A Slightly Arduous Mission – part 1

A/N's

Bacon buttie – bacon sandwich

"Never learned 'owt" – did not learn anything

When Toby switches to Mancunian, he pronounces the 'g' in words ending in it. When he uses his adopted 'Strayân' (Australian) dialect, he drops them along with most of his aitches.

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

Special thanks and bravery awards to TeaOli for beta-magic – in spite of natural disasters. Historical thanks to Justice, who read this chapter long ago.

Concealing a Dementor from detection was an energy-sapping process, but well worth the effort. Arawn felt the creature's interest in the Llygad – a deep, aggressive yearning for the power within the disc of blue crystal – as soon as the stone chest was opened. The Dementor's hunger throbbed in Arawn's veins alongside his own excitement, enhancing his sense of surety that the Llygad was worth a lifetime of pursuit.

For a moment, he released the Dementor from its concealment, allowing it to roam freely around the vault. Using senses Arawn could not begin to understand, the Dementor examined the Llygad closely and attempted to touch it. Arawn jealously forbade it, feeling a flare of resistance from the Dementor as it slowly retreated. The Dementor turned its attention to the vault's gargoyle. Arawn assumed this was merely a fit of pique at being denied the Llygad. He had seen the gargoyle so often that its existence had ceased to register. He assumed it had been carved out of the rock when the vaults were made: some long dead stonemason's way of saying, "I was here". The gargoyle itself certainly wasn't worth anything more than passing curiosity.

Back in his office, Arawn removed the Llygad y Ddraig from a small leather pouch and held it up to the light. Having extensive knowledge of how artefact clearance procedures were constructed, it had been an easy, though painstaking, task to override them and remove it from the vault.

After all this time, he was sure he would soon master the artefact's secrets – secrets concerning Merlin himself. Why else would Voldemort have valued it? Now, Arawn needed Snape to come out of his fortress, willingly or not, and place the Llygad y Ddraig in the hand of the statue of Myrddin. Arawn was certain this would be the action that would unlock the Llygad's power. He dropped it back into the pouch and shivered with feverish anticipation. "I will leave this place shortly," he told the Dementor waiting quietly in the corner. "What is the news from Hogwarts?"

Heavily guarded. Strong walls block our senses. We cannot reach him.

"The Death Eaters keep watch?"

They watch. They wait. His movements are unpredictable. He is never alone.

Arawn clenched his teeth. "Very well. You know where to find me. Dismissed."

The Dementor retreated through the old Floo connection. It followed a well-known path down into the sewers. It sent a call only its own kind could hear down the warren of dark, dripping passages. Within minutes, the foetid air thronged with the creatures. They paid close attention as important information was conveyed.

Upon Toby's arrival at the castle, and while showing him his rooms, Minerva-of-the-pointed-hat gave multiple warnings that, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, magic was a matter of course: he would just have to get used to it.

Relying on Oriens' reassurances, Toby braced himself for an unavoidable expedition into the unknown. Still, on Saturday morning, it had been something of a shock to discover that his unspoken hankering for a bacon buttie with brown sauce had materialised into edible reality while he was in the shower. Furthermore, someone – or something – had made his bed, cleaned the grate in the fireplace, and replenished the fuel. His clothes had also been attended to, with a missing button replaced and a frayed cuff meticulously mended. Toby, who had never ironed anything in his life, noted they were pressed to perfection.

Soon after breakfast, he had received a visitor: an elderly, no-nonsense witch who insisted he address her as Poppy – and insisted on calling him Tobias. Poppy did not enlighten him with respect to his unseen attendant, saying she had only stopped by to see how he was doing. She took his pulse at three points on each wrist and counted the number of breaths he took in one minute. She informed him that he showed some minor signs of stress – probably brought on by exposure to unusual circumstances.

No kiddin', Toby had thought, keeping still as Poppy waved her wand around, muttered strange formulations, and hummed in satisfaction as she stated that unlike most males, he was doing a reasonable job in looking after himself. She produced a square, green bottle from her apron pocket and instructed him to take one teaspoonful of its contents after every meal. She assured him it contained no alcohol and it would help him "settle down".

Nearly twenty-four hours later, Toby had to admit he was in better spirits. Suspended between dread and intrepidity, he watched his empty breakfast bowl intently. The porridge it had contained was by far the best he had ever eaten, and he wanted a second helping. He manfully downed the rest of his pumpkin juice, thinking it would benefit from a touch of ginger syrup, and silently dared the magic to happen right in front of him.

