Five Arrows - Part 1

A/N's

This chapter will be presented in three parts.

French – English

Certainement: certainly

mon ami: my friend

en petit: a little (as in describing something as small in size)

Palais des Papes: the Palace of the Popes in Avignon, Southern France

C'est magnifique: it is magnificent

Australian Slanguage – English

Galah: a foolish person (in the context of this fic. Otherwise, a type of parrot)

Sanger: shortened form of 'sandwich'