A Slightly Arduous Mission - Part 2

A/N's

The Washington Irving/Irving Washington confusional device is borrowed from the novel Catch-22 by Joseph Heller, 1961.

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

Pugsley Addams is the property of the cartoonist Charles Addams. I make no profit from his character.

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

Thanks are due to TeaOli, who commenced beta-reading this chapter, and to Linlawless, who very kindly finished the cleansing process.

---

Hermione stood still as she looked around. "Where are we exactly?"

"Underneath what is now a series of low hills just beyond the castle walls. We are still within the wards," Severus explained, opening a wooden box on the floor. "This used to be the foundations of a defensive tower within a previous configuration of Hogwarts' fortifications." He took a conical flask out of the box and placed a brown bottle and a phial of clear liquid on the floor. "It is quite dry in here, so I assume it was used as a temporary store for items destined for the upper levels." He picked up the brown bottle and inverted it several times before pouring a small amount into the conical flask. Adding one drop from the phial, he swirled the contents gently. As the mixture began to glow, he set it in a niche on the wall and watched as it brightened enough to fill the room with light.

Hermione sleeved her wand, noting with dismay that she was mired from head to toe in Merlin-only-knew-what. Her dismay turned to amusement as she noted Severus was in an equally disreputable condition.

Severus picked a strand of sticky slime from her shoulder. "Microbial biofilms," he said, examining the substance as he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. "They thrive on sulphur deposits in volcanic rock. Fortunately, these are the less acidic variety. Pugsley calls them 'snottites'."

"Charming."

"Very. These humble aggregations of bacteria may well hold an alternative cure for dragon pox. Pugsley and I have run several infective trials using blood agar treated with extract of snottite. Initial results are most promising." He watched Hermione survey her promising passengers with mixed revulsion and awe. "Could I interest you in a cleansing charm?"

Hermione scowled at him. "We'll duel for it – if you're up to a challenge. Seven paces, turn and cleanse."

She flashed a wicked grin as Severus raised a sardonic eyebrow, prowled to the middle of the floor, and drew his wand – with his right hand, she furtively noted. Pressing her back against his, she could not help an exploratory wriggle. Very nice, she thought, enjoying the feel of a lean, angular physique with firm muscles in all the right places.

"Diversionary tactics will not save you, Hermione. Begin!"

Hermione counted seven paces, then whirled and ducked into a low crouch, nimbly dodging to her left as she fired off a cleansing charm. She gave a shriek of indignation as Severus' charm washed over her in a wave of purification, while her own was deftly blocked.

"Too easy," Severus airily informed her before giving in to laughter. "The look on your face... Priceless..." he managed, bracing his hand against the wall for support.

Hermione pursed her lips and waited for exactly the right moment. Let's see... Using wand hand – wand in situ – to hold himself up. Not looking because he can't do it without laughing himself breathless – now that, Severus, is priceless. Other hand wiping eyes... Gotcha! One pristinely clean wizard. Damn! I don't think he even noticed.

At length, Severus regained his decorum and sleeved his wand, giving Hermione a knowing smile as he surveyed his spotless hands and clothes. "Now for the real reason I brought you here. Treasure."

Hermione gaped at him. "What kind of treasure?"

Severus approached the far wall and counted a number of stones up from the floor. Pressing one, he stood back and waited until it swung slowly outwards. He retrieved a cloth-wrapped object from the revealed cavity.

Intrigued, Hermione watched as he unwrapped what appeared to be a miniature trunk. Severus knelt on the floor and tapped it once with his wand. The trunk enlarged to its full size. Peering over his shoulder, Hermione read S. Snape painted on the top, partially obscuring an older, fainter mark – E. Prince.

"This was your mother's school trunk?" Hermione asked, running her fingers over its heavily scuffed edge.

Severus nodded. "When I left for Hogwarts, there was no money to buy a new one." He busied himself with the straps and lock, then raised the lid. "Look," he murmured, taking her hand.

Hermione did – and gasped in appreciative wonder. Hundreds of books, each shrunk to the size of a matchbox and sorted into corded bundles with colour-coded tags, filled the trunk to capacity.

