Converging Paths – part 1

A/N's

Re the Salem Witches' Institute (Advice provided by TeaOli the Knowledgeable, A.D. 2012): Because it may not be common knowledge to everyone, the term "witch" used to be a gender-neutral term, and remained so at the time of the time of the witch-trials in colonial Massachusetts. One can assume that gender-neutrality has been preserved for historical reasons, and the Salem Witches' Institute is co-educational.

Language de-coders

Australian:

Clobber – clothing (the term is archaic in urban areas)

French:

Félicitations – congratulations

S'il vous plait – if you please

C'est bon – it is good

Indonesian:

Makassar trepanger – fishermen from the southwest islands of Indonesia who visited the coast of northern Australia in search of "trepang" (sea cucumber) and traded goods with the Aborigines. Small communities of mixed-blood descendents still inhabit the northern coast.

Kris – a long knife with a pistol-style grip. Often has a distinctive wavy blade and magical powers.

Silat – a form of martial arts practised in South-East Asia

Latin:

praecessi operor non congruo per divinatio pendo – the results do not agree with the predicted values (on–line translator)

Ursus arctos horribilis – the North American brown bear (grizzly bear)

Scottish:

Keep the heid! – keep calm/don't lose your temper

Pugsley Addams is the property of the cartoonist Charles Addams. I make no profit from his character. I have assumed Pugsley was around eleven years old when The Addams Family TV series aired in 1964, which puts him in his mid-forties at the time of this fic.

Canon characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from them.

Many thanks and a vial of Felix Felicis to TeaOli for beta-ing this chapter.

"I am sure Mr Potter would welcome a visit from you; he will not have had nearly enough people to fuss over him." Severus sent a venomous glare at the supposedly napping Albus and stood up to leave the Headmistress' office.

"Don't be so snide, Severus. Honestly." Minerva followed Severus' line of disapproving sight and rolled her eyes. "I really should move that portrait," she muttered. "Will you be available to discuss the Potions budget tomorrow afternoon?" she asked, raising a more immediate concern.

"Yes, Minerva, though you may want to prepare yourself. The outlay will be higher than usual for the next year or so. At least until Pomona has the greenhouses back to full productivity. I have located external sources for the essential consumables. The restoration grant from the Ministry will help ease the financial pain... a little."

Minerva sighed. "I expected as much. Oh well, it cannot be helped. Do you have any recommendations for Horace's replacement? We only have a week until the students return. Out of the four applicants for the position, these two look most promising." She indicated two scrolls in her For Immediate Attention tray.

Severus replied without hesitation. "Pugsley Addams. In addition to his internationally recognised professional standards, he has a proven track record in keeping Salem's students in line. Particularly those given to breaking curfew. If anyone can help with the unresolved Honeydukes conundrum – which I note you have filed somewhere in the Doxy-infested ecosystem behind the bookshelves – it would be him."

"Really? How would he manage that? We have never caught anyone toffee-handed, in spite of the Flumes' insistence that our students are responsible."

"Pugsley patrols in his Animagus form."

Minerva leafed through Pugsley's curriculum vitae. "Ah, here it is. He is a registered Animagus... He takes the form of a bear."

"Approximately eight hundred pounds of Ursus arctos horribilis. As you can imagine, his edible contraband detection capabilities are second to none."

"He has a wife and two children. Do you know it has been over eighty years since we had a staff member's family in residence?"

"Think of the joy it will bring to the house-elves."

Minerva huffed and shook her head, making a note to write to the Salem Witches' Institute immediately. "Well, if Professor Addams has your endorsement, he is the one to bring on board. I hear you are going on a small excursion this afternoon."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "You know I cannot say too much."

The Headmistress held up her hands. "Yes, granted, but we are terribly proud of you. Quite an elevated position in the Ministry: you have certainly earned it."

Taken aback, Severus retreated into suspicion. "We?"

"Why, yes. I know I am. Hermione is positively aglow. She has not revealed any details, mind, but she practically bursts every time the new department is discussed – which inevitably involves the mention of your name."

