Muggle Trouble

A/N's

The painting Severus examines in the Ravenclaw Room is a magically animated version of Creation of the Birds, by Remedios Varo, 1957. I assume the animated version was created with the full cooperation of the artist.

Heinrich Heine (1797–1856) – a German critic and poet

Readers familiar with the BBC productions, Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister, will recognise a small salute to Sir Humphrey Appleby as portrayed by Sir Nigel Hawthorne.

Australian Slanguage

- Boss cocky: an overseer or supervisor; the boss

- Drongo: a remarkably stupid person

- Eastern brown: one of several common names for the highly venomous snake Pseudonaja textilis

- Ratbag: a troublemaker; someone not to be trusted

Many moons ago, Justice beta-read this chapter for me and helped make it better than it was. In these modern times, I salute and thank TeaOli for beta-reading and giving it new life and fun.

Canon characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I do not make any money from them.

---

In spite of his plans to keep busy and occupy his mind, Severus was having little success. A cold ball of anxiety had obstinately settled in the pit of his stomach and ignored every attempt to be thawed. He consulted his pocket watch. Nearly two in the morning. He quickly calculated the time in London. Surely the hearing was over by now? Unable to stand waiting indoors any longer, he shrugged into his coat, took himself outside, and prowled impatiently between the house and the tree-line.

He froze in his tracks at the pop of an arriving Patronus. Hermione's otter streaked towards him and circled him at dizzying speed, performing various acrobatics as it did so. In spite of the otter's exuberance, Severus was seriously alarmed. Hermione's Patronus had faded to a vague outline. As far as he knew, this could only mean she was in some sort of trouble. Discounting any risk to himself, Severus ran to the stairs and took them three at a time. Bursting through the door, he barely had time to register her presence before Hermione launched herself at him, seizing him in an embrace worthy of a lioness intent on wrestling her prey to the ground.

"You did it!" she yelled in his ear. "We did it! You're free! They've exonerated you!"

"Are you all right?" he gasped through the onslaught, managing to hold her back for a moment as he assessed her appearance.

"They've cleared you of everything! Of course I am!" She paused in her outpouring of good news when she saw the concern written in his eyes. "Severus, what's wrong?"

"Your Patronus... look." He pointed to the silver otter, now little more substantial than a fading skein of cloud.

Hermione gazed at it wistfully. "I know; I thought it looked a little dull three weeks ago. This is as pale as I've ever seen it. I believe my Patronus is changing. I found several accounts in the library which describe the stages of a Patronus change." She blushed as she added, "Including the reasons why they change. My otter appears to be a textbook example."

"I thought you may have been injured – or ill." Severus hesitantly draped an arm over her shoulder, wrung out with sheer relief. "Is the change due to anything unfavourable?" he asked, releasing her.

Hermione's arms tightened around his waist. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"Hardly surprising. Things did take a turn for the cacophonous."

"You, Severus Snape, are a free man. Minister Shacklebolt had your official pardon formally drawn up and signed by everyone who needs to sign it, to wit, the entire Wizengamot." She stood back to prod him in the chest. "Furthermore, he has made it incontestable. For all time."

Severus stared at her, completely speechless.

"And that's not all," she added with burgeoning excitement. "He has put out a statement saying if you are alive, he would like to discuss terms for your future occupation. I think he wants you in the Ministry."

Severus could think of only one reason Shacklebolt might want him safely secured within the Ministry structure. "No doubt so as many eyes as possible can be kept on me," he muttered.

Hermione sighed at the ceiling with martyred patience. "He didn't say anything specific, but I can tell you the Ministry is going through some really big changes. They are creating a new department, specifically to coordinate training methods in defence against Dark Magic." Hermione's eyes sparkled mischievously. "What's the bet he'd like you to direct it?"

Severus sat at the table to consider her words. While the Aurors and certain sections of the Department of Mysteries had their own defensive capabilities, the return of Voldemort had proved these capabilities to be both haphazard and outdated. At first, Severus had assumed the ineptitude was due to the Ministry tripping over its own feet. Internal bureaucratic process was, after all, a proven way to not get things done.

As he observed events unfolding, he soon realised this was not entirely the case. Due to Voldemort's systematic extermination campaigns, there were noticeable breaches in knowledge and practice, perpetuated by the fact that Hogwarts had not turned out a high N.E.W.T-level in Defence Against the Dark Arts for years.

There could be some truth to the development Hermione reported, and he had to admit, it sparked his interest. He rubbed the seemingly ever-present stubble on his jaw. It would be good to use magic again; he hated Muggle shaving methods. Even so, he would keep his power restrained until he left Hermione's property. If the traces were still active, they would point not only to him, but to Hermione as well.

"Severus?" Hermione watched him with an expression halfway between anxious and sad. "Whatever you decide to do, you will write to me, won't you?"

"Of course," he replied, wondering if she wanted written correspondence to be the limit of their future interaction. "I had entertained the thought of going back to Britain in the event of success with the Wizengamot. I will defer any decision for a week or so. If I choose to return, I would prefer to have some idea of the public response to the Wizengamot's decision; that is, if I may impose upon you for a little longer?"

"You may impose as long as you like. I said so when you first came here, and I haven't changed my mind." Hermione approached him and stopped just short of arm's length. She fidgeted, unsure of what to do next. "It would be good if you could visit Hogwarts. Minerva is giving herself hexes over what happened on the night you escaped. She told me about it on a miserable afternoon – when it was pelting rain and I found her wandering the portrait galleries like a restless ghost."

Severus scowled at the floor. Seconds ticked by before he gave Hermione a sidelong glance. "Oh, very well," he growled, bracing himself as she took his acquiescence as an invitation to assail him with another fierce embrace. Giving in to mild amusement, he stood and lightly returned the gesture – noting it was not at all a disagreeable experience. All too soon, in his stealthily growing opinion, she let go and looked at him wonderingly. Before he could think of anything to say or do, she reached up and gently touched his face.

"You," she whispered, regarding him as though he were a rare and extraordinary magical creature.

"Me, what?" he managed, warring with an unexpected attack of conflicting emotions.

At that moment, a Patronus materialised with a pop, making them both jump. It was unlike any Patronus Hermione had ever seen before. Somewhere between a goat and an antelope, it sported a prominent, bristling mane and short, curved horns. As if drawn to elevated places, it immediately occupied the highest spot in the room. She did, however, recognise the voice delivering the message. "Oriens," she said, nudging a wary Severus.