"Do not touch the ones with red tags; they are Dark Magic tomes of extreme potency. They will hurt you if you don't know how to handle them properly." Severus took out a gold-tagged bundle of ten tiny books and restored them to their true size. "If I remember rightly, the book I need is in here," he muttered as he sorted through them. With a sudden grin of pure pleasure, he seized one and handed it to Hermione.

"As if you would forget where you put anything," Hermione snorted, handling the book with reverence. It was certainly an antique.

"When I stored them here, my circumstances were... difficult," Severus replied. He gazed at the labelled bundles nestled in the trunk, remembering the day he had hidden the most precious things he owned while wondering if he would ever see them again. Hollow-eyed from lack of sleep and wracked by constant tension which spat corrosive fire through every strangled nerve in his body, he had been alone – utterly alone: the newly appointed headmaster of a school which reviled and distrusted him.

Albus' portrait had talked to him with civility, even kindness, but Severus could not escape the vision of the old wizard's final moments. Until he cast the killing curse and ended Albus' life, Severus had dared to hope he was not beyond redemption. He would not have felt genuine anguish upon seeing Albus' hand withered and blackened from Gaunt's ring if he was truly lost to the Dark. He would not have carefully tended the cursed flesh and tried to make Albus comfortable. He would not have sought to remedy, with potion, charm, and counter-curse, the evil things he had done in Riddle's service. He would not have tried to save lives whenever it was possible. As he sealed his books away in their stone tomb, Severus very nearly wept as he thought of his vows to protect Lily's son. Albus had reduced those vows to years of wasted effort.

Mercilessly adding to Severus' distress, Albus glibly sliced him to the bone, asking him how much death had he seen: how many men and women had he watched die? Very rich indeed, coming from the same man who raised Potter like a hand-fed pet, fattening the boy's loyalty, trust, and foolhardy arrogance before sending him off to be slaughtered. It seemed that to Albus, the "very best" of Severus Snape was merely a means to achieve an end.

When Severus stood before the Veil, he heard what he considered to be the sum total of Albus' opinion of him: "Poor Severus." There had been no remorse in Albus' tone, no concern. There never had been. Severus heard only a passing regret over the inconvenience of something useful being no longer available.

Hermione's ecstatic yelp brought him out of his reflection, and he looked into a pair of brown eyes brimming with love and admiration, all of it for him. "Severus! Do you know what this is? Of course you do, but... This has to be one of the most valuable books in the world!"

Severus gave a half-smile. "I see you have found the frontispiece."

"Yes! Look at it! This is incredible!"

"I have seen it before, Hermione. And I've also seen it in real life – the gates of the Salem Witches' Institute," he said, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands as she insinuated herself onto his lap. With quiet pride, he looked at the illustration again. It showed ornately wrought, open gates whose gateposts were adorned with Watchers – a pair of oversized black cats.

As Severus and Hermione pored over the illustration, the cats lazily leapt down from the posts and exchanged places. "The real Watchers do the same thing. When I last visited Salem, I saw them change places," Severus affirmed.

Hermione read the gilded words of the title page and sighed euphorically.

"Restored Recipes and Remedies – Information for Wizards and Witches,

by Richard and Elyse Van Tassel, A.D.1695.

"It's not only a copyright edition; it says right here – look, Severus! – it's the very first book published by the Salem Underground Publishing House."

Severus raised his eyebrows as he did as he was told. "So it is."

"This would have been produced soon after the darkest years of the Salem Trials," she whispered, frowning at the grievous events which had sent so many to an undeserved and invariably brutal death.

Severus nodded. "May those who died find peace beyond the Veil. It was only through the efforts of people like the Van Tassels that so much knowledge was saved and an exponential increase in ignorance avoided."

"We nearly had the same thing happen here. Umbridge pretty much strip-mined anything we had on defensive magic. If she'd got her own way, I think she would have expanded her operations to other disciplines and slowly taken us back to the Stone Age."

"She did the same thing in the Ministry. We still have not fully evaluated the extent of the losses."

"Then your books truly are a treasure, for a number of reasons." She smiled as one of the cats began to wash its face. "I wonder if they named the cats back then."

"I don't know. They've been known as Washington Irving and Irving Washington since 1800."