Now genuinely suspicious, Severus read between the very obvious lines. "Is there some obscure point you are trying to raise?" He had already guessed, but the temptation to give the older witch a dose of incompliance was irresistible.

Minerva stiffened with the faintest hint of a bristle. "Very well, I shall speak plainly. You and Hermione have been seen together quite a bit lately. I'm afraid it has made the gossip network. People are beginning to talk."

"People," he snorted. "The portrait network, you mean. Portraits have always talked and will always do so. It is not as though they have anything better to do."

"Be that as it may, the Fat Lady is reputed to have said..."

"The Fat Lady is known for her embellishments and occasional histrionics, is she not? No doubt, whatever tale she came up with has been, shall we say, added to? Tell me, was I wearing my Death Eater regalia at the time?"

"That may be true... no, not about your attire. Oh, keep the heid, will you! That stare might repel a dragon, but it will not repel me! I must ask you: is there something you would care to tell me?"

Severus smirked internally. Minerva was right where he wanted her – with no expended effort on his part. As a bonus, he could almost hear Albus' painted ears straining to eavesdrop on the pending revelation. He affected a stance of pensive contrition. "Now that you mention it, there is." He paced uncertainly, looking considerably pained. "I am not sure of the best way to tell you, but... " He shrugged, sighed, squared his shoulders, and looked Minerva directly in the eyes. "You are beginning to sound exactly like Albus."

Seizing the outraged silence as an opportunity to escape, Severus noted a flurry of motion in Albus' portrait as the former Headmaster vacated his frame in headlong flight. He quickly slipped out of the office and pulled the door shut behind him. Beautifully timed, he congratulated himself as a high-velocity projectile thudded into the other side.

Waiting in Minister Shacklebolt's office with nothing much else to do, Hermione could not help feeling a little anxious. "Do you think she knows?"

Severus gave a satisfied smirk. "She suspects."

Hermione sighed. "I worry a little about what might be said to you. But we aren't doing anything wrong; I mean, you're not a teacher any more."

"I believe I have told you before: I have a fairly thick hide. As you have correctly observed, we are not transgressing any rules. Officially, I work for the Ministry. And you... " Severus gave a half-smile as Hermione tenderly brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, "...are regarded as a student purely for administrative purposes."

"I never did get that normal, ordinary school year," she said with a resigned shrug.

Severus took her hands in his. "Are you sure you would want it? Besides, I have a feeling things may get a little more unusual."

They discreetly moved apart as Kingsley's footsteps announced his arrival. The Minister for Magic entered his office with a noticeable weariness in his stride. "Merlin, that was a morning I would rather forget," he grumbled as he removed a Disillusionment Charm from something he carried within his robes. He placed a plain wooden box on his desk. "In the presence of the Keeper of the Lore, the Keeper of the Law, and Her Majesty the Queen, I spent half a day under Veritaserum to bring this delightful object out of hiding." He opened the lid and took out a slender rod of dull gold with an eyelet at the end.

Hermione thought it looked rather like a giant's darning needle.

"The Sceptre of Permissions," Kingsley announced with appropriate grandeur. "With this, the Minister for Magic may access the vaults without needing an Unspeakable present. It is only given out for five hours at a time – and only after exhaustive questioning as to the underlying motive for needing access to the vaults."

"What happens after five hours?" Hermione asked, overcome with curiosity.

"Don't know for sure," Kingsley pondered out loud. "Perhaps it turns into a pumpkin."

Severus gave Hermione a well-you-did-ask smirk. "If the available time is restricted, shall we make better use of it?"

Kingsley nodded as he wandlessly opened the door. "Good call, Severus." The two wizards stood back to allow Hermione to exit first.

"Nobody would ever guess this was here," Hermione whispered in awe.

"There would be little point in keeping potentially dangerous magical antiquities in obvious places," Severus whispered back, keeping close to Hermione in case she stumbled. Her attention was everywhere except the long flight of stairs winding down to the cavern floor.