A soft fluttering against the windows caught his attention. For a moment, he watched autumn leaves swirling as the quickening wind blustered and moaned against thick stone walls.

Toby looked back to his bowl. "Flamin' bloody 'eck!" he gasped, more exasperated than startled. The second helping of porridge had appeared while he wasn't looking.

Hermione paced in her room, as she had been doing for a greater part of the night. Soon after Kingsley's message, Severus departed to the Ministry for what turned out to be a marathon of meetings and discussions. As night fell, Severus sent a Ministry owl to let her know he did not expect to be back until the early hours of Sunday morning. He assured her he would not renege on his promise to listen to another rehearsal of the arguments she would present to the Wizengamot on Petrus' behalf, and invited her to come to his rooms at her earliest convenience.

With her innate understanding of priorities, Hermione put her time to good use. She was also sure that Severus would not have specifically mentioned Petrus without good reason. Laying out her parchments on any available flat surface, she checked and re-checked her main points, thankful for Hagrid's guidance in bringing the more esoteric components down to Earth.

She tried placing herself in the role of Wizengamot cross-examiners and made an exhaustive list of the questions they might ask. Finally, she timed herself while she treated Crookshanks to a dry run, during which the half-Kneazle disobligingly went to sleep.

Deciding to skip breakfast, she hurried to the Guest Wing, giving a shout of delight as she found Severus pacing outside his rooms, apparently waiting for her. It was not until she woman-handled him inside for an intensive greeting that she noticed his formal Ministry robes and his newly-minted Emblem of Office, which bore the symbols of the department he would soon officially lead. Severus would accept no delay to the intended salutations, which quickly took a turn for the heated and exploratory.

"Gods," he growled, reluctantly letting her go. "I actually missed you. What are you doing to me, witch?"

"Nothing you appear to object to," she ventured, examining the emblem and running her fingers over the embossed symbols. "Eolh, the rune of vigilance, and Tyr, the warrior's rune. Severus, I think those runes were made for you," she said.

"They were. Odin himself summoned them for me from the Unseen. Did Ancient Runes teach you nothing?" he demanded. Shaking his head in a parody of despair, he shrugged out of the robes and hung them in his wardrobe. "We have much to discuss. Have you eaten?"

"No, I wasn't hungry until a few minutes ago," Hermione answered, wondering if she should offer to help him out of his frock coat. Not that he was having any trouble, but his precise, fluid movements were certainly stirring more than one kind of appetite. To her temporary disappointment, he relocated to the bathroom.

"When Arawn entered the vaults, Petrus first thought he had come alone," he continued over the sound of running water. "Then Arawn cast some incantations, and something fitting the description of a Dementor came out of his shadow."

"Out of his shadow?"

"My sentiments exactly. According to what Petrus saw, the Dementor was very interested in the vault Llygad – it hovered around it and tried to grasp it, but Arawn would not permit it. Then, Petrus said the Dementor came and examined him. He said he went cold all over, and he felt like he was being... tasted. Petrus is certain he only escaped further attention by going deep into his inanimate state. I have never heard of Dementors paying any sort of attention to charm-animated gargoyles."

"We know Petrus was regarded as something out of the ordinary when he was incarcerated," Hermione mused. "Dementors don't seem too interested in animals either. Sirius avoided their attention when he escaped Azkaban in his Animagus form. Do you know if they attack other beings, centaurs or Merpeople, for example?"

Severus reappeared, freshly shaved, with a towel slung over one shoulder. He scowled as bitter hatred flashed briefly in his eyes. "If Azkaban had Lethifolds as well as Dementors, the flea-farm may not have been so lucky."

He tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat and focussed his energies on academic assessment. "From what we know, Dementors have never kissed centaurs – or fauns, before they were persecuted into extinction. Veelas are on the menu, but leprechauns, trolls, and gnomes are not. There is one record of a Selkie being kissed into oblivion in the Shetland Isles. Notably, the Selkie was in her human form at the time and on dry land. I do not think Dementors are disposed to intrude in watery domains, which may account for the lack of Merpeople in the list."

Hermione experienced a prickling of alarm. "It sounds like they prefer to feed on... prey... that are, or resemble, humans."

Severus gazed at her steadily. "It is an idea amenable to further research."