"I've heard of them; Salem's Triwizard contestants said they're the size of mountain lions. Nobody has yet worked out which one is which." Hermione examined the frontispiece again. "This one definitely looks more like an Irving than a Washington," she laughed, tapping one of the cats.

"Cats are contrary creatures; the one who looks like Irving Washington is probably Washington Irving."

"Contrariness considered, any self-respecting cat would recognise the principle of reverse psychology and seek to confound it."

"Therefore Irving Washington really is Irving Washington and Washington Irving is Washington Irving."

"Exactly. Oh dear," Hermione added as the cats sprang from their gateposts and engaged in a wild, tumbling chase around the page. By the time they settled, each to a gatepost, it was impossible to recall which cat had been dubbed Irving Washington, and which one Washington Irving.

"I didn't see them do that." Severus paused as Hermione set the book aside and straddled his thighs. "I heard that they were both carved..." He allowed himself to be silenced to enthusiastically participate in an unhurried, searching kiss. "From a single block... of black granite," he murmured, using one hand to undo the buttons of her shirt.

---

It stood before the fireplace, the fire poker and a cleaning rag in its large hands. It was a little over two feet tall, with spindly limbs protruding from a tattered pillowcase. It stared fearfully at Toby with enormous, grass-green eyes and twitched a pair of ears resembling limp bats' wings.

It was the fear that drove into Toby like a knife through his heart. Fear. He had seen it in Severus' eyes as the boy fled from the house at Spinner's End, not yet strong enough to defend himself or his mother. Back then, when the drink roared through his blood like a horde of demented demons, Toby saw fear as a deadly provocation – and would respond accordingly. Years later, and staunchly sober, he had looked into the terrified eyes of a traumatised mare ready to fight for her life – and, for the first time, he had realised the enormity of what he had done.

He snapped out of the flashback when the creature emitted a high-pitched howl of distress and began beating itself over the head with the fire poker.

"Bad Tocky! Tocky is not to be seen. Tocky is thinking Mistress Headmistress took Master Tobias away! Bad, bad Tocky!"

"Tocky! Stop this at once," Minerva commanded, seizing the poker and wresting it from Tocky's grasp.

The house-elf moved quickly, dodging around the Headmistress' skirts to grab another object.

With a flick of her wand, Minerva transfigured a paperweight into a sponge as Tocky's hands closed over it.

Doubling back, Tocky snatched a candlestick from the table. "Foolish Tocky!" he wailed, raising the candlestick over his head. "Tocky has broked the rules..."

Toby seized the other end of the candlestick, lifting it and the struggling house-elf into the air.

Minerva clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a hearty laugh at the sight of a house-elf dangling from the end of a candlestick, eye to eye with Severus Snape's incredulous Muggle father. It was definitely a memory for her Pensieve.

"Tocky is disgrace," Tocky whimpered. "Tocky is to be punished..." A large tear rolled down his nose and dripped onto the floor.

"You are not a disgrace," Minerva intoned severely. "The self-punishment ceases as of now. Is that understood, Tocky? House-elves within this castle have no need to punish themselves," she finished in a milder tone.

"Yes, Mistress Headmistress. Tocky understands," the house-elf responded through a wince-inducing, burbling sniffle.

"Good. You may put him down now, Tobias." She evaluated Toby's movements as he carefully let the house-elf find its feet and put the candlestick on the window ledge. If the Muggle was distressed by a less-than-dignified introduction to house-elves, he did not show it.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, Tobias?"

Toby nodded towards Tocky and mouthed the words: 'ouse-elves?

"Yes, Tocky is a house-elf. He came to us from the Crabbe family, all of whom are now either dead or in Azkaban. He has no family left to serve, you see, and a house-elf can pine away with grief if there is no service to perform."

"They're servants? Are they paid for it?" Toby asked, his working class allegiances coming to the fore.

"Oh, no, Master Tobias," Tocky squeaked. "It is a house-elf's pleasure to do what is needing to be done. Tocky is most happy to serve Mistress Headmistress and Master Tobias. Masters Crabbes were not good to Tocky. Many beatings. Tocky's elfcesters has their heads cut off and stuffed. They has glass eyes and stares down from wall in billiards room."

Toby paled and sat down. "That's barbaric."