The Patronus shook its mane as it delivered a message: "Miss Granger, your parents are safe and well. I have performed some physical and mental diagnostics from a distance, and the readings are clear. The detailed diagnostics and charm reversals will need to happen in the Muggle Quarantine ward at St. Mungo's. I don't expect there will be any complications. You were right with your Perth hypothesis; that was a brilliant piece of reasoning!

"Your parents are currently watching an outdoor film at the Somerville Auditorium. You should visit it some day; it is like being in a cathedral made of living trees. Give me another two hours, then report to St. Mungo's. Ask for Healer Rosemary; she will be expecting you. She is very interested in your ideas on indelible memories, so be ready for a lengthy discussion." As soon as Oriens' message ended, the Patronus abruptly vanished.

"Oh, my goodness." Hermione dazedly found her way to a chair and sat down. "It never rains, but it pours, as the saying goes. What was that Patronus animal anyway?"

Severus couldn't help it, he gave the first real laugh in he couldn't recall how long.

"I apologize," he said as he composed himself and massaged a cramp out of his abdominal muscles. "You show up with history-making news, you hear something of extreme personal importance, and you still manage to succumb to curiosity and ask a question." He dropped gracelessly into an armchair, scrubbing one hand over his eyes as the sudden absence of nervous tension unstrung every tendon and muscle in his body. "It was a Sumatran Serow," he informed the flabbergasted witch, "native to the highlands of Sumatra, Indonesia."

Hermione seized the factual information with relief. She had seen Severus smile quite a few times in the past few weeks. Apart from making her feel warm all over, the visual evidence suggested he was also capable of laughter. But actually seeing him do it was a sight worth remembering. She wanted to see him laugh again, many times. "Well, that explains it." She toyed with a crow-feather quill. "I could not work out what part of the world Oriens comes from. I've never met anyone from the Indonesian archipelago before."

"Not many South East Asian wizards reside in the British Isles. The climate does not agree with them, I assume." Severus watched her carefully as he added to his statement. "Your Unspeakable friend was probably schooled at Borobudur, on the island of Java."

"Gods, Severus, I wouldn't call him my friend! I've only met him once. I'd no idea Indonesia has its own school. I always thought Borobudur was a ruined temple."

"Borobudur has been there for centuries, perhaps longer than is recorded. I have not visited that school, but I hear the illusion of abandonment is particularly spectacular."

"But why didn't we hear of it at Hogwarts?"

"I don't know for sure," Severus admitted. "Perhaps it is because the teaching methods of the East are rather different to our own. Think, if you will, on the training of Buddhist monks. I am led to believe similar rigours in self-discipline and renunciation are implicit in Eastern methods of magical instruction." He sat forward to emphasise his next point. "I would advise you not to mention any of our assumptions to Oriens should your paths cross again. If they happen to be true, he might Obliviate you." After a pensive silence, he roused himself and filled the kettle.

Hermione smiled as he folded his arms and frowned at the inoffensive appliance. "A watched kettle never boils," she commented, giving the biscuit tin an experimental shake.

"I am sure it will," he retorted. "In just enough time for me to come up with a plan. I assume you are willing to participate?"

"I wouldn't miss it for worlds," Hermione answered as she arranged chocolate-chip biscuits on a plate.

---

If there was one trait Lucius Malfoy was very proud of, it was his elusiveness. Even Voldemort had referred to him as "slippery". Lucius had no hesitation in providing the Unspeakable with memories of missing Death Eaters. Nearly losing Draco, as payment for decades of loyalty, had buried any sense of camaraderie with his former associates.

Providing a memory featuring Severus was another matter altogether. When Lucius asked Severus to be Draco's godfather, he presumed his half-blood friend did not even know what a godfather was supposed to do. To his eternal gratitude, Lucius was proved wrong. Whether Severus intended to or not, he performed a godfather's duty to the highest degree, safeguarding Draco's soul at mortal risk to himself.

"Patience, please," he told the Unspeakable. "It was rare for Snape to display the kind of emotion you describe. Finding a memory of him in that state is proving difficult."

Lucius patrolled his cell, putting on a show of finding one memory after another, then discarding each as simply not good enough for the Unspeakable's purposes. What those purposes were, Lucius had no idea. He could not begin to imagine how the kind of memories he was being asked to provide would assist in tracking down rogue Death Eaters. However, he could recognise an opportunity to "garner an ace or two" when it presented itself.

While he was forced to reconcile himself to the fact he would most likely be in Azkaban for the rest of his life, Lucius Malfoy had plans. If he was going to live in prison, he would do it in style. There was scope to flex his ambition; he just needed to find ways of making the system work for him. A few aces up his sleeve were exactly what he needed. Conjugal visits were foremost in his mind. Once assured of Draco's safety and continuing education, Lucius realised he missed Narcissa terribly. He was allowed letters – after they had been carefully screened by the Azkaban Communications Office – but it was not the same as seeing her. At least he was sure Narcissa still wanted him. He shook his head, disguising the gesture as an elegant dismissal of yet another unsuitable memory. Why had it taken so long for him to realise how much he valued her companionship?

Considering how the smallest grain of truth could give credibility to the most outrageous deception, Lucius deployed all of his guile and creativity to produce a memory that would satisfy the Unspeakable – without betraying Severus. Having concocted something presentable, he re-played it several times, looking for any flaws. It had a couple of disjointed sequences, but these could be explained as distractions experienced during the intensity of the moment. Pushing the "memory" to the front of his mind, he signalled his readiness to the Unspeakable. As with the memories of the other Death Eaters, the extraction was quick and painless. After placing the memory in a crystal sphere, the Unspeakable left without further conversation.

Lucius breathed a sigh of relief and skirted around the spot where the Unspeakable had stood. There had been something very unusual about his shadow. Lucius thought he had seen it shift on its own, albeit slightly. While supposedly searching for memories, he noticed the shadow did not fall true to the position of the light shed by the candles. The Unspeakable's real shadow had shown as expected – and it was separate from the other shadow.

Lucius bit his thumbnail. While negotiating with the Unspeakable, he had seen a soulless look to the man's eyes. The same thing he had seen in the eyes of... Dolores Umbridge. He stood straight with a quiet gasp. Dolores Umbridge had a small reputation with Dementors. Could this account for her reputedly missing soul, or was she just born that way? He felt his blood chill as he contemplated the faux shadow. If his Unspeakable visitor acquired his cold aura from Dementors as well, it could explain why he wanted specifically detailed memories. He intended to feed them to the former guards of Azkaban. Lucius was not sure how feeding memories to Dementors would help find fugitives, but it seemed uncanny enough to be probable. Equally uncanny was Lucius' guess as to what the faux shadow actually was.