"Look at this," Hermione said, tracing her fingers over the smooth walls. Bands of rock, some several inches thick, others as thin as a pencil line, swept up and down in graceful curves nearly forty feet high. "Can you imagine forces able to bend layers of rock like layers of Plasticine? The heat and pressure alone..." She shook her head, lost in contemplation.

Severus scanned the gloom of the cavern. Kingsley had told them it had been formed by a long-extinct underground river. Severus wondered where the river had gone and what sort of pallid, eyeless creatures had lived out their lives in it. Perhaps, somewhere along its course, the river had worn through its own bed and drained away into the unfathomable mysteries of the deep underground, suiciding in a thundering cascade no-one ever heard. He had read of even deeper caverns than this one in parts of Europe and the Americas. Caverns so deep they were unbearably hot – and full of gigantic crystals. The High Table at Durmstrang was carved from a single one of these crystals.

"Hey! You two! Are you going to stand there all day?" Kingley's voice woke innumerable echoes which immediately vied with each other in sibilant, teasing whispers.

Severus placed a hand on Hermione's elbow as they hurried to catch up with Kingsley, who waited for them at the foot of the stairs. They followed the Minister as he approached a featureless door seamlessly moulded into the rock.

Kingsley touched it with the tip of the Sceptre, and a glowing Roman numeral appeared in the eyelet. He repeated the procedure for the next door, and the next. "The vault numbers are randomly assigned," he explained to an increasingly fidgety Hermione. At the fourth door, a "V" appeared in the eyelet. Holding the Sceptre to the door, Kingsley placed his hand against the smooth surface and pushed gently.

With a practised glance, Severus quickly noted the features of the vault interior. Arrayed around the perimeter, seven stone chests waited in silence: warded, immovable, and ponderous with secrets. One of them contained the artefact Kingsley wanted him to examine. His eyes rested on a motionless stone figure – features frozen in a formidable, soundless snarl – crouching on a plinth.

"Well," Kingsley stated, gingerly walking past the figure and seating himself on one of the chests. "Impressive, isn't he?"

Petrus neither moved nor spoke. Severus closed in for a better look, Hermione right beside him with one hand clutching his robes. "He appears to be made from the same stone as the vault," he noted.

Kingsley nodded. "Oriens told me about that aspect of his friend. When he animates himself, he has quite a different... er... geology."

"Like a chameleon," Hermione said, looking at the motionless gargoyle with fascination.

Severus guessed the stone 'chameleon' was reluctant to reveal himself without a trusted ally being present. Petrus' pose – looking slightly down and to the left – meant his right flank was, in a sense, vulnerable. Purposefully, Severus positioned himself in this blind spot, keeping as close to the wall as he could. Kingsley and Hermione watched as he took a quill out of his pocket and began flicking the tip with his thumbnail.

Catching on, Hermione stood where she assumed Petrus could see her and made a series of gestures questioning Severus' "actions."

Severus watched as Petrus' right ear changed colour, morphing to a warm, sandy-grey. He shifted his position, causing his robes to rustle against the stone wall of the vault. The ear twitched ever so slightly. "I believe now would be a good time to stop pretending," he drawled disinterestedly, moving to stand in front of the creature.

The sandy-grey colour swept over Petrus with remarkable speed.

Hermione thought that the expression his features relaxed into was very similar to the one Crookshanks wore when caught daydreaming.

Petrus looked at each of them in turn, emitting a small gasp when Hermione smiled at him. "Forgive me, Mademoiselle, I have forgotten the manners." Petrus jumped down from his plinth, causing Severus and Kingsley to reflexively reach for their wands. If Petrus noticed, he gave no sign of it. He bowed to Hermione with a grace befitting a royal court.

Kingsley took a scroll from his robes. "For the purposes of correct procedure: your name is Petrus, and you were brought here from the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris in the year 1427 – under, to put it delicately, problematical circumstances?"

Petrus stood to attention. "Oui, Monsieur!"

Kingsley suspended the scroll in the air and unrolled it. He produced a quill and ink and wrote something on it. "I am the Minister for Magic; my name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. May I introduce Severus Snape, recently appointed director of the Department for the Encouragement of Eternal Vigilance and Defence Against Dark Magic, and Miss Hermione Granger, who has agreed to conduct an investigation pertaining to your probable release?"