"Tocky's elfcestors did not think so. It was great honours to have head cut off and stuffed!" Tocky shook his head and grimaced. "Tocky is not agreeing with elfcestors."

Toby gave Minerva a wary glance. "You don't do that 'ere, surely?"

"Certainly not! The Crabbes were loyal to Voldemort and allied to the Dark Arts for many generations. For them, and an unfortunate number of other so-called pure-blood families, house-elves were little better than objects to be mistreated as they saw fit."

"Mistress Headmistress is kind to Tocky. Tocky is most grateful," the house-elf affirmed, brandishing his cleaning rag.

Toby fingered the recently replaced button on his shirt. "You're the one who's been doin' the domestics," he said.

Tocky nodded hesitantly. "Is Master Tobias displeased with Tocky?"

"You've been doin' a top notch job, mate. Much 'preciated."

"Which means he is very pleased with you," Minerva interpreted for the puzzled house-elf, who clapped his hands together in rapture. "Master Tobias also looks a wee bit hungry. I believe roast beef and Yorkshire pudding is on the menu this evening?"

"Yes, Mistress Headmistress, with gravy and green peas!"

Toby was immediately interested. "Real gravy? Made wit' pan drippings?" he asked, switching from Australian to Mancunian for the second question.

"Aye," Minerva snorted, going very Scots at the unthinkable prospect of gravy being made any other way. "Off you go, Tocky; dinner is required – and you need not hide yourself anymore."

When the house-elf vanished with a crack, she turned to Toby with a very serious expression on her face. "Whatever you do, Tobias, do not give him clothing. That includes rags, cloths, towels..."

"And pillowcases, by the look of it. Applies to all... 'ouse-elves?"

"Absolutely."

Toby got up and passed his hands over the same stones he had been examining when the door mysteriously opened. "I was muckin' around like this when the door opened. There weren't no-one there either."

Minerva intently surveyed the stones. She drew her wand and cast a series of revealing charms. "I thought perhaps there was a hidden trigger to open the door," she said, frowning. "It seems there is not." She paced slowly, considering the possibility that the castle itself had unlocked the door. Such events were known to happen from time to time.

She turned to Toby, who was thirstily emptying a tankard of... "Pumpkin juice? Tocky was supposed to bring you orange juice!"

"It's orange," Toby pointed out, indicating the colour. "I'm startin' to like it. Besides, I 'eard once it's good for yer liver. Reckon mine might need it. Not a word to Tocky, okay? Poor little bugger'll start beltin' 'imself again if 'e thinks 'e got things mixed up."

"As you wish," Minerva sighed, raising her hands in capitulation. "Your liver might need it? Frogs' feet! Poppy said you are in excellent health!"

"Preventative measures," Toby retorted, saluting her with the empty tankard. He moved closer to the fire and rubbed his arms. "God's Teeth, it's cold. I don't remember it bein' this cold in Manchester."

"We are in Scotland, Tobias. It's a couple of cloaks colder up here. Speaking of cloaks..." She went to the wardrobe and sorted through the items Tocky had placed there. She drew out the mentioned garment and handed it to Toby. "This should fit. There is a Warming Charm interwoven with the fabric; it activates as soon as its wearer starts shivering."

Toby handled the thick, warm wool and gave Minerva a baffled glance. Guardedly, he allowed her to drape it over his shoulders and fuss with the fastenings. "I must say," she said as she stood back to assess him, "Prussian blue is your colour – you look rather dashing." She laughed as he rolled his eyes and scowled. Oh, I am going to have some fun with this one. "Don't worry," she said reassuringly. "I am not setting my cap at you."

"I should think not," he mumbled, evidently discomfited.

"Tocky will return soon. I shall leave you in peace. Oh, by the way, it may have been the castle that let you out. These walls do have a certain level of awareness."

"I'll keep it in mind," Toby answered, perusing the stones of the walls with renewed suspicion as the Headmistress left the room.

---

Hermione stirred reluctantly. Futons – even those hastily transfigured from a handkerchief – were ridiculously comfortable. Even more so with someone warm to wear. She smiled contentedly, running one hand over Severus' bare shoulder. He lay half-sprawled over her, sound asleep. She stroked his hair, admiring the sharp contrast of jet black against pale skin. Merlin, he's magnificent, she concluded. Her breath caught as she added, And he is mine.

