.

How did it work? she wondered. Building a shield around your thoughts. She envisioned something like a tower to guard her mind. The sturdy donjon of a medieval castle. Huge, solid slabs of stone, surrounding her thoughts, sheltering her secrets.

Once inside, Umbridge fixed her protuberant eyes on Hermione and cut straight to the chase. 'What is your relationship to the Potions Master Severus Snape?'

Hermione stared at the bloated face of the witch and tried to concentrate on her tower. In vain. Walls crumbled, stones splintered. Instead of her safe tower, all Hermione could think of was a black rose under a glass globe, beautiful, thorny, yet strangely fragile.

'I am his apprentice.'

'Is that all?'

The glass shattered. For a moment the deep, seductive scent of rose blossoms enveloped her.

No, Hermione thought, it isn't.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

48. The Most Noble and Venerable Knights of Dumbledore's Army

'Remember that you must tell the truth, Miss Granger. You must always tell the truth. If you lie to me, it shall cost you dearly.'

'If you are quite finished? My apprentice has other duties to attend to yet today.' A silky voice slithered into the room.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't dare to move, fixing her gaze on the dragon feet of McGonagall's desk instead.

'Not until I am finished with her.' There was nothing girly to Umbridge's voice now.

'Leave my apprentice out of this,' Snape snarled.

Umbridge snorted. 'Or?' she asked with an evil smirk.

Snape never missed a beat, 'Or you shall suffer the consequences.'

Umbridge's squat figure recoiled as if struck, her broad, flabby face whipping up and around towards the door. Hidden in the shadows of the doorway, Snape loomed, his black eyes blazing.

'Is that a threat?'

'Wouldn't it be very ... foolish ... for a man in my position to utter ... threats?'

Umbridge's mouth dropped open.

'Yes,' she squeaked at last. 'It would be. Very foolish.'

Black eyes bored into her and underneath the pink rouge, her cheeks went pale.

'If that is the case,' Snape said softly, 'then by all means regard my words ... as a joke.'

oooOooo

'If we want to be proper knights, we need to have an ordeal,' Alina declared and looked imperiously at her friends. A motley group of First-Years and Second-Years had squeezed into a linen closet on the third floor. There were four Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs, three Ravenclaws and four Gryffindors. Yet somehow the linen closet managed to be just big enough for each of the would-be knights to find a stack of blankets to perch on.

'Yes,' Myrrdin agreed importantly. 'Some kind of vigil at least. I've read in the Quibbler that the ritual for entering the Order of the Phoenix demands that you stay a whole night all alone in the Chamber of Secrets.'

Geilis and Prue clung together, looking scared. Percely Parkinson frowned, but there was a look of determination on his face.

Ebenezer Sibly-Style, a First-Year Slytherin, steepled his fingers in his best imitation of his head of house. 'If we want to belong to Dumbledore's Army, I should think a vigil at the tomb of the most revered hero of our order would be an appropriate ritual to determine if someone is worthy to join our ranks.'

'A vigil at the tomb sounds good,' Alyah, a well-read Ravenclaw girl agreed.

'And afterwards,' Terrwyn Bevan suggested, 'just before sunrise we could have the initiation ritual, you know with handing over our seal and so on.'

'But that means we'll all have to be out of bed and out of our houses!' Prue sounded scared.

Percely threw her a disgusted look. 'If you want to be a hero, you need to take certain risks.'

'Are you sure you're in the right house, mate?' Barret Cruddace asked, grinning, while Percely scowled.

'Well, maybe we could have the initiation conducted only by our grandmaster and the two seneschals,' Alina suggested sensibly. 'That way only four of us would need to slip out at night. If we're careful, no one will notice. Professor Snape is still recovering from that Potions accident. His rounds are much shorter than they used to be.'

'Yes,' Cruddace put in, 'because the great git is afraid that Umbridge will catch him and ship him directly to Azkaban.'

'DON'T SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT, YOU JERK!' Alina jumped up, balling her hands into fists, ready to defend her head of house in battle or brawl.