Petrus cocked his head. "Probable, Monsieur le Minister?"

"Yes, probable. I have deliberately chosen the word over 'possible'."

"You will understand why once you have known Miss Granger for a short length of time," Severus remarked in response to Petrus' mystified silence.

Petrus turned and regarded Severus with unabashed interest. "Monsieur Severus, it is an honour! I have read much about you." He delved into the space behind his plinth – a space that would be effectively hidden by the drape of his wings when he occupied it, thus forming a perfect hiding place. He pulled out a sheaf of Daily Prophets and Quibblers. "Félicitations, Monsieur Severus, on your survival and your acquittal."

A little gratified at the formally correct and reverent pronunciation of his name, Severus gave a nod of acknowledgement and took one of the Prophets. "Oriens brings you these?"

Petrus shrugged. "I ask him to. I think perhaps a shadow of the news is better than none at all. Tell to me, s'il vous plait, am I the only one to believe the articles of Madame Skeeter should be taken with, how do you say, the grain of salt?"

"Try loads of it," Hermione snorted. "Visualise the Dead Sea."

Petrus obediently visualised the sea in question. "I have read of this sea. Such an amount of salt would surely preserve Madame Skeeter's articles forever." His stone eyes sparkled like mica deposits exposed to the sun. "Oriens also brings the proper books; unfortunately, there is little capacity for storage."

Hermione stealthily looked Petrus up and down, recalling everything she had read about gargoyles and their uses in ancient Arabia. He wore no armour or weapons – if one discounted his teeth and talons. There were no sigils or brands to indicate his origins or his intended purpose. Whoever had carved him had seen fit to gird his loins, which suggested he had been destined for servitude in a palace or some other noble dwelling.

In that moment, Hermione decided that the Beast Division would not be involved in future proceedings. She had never seen a gargoyle so uninhibited in movement, or so expressive in speech. Neither had Severus, judging by his intense evaluation of Petrus' every move. Petrus was a Being – of some sort. The Unspeakables had been correct all those centuries ago – this was no ordinary gargoyle.

The realisation that this was not a textbook case study – and she had undertaken a great responsibility – swept through Hermione in a wave of mixed exhilaration and alarm. She felt she should say something to Petrus, but what? Uncharacteristically, she said the first thing that came into her head. "You pronounce your aitches." She felt her cheeks flame as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Of all the things she could have said to at least try and sound professional...

Petrus did not mind at all. "Ah! For the aitches, Mademoiselle, you may thank Oriens. Always, he insists I pronounce them. What is this 'aitch'? What is its use? The aitch itself is not pronounced with an aitch! Why, then, do the other words need the aitch to be observed?" He stood expectantly for a moment, his tail describing slow, sinuous curves.

"No riposte, Miss Granger?" Severus' tone held a stealthy touch of affection.

Kingsley stood up, gaining everyone's immediate attention. "Petrus, as you may be aware, when you were brought down here there were certain concerns regarding your origin and your capacity for magic. I have brought Severus on this occasion for two tasks. With your permission, one of these tasks is to screen you for Dark powers."

Petrus nodded slowly. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "Oui, Monsieur le Minister. It was done once before. Without permission. If any of the Dark power was found, I was not told of it." He faced Severus with a show of bravado. "The process, it was not comfortable, but I will submit to it again if it will assist Mademoiselle Granger."

He moved away from his plinth, lashed his tail and bared his fearsome canines. "But I will say this about the events at Notre-Dame de Paris:

"Monsieurs, Mademoiselle, what is the greater crime? To reveal my presence in defiance of the laws, or to allow innocent blood to be shed? They would have flayed her to the bone, hanged her like a common criminal, then torn her body apart like stray dogs at the corpse of a sheep! Pour quois? Because her family dared to defy a filthy despot! For this, she was accused of the crimes she did not commit." Petrus laid his ears back. "I would do it again Monsieur le Minister; I would do it a thousand, ten thousand times!"