It was a fair assumption, she reasoned. Severus had, after all, claimed her as his – seconds before succumbing to the "petite mort" Hermione had read about as a curious adolescent. She traced the muscles of his upper arm, then shifted to prop herself on one elbow, all the better to enjoy the view. Severus mumbled a protest and pulled her closer. Hermione waited until she felt him relax again, then continued her explorations, memorising the texture of skin and scar, as well as the rise and fall of every contour she could reach.

"Feel something you like?" he murmured languidly.

"I see someone I love," she said, her heart swelling as he half-opened his eyes and rolled onto his back.

"Hmm, coincidence. So do I." He sat up, blinking as concern furrowed his brow.

"Did I hurt you? I am not the most experienced... If I hurt you..."

Hermione pressed her fingers over his lips to silence him. "You didn't hurt me any more than what I had prepared myself for. That bit was unavoidable, but it won't happen again. You surmounted the obstacle very nicely," she finished with a mischievous smile.

Severus gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Surmounted? Hermione, that's terrible!"

"I thought it most enjoyable, especially as you exercised such restraint and looked after me first."

Severus reddened a little. "I read somewhere... for a woman... the first time – or any time for that matter – is more... erm... enjoyable... if she is ready." He scowled. "There are potions to achieve the same response. As with Love Potions, the results are a mere imitation of a real, sincerely felt attraction."

"What we have is real," Hermione assured him, marvelling at the way his black eyes softened with a compelling depth of unspoken communication. "It seems both of us have done some independent research," she said, smoothing the fine hairs lightly decorating his pectorals and sternum. She indicated Severus' obvious readiness to delve into the subject matter again. "It would be a shame to waste an opportunity to engage in more practical applications of our findings. I would really like to compare notes with you. A collaborative arrangement, of course."

"Ye-es," Severus gasped, bucking gently as her hand began exploring more sensitive parts of his anatomy. "But I think... perhaps we should let you recover?" He rubbed at a faint smear of dried blood on Hermione's thigh.

Hermione weighed her options. "Well, there is a piece of theoretical research I have just recently re-considered. I will need your participation," she said, pushing him flat on his back and pinning him down with her hands on his shoulders – which provided him with a highly distracting view indeed.

"How may I be of assistance?" he asked through a thickening fog of lust.

"Feedback. Your considered opinion. A constructive critique. I intend to make my own preliminary additions to the method I am about to try."

"Very well..." Severus began, his words morphing into a low growl as Hermione claimed his lips in a wanton kiss. "I shall endeavour to..." he writhed as his witch placed a slow, suckling kiss at the base of his throat. He guessed it would leave a distinctive mark. "...provide you with..." Hermione placed a second mark a little further down his chest. "...as much feedback... as you require... to achieve... the desired result." By the time she marked him just above his navel, it dawned on him that she was following the position of his coat buttons. Buttons! They lead down to...

He willingly surrendered to a wave of devastating pleasure.

---

Having acted on Firenze's report and taken every precaution she could, Minerva stalked through curfew-deserted corridors, muttering quietly to herself while she evaluated the events of the insanely early morning.

As soon as Severus had returned from his emergency meetings with the Ministry, he had chosen to mercilessly bombard her. Before she had even poured her first cup of tea, he had strode into her office – official robes billowing – and proceeded to tell her how to solve her staffing problems. As if having a ghost, a half-giant, and a centaur on staff was not enough of an unusual situation, it looked as though she would soon employ a gargoyle as well.

She lowered the pitch of her voice to a dismal imitation of Severus' finest-dark-chocolate-wrapped-in-black-velvet baritone. "I heard you, Minerva, with my own ears. You said you would consider employing a gargoyle as assistant librarian." He had even provided her with four feet of parchment backing up his entire argument with facts and statistics. Libraries full of magical books could be very dangerous places if not rigorously maintained, and Severus presented irrefutable proof that Irma needed an extra pair of hands. If the pair of hands also came with a pair of wings, fluency in four languages, and enough mathematical nous to navigate through the Library's cataloguing and sorting systems, so much the better, Severus had opined.