"But Petrus doesn't look human at all! Why would a Dementor be interested in him?"

"Perhaps it had never encountered anything like Petrus before and wanted to find out if he was suitable for consumption. If so, it suggests that Dementors are not beyond trying something new.

"However disquieting the events in the vault may be, they do provide you with some factual ammunition in that a Dementor tried its wiles on Petrus, thereby supporting your premise that he is not charm-animated. He is as much a Being as any other sentient and has every right to a fair hearing and, ultimately, freedom. The audience is this Wednesday, correct?"

Hermione felt a swarm of butterflies take frenzied flight in her stomach. "Correct," she said in a small voice.

Severus drew her into a firm embrace. "Oriens sends his apologies; he will not be able to attend as originally planned. He has gone to Java to see what the Sacred Scrolls have to say about Dementors. Finding the right Buddha will only be part of his challenge." He grinned at Hermione's perplexed expression. "Oriens said the Sacred Scrolls are kept on the highest platform of Borobudur, each with a guardian Buddha. He must find the guardian, convince it of his good intentions, and give a perfect recitation of the correct sūtras to win access to the scroll. I hope he topped his class in ancient Sanskrit."

Hermione hung her head pensively. "You will not be able to attend either, will you?"

With a gentle hand, Severus tilted her chin so that she looked at him again. "Unfortunately, I cannot. As we heard from Kingsley's Patronus, Arawn has absconded and taken the vault Llygad with him. A Dementor is currently under restraint in the Department of Mysteries, not that anyone has the faintest idea what to do with it. Two of the creatures got through the wards into St Mungo's, not just the one I expelled. Kingsley believes they were originally after Dolohov, whose testimony says they were definitely pursuing him."

"Originally?"

"Kingsley thinks the second Dementor sensed the power of the other Llygad and went after it instead of finishing off Dolohov. It entered the room through the ceiling. Oriens held it at bay until the guard Aurors came to assist. What Petrus witnessed in the vaults supports Kingsley's idea: An aura of power seems to draw them as well as vulnerable souls."

Hermione chewed her lower lip. "Do you recall what Gawain said – two Death Eaters handed themselves in to escape Dementors?"

"Yes. I also recall what you said about Umbridge claiming to have sent Dementors after Potter."

"She's in Azkaban, though... which might mean..."

"Someone else knows how to direct Dementors to a specific target."

"Arawn." Hermione shivered. "If he can smuggle those things around the Ministry, it has to be him."

"And, in addition to an unknown number of Dementors, he now has what he thinks is a source of tremendous power. Merlin, I hope the vault Llygad really is a fake."

Hermione placed her hands on his chest. "Please be careful. Both Llygads, fake or not, are connected to you. If Arawn wants its power, and he can use Dementors, he may target you. If he has sent them to round up Death Eaters, I don't think he intends to hand them over to Aurors." She slid her arms around his waist as he brushed a stray curl out of her eyes. "Oriens had suspicions about you, didn't he?"

"Initially, yes, he did. He was most apologetic, even though I told him I would have reached the same conclusion had our positions been reversed."

"Well, that explains why he was gathering information about you. Minerva was right; someone in the Ministry was worried about you being Voldemort's successor – that someone was Oriens. By all the Powers, we did well to keep you hidden."

"We did indeed." Severus released her, folded his arms, and frowned. "Oriens and Petrus reached some interesting conclusions relating to my familial connection with the Llygad, based largely on a similar antiquity between its estimated age and the historical extent of the Prince family. Further, Arawn not only mentioned my name, but my half-blood status. They propose Riddle's plans to access the Llygad's power may have been the reason I advanced in his ranks – despite a lack of blood-purity – not simply my shared heritage of outstanding Dark Arts practitioners as I had thought. I must admit, the same idea crossed my mind quite recently."

"Voldemort wanted the Llygad, but he needed you to use it for him because you are of the Prince bloodline?"

"So it would seem." Severus paced slowly to his desk, his features grave. "Investigative Aurors have been compiling the sequence of Arawn's movements leading up to his sudden departure from the Department of Mysteries. He spent quite some time sorting through historical archives of title deeds, all of them detailing lands owned by the Prince family. The deeds go back to A.D. 755, a villa in the upper Tywi Valley."