Hermione rallied her courage and laid a hand on Petrus' forearm, secretly relieved when he quietened immediately. "What is the greater injustice, Minister?" she asked. "To allow the innocent to die defenceless, or to imprison those who would defend them? Is it a crime to defy a ruling – when the rules have been rewritten to suit a Dark purpose? Is it possible to break a law – when the laws have already been broken by those who would enforce their own interpretations with torture and death?"

Kingsley stared at Hermione with admiration and approval. "If you can work those questions into an opening statement for Wizengamot, you will certainly grab their attention," he said.

"Doubtless, they will ask some tedious questions," Severus added, circling Petrus with measured steps. He looked the gargoyle in the eyes. "You would be wise to keep silent about what you would or would not do. Let Miss Granger do the talking, understood?"

Petrus scuffed one foot on the floor, looking a little like a student caught using the wrong stirring rod. "Oui, Monsieur Severus, understood."

Severus shifted to professorial mode. "For your information, there are two examinations I will perform. The first is comprised of similar procedures to those you have already experienced several hundred years ago. I say 'similar', because the methods I will use are more advanced and far more comprehensive. The second screening may, under recent rulings, only be used in the presence of the Minister for Magic. It is a form of Summoning, it has its origins in Dark Magic, and I will ask the Minister to confirm that I am authorised to use it under specified circumstances."

Kingsley nodded gravely. "Severus is authorised to use a Summoning to allay any suspicion of Petrus having enough Dark Magic to cause the mass annihilation of the people of ancient Thâmūd. Petrus, as you know, you were found in an inexplicable situation involving a number of dead men and animals. Someone will raise the issue..."

Petrus held up one hand. "S'il vous plait; I understand the concerns, Monsieur le Minister. Monsieur Severus, I am ready."

Hermione watched with agitation as Severus began the procedures to search Petrus for Dark Magic, deploying the charms with masterful efficiency. Petrus grimaced and flinched as the magical traces rippled through his entire body. A soft, white ball of light appeared briefly above his head.

"Phase one, all clear," Severus muttered. "Now, this will be uncomfortable."

Hermione looked anxiously to Kingsley as Severus placed one hand on Petrus' chest and spoke in a language she had never heard before. It sounded ancient and imperious, commanding and cold. It brought to mind lurking shadows, furtive ghosts lost in desolate places, and terrible beings imprisoned and angry – longing for release with malevolent intent. The air seemed to chill, and for a moment she thought the light had dimmed. She fought her way out of the clinging grip of a particularly nasty memory and looked around.

The Summoning had been mercifully quick. Severus sat on one of the stone chests, pale and uneasy. Petrus' eyes were closed and he was visibly trembling. Kingsley gave an involuntary shiver before composing himself.

"Phase two – clear," Severus confirmed tonelessly, while Kingsley made a mark on the scroll. "If there was anything Dark occupying Petrus' body, the Summoning would have brought it out and bound it."

Dispensing with all pretence at secrecy, Hermione sat next to Severus and clasped his hand.

He turned his head and met her eyes for a moment, then quickly looked away.

Hermione read something in his look, a question asked in deeply held foreboding: Do you still want to know me after what you have just seen and heard? She answered him by closing the small distance between them. She rubbed her other hand over his icy knuckles, intent on warming him, body and soul.

"I know it was a big ask, Severus." Kingsley had his back to them as he rolled up the scroll and tucked it away in his robes. His eyebrows shot up as he turned around and saw them in such close proximity. "It's a bit like licensing Aurors to use Unforgivables," he said, focussing on Hermione. "Never a good thing, but at times necessary. It is a sore trial of morals and ethics."

Petrus sneezed violently and flexed his wings.

"How are you feeling, Petrus?" Kingsley asked.

"I think maybe I am in one piece," he answered querulously. As he opened his eyes, his posture straightened and his ears strained forward. "C'est bon! I knew it!" he exclaimed, recovering his ebullience in a burst of glee and pointing to the couple seated on the chest.

"You did?" Hermione asked, wondering just what he knew and how he knew it.