Myrrdin quickly stepped in front of Barret, while Geilis hung on to Alina's arm.

'Calm down everyone,' Ebenezer said softly, but with astonishing authority. 'Crudass, remember rule number two. There will be no house-rivalry among the knights of our order. And that includes insulting any head of house, no matter how many points they may have taken from any house on any given day.'

'Crudass?' Myrrdin prodded his house-mate. 'I think there's something you want to say.'

Barret glared at Myrrdin, but the effect was spoiled by the embarrassed red flush on his face. 'I'm sorry, Alina. He's not a git. He's a hero. I wish I was as brave as he is.'

He gnawed on his lower lip, then he added, 'But I bet that cow would love nothing better than carting him off right away.'

Gloom settled among the prospective knights of the Most Noble and Venerable Order of Dumbledore's Army. They all knew about the conditions of Professor Snape's probation.

'I wish I was of age,' Terrwyn whispered. 'I'd propose to him in a jiffy.'

'Me, too,' sighed Alyah.

'Me, three,' added Alina and frowned, as an idea struck her. Her heartbeat quickened, and suddenly she was quite impatient for the Order meeting to end. Decisively she turned to Barret and offered him her hand. 'Forgiven and forgotten, Barret.'

'Now,' she turned to the appointed grandmaster. 'Who'll do the first vigil?'

Ebenezer looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then he smiled. 'You, of course. Since it was your idea to re-establish our order.'

Alina swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She would be a worthy knight to Dumbledore. She would bring honour to her house.

'How do we go about it, then?' Percely asked.

Everyone turned to Cato. Although only a First-Year, the Ravenclaw boy was already known for his brilliant strategies at wizarding chess. Cato put a finger next to his nose, a sure-fire sign that he was thinking, and thinking hard.

'The first thing we have to do,' he announced, 'is to find out the patterns of the teachers' rounds. We need to know exactly who of the staff is where at any given moment. We'll have to watch them carefully, and note down everything we see. That way, we will know when it's safe to slip out.'

He sniffed contemplatively. 'Maybe we could even bewitch a map or something for that purpose.'

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

49. Ordeal of Knighthood

Alina was grateful that Hermione had shown her how to conjure up a flame and keep it safely in a jar. She used an old jam glass, hidden inside a woollen bonnet so it wouldn't give her away.

It had been easier to slip out than expected. The most difficult part had been to remain patient during the previous weeks, when they'd worked on analysing the schedules of the grown-ups. But it had been worth it. They were sooo predictable. Apart from Professor Snape, they all stuck to a certain routine with only very few variations. Even Mrs. Norris' rounds had a pattern to them.

Really, sometimes adults were too stupid. What if they were not a couple of students sneaking out after curfew, Alina mused. However had they managed to defeat Voldemort if they couldn't even make sure that everyone stayed put at night?

In spite of her jam-jar fire and being bundled up in onion-like layers of clothing, Alina shivered. March was still very cold in the Highlands. And dark. The castle and grounds were wrapped in the black shadows of a moonless night. Even the gleaming white marble of the tomb looming ahead of her did little to dispel the gloom.

A rustling sound made her start. The frantic beating of her heart pulsed right up to her ears. But the Forbidden Forest was a safe distance away. None of its creatures would venture to the hill above the lake where Dumbledore's tomb looked eastwards. And the tomb was warded. Not as strong as the castle, but it was protected. She was perfectly safe. And besides, Ebenezer, Adrastus and Alyah were only a few hundred yards away, down in the new boathouse at the lake. If she shouted, they'd come running at once. She listened hard, but now everything was still. After a while she relaxed and her thoughts returned to her vigil.

She'd attempted to prepare herself properly, she'd showered for cleansing, though she'd been too chicken for cold water. And she'd fasted, sort of. She hadn't had trifle for dessert, although that was her favourite pudding.

Okay. So what should a Knight of Dumbledore be like? Alina contemplated. Fearless and brave, of course. Defending the Light. Standing up for others, even if you didn't like them. Like Crudass, she supposed. Helping anyone in need ...