He watched the Ravenclaw Room's animated painting for a moment. His lips twitched into a brief smile as the owl-person drew and coloured a merlin. "Curiously, Arawn did not cover his tracks when he accessed the archives, which suggests he was not entirely sure what he might find, if anything." Severus scowled at the floor. "Arawn seems to be a methodical searcher. If he did decide to investigate physical locations, he would have started at the beginning – the place in the upper Tywi. Considering his sudden absence, I propose that he visited the site and did indeed find something significant there: something significant enough for him to take the Llygad and vanish. The ruins may be worth a visit of our own."

The owl-person's merlin launched from its painted page at the touch of painted light.

Hermione sighed heavily. "There's something else. Minerva gave me two messages to deliver to you. One you may be pleased with, the other... you may not be so happy to hear."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I have my suspicions, given Kingsley's excessive diplomacy on the subject of... Tell me the pleasing one first."

"Minerva would like you to teach all the staff the alternative method of defence against Dementors. Professor Shultz will then pass it on to the senior students in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes."

"At last, progress." Severus gave an approving half-smile. "I shall teach you privately. It is not Dark magic. It is very old magic – which, to those who prefer superstition to intellect, often equates to Dark. While not quite as powerful as a Patronus, it is still very effective and does not demand so much energy. What is the unfavourable message?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Tobias is under protection here at Hogwarts."

Severus' whole body stiffened. His eyes blazed dangerously, then slowly cooled to a glacial contempt. "I thought as much. Does his presence within these walls have a precise location?"

"Minerva declined to reveal it. She did say he is confined to his own rooms, so he is not wandering around the castle. A house-elf is in attendance, but is under instructions not to show himself."

Severus turned on his heel and strode to the window, where he stood glaring coldly at the distant hills. Hermione quietly sat down and gave him space to process the news as he would. If he wanted her to leave, he was going to have to say so. She leafed through a Potions journal to pass what she knew would be an unknown amount of time.

She had nearly finished three articles when she heard him sigh irritably. She looked up to see him bury his hands in his hair and shake his head. When he glanced in her direction, she gave him a small smile. He responded with a hesitant shrug and came to sit beside her.

"I did not fully explain why I cannot attend your audience with the Wizengamot," he said evenly. "Under orders, I am scheduled to meet with Lucius in Azkaban. I had planned to do so in my own time. Regrettably, the recent escalation of events has made picking Lucius' brains a matter of urgency. Kingsley will be with you, as will Minerva and Hagrid. You will not be alone."

Hermione nodded sadly, looking away to try and hide her disappointment.

Severus tried harder. "I have every confidence in you."

Hermione continued to look unconvinced.

"If I were marking even your second draft, I would call it Outstanding." He held a warning finger to her lips. "Do not even think about telling me I am biased because I happen to be in love with you." Success! he thought, as Hermione rewarded his efforts with a smile like a sunrise. "I recommend breakfast and a change into some old clothes. I would like you to come on a slightly arduous mission with me. It involves crawling through some of the oldest, most decrepit tunnels in Hogwarts."

"Crawling? Through tunnels?"

"You'll see," Severus answered mysteriously, looking for a moment like a boy intent on mischief.

Toby was bored. Being used to open spaces and the liberty to come and go as it suited him, he found confinement wearisome.

After lunch, Poppy had visited again and told him that he looked a lot better. He asked her what was in the green bottle she had given him, and she settled comfortably in a chair to chat for half an hour.

She told him that Severus had brewed it for the Infirmary a few weeks after the students had arrived. As a result of the war, some students were experiencing panic attacks and extreme mood swings. She explained that the usual remedy, a Calming Draught, was a little too powerful for prolonged use by children who had already suffered enough during the war and did not need an addiction to add to their difficulties.

As a solution, Severus had located a recipe from a compendium of herbal remedies dating from the tenth century. The brew contained valerian, chamomile, passionflower and blueberries. Severus had improved the mixture with the addition of lavender extract, kindly supplied by the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Poppy told Toby that in adult witches and wizards, the effect was not as pronounced as what he had experienced, but it was very safe for the children – though, for some reason, it made the first-year boys quite sleepy, so they could only take it at bedtime.

After Poppy bustled back to the Infirmary, Toby aimlessly traced the outlines of the stones forming the walls. As he ran his hands over them, admiring the precision of the construction, he heard a soft click, and the door swung slightly ajar. Drawing his knife, he issued a challenge, but nobody answered. For want of a better explanation, the door had unlocked itself.