Where was the Room of Requirement when it really was required? Minerva desperately wanted to transfigure something into a likeness of Severus Snape and throw a great many things at it. Of course, he was absolutely right. The advertised position of assistant librarian had not drawn a single response. Petrus would be the much needed solution to a slowly festering problem – if the Wizengamot would agree to release him.

Convincing Irma would be another issue altogether. "Do not fret, Minerva; I have a plan for that too. You shall have a gargoyle to add to the staff menagerie. If you will excuse me, I have someone to meet," Minerva mimicked again, folding her arms across her chest and trying on a Snape-ian scowl for size.

She huffed irritably. "Yes, you have a plan. You always have a plan, you insufferably smug, full-of-yourself, smarty-robed... So help me, if you remind me that I mentioned the Giant Squid, I shall hex you into haggis!" Her tirade faded as she remembered that she really was quite fond of him and Hogwarts would be in a much worse position had he not stepped in to help her.

She continued on her way, mulling over another strange event. Poppy had dropped in for a cup of tea and reported that Moaning Myrtle had offered to assist with bereaved students who needed companionship and a listening ear. Moaning Myrtle! The same ghost who made a point of wallowing in her own misfortune! Minerva had unreservedly given permission, for the Infirmary needed any help available. The reason for Moaning Myrtle's sudden interest was equally astonishing: a certain Muggle had told her a story about his timely encounter with a miner's ghost who had a legendary reputation for saving lives. Moaning Myrtle had found the idea quite inspirational.

Tobias "Houdini" Snape, Minerva thought wryly. What else have you been up to, laddie? She turned into a side passage and followed the broad, shallow stairs leading down to the cellars.

Then there was the other development in her staff. On a quick diversion to the staff room to retrieve a forgotten scroll, she had walked in on the Muggle Studies and the Defence Against the Dark Arts professors engaged in some rather compromising activities. She would never have expected the prim and demure Madeleine Poppins to be so... uninhibited. Only the sight of Fergus Schultz's bare torso, dreadfully scarred from the torture he had endured at the hands of Umbridge's lackeys, had prevented Minerva from reading the riot act.

Fergus, a Muggle-born with experience in the Ministry's Auror Training Division, had been a prime target for the Muggle-born Registration Commission. Alastor had rescued him in the nick of time – another hour, and Fergus would have died from his wounds. Minerva had noticed the loving compassion in Madeleine's eyes as she looked upon her half-Irish, half-German paramour and had decided that they could only do each other good. Minerva had left them alone, quietly stating that they would be well advised to get a room other than the staff room.

She tensed as she heard a low voice and an answering feminine laugh. She quietly crept to a shadowed arch to see who it was. She shook her head in disbelief, making a mental note to check the castle's water supply for Amortentia and any other illicit substances. Severus Snape had Hermione Granger backed up against the wall. They were snogging and groping like a pair of desperate fifth-years.

So. You had "someone to meet", did you? "Severus. Hermione."

The two pulled apart with a growl and a gasp. Hermione blushed furiously, while Severus placed himself between her and Minerva with an expression of relaxed insolence.

There was something in his movements Minerva had never seen before. The wizard was actually swaggering. Oh, my, that can only mean one thing... Did they?

"Yes, Minerva?" Severus' posture conveyed a silent challenge as Hermione came to his side and slipped her hand into his, giving him a look of heated adoration.

They did! "Please, if you two are going to be intimate, find a private room, will you?" Minerva shook her head. "This school is turning into a bear garden," she stated.

With perfect timing, a gruffling complaint announced the arrival of the Potions master – in Animagus form. Pugsley looked at them beseechingly, then reared up and gave a frustrated shrug.

"Aauurrowwwrrgimme a break!" he grumbled, transforming into his human shape as he spoke.

"Give you a break from what, Pugsley?" Minerva asked crisply.

"Cyclops has gone missing. I've looked everywhere for the little nuisance, but I can't raise him. I can smell him, but every time I think I get close, I lose the trail again."

Minerva folded her arms. Oh, Merlin. What now? "Cyclops?"

"Little Malicia's Puffskein. Morgan chose it for her himself."

Minerva considered Morgan Addams' unique abilities in her Transfiguration classes. The boy always managed to produce something distinctly out of the ordinary. Minerva had no doubt that Morgan's choice of Puffskein would trend towards the somewhat mutated – especially if it was a gift for his younger sister. "I assume that Cyclops is not your standard Puffskein."