Her thoughts turned to the one person she knew who needed help most at the moment. Her head of house. At first glance that was a truly tricky problem. But she felt a grin spread on her face. At second glance, the solution was rather simple.

After all Alina had observed how Miss Granger looked at the Potions Master when she thought no one else was noticing.

Slowly the dark hours of the night crept by ...

oooOooo

A flash like lightning blinded Alina. Blue fire flared up to the sky, illuminating the lake and castle for a second, before the boom of an explosion shattered the stillness of the night. Instinctively she threw up her hands to shield her eyes, just in time to see the white marble walls of the tomb in front of her crack and expand outwards. The blast of the detonation knocked her backwards, throwing her down like a rag-doll. Then the nightly darkness was back, blacker and more impenetrable than before.

Alina never saw the hail of debris raining down on her.

oooOooo

After Umbridge's visit, sleep proved elusive for Snape. He couldn't get her face out of his mind, the revolting doll-like mask of pink lipstick and rouge, the coldness in her gaze, the malice in her voice as she had tried to intimidate Hermione. Cold fury coiled inside him, whenever he recalled the haunted expression on Hermione's face.

No one threatened his apprentice.

No one. Least of all that stinking toad. That upstart panjandrum. That vile ...

His pacing brought him back to the window. He could barely make out the white corner of Dumbledore's tomb in the gloom of the moonless night. He sighed, his fingers moving up to his throbbing temples, when a blue blaze burst into the sky at the edge of the lake. The instant when the thunder of an explosion rolled over the surface of the lake with ear-numbing crack, everything went dark again. For a moment he felt the foundations of Hogwarts tremble around him.

Then the newly installed emergency system of the castle kicked in. Bright lights Flooded every room and hallway. The four houses were sealed with the strongest wards imaginable, and the recorded and magically amplified voice of the headmistress roared from the very stones of the keep: 'Students, gather in the common rooms of your houses. Prefects, conduct a headcount. Teachers, once all students are accounted for, meet in the Great Hall.'

Snape was out of the room before McGonagall had finished the first sentence. He never stopped to knock, simply throwing open the door to Hermione's room, barely noticing the short second when her naked breasts were exposed to his view, before she managed to draw down the jumper over her head. With one hand he picked up her apprentice's robes, with the other he grabbed her arm. 'Go to the common room and stay there until I return. If anything happens, use your badge to summon me.'

Then he was gone, disappearing through the portrait hole into the corridor of the dungeons.

oooOooo

Inside Slytherin house panicked students were running in crazy circles, when Hermione entered.

'Calm down!' she shouted. But no one was listening. Frowning in concentration, she put her wand against her throat. She knew the theory of the amplification spell, but she'd never used it before.

'CALM DOWN!' she roared.

Everyone froze on the spot. The silence was absolute.

'Prefects,' Hermione started, scanning the assembled students, 'is everyone here?'

Icy fear washed over her, as Hermione realised at a glance that at least one her students was missing.

Alina Petrel was not in the common room.

Nor was Ebenezer Sibly-Styles.

oooOooo

---

oooOooo

50. Hell Freezes Over

The weekend after the explosion, the Order of the Phoenix convened at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The meeting was unusual for a number of reasons. For one, it was the first time since Voldemort's defeat that the Order was on the wizarding equivalent of 'red alert'. For another, there was a Muggle present and the son of a well-known Death Eater was down in the sound-proofed kitchen, babysitting the orphaned grandson of Order members.

The sitting room had been enchanted into a spacious conference room, complete with a U-shaped arrangement of tables and a screen at the front. The younger Order members were seated on the right side of the room, with the older members – including Hermione, who sat next to her master, with Lois Petrel at her other side – facing them.

Minerva McGonagall was coming to the conclusion of her report as the picture of the gravesite flickered on the screen. Only the foundation of the tomb was still intact. The walls and roof had been reduced to a pile of rubbish strewn in a diameter of roughly twenty yards. Beyond that line white marble dust covered the grass for a further seventy or eighty yards.