Pushing it open, Toby surveyed a wide hall with a barrel-vaulted ceiling. Apart from a few scattered portraits, whose subjects had been painted while they were sleeping, a still-life featuring bottles and fruit, and two suits of armour, there was nothing to catch his interest. Finding a small flight of stairs, he wandered into a narrow passage dimly lit by a single tiny window.

From the shadows, he heard someone sigh unhappily. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he discerned a heavy oak door at the far end of the passage, beyond which came more sighs and fragmented laments. Before he could determine the wisest course of action, a girl in school uniform floated through the oak panels and, had Toby not uttered an inarticulate exclamation, would have passed through him as well. The ghost froze with a soft gasp and hovered barely five inches in front of him, a doleful luminosity in an indoor twilight.

"You're not a wizard..." She squinted at him from behind thick lenses. "You're a Muggle!"

"And you're a ghost," Toby countered, ignoring a surge of adrenalin as the girl wailed and backed away. For a moment, he thought she might burst into tears. As her expression turned to one of indignant anger, Toby could only hope ghosts could not work magic. If they could, he was done for. Before he could construct an apology, she circled him and regarded him curiously.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Toby saw no reason not to give her at least a partial answer. With another glance at the girl's school uniform, he supposed that a spot of strategic name-dropping would be a wise move. "I'm under protection, I s'pose you could say. Headmistress McGonagall, among others, explained why, but gettin' explanations and understandin' 'em are two diff'rent animals."

The ghost nodded sympathetically. "You're not afraid," she commented after a moment.

Reckon I am. Just not doin' anythin' about it. "Should I be?"

The spectral student considered this. "Most Muggles would be."

"Well, I reckon I'm not most Muggles. Besides, I've met a ghost before – and 'e saved my life."

The girl stared at him, open-mouthed. "Really? How?"

Mustering all his nerve, Toby made a decision. "If I'm gonna tell the story, who would I be tellin' it to?"

The ghost wrung her hands and wailed again. "Everybody calls me Moaning Myrtle." This time, she really did seem to cry, though no tears were evident.

Toby shuffled awkwardly. God's Teeth. "Um... Miss Myrtle?" He flinched as she emitted a deafening shriek, flew through the wall, and re-emerged through the floor. She floated furtively. "What did you call me?"

Toby forced himself to speak. "Didn't mean to offend you or nothin'. I figured yer first name weren't Moanin', unless it's somethin' similar – like Mona, f'r instance." To his surprise, Myrtle began to giggle.

"Oh, I wasn't offended. Nobody has called me Miss anything since I died," she said. "It's rather nice. What is your name?"

"Toby Snape."

Myrtle frowned suspiciously. "Are you related to Professor Snape? You look a bit like him, but you're not horrible like he is."

Toby stifled a snort. "I've 'ad my moments, believe me. 'Horrible', is 'e?"

"Yes, he is! He banished me from my bathroom and my toilet – for no good reason," she hissed wrathfully. "I'd been haunting it long before he came to Hogwarts!"

Toby whistled. "Yeah, that is a bit rough, comin' between a lass and 'er bathroom. I wouldn't be game to do it."

Manifestly satisfied with Toby's commiserations, Myrtle settled in mid-air, tucking one foot under herself as though lounging in a spacious armchair. "It's a lot rough." She tossed her head and smiled coquettishly. "Please tell me about the ghost you met – the one who saved your life."

Thankful for her distinctly Muggle clothing choice of old jeans, heavy cotton shirt, and hiking boots, Hermione scrambled after Severus as he picked his way through a partially collapsed section of a tunnel. It was, as he had intimated, old and decrepit. And disgusting. And damp. And slimy. And downright dangerous, Hermione silently groused.

Accessed via a flagstone at the back of a disused store room deep in the cellars, Hermione could only guess at how Severus had found it and what he had used it for. She would soon find out, but still...

"I wish you would tell me where we are going," she grumbled, pulling her right foot out of a particularly sludgy puddle Severus had blithely missed.

He turned and balanced on a massive block of dressed stone which had fallen to the floor from a bulging section of wall. Gripping the edge of a carved arch with one hand, he reached for Hermione with the other. "I told you, you'll see." Smirking contentedly, he hauled her effortlessly onto his perch and into his arms.