Lucius quietly congratulated himself. He had wormed his way out of pain and Obliviation with a display of cooperative, self-serving ambition. He had re-cast a memory of Voldemort in a fine fit of homicidal temper and grafted it with one of Severus duelling with Mulciber. Mulciber had earned the thrashing he received. The annoying little toad's sadistic sense of humour had gone just a bit too far – at Severus' expense.

Fortuitously, the false memory incorporating the dead Voldemort should lead the Dementor on a wild Thestral chase. He evaluated the Dementor-Umbridge connection again. At one point, some wag had put about a story that a Dementor would die if it kissed her. Lucius shuddered. The thought of anything kissing Umbridge was unbearably gruesome.

---

"Are you sure it is him?" While Minerva would not normally doubt Hermione's candour, caution was certainly called for. Especially as Hermione insisted Minerva alone should accompany her on this late night excursion. Why would Severus contact Hermione Granger, of all people? Now that is suspicious... oh... Of all people, she was the only one prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he knew it. He must have; else he would not have contacted her. Severus, I'm so sorry...

"Come and see for yourself." Hermione's words seemed to come from a distance as she took the older witch firmly by the hand and led her out of the portrait-less room she had insisted upon using to deliver her news. Navigating by wand-light, Hermione slowed her pace a little so Minerva would not have to rush. After a few corridors and stairwells, the Headmistress guessed at their destination and could not disguise her reluctance.

"Hermione, I do not think this is a good idea."

Hermione gave the Headmistress' hand an encouraging tug. "Come on. It's fine; you'll see."

Sighing, Minerva allowed herself to be ushered around one more corner, whereupon her hands flew to her mouth as she shrieked in alarm.

Severus interrupted his contemplation of the nightscape through the clear glass window. Stepping away from it, he gave the suit of armour a suspicious glance and bowed to the gaping Headmistress. "Minerva."

Confused and disbelieving, Minerva looked from Hermione to Severus and back again. "Is this... really... Hermione, are you sure? Have you checked for Polyjuice?"

Hermione quickly positioned herself between the Headmistress and Severus, just in case Minerva decided to duel first and believe later.

A loud yowl interrupted the scene as Crookshanks emerged from an unseen hiding place and padded purposefully towards Severus, his tail held upright with the tip curled over in a hook-of-confidence. He sat at the wizard's feet, looking very important and purring loudly.

"Crooks! Ugh! Where have you been?" Hermione took in Crookshanks' disgraceful appearance and decided she did not want to know. His ginger fur was liberally smudged with dust and his whiskers festooned with dirty cobwebs. He looked as though he had recently crawled, backwards, through a long-neglected ventilation shaft. Something suspiciously like a flattened, mummified mouse clung to his chest.

Minerva's hands shook as she rubbed her eyes, her trepidation waning. "Well... if Crookshanks is convinced, then I suppose I cannot argue." She drew a deep breath, shook her head, frowned, and placed her hands firmly on her hips.

Severus knew the sum of these gestures by heart. He stood by the window and waited. Three, two, one...

"You!"

Severus raised his eyebrows, doing his best to look unconcernedly innocent.

"Great Merlin, Severus! You could have let somebody know you had survived!"

"I did," he protested smoothly. "I informed Miss Granger over an hour ago."

"But how did you...? Where did you...?" Minerva Summoned a chair and sat down heavily. After a moment of stunned silence, she began to laugh. Then she cried, and laughed, and cried again. At last, she dried her eyes and searched her skirt pockets. Producing a small hip-flask, she took a hearty swig and allowed the fiery beverage to work its own kind of magic. A small curl of blue flame escaped her lips as she exhaled and sat bolt upright.

"Old Ogdens Extremely Restricted Reserve," Severus commented from his vantage point. "I do hope you have not made a habit of it, Minerva."

"No, Severus, I have not. I keep it for overwhelming occasions." Minerva put away her liquid fortification and assured an attentive Hermione she was well enough to stand. "Severus, what I said to you... I had no right to. I..."

Severus held up one hand to interrupt her. "May I suggest we let those particular bones lie in peace? I, for one, would rather not examine them." After a short silence to allow Minerva to process his statement, he indicated her restoration efforts with an approving glance at the window behind him. "A vast improvement on what was there."

"The same could be said for yourself," Minerva answered. "You do look well, I must say. Have you been over on the continent?"

"In a manner of speaking." Severus watched as Hermione appraised Crookshanks with extreme displeasure while picking bits of who-knew-what out of his fur. She stood up and gathered the squirming animal in her arms.

"If you don't mind, I'll leave you both some privacy; unless there is anything else you need, Headmistress?"

"No, Miss Granger. I believe the situation is under control." Minerva gave Hermione a friendly pat on the shoulder as the young witch excused herself. She did not notice Severus' subtle hand movement as he bade Miss Granger good night.

Hidden in the gloom of a corridor, Hermione smiled to herself and hugged Crookshanks a little tighter. I'll see you later, Severus had signed. She knew he would be true to his word. So far, their plan had worked exactly as anticipated. "But you," she whispered in Crookshanks' ear, "were supposed to wait with Severus – not run off and play dress-ups!" Hermione grimaced, as she suspected her furry familiar might have a store of mummified mice, dismembered lizards, and desiccated frogs. Not to mention an entomological collection worthy of a museum.

---

It took a combined arctic glare from Severus and Minerva to convince Albus to vacate to another portrait. Minerva quietly seethed as she recalled Albus' genial acknowledgement of Severus' presence. 'Severus, my boy!', indeed. I should put his damned portrait outside if he has a mind to taunt thunderstorms. Taking note of her former colleague's studious silence, Minerva rightly guessed Severus would not tell her anything related to where he had been or how he had survived.

"Oh, keep your secrets, if you must. I really do not have the energy to attempt to pry," she huffed.

"Attempting to pry never got you anywhere before." As Minerva pretended not to bristle, Severus surveyed the chaotic condition of the office. "I understand you are Headmistress of this fine institution?"

"I never asked to be, and I certainly do not want to be, not at this time in my life. You were never formally dismissed from the position of Headmaster; I don't suppose you would be interested...?"

Severus shook his head vehemently. "Thank you, no. I would prefer to leave my teaching career well behind me. It was not a voluntary choice to begin with."