'The tomb was completely destroyed,' McGonagall said. 'Neither the Hogwarts staff nor the Aurors have been able to determine if anything was removed from the tomb.'

'Do you have any idea about the identity of the perpetrators?' Andromeda asked.

Bill Weasley shook his head. As a former curse breaker for Gringotts, he'd been the Order's greatest hope of finding out more about the explosion. 'Nope. There's no trace at all of whoever caused the explosion. They used kobalite – but they could have gotten that anywhere. We used that in Egypt, but the Americans use it, too. And the French.'

'What about the children?' Ron asked. 'Did they see anything? How is Alina doing?'

Hermione frowned at the easy familiarity with which Ron said the name of Lois' daughter. She knew that Ron had met Lois again. But somehow she'd never considered ... Lois was eight years older than Ron! Quite an age difference. Though not as much of a difference as between herself and ... She bit down on her lip and hoped that her cheeks merely felt hot, and were not colouring with a self-conscious flush.

Ron looked shocked when Snape raised his head to answer his question, though Hermione wasn't surprised. It had been hard on her master when it turned out that two of his own had been the ringleaders of a potentially lethal escapade.

'Miss Petrel is still in the hospital wing,' Professor Snape said in a soft, tired voice. 'She is recovering from a severe concussion, which cannot be treated with magical means. She suffered numerous smaller injuries, lacerations and bruises, including a fracture of her right arm, which have been completely healed by now.' He nodded at Lois, his eyes dark with remorse. 'Miss Petrel was unconscious for two days. But she is expected to make a full recovery. Unfortunately, she remembers nothing about the incident except being knocked backwards by the explosion. Mr Sibly-Styles, Mr Alger and Miss Beiond were hiding in the boathouse, playing exploding snap. They didn't see or hear anything until the explosion took place.'

'What exactly were those foolish children doing out there at night in the first place?' Andromeda asked. 'And how is it possible that you didn't notice what they were up to, Severus?' The war had turned the orderly witch stern, and the accusation in her tone was impossible to miss.

'I am...'

'Andromeda, this is not...'

'There is no...'

Hermione, Minerva and Professor Snape started together, with Hermione the quickest to continue after a moment of awkward silence.

'As Professor Snape's apprentice, I am the teacher of the First Years and Second Years. I should have noticed they were up to something. I knew, of course, that there has been some kind of...' She cast an uncomfortable glance at her master. 'Well, a kind of hero-worship going on, especially among the lower level classes, directed at Harry, Professor Snape, and mainly at Albus Dumbledore. Somehow the children came up with the idea of re-establishing Dumbledore's Army as an order of knights, and the ordeal of knighthood included spending a night in vigil at Dumbledore's tomb.'

Lois groaned, and Molly Weasley harrumphed pointedly. Ron chuckled.

'Plucky lass,' he murmured, and winked at Lois.

'What has been done about the children?' Percy asked, his voice rife with disapproval.

Before Hermione could answer, Professor Snape spoke again, 'Seventy-five house points have been taken from each of the students who left the castle at night for no good reason and without permission. Additionally, they have to serve three detentions. They were asked to supply the names of their fellow 'knights', but declined to do so. A decision for which they were rewarded with five points each.

'As for your earlier question, Andromeda, I assume full responsibility. I am the Head of Slytherin House, and I should have realised that something was afoot,' Snape added wearily. 'My only explanation – please note, I do not and will not make any excuses for my failings – is that something as ... thoroughly Gryffindor as this mad scheme has never occurred in the history of Slytherin House before.'

Ron snickered then grinned broadly at Lois, completely failing to notice her agonised embarrassment.

'Can we please get back to our topic now?' Harry asked with barely veiled impatience. 'We really have more important things to discuss right now than the pranks of some First Year dunderheads playing heroes.'

Snape's eyebrows quirked, faint surprise glinted in his eyes. At his most caustic, the Potions master went on, 'Indeed. Ladies and gentlemen, it has happened at last: hell has frozen over. For once I find myself in complete agreement with Potter.