Smug git! Hermione thought, blissfully embracing him. She laughed as she squeezed him, feeling his muscles tense as he resisted having the air forced from his lungs. "What a place for a quick cuddle!" Savouring the warmth of his body, she raised her illuminated wand and looked at what lay ahead of them, her heart sinking as she beheld a jumble of wreckage enshrouded in black, dripping slime. "We're going through that," she stated flatly.

"We are indeed," Severus answered as he jumped lightly down and assisted Hermione to miss another puddle of sticky ooze. "There is a crawl space along the left hand side."

"Which, by its very nature, necessitates crawling," Hermione observed, coming to an abrupt halt.

"Obviously. I believe I mentioned it," he purred. "Coming?"

Mentally cursing, she followed him into a ragged, tapering gap. Cringing against the remorseless seep of cold water, Hermione dropped flat on her stomach and used her elbows and hands to drag herself through an increasingly narrow cavity. This would have been harder for Severus to get through – he's bigger than me. Therefore, if he could do it, so can I, she told herself. O inventor of the sports bra, thank you! "You didn't say anything about it being wet."

Severus' voice drifted back to her, embedded in the sounds of a laborious climb and a growl of effort. "Have you not heard of Drying Charms?"

Hermione could not help grinning as her jibe from the previous morning was adroitly returned. No doubt he's thoroughly pleased with himself. Insufferable wizard! With a final heave, she pulled herself free of the confined space and flopped on her back with a sigh of relief. "Severus Snape, you are very lucky I love you," she gasped, looking around for him.

"Yes, I believe I am," he concurred, sitting high atop a disastrous pile of stone which had once been a spiral of stairs.

"Otherwise, I would hex you."

Standing, Severus casually tossed a blob of slime in her direction, smirking as she wandlessly deflected the soggy missile. He traced a rune on one of the stones above his head. With a slow, grating rumble, it slid to one side, revealing a gaping maw of palpable darkness. "Here we are," he said as Hermione clambered up to join him. She could feel exhilaration pouring off him, and his eyes shone with something unspoken. With enviable ease, he pulled himself through the opening, then reappeared to grasp her hands and lift her bodily into an inky void.

"I reckon you should just go on in and ask. Poppy seems straight enough, but I wouldn't give 'er any cheek." Toby glanced uneasily at the semi-transparent hand confidently tucked into the crook of his arm. Escorting a ghost was an entirely new – and decidedly unsettling – experience.

"I won't," Myrtle answered thoughtfully. "I really think I was helping Draco, until Harry Potter barged in and ruined everything. Then Professor Snape..."

"The same Potter who's been hoggin' the front pages?" Toby knew the answer was in the affirmative. While reading numerous editions of the Prophet, he had recognised the moving photograph instantly. His question was purely an evasive tactic.

"Oh, yes, he's everybody's favourite, but he should have been expelled at least five times a year for the things he did. Draco would call him 'Saint Potter' because he never got punished. I used to talk to Harry," Myrtle sniffed. "He stopped coming to see me. To think, I even offered to share my toilet with him!"

"That's, um, generous..."

"I know!" Myrtle giggled. "But I really enjoyed joining him in the prefects' bath! Wizards are so cute when they are all wet and soapy."

Crikey!

"Well, Tobias, I shall bid you good day. I have things to attend to. Thank you for the story." She removed her hand and floated out over a broad staircase.

"No worries."

She turned to go, then looked over her shoulder and winked at him. "And for escorting me safely to the stairs." With a girly squeal, Myrtle departed through the walls.

Brazen. Absolutely brazen, Toby thought, shaking his head. What the...? He quickly moved back against the wall as the unmistakeable sound of hooves on stone echoed from the dim light of an intersecting passage to his left. Holding his breath, he listened. What was a horse doing in the corridors of a castle?

Trying not to think of what else it might be, Toby made a quick series of assessments. Unshod, not in a hurry, and reasonably large – not as heavy as a Clydesdale, but it was no lightweight either. There was something unusual about the gait. It was also heading in his direction. Feeling sure it would continue on past the stairs, Toby waited in silence. It might be purple with white spots, he cautioned himself, trying to prepare for the unimaginable.