"Mademoiselle, one does not observe the people of Paris for so many years and still be blind to the signs of love."

Love. Severus and Hermione looked at each other. Hermione blushed furiously, and a faint rush of colour graced Severus' countenance. Neither moved away from the other or broke eye contact. Severus laced his now very warm fingers through Hermione's as she nudged him gently – a wordless exchange confirming Petrus' observation as correct.

Kingsley whistled softly to himself. "Land alive, I didn't see this coming." He awkwardly adjusted his robes, then addressed Petrus. "Yes, well... Now we are sure you have no Dark tendencies, the next step will be for Miss Granger to present this information to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and from there to the Wizengamot.

"Miss Granger has already found an obscure ruling which may act in your favour, should you choose to take advantage of it. I have instructed the Department to adhere to the ruling, which is this: since you, as a non-human magical creature, have resided, in a sense, in England for more than one hundred years, you have the right to stay permanently. Technically, you are still the property of the French Ministry of Magic, though no claim on you has ever been registered – Miss Granger checked. If you would like to stay on this side of the Channel, I have a few strings I can pull with the French Ministry to make it happen. The only proviso is this: you must spend a minimum period of three years with persons of good repute who are willing to vouchsafe you."

Petrus considered this for a moment. "S'il vous plait, if it is possible, I would like to stay."

Severus took a small leather-bound primer from somewhere in his robes. "I believe I can arrange for the proviso to be met if Oriens is not in a position to do so." He handed the book to Petrus along with a sheet of parchment, a quill, and ink. "Turn to page fifty–four and translate the first paragraph from English into Latin, Ancient Greek, and French. You will find an exercise on page seventy. Extract the numerical codes hidden within it, express them in written English, then use geometry to reproduce them in a visual form." He scowled at the astonished expressions of his human audience. "Do not be concerned. I have a plan. Petrus, I am aware you are both literate and reasonably numerate. I assume you can also write. However, if you feel the task is beyond you..."

"Non, Monsieur Severus – the task, it sounds most interesting." Petrus arranged the writing materials on his plinth as though he did it every day. He quickly found the required paragraph and began reading with an avidity Hermione instantly approved of.

Kingsley took up the Sceptre of Permissions again. "Next on the agenda," he said, "the artefact which has so captured Arawn's attention." He counted the third chest from the left of the door and touched it with the Sceptre, standing back as glowing silver bands appeared and unclasped themselves. "I think this is it," he said, as the chest opened to reveal a hoard fit for a hundred very miserly Goblins. "Petrus, could I ask you to confirm this is the object over which Oriens has voiced his concerns?"

"...praecessi operor non congruo per divinatio pendo," Petrus muttered to himself as he wrote. He put the quill down and came over to the open chest. "Oui, Monsieur le Minister, it is this one." He pointed to a pale blue crystal disk flanked by two silver dragons, a long silver chain coiled neatly around it.

Severus levitated the object, oblivious to Petrus' oblique watchfulness – especially when Kingsley asked Severus if he had seen anything like it before. Severus shook his head. He silently cast several incantations and waited for a response. He shook his head again. "All magical objects have their own unique signature; I cannot say I have ever encountered this one." His brows knitted as he concentrated on a more powerful formula designed to penetrate the defences he had found. Hermione gasped as he reached out and took the artefact in his hand. Petrus looked up from his continued translation.

"Anything?" Kingsley prompted.

"I am sure it is not an object of Dark Magic. However, it holds the promise of great power. The wards and protective charms are arranged in concentric spheres – a series of mazes, each one with a more elaborate patterning than the one above it. I detect none of the nuances common to true artefacts of Dark Magic.

"It holds a lure – the lure of the power I just mentioned, but cannot define any further without accessing it. It stays barely within reach of consciousness as one finds a way through the layers of protection. Whoever created this was someone of considerable power and guile."

Kingsley frowned as he made a decision. "Can you access the power within it?"

Severus gathered his magic into a pinpoint focus, then sent his awareness into the artefact. After a minute or two, his eyes snapped open with a grunt of surprise, and he stepped back with a hiss of discomfort. He quickly sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. Hermione was with him in an instant. "Severus? Are you all right?"