'Pleasant though it must be to discuss my shortcomings as a teacher and head of house, we do have more important things to discuss here tonight.'

oooOooo

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---

NOTES

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The banner is based on CC Attribution/NonCommerical licenced pictures by cambiodefractal and on CC Attribution pictures by "Drawings Of Light – Paul" and i.m.indraneel. The face of my Hermione belongs to Minnie Driver.

FAQ

See Part 1.

Chapter: To Hold You Through the Night

My theory is that any damage caused by Dark Magic is difficult to treat with ordinary magic. Dark Wizards would expect their victims to try magic first of all to repair the damage the various hexes and curses cause, so they would attempt to create curses that are immune to magical treatment or that react badly to magical healing. Had Hermione asked Snape for help right away, he might have brewed some potions that could (possibly) have prevented that relapse. As it is, the shock over the news and her general bad health (insomnia, lack of appetite etc) added up and provoked an echo of the Cruciatus curse. They can't treat that relapse itself, the only thing you can do is wait until it has passed, and to keep the victim from moving as much as possible.

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Chapter: All I Want For Christmas

The title of the chapter alludes to Mariah Carey's song 'All I Want For Christmas Is You'. And, as zeegrindylows reminded me, to the movie 'Love Actually'.

The nightmare in the first part of the chapter contains entirely intentional textual references to the first chapter of Frank Herbert's novel 'Dune'.

The line 'the dark is rising' is a quote based on the title of the fantasy series by Susan Cooper.

The second-to-last line of the first part of the chapter is a quote from the poem 'Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening' by Robert Frost.

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Chapter: Black Rose

The rose in the glass globe alludes to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's 'Le Petit Prince'.

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Chapter: The Most Noble and Venerable Knights of Dumbledore's Army

Four Slytherins:

# Alina Petrel

# Geilis Duncan

# Ebenezer Sibly-Style – 2nd year, Ebenezer Sibly was a physician in England, and author of 'New and Complete Illustration of the Occult Sciences', published in 1790. Elizabeth Style was a witch who was put on trial in the 17th century.

# Haemon Rackharrow – Haemon is a name from Greek mythology, referring to the son of Creon and Eurydice. It means 'bloody'. Rackharrow is a canon name – he invented the entrail-expelling spell.

Two Hufflepuffs:

# Percely Parkinson – 2nd year, Pansy's little brother, we already met him ... Percely is an old name for "parsley" (which happens to be a masculine herb).

# Johannes Flamel – not canon, but referring to Nicolas Flamel, of course. In my version of the HP verse, there's a Dutch branch of the family who prefer sending their children to Hogwarts. Johannes has an older sister, Anne, who is also in Hufflepuff.

Three Ravenclaws:

# Alyah Beiond – an allusion to the Hebrew name of Aliyah, which meany 'to ascend'. 'Beiond' is of course wordplay on 'beyond'.

# Prudentia Halleywell – see above: Almost a Teacher

# Cato Cornell – 'Cato' means 'wise'

Four Gryffindors:

# Myrrdin Loewe – see above: Almost a Teacher

# Barret Cruddace – 'barret' was original a word for a quarrelsome person, meaning 'haggler'; 'Cruddace' is a rather unfortunate alternative version of 'Carruthers'; nickname 'Crudass'

Adrastus Alger – 2nd year, Adrastus is a name from Greek mythology and means 'he who stands his ground'. 'Alger' is an old English patronymic name and can be associated with 'alb = elf', 'adal = noble', or 'ald = old'.

# Terrwyn Bevan – 2nd year, Terrwyn means 'brave, fair one'. 'Bevan' is a Welsh patronymic name.

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Chapter: Ordeal of Knighthood

Cats follow certain paths to check on their territory, so Mrs Norris would definitely be following patterns. And most people are creatures of habit, so eventually the kids would be able to come up with a schedule for everyone's rounds. Especially since poor Professor Snape has been so distracted lately.

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Chapter: Hell Freezes Over

'Kobalite' is derived from Greek roots of the word for goblin, 'kobalos'.