"Of course. I understand." Minerva was suddenly anxious. "Have you been back to Spinner's End?"

"I assumed the place would be under surveillance, not all of it friendly. Therefore, I have not. Why do you ask?"

Minerva wrung her hands. "All of your books. When the Aurors searched the house the day after the Battle, they did not find a single one. They said it was odd because it was alleged you had a most impressive library." Minerva wondered at how disinterestedly he took the news of the loss of a lifetime's valuable collection. She could only conclude he had done something to safeguard them. Severus Snape always had a plan or two up his sleeve. "The Aurors searched your rooms here, too. Irma went with them and defended your reference library like a dragon would its hoard, insisting the books belonged to Hogwarts." She stifled a laugh. "The Aurors hardly dared to touch anything with a binding and pages.

"As for the rest of your property, they went through everything meticulously, but left empty-handed. Nothing was damaged in the process. Of course, the same rooms are still available if you need a place to stay. Or perhaps you might prefer one of the guest rooms?" she continued as the shadow of a scowl crossed Severus' features at the mention of his former quarters.

Severus stationed himself at the desk and picked up a random bundle of parchments. Leafing through them, he found the situation was more dire than Hermione had suspected. Minerva was really having trouble keeping the parchment-work up to date – and the students had not yet returned to add to the load. "Perhaps we could come to an arrangement. I estimate it would take three months to help you get this lot sorted out," he gestured at the overburdened desk.

"Make it six months and we have a deal. Are you aware of Minister Shacklebolt's request for an audience?"

"I am."

"Well, you have been keeping your finger on the pulse. I imagine you are in no hurry to visit the Ministry buildings. Perhaps Hogwarts could provide neutral ground? At any rate, I think you will be pleasantly surprised." She smiled as Severus grumbled something unintelligible and rolled his eyes.

"There is something you should consider, Minerva, before we seal an agreement. My presence here may cause you certain problems with those who feel they have an axe to grind."

Minerva removed her spectacles. "Severus. At present, I have on staff a centaur, a ghost, and a half-giant. Given the involvement of giants in the Battle of Hogwarts, some parents and Ministry officials have already worked themselves into a foaming frenzy. Some display a dislike of centaurs simply because they are centaurs, regardless of their timely assistance during the Battle. Nobody has said anything against Cuthbert; perhaps they cannot recall their grievances without falling asleep. Believe it or not, there are even some who disapprove of Filius because of his physical stature. Mind you, none of them would have the balls to spout their nonsense while facing him on the duelling strip." She stopped to examine Severus' rare expression of astonishment. "Yes, Severus, I said 'balls'. Transfigure something into a bridge and get over it."

Exasperated, she threw her hands in the air. "It is not as though new staff members are easy to find at the best of times, let alone now. A lot of us are getting to a point where the prospect of retirement has a very strong appeal. Not that Irma would ever admit she is getting more than just a little slow. Seriously, I would consider employing a... oh, I don't know... a gargoyle as an assistant librarian. I would give the Giant Squid a job interview for the simple pleasure of ticking everybody off.

"If your presence in these hallowed halls causes a small outbreak of apoplexy, then so be it. You have been pardoned, and I will not let any naysayers forget it!"

After a formal handshake, a Firewhisky, and a visit to a store-room to retrieve some domestic possessions, Severus followed a house-elf by the name of Caddy through a maze of corridors to the guest wing. Last used during the Triwizard Cup, the guest wing was one of the oldest parts of the Castle, reportedly designed by the Founders themselves. Apart from a few gouges in the stone arch marking the entrance, it had suffered negligible damage during the Battle.

Caddy trotted down an impressive gallery hung with tapestries, mindful to keep ahead of the honoured guest and light the way as protocol demanded. For a smallish house-elf with short legs, it was not an easy thing to do. "We is nearly there, sir," he panted, sorting through a bunch of enormous keys on a great brass ring and detaching one of them.

"Here we is, sir. The Ravenclaw Room." Caddy levitated the selected key, directing it into the talons of a carved eagle adorning the door. The eagle's eyes glowed sapphire-blue as its talons closed around the shaft of the key and the door opened slowly.

Severus followed Caddy into the room, noting that as the door closed behind them, the eagle turned to face the interior. Caddy explained the use of the key and pointed out various features of the accommodations. One of these was a bookshelf, currently empty. On request, the bookshelf would fill with any publications the occupant required. The appropriate loan administration would be automatically attended to for any library in the world. Noting Severus' interest, Caddy told him that historically, the Ravenclaw Room was provided to guests of academic inclination, enabling them to continue their research projects while away from home. After making sure Severus would be quite comfortable and did not require anything else, Caddy bowed and vanished.

The Ravenclaw Room was actually a suite on the upper level of the guest wing. In the combined sitting room and study, tall, narrow windows reached from floor to ceiling. Separated by massive stone columns, the windows formed a wide semicircle as they conformed to the internal contour of a buttressed tower. Daylight would provide a fine view of rolling hills and distant mountains. Severus surveyed the bedroom and adjoining bathroom, finding them handsomely appointed without ostentation.

Thankfully, there were no portraits. Only one magically animated painting adorned a wall in the study. The subject of the painting was a strange being indeed. Half owl, half human, it sat at a desk with a blank sheet of drawing paper spread out before it. With one hand, the owl-person drew a bird, colouring it with inks contained in egg-shaped vessels. In the other hand, it held a glass prism.

Wondering if there was something he should remember, Severus watched as the owl-person used the prism to direct a spectrum of light across the drawing of the bird. At the touch of light, the painted bird flew out of the paper, leaving the sheet blank. The sequence repeated itself over and over again. Curiously, each bird the owl-person created was different – and they did not simply vanish as they took flight: some pecked at the floor behind the owl-person's desk, while others flew out of a painted window into a painted sky.

Severus checked the time. Nearly one o'clock. He put on his cloak and pressed the key still held in the eagle's talons. On the other side, the eagle dropped the key into his outstretched hand. Severus moved swiftly and silently towards the Gryffindor Tower. As he approached the appointed meeting-place, he was not surprised to see a pair of glowing eyes – at half-Kneazle height – within the shadows of an alcove.

A much cleaner Crookshanks emerged, gave a slow-blink – which Severus dutifully returned – and led him back the other way with a twitch of his plume-like tail, occasionally angling one ear back to make sure the wizard was capable of following instructions. Turning down a dimly lit side hall, Crookshanks halted beside a featureless section of stone wall and rubbed his face against it. As the door to the Room of Requirement revealed itself and opened, Crookshanks slipped inside, Severus following close behind him.