"Damn right! He's black, and he has three heads."

"Black is quite rare! Why Cyclops, then, if he has three heads?"

"Each head has only one eye."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "I see. Severus, have you encountered the Bloody Baron lately? Perhaps he could be enlisted to search between the walls and, I would suggest, have a word with Peeves. I suspect our poltergeist may be able to assist with enquiries."

With concentrated effort, Severus steered his mind away from the row of "buttons" Hermione had left on his skin. "I have. You will find the Bloody Baron in the cistern room at the end of the thirteenth corridor in the dungeons. Be careful of the well-caps; they have a tendency to disappear from under one's feet."

---

Toby lay awake, watching the moonlight inch across the floor in a pool of frost-blurred silver. Scowling, he got up and pulled the cloak around his body, grateful for the warmth it gave as he padded across the floor. He rummaged through his discarded clothing and retrieved the remnant of an unknown story.

Lighting a candle, he read it again. "Myrddin," he said, trying the name out loud. He rubbed his jaw, thinking intently. "Myrddin... Merlin... Nah, no way." He sighed as he made a note on a sheet of parchment to say he had woken during the night but did not feel any compulsion to retrieve the Llygad y Ddraig from where he had left it in the bathroom. It was part of the "artefact separation procedure" which had to be followed even if no bonding was detected. "Administratium," Toby snorted, recalling a witty article which poked light-hearted scorn at all forms of bureaucracy.

In the bathroom, the Llygad's crystal disc shimmered faintly. Within its facets, a pale blue light briefly flickered and faded.

---

Severus sat up suddenly, wand in hand, as he scanned the room for danger. Hermione shifted sleepily beside him, then joined him in silent, armed vigilance. Finding nothing to cause alarm, Severus relaxed his guard, feeling a little foolish.

"A dream," he said. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Hermione's concern was visible in the shadowed moonlight. "Was it a warning? Minerva said the centaurs are patrolling the Forbidden Forest – armed and ready. They don't do that without good reason."

Severus frowned as he wondered what was coming. Whatever it was, it all seemed to centre on the Llygad y Ddraig – and himself. He turned to Hermione, who waited impatiently for an answer to her question. "It did not have the same feel as the dreams warning me of Nagini. In those dreams, I felt as though I was physically there. This dream was different. I was simply an observer."

He could feel Hermione's curiosity, even though she restrained herself from asking. "I could see an ancient ruin. What it had been, I could not tell, though it had once been opulent and spacious. There was something... a taste in the air that warns of something not quite right. There was a mosaic on the wall above a massive fireplace. I have never seen a design like it."

"What was it?" Hermione urged.

"On one side, it depicted a castle of stone and timber with mighty fortifications. On the other, a steep hill clothed in forest, and over both of them... It was like something a standard-bearer would carry into a battle charge – a red dragon on a gold field."

"It sounds like something from a coat of arms. I'm sure we could track it down."

Severus shook his head. "Somehow, I doubt that will be possible. The dragon was in no formal heraldic position. It was depicted flying free and proud. It represented no species of dragon I know of." He shrugged and gave a half-smile. "We may search for it after your session with the Wizengamot. Save your energies for them."

Hermione groaned as she lay down in the circle of his arms. "Did you have to remind me? Now I have butterflies again. Actually, I think they just turned into hyperactive Acromantulas."

Severus held her snugly. "Then I shall play Evil Wizengamot Questioner for you tomorrow morning, as you do not have classes until after lunch. Do not forget, Hermione, adrenalin may be uncomfortable – but it also means you are ready."

---

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Bane watched intently. All was quiet, but even if the planets had not already warned him, he could sense all was not well. His flanks twitched as he backed and sidled.

At least Minerva had taken the centaur herd's relayed information seriously. With Filius, Pomona, Pugsley, and Firenze, she had meticulously checked the wards again and directed Aurors to the watch-towers. He turned to the assembled herd waiting behind him. "Ronan, Magorian, come with me. The rest of you split into threes and search the Forest. Our strategy is the wandering quarter. Hone every sense you have. Keep an arrow on the string."