"That was a new experience," he growled, taking some deep breaths.

"Arawn's notes describe a sensation of dizziness, disorientation and nausea, progressively worsening with each subsequent attempt to penetrate the protections," Kingsley said.

"I made note of it when I read his account. I was convinced I had found a way through to the seat of the power, then I found I was right back where I began – with no idea of how I got there. Arawn's description of the physical discomfort is accurate. It seems to be more of a warning than an attack, which supports my initial observation: artefacts of Dark Magic do not – ever – give warnings."

He looked at the object in his hand with respect. "At this stage, I can only assume the power itself is neutral. That is, it could be used for good or evil. Speaking from experience, it is certainly something Riddle would have been interested in, but I am curious as to why he did not carry it himself."

Kingsley rubbed his eyes. "We are certain he never accessed it. The thing was encased in black iron, with Voldemort's personal seal, when it was found on the body of a Death Eater."

"To protect it, most likely. Or safeguard the power it contains from anyone else until it was time to launch whatever plan he had for it. I am certain the artefact itself is not dangerous. For the record, Kingsley, Riddle never mentioned it to me."

Kingsley's eyes flicked from Severus to Hermione, then back again. He gave them a small smile and levitated the artefact back to its position in the stone chest.

"Are you just going to leave it here?" Hermione asked.

"It's all we can do for the moment, Miss Granger," Kingsley answered. "But I do have a plan of my own, inspired by your exemplary use of the Protean Charm." He took an unglazed clay tile out of his pocket. "Petrus, have you completed your assignment?"

"...and the distance is five and twenty feet." Petrus used the edge of a bookmark to draw a straight line. "Oui, it is done." Petrus quickly annotated the bottom of the parchment and handed it to Severus.

"I have a small task for you," Kingsley continued, giving Petrus the clay tile. "Scratch a mark into it, if you will." Petrus complied, and Kingsley produced another tile bearing an identical mark. "As you can see, you now have a means of sending me a signal. Because it may take a little time to get you out of here, perhaps you would keep watch? Should Arawn come in here, make one mark on the tile. If he examines the artefact, make two parallel marks. If he removes it from the vault, make a cross."

Petrus nodded his comprehension, then looked at each of them forlornly.

Hermione gently touched his arm. "You will see us again; don't worry. I'm sorry we can't simply bring you out now."

Petrus simultaneously shrugged his shoulders and his wings. "It is in order, Mademoiselle. Arrangements, they must be made, non? Besides, I have a small duty to perform. Waiting is not so hard if one is patient."

After more assurances from Kingsley that he would not be abandoned again, Petrus climbed back onto his plinth and adopted the same posture as when they had first seen him. His colour quickly changed to match that of the vault. Hidden in his hand was the clay tile Kingsley had given him.

Having seen Hermione safely away to visit her parents – with a silent hope the ice would have thawed – Severus retreated to his rooms. At least this time he had managed to stir himself into action and extract a promise from Hermione: that she would come to him if she needed him, even if her heart had fallen off her sleeve and she had to carry it in a box. Severus had assured her he would do his best to put it back where it should be, and asked her to be patient with him if his attempts to do so were a little unpolished due to lack of application. He summoned Caddy, requested several boxes of tissues and a consignment of chocolate – Severus Snape was not one to neglect preparations for a worst case scenario – then sat at his desk to review Petrus' work.

The gargoyle exceeds expectations, he thought when he had finished, reluctantly admitting to himself that Petrus' Ancient Greek was a little better than his own. Three-quarters of the insufferable dunderheads in Seventh Year would have struggled with the same exercise. There is definitely more to him than charm-animated stone. He scowled as he read the last minute annotation:

Last time – Arawn very angry.

Minister does not know. Find Oriens.