Predictably, Hermione was ready to pepper him with questions. Severus insisted the best way to answer them would be to relate all that had happened, without interruption, since Hermione had excused herself from his and Minerva's presence. At length, they settled on a compromise, with Severus pausing in his account every now and then to assuage Hermione's curiosity. Even so, there were questions she felt she needed to ask more than once.

"Six months? You're really here for six months?" Hermione's delight was palpable.

"Indeed. I shall assist Minerva with her administrative duties, see what state Slughorn has let the Potions Store descend to, and produce a new syllabus for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Not quite enough to keep me fully occupied, which may be a good thing. I have yet to find out what Shacklebolt wants with me."

"You're going to see him?"

"I expect he will be here next week. Minerva went into ecstasies over the prospect of arranging the meeting. I suppose she knows something I don't."

"She wouldn't give you a place to stay and a list of chores if it was anything bad."

Severus gave a prodigious yawn. "Perhaps not."

Finding the yawn contagious, Hermione was quiet for a moment. "Merlin! It's half-past three! I think it's time we got ourselves to bed."

Severus blinked and stared at her, trying not to laugh as Hermione realised what she had said and blushed admirably. "Really, Miss Granger. For shame," he drawled.

She was on her feet in an instant. "Stop it! You know what I meant!"

"Sure of that, are you? Because to me it sounded like..."

Hermione swatted his arm as her blush intensified. Severus was fascinated. It was like watching a potion change colour exactly when it should.

After her verbal slip, Hermione retreated to formality to restore her dignity. As they wished each other good morning, Severus noticed she hesitated to continue her recent habit of embracing him whenever they met or parted. He solved that problem by initiating the contact himself. To his satisfaction, the remarkable colour-change repeated itself. A short time later, he was still grinning as he extinguished the wall sconces in his rooms. The next six months had potential for some interesting developments.

---

Kingsley Shacklebolt waited patiently while Severus perused the contents of a file documenting the numerous lapses, breaches, calumnies, and catastrophes defining the Ministry's capabilities in defence against Dark Magic. As Severus closed the file and leaned back in his chair, scowling thoughtfully, Kingsley dared hope the former Death Eater might consider accepting the offered position.

"As you can see, Severus, the combined misguided efforts of Fudge and Umbridge left us divided and very nearly conquered. If Voldemort had won the Battle of Hogwarts, we would have been sitting Puffskeins. Umbridge in particular made sure of the eradication of vital information. Not just textbooks, either. Dossiers, files, manuscripts, books; so much has gone missing and, I suspect, been destroyed. She even went through the Pensieves. Merlin only knows what we have lost."

"When books are burned, in the end people will also burn," Severus commented. "Heinrich Heine was not wrong in his observation."

"May we never see those days again," Kingsley replied. "I wonder if we will ever recover from this latest scourge. Not since the Inquisitions which plagued both Muggle and wizarding communities have people and knowledge been so ruthlessly eliminated."

Severus shrugged. "If recovery is possible, it will not be through the ignorance heretofore perpetuated by the former Minister and his lackeys." He gave Kingsley a challenging stare. "If one is to be vigilant, one must know what to be vigilant against. Knowledge of the enemy is essential. Particularly if the Ministry's goal is to gather scattered resources and forge them into a coherent, competent defensive force."

Kingsley met his stare evenly. "Are you willing to provide the required knowledge?"

Severus got up and clasped his hands behind his back, gazing out of a window with narrowed eyes. He had coveted the Defence Against the Dark Arts position for many years; who better to give instruction than himself? But this was something bigger and better, where he could stretch his knowledge and skill to the absolute limit. As Departmental Head of an entire section of the Ministry, he would have the authority to manage and direct defence training from the most senior official to the most unsuspecting student.

Severus wrestled with himself. He was of the mind that if something appeared too good to be true, then it was likely to contain a hidden trap. He had been taking a lot of risks lately, and it really went against his grain. Even so, his luck appeared to be holding, and there was another favourable impetus hovering around him: Hermione had stood by him all the way, stalwart and fiercely supportive. He did not doubt she would continue to do so.

"I have agreed to assist Minerva with administrative duties, among other things, for the next six months. Do you have any objection to my drafting an outline of structure and procedures here at Hogwarts?"

Kingsley leapt to his feet. "Not at all! Draft wherever you like! Does this mean you accept the position?"

Severus bit back an Obviously. "Indeed."

Kingsley gave a great sigh as relief flooded his features. "Thank you, Severus. We have been bereft of real expertise for far too long. Humphrey!"

With a loud crack, a pompous-looking house-elf appeared, neatly attired in two pin-striped tea-towels expertly knotted at the corners. "Yesses, Minister?"

"Humphrey, bring me the files for the new defence department and the particulars for the salary and accommodation of the chosen Departmental Head."

"The Department for the Encouragement of Eternal Vigilance and Defence Against Dark Magic, Minister?"

"Yes! You know perfectly well which department I mean, Humphrey. Bring me the files. At once!"

With a courteous bow, Humphrey disappeared.

"Unusual behaviour for a house-elf," Severus observed.

Kingsley rubbed his temples in mild exasperation. "He seems to think he is some sort of senior advisor. I put up with it, I must admit, which probably encourages him. But it would be needlessly cruel to shatter the little fellow's illusions. He does his work well, and he is a reliable source of information. Where the devil is he, anyway?"

Humphrey duly reappeared, armed with a massive amount of parchment. "Is all here, Minister. Where is Humphrey putting it?"

"Thank you. On the table, please. What's wrong, Humphrey?" Kingsley asked as Humphrey tucked his thumbs behind the upper knots of his tea-towels and regarded him with academic concern.

"Small problems in Ministerial Greenhouses for the Propagation of Vegetation for Magical Purposes, Minister."

"Concerning...?"

"Leeks, Minister."

"Leeks?"

"Yesses, Minister."

Kingsley's jaw muscles began to tic. "Care to elaborate, Humphrey?"

"Unknown persons has appropriated leeks without observation and initiation of proper statutory permissions. Humphrey is guessing leeks are being hid under pillows by young witches. They wants to dream of future husbands, now War is over."

"I really do not have the time or resources to deal with this now," Kingsley complained, thoroughly irritated.

"Humphrey is having suggestion, Minister."

"What is it?"

"If Minister announces official inquiry, everything is puts under active considerations. Situation stays in anonymous in-boxes awaiting Ministerial discretion."