What came around the corner was more unimaginable than he could have imagined. The simple fact that he knew what it was overrode an instinctive desire to flee. Years before, while working for a group of organic orchardists, Toby had devised a means of protecting their avocado trees from marauding possums without the use of poison or traps. Grateful for an environmentally friendly solution to their problem, the artisans among them had offered to hand-craft a new leather belt for him, as his old one was beyond repair. Having cajoled his date of birth out of him, they had cast the buckle in bronze – using quaintly bronze-age techniques. The casting featured a galloping centaur wielding a bow at full draw, arrow at the point of release.

The real centaur noted it with a slight widening of intensely blue eyes and a swish of his tail, then scrutinised Toby with one white-blonde eyebrow slightly raised. Toby made several unsuccessful attempts to speak, finally managing a slightly shaky "G'day."

"Good day," the centaur answered in perfect English, after which he continued appraising Toby as though waiting for the human to make the next move.

Toby leaned against the wall, trying to quell the sudden trembling in his limbs. He noted an arm-band, depicting the Hogwarts crest and some other symbol, covering the centaur's right bicep. "Um... do you live 'ere?"

"My home is in the Forbidden Forest. Within these walls, I teach Divination," the centaur replied. "Though perhaps not in the sense you may understand it," he continued, eyeing the bronze depiction of his species again.

"I don't follow that stuff," Toby hastily explained. "It were a gift from some people I done a few jobs for. Real live New-Age nuts, they were. Crystals, dream catchers, ley lines, star signs, you name it, they were into it. I never gave it any mind – load of cobblers, I reckon." He scratched his head and stared at the floor. "Then again, I used to say the same 'bout... magic. Got that wrong, didn't I?"

The centaur smiled. "Knowing when you have been wrong will help set you on the way to being right. Ley lines should not be lightly dismissed. I treat them with respect whenever I encounter them. I am Firenze. You bear some resemblance to Severus Snape. You are related to him?"

Toby gulped. "Um... yeah." Firenze continued to watch him impassively, the muscles in his equine shoulders rippling as he shifted position. Toby realised that the centaur expected a proper answer. Furthermore, there would be no getting out of giving him one.

Toby shook himself and took a few deep breaths. "I'm... He's... Sev'rus is... I..." He dug deeper, dragging the fact up through a shroud of belief that he had long ago lost the right to claim any sort of kinship with Severus. He looked Firenze directly in the eyes. "Sev'rus is my son." As soon as the words were spoken, Toby felt a great knot of tension loosen and vanish.

The centaur gave him a benign smile. "You are Tobias Snape."

Toby nodded. "How'd you know?"

"Severus' second name."

A Scottish accent abruptly coloured the air. "Firenze, there you are! I have been searching for you!" Minerva appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Do not try to do a bunk, Tobias. I know you are up there too."

Toby shot Firenze a besieged look. "Last time I were in trouble wit' 'eadmistress, I were fourteen, in t' school, an' a day shy of being thrown out. Never learned 'owt anyway," he muttered, unconsciously lapsing into his native Mancunian dialect.

"Magorian sent a message," Minerva puffed as she climbed the stairs. "He spotted something moving near the wards while patrolling the Forest boundaries, but it was gone by the time he got closer. He says there has also been unauthorised human activity within the Forest itself. He found a makeshift camp last used two days ago, by his reading of the ashes." She gave Firenze a pointed look, and the centaur bowed and took his leave.

"I shall seek out Magorian and report back to you before nightfall, Headmistress. Tobias, no doubt we shall meet again," Firenze said, sidling past Minerva.

"Ley lines tell you that did they?" Toby called after him.

Firenze looked over his shoulder as he broke into a slow trot. "The planets told me. Your birth-sign confirms it," he answered smoothly.

Minerva placed her hands on her hips and glared at Toby crossly. "You, sir, should not be gallivanting around the castle. Merlin help you if you had run into Peeves instead of Firenze! How did you get out?"

Toby shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I weren't gallivantin'. Who's Peeves?"

"Peeves is a poltergeist with an occasionally nasty sense of humour and a penchant for temper tantrums."

"Oh." Toby frowned as the other name Minerva had mentioned prompted a surge of scepticism. "Merlin? As in the King Arthur stories? Don't tell me 'e was real."

Minerva tutted as she brusquely grasped his upper arm and ushered him back to his rooms. "'Oh', indeed! Of course Merlin was real, many centuries ago." She sternly pointed Toby into his rooms and followed him in. "Now, how did you... Tocky!" The exclamation was directed at the strangest creature Toby had ever seen.