Startled, Severus quickly cast Evanesco on the message and turned it over to mental scrutiny while he changed for dinner in the Great Hall. Presumably, Arawn thought Severus was linked to the artefact in some way. If this was the cause of Arawn's anger, what was the reason behind it? Severus had never even met the Unspeakable. Petrus and Oriens knew of this assumed connection, but neither of them had mentioned it to Kingsley. At least, not yet. Be careful? Severus snorted. 'Careful' was a habit coded into his genes by now, surely.

He knew Oriens had been tasked with finding Tobias and that a meeting with the latter was inevitable. While he did not relish the thought of being in the same room as his Muggle father, it might give him a chance to firmly buttonhole Oriens and find out what the hell was going on. Severus was suddenly alight with curiosity. Two magical objects, neither of them identified. Both supposedly powerful. People assume I might know what... he... has, simply because of... a blood tie. Now it seems I have something to do with the one in the vaults as well. Unbelievable.

He paused halfway through buttoning his coat. When he had tried to find a way through the layers of protection on the artefact, a ghost of something familiar had raised itself, though it had not seemed significant at the time: it was hidden in the twists and turns of the magical patterns. It flitted and darted in the false leads, dead ends, and spiralling, branching paths of deception. Somewhere in that complex array was a magical cadence uncannily similar to his own.

He scowled as his mind suddenly fought to identify something tugging at the edge of his memory. His eyes rested on the painting of the owl-person, still busily engaged in bringing avian creations to painted life with a spectrum of light. He cocked his head as the elusive something took a fleeting form, vanishing as quickly as it took shape: tiny rainbows dancing and flickering, a flash of silver, a voice he did not recognise. For the life of him, he could not identify where the memory came from – if it was a memory at all. Severus was not certain if it was even real.

Toby resisted the urge to move as the weight of sleep lifted and dissipated. Without opening his eyes, he knew he was in a very different locale to the one represented in his most recent memory. We ain't in Kansas anymore, he thought wryly. Strangely enough, the place smelled rather like a hospital – with a Chinese herbalist next door and a hippie commune over the road. He opened his eyes slightly, seeing what he could through his eyelashes. He was not alone.

On the other side of the room, a man stood side-on to him, reading from what looked like a scroll. What've we got 'ere? Christ! Get a look at 'is clobber! Who does 'e reckon 'e is, Robin Goodfellow? From what he could see, the man was clad in shades of green and brown. As Toby watched, the man shrugged out of his forest-green cloak and draped it over the back of a chair.

Toby held his breath. Oh, bugger. Not good. Any thoughts of overpowering the man evaporated. While lightly built, he looked fit and agile. But it was the blade strapped to his back that really put contention out of Toby's mind.

In Australia's northern tropics, descendants of Makassar trepangers told of these long knives in song and story. They called the distinctive wavy blades Kris – and they were thought to have magical properties. He had even seen one – in the hands of an old man who told a chilling tale of how a Kris "came to life" to avenge its murdered master. Having seen a harrowing display of magic with his own eyes, the tale prompted a week's worth of nightmares. Further, if the man owned such a blade, he was highly likely to be a master of Silat – as well as being one of them.

Toby's thoughts turned to the Llygad. There was no way he could check to see if it was still safe while he feigned sleep. He stretched cautiously, relieved to find his movements unencumbered. Sitting up, he gave Robin Goodfellow his most curmudgeonly glare, all the while trying not to think of how a set of Pan-pipes would suit the bloke down to the ground. "For starters, who're you?" he asked gruffly.

Two Dementors hovered in a dank alley strewn with refuse. The body of an itinerant Muggle lay sprawled against a wall, his sightless eyes staring into oblivion. A manhole cover lifted slowly into the air. A third Dementor surfaced from the sewers and joined its companions. As they huddled together, an observer would have thought they were arguing about something. At length, they apparently reached an agreement and drifted, like smoke, down the access hole and out of sight.

They emerged, unseen, not far from St. Mungo's. One of them drifted higher and, picking up speed, headed northwards. Two remained behind, their ragged robes limply fluttering in the breeze. One Dementor straightened suddenly.

Like a leech questing for the blood-heat of a host, it turned this way and that. Purposefully, it began to move towards the hospital, tracking the taste of a memory and the scent of fear. The other followed not far behind.