"A Leek Inquiry. I suppose it will buy some time. Very well. See to it, Humphrey. And upgrade the wards on those greenhouses!"

"Yesses, Minister."

Kingsley glared at the air-space recently vacated by Humphrey, his tic gradually subsiding. "Do not be concerned," he assured Severus, who had been watching the exchange with one eyebrow firmly quirked. "I shall assign you a different house-elf. Now, with your permission, I shall schedule a formal announcement to the effect that you are definitely not dead. Let me see... Today is Monday... I have a press conference on Friday; will that give you enough time to steel yourself?"

Severus nodded and gave a wry smile. "Some time ago, I created a Howler Muffling Charm. Are you are interested in a demonstration?"

---

"Potter! Potter, we can't do this! Robards will have a fit!" Auror Proudfoot had an awful feeling the situation was going to rapidly progress from bad to much, much worse. Ever since Severus Snape's exoneration, Trainee Auror Potter had been impossible to control, let alone advise and instruct. Proudfoot, Potter's immediate supervisor, was approaching the end of his tether. Even Gawain Robards' stern injunctions to The Boy Who Lived made only a slight, and transient, difference. To cap it all off, Hermione Granger told the human maelstrom of testosterone-and-too-many-accolades-charged recklessness some news of a Muggle and a magical object.

To Proudfoot, the whole situation felt sticky from the start. Tobias Snape was reportedly slain, along with his wife, Eileen, during a Death Eater attack over twenty years ago. To have Severus Snape's father turn up alive – with something magical in his possession – set all his alarm bells ringing. Before Proudfoot could refer the matter to Robards, Potter announced that he would go and talk to Snape senior – without permissions or permits or any attempt to follow established procedures – alone, if necessary. Proudfoot could not let his charge go unaccompanied. Potter was the celebrity of the Wizarding world, and if anything happened to him...

"I'm just going to talk to him," Potter hissed impatiently. "Once I get him talking, finding out what he's carrying should be a cakewalk. Compared to chasing Horcruxes, that is. Wait here. And stop worrying! Finite Incantatem." His movements now audible, Potter made a beeline for the unsuspecting Muggle.

Proudfoot hesitated, then followed at a distance. He hoped rumours suggesting Hermione Granger was the brains behind the Golden Trio were grossly exaggerated.

---

Severus wandered around his rooms, wondering what to do. While he had been ensconced with Kingsley, Hermione had attended her first meeting with her parents after their memory restoration. It had not gone well. Mr and Mrs Granger had not disguised the hurt and disappointment they felt at their daughter's presumptive actions and were openly suspicious of her.

Hermione was devastated. Severus, when confronted with her heartbroken tears, had no idea what he could do to help. In the absence of inspiration, he opted to let her have her own space. In spite of telling her that if she needed him, she knew where to find him, it had been two days since he had seen her.

Nothing could quell a niggling suspicion that his way of dealing with grief might not be the best method for Hermione. A vague fear that he had done something wrong plagued him incessantly. It never occurred to Severus that Hermione might not want to burden him with displays of heart-on-sleeve emotion. He sprawled on his bed, willing himself to wait until morning. He groaned. It was barely nine o'clock, and he felt no desire to sleep.

A curious burning sensation drifted over him. Like a mild fever without an associated illness, it occurred whenever he recalled encountering her in the corridors, where she would fall in step beside him with a friendly nudge. Or when he spotted her in the library and would stealthily approach to startle her with a whispered greeting. Or when he remembered their animated debates as they contrived the best way to bring him back to Hogwarts without creating a major incident. Waiting was suddenly intolerable.

A few minutes later, he strode along the familiar route to the Gryffindor Tower. At the last corridor, he stopped abruptly as a sense of déjà vu overtook him. He had walked this path, on a mission, before. It had involved a Muggle-born witch – and his mission had not ended as he would have hoped. He vacillated between turning back to his rooms, succumbing to the fear of history repeating itself; and continuing on to the portrait door, where history might yet be proved irrelevant. Berating himself for irrationality, it was not long before he stood in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. He disturbed her evening activities, and her display of pointedly ignoring him, by applying a Ceaseless Knocking hex on her frame. He desisted when she flounced angrily to the foreground to see what he wanted.

"Oh, you again. What do you want this time?" she sneered. Severus ignored her blatant disdain and asked if Miss Granger was available. A threat or four later, one involving prolonged combustion, and the Fat Lady bustled away post-haste to find Hermione.

Alone for a time in the semi-darkness, Severus retreated a little way from the door. Hermione was taking longer than he would have thought. Maybe she had been asleep, maybe she was absorbed in some task, maybe she would not come down. His courage ebbed. As he decided to return to his rooms, the door flew open with a bang and Hermione charged out, missing him completely as she looked in the opposite direction to where he was standing. Severus saw her posture slump and, though he took heart from her obvious disappointment, could not find the means to move or speak.

Unexpectedly, the Fat Lady came to his rescue as she snootily poured herself a glass of wine. "Good! You're here. Now can you please send him on his way before he makes a scene?" Hermione turned to see the Fat Lady set her glass down and point in Severus' direction.

Severus felt his breath catch as Hermione's face lit up with a grin of pure delight. With an almost predatory bound, she was in his arms, intent on squeezing the remaining breath out of him with a rib-crunching hug.

"Never," she growled, releasing Severus and half-dragging him back to the portrait where she defiantly turned on the Fat Lady. "Understand this: I will never, ever send him away."

As he enthusiastically returned Hermione's renewed embrace, Severus glanced up at the Fat Lady. She seemed to have forgotten she still held a bottle of wine in one hand. She was steadily pouring it over her feet while she regarded the couple with a very inelegant, open-mouthed stare. "Madam, you are wasting a perfectly good Bordeaux," he intoned with all the authority and composure he could muster. The Fat Lady's mouth shut with a snap, and she set her bottle down with a shaking hand. "This will be all over the castle by morning," Severus murmured in Hermione's ear.

"Do I appear concerned?" Hermione stepped back to look at him. The light in her eyes set his blood racing.

"I am compelled to say you do not." Remembering to breathe, he decided a long walk was the only way to restore his equilibrium. "I believe a walk in what is left of the grounds is in order, if you would care to accompany me?" he asked, offering his arm.

As they meandered through partially restored gardens, Hermione told him of her decisions to accept the offer of accelerating her schooling and to sit her exams as early as possible. As she faltered on the subject of her parents, he placed an arm around her shoulders, silently reassuring her. Fighting tears, she explained that not even written accounts detailing how savagely the War had been waged, her part in it, and why she had to protect her parents, made any difference to their cold wariness.

On a more robust topic, she related her brief discussion with Harry the day before. As far as Harry knew, Hermione had encountered a Muggle – on whom she had detected the presence of a magical object – while searching for her parents. Naturally, she made some enquiries and found out his name. Harry had said he would take the information to his supervisor, but insisted he would take part in the mission to recover the object.

Severus rolled his eyes when Hermione was not looking. The boy was still impetuous. He had no doubt, Trainee Auror Potter's supervisor was in for many a sleepless night.

---

Toby knew he was being followed. Took 'em long enough, he thought grimly. He clenched his teeth, forcing the memory of that night to some unknown place in his mind. That night: when he had found out that magic was not all about illusion and trickery; it was power and it was real. Toby was certain he would be driven insane with terror if he allowed the whole sequence of events to run unrestrained. It had its uses, though. Whenever the demon drink called to him, he simply let a little of what he had seen play in his recollections. It was enough to frighten the demon away.

While he had not seen his followers, his hearing detected two of them. He also knew what they were and what they sought. They had powers he wished he had never known about – and they sought the Llygad y Ddraig. In the last words she had ever spoken to him, Eileen had told him to run. The concealment charm she cast over him would last a night and a day. After that, he was on his own. They must never take the Llygad, especially if they included Severus.

Toby had often thought of hiding the thing, disposing of it. On the sea voyage to Australia, he wanted to drop it over the side as the Australis ploughed through azure mountains around the Cape of Good Hope. Somehow, he couldn't let it go. He tried again later in the voyage, but it seemed the depths of the Indian Ocean would not be graced with the damn thing either. After one last attempt to be rid of it – by sending it to the bottom of a sinkhole in the middle of a heat-blasted gibber plain – he reluctantly decided he had to keep it. For what reason, he had no idea. The whole concept of fate had been incomprehensible to him until a small-town ghost story played out in front of his very eyes and undeniably saved his life. Who would have guessed the Australian bush had its own friendly phantoms?

After the ghostly encounter, Toby had taken the Llygad out of his belt pocket, along with the remnant of a story featuring a boy who called himself Myrddin, and looked at them afresh. He wondered if they were connected in some way. He suspected they were, but figured he would never really know what the connection was. The Llygad belonged to an alien world: a world he was not part of. Now, some natives of that world were tailing him, and all he had were his wits and a sharp knife. He was certain they were not about to kill him outright. A few calculated steps into open ground told him that much. Toby concluded that his followers wanted a close and personal encounter. "Bring it on, lads," he muttered.

Thinking quickly, Toby moved off the sandy bush track into thicker vegetation. Scrambling up a bank of crumbling clay, he spotted what he required not far away. He knew he could not elude the hunters while they were in the immediate vicinity. Eileen said they would sense the power of the Llygad once whatever she had done wore off. That would have been years and years ago. Bloody woman! She knew all along he'd fished the thing out of its hiding place. She had been secretly dropping charms on him up until the night she told him to run for it. Spies, she had said. The Llygad would be relatively safe with a drunken lout of a... Muggle?

Yeah, right, his internal dialogue snarled. Who would've suspected me? Why didn't she deal with the infernal thing 'erself if it were so bloody important?

Having chosen his ground, he positioned himself facing a large bloodwood tree, adopting a posture familiar, and usually sacred, to males all over the world. He stifled a snort of disdain. Whoever closed in on him was as deft on his feet as a duck in a ploughed field, judging by the stumbling racket he made. Behind him, the noise ceased abruptly as the person spotted him.

"Mr Snape, I presume?"

Male, around twenty, and as rash as chickenpox. Nah, mate, I'm Doctor Livingstone. "Who's askin'?" Toby growled, not taking his apparent attention off his apparent preoccupation.

"Er... Are you Tobias Snape, formerly of Spinner's End, Manchester?"

Not sure what 'e's doin', either. Do these ratbags 'ave rookies? They must do. I reckon this one's as raw as they come. The other bloke can't be too far off. Boss cocky, maybe. "Gimme a minute. This ain't so straightforward once a bloke gets past fifty."

After taking what he considered to be enough time to maximise his questioner's discomfort, Toby turned to face a young man with messy black hair who stood with his bespectacled eyes downcast, shuffling his feet. "Who are you, where 're you from, what d'you want, when're you leavin'?"

"Er... My name's Harry. Harry Potter. I er... I have some news concerning your son."

Sure you do. God's Teeth, what a drongo! "That so?" Toby folded his arms across his chest, knitting his brows as he studied the uninvited messenger. He noted that as he did, Potter's eyes widened and he took a step backwards. From somewhere on Toby's right, a lizard scurried out into the open, quickly finding a new hiding place under a rock. As it was unusual for lizards to emerge at dusk, he took it as a good indication of where the other ratbag was.

Toby let his posture droop a little, playing the "tired old man" card. "Well," he said in a friendlier tone, "It's a long time since I 'ad news from anyone. Gettin' dark too; it'll be lighter out in the open."

So saying, he took charge of the situation and began to move towards the track. Using the inconvenience of thick vegetation, he ensured Potter was obliged to use his hands for purposes other than magic. With his peripheral vision, Toby watched tell-tale signs. Potter used his left hand to push branches and twigs aside. His right hand was in an awkward position. He was carefully inching something out of his sleeve.

Wait for it. A veteran of many a pub brawl, street fight, and various all-in dust-ups, Toby had timing down to a fine art. Now! On the edge of the clay bank, Toby feigned a slip on the unstable surface. In one crouching motion, he turned to face Potter, blocked the young man's right arm and, driving up through his legs, unleashed a vicious uppercut. Potter's jaws came together with a crack like a gunshot; his whole body jumped violently and went limp. Toby seized the unconscious youth by the hair, holding his head up as he shoved a knee into his back, forcing him into a semi-upright position. Scooping up Potter's wand, he stowed it inside his sheepskin jacket. He drew his knife and held it at his hostage's throat. With a crash befitting a charging buffalo, another man burst into view and skidded to a confused stop, wand pointed in Toby's direction.

Mid forties, carryin' more weight than what's good for 'im, and worried to Hell and back about this Potter bloke, Toby assessed. "Throw it 'ere," he snarled, indicating the man's wand with a nod and giving his knife an ominous twitch. Through the blade, he could feel a faint pulse. He didn't pay any attention to a small wave of relief. Potter's companion watched him closely, unable to use his wand while Toby had his human shield. "I said; throw it 'ere! Are y' deaf? Reverse t' bloody thing and throw it 'ere!"

Toby acted quickly; he had to keep things moving on his terms. He pressed the blade into Potter's throat, right above the carotid artery, but only deep enough to part the skin. It was enough. At the sight of blood trickling down his fellow ratbag's neck, the other man tossed his wand over to Toby.

"Please don't kill him," he pleaded, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Still holding his knife, Toby let Potter drop to the ground and took the second wand in his left hand. On a bloody-minded whim, he pointed it at the motionless form.

"No!" The senior ratbag was nearly frantic.

Toby pocketed the wand and swiftly headed for the darkness of the woodland. He was confident he would not be followed. One man down and one so out of his head with worry he did not even realise Toby didn't have any magic with which to use the wand.

Besides, Toby knew this stretch of land very well, and there was just enough light to recognise familiar features. He suppressed a mirthless laugh as he followed a series of wallaby trails, kept clear of undergrowth by the numerous nightly traverses of the shy marsupials. Stopping near an enormous hollow log, he took the wands and launched them, dart-fashion, into the hollow. He grinned to himself. There was a particularly bad-tempered snake using the hollow as a winter stop-over. An eastern brown big enough to stop a coal train, people reckoned. Of course, this was an exaggeration. But they were not exaggerating when they solemnly affirmed it would come out fighting and chase a bloke too.

---

They halted near the remains of a stone wall. Hermione recognised the spot immediately. When she had run outside during the Yule Ball, she had come here. It had been a silly thing to do; she had been far from dressed for the weather. She wondered if Severus remembered the evening. On one of his ubiquitous patrols, he had found her sitting on the wall, sniffling and shivering. After a cool enquiry, during which he established she was physically unharmed and Mr. Krum had not done anything reprehensible, he silently cast a Warming Charm and tersely informed her she had five minutes to pull herself together. After that, willing or not, he would escort her back to the Castle. He had moved a short distance away and turned his attention elsewhere, allowing her to calm herself without scrutiny. At the time, she had wondered how the snarky, sarcastic Potions master could treat her with more dignity than the young wizard she had set her heart on.

Severus seated himself on the wall. "I have something which may be of interest to you," he announced, looking a little pleased with himself. "I take it you are still interested in the care and control of magical creatures?"

"Yes, absolutely! It is my first career choice."

"It seems the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has a slight problem concerning a conscious entity incarcerated in the Ministry vaults. They are unsure whether the creature should be the responsibility of the Beast Division or the Being Division. Indeed, they don't know what to make of him. I say 'him' because he calls himself Petrus: an appropriate name for one composed of stone. He has graced the vaults for over five hundred years. Only now do we have a wizard who claims an injustice has been done – and a Minister who is willing to listen to a petition for the creature's release."

"Five hundred years! What on earth did he do to deserve that?" Hermione was horrified.

"I shall request a copy of the case documents to be sent to you; they are very interesting reading. In addition to a questionable ancient artefact stored in the same vault, Shacklebolt has asked me to examine Petrus for any traces of Dark Magic which may have lain undetected by his Unspeakable. I would be honoured if you would attend."

"Severus, I'd love to! How extraordinary."

"It is. Especially since you have already met the Unspeakable who vouches for his gargoylesque friend."

"Oriens?"

"The very same. A friend of yours, is he not?"

"Severus! As I said before, I have only met him once." Sliding off the wall to stand in front of him, she seized the collars of his coat. "Why do you insist on teasing me about it? Anyone would think you are jealous."

Severus said nothing. He looked at the ground, his hair falling over his eyes.

"Hey," she said, trying to coax him into looking at her again. She laughed softly. "One of the most powerful wizards in the British Isles – and I have him by the collar," she quipped, shaking him gently.

Severus raised his head and gazed at her intently. He placed his hands on her forearms, holding them in place. "Now that the brightest witch of the age has such a wizard at her disposal, what does she propose to do with him?" he purred.

Hermione caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I... I didn't think about that."

"No?" he asked, encouraged by the way she slid her hands over his shoulders and clasped her hands behind his neck.

"Actually, I did–" she began, silenced as Severus brushed his lips against hers – a chaste, experimental touch. He pulled back to examine her reaction with a question in his eyes.

"I thought about it a lot," she admitted, meeting him half-way as he continued his attentions.

Hermione's very first kiss, with the earthy and rather physical Victor, had been one-sided and ultimately forgettable. With Ron it had been... well... She had jumped the poor boy for a hurried and woefully unpractised snog. Also very forgettable, though abilities had improved with time.

With Severus, it was perfect from the start. Tentative and demanding, gentle and unexpectedly passionate, he called forth a slow-burning intensity she never knew she had.

One deepening kiss followed another until, after a length of time neither of them could measure, they separated and rested in each others arms. Hermione could not stop smiling. Severus was having trouble opening his eyes properly.

"You haven't run away screaming," he observed, blinking his way out a libido-induced haze.

"Neither have you," she replied, snuggling closer so she could hear his heartbeat.

An increasing coolness to the air alerted them to the lateness of the hour. Reluctantly, Severus escorted her back to the portrait door. The Fat Lady, resplendent in frilly night-gown and matching cap, was far from pleased to see them and groused about the lateness of the hour. Severus silkily pointed out it was more early than late, the hour of midnight having passed some time ago.

As Hermione placed her hand on the door, two silver cats appeared with twin pops and immediately began delivering messages: one to Hermione and one to Severus. Within the garbled overlap of information, they discerned that Harry Potter had been taken to St. Mungo's with a badly broken jaw, the result of unexpected resistance from a Muggle named Tobias Snape. Harry was expected to make a full recovery, but would be kept in a sedated sleep until well into the next day.

Minerva instructed them to report to the entrance hall in fifteen minutes. Her message to Severus was tinged with alarm and concern as she mentioned a magical object and asked if he knew anything at all about what it might be.

"I'll meet you down there," Severus whispered to Hermione. "I have a couple of things to get from my rooms." Responding to her look of quizzical agreement with a reassuring squeeze of her hand, Severus quickly made his way to the Ravenclaw Room.

Once there, he rummaged through the pockets of his increasingly-neglected teaching robes. He pulled out the torn photograph showing Lily's image and the parchment bearing her signature. "I believe it is time you went back where you belong," he told her. Folding both items into a clean sheet of parchment and tucking it into his pocket, he headed for the entrance hall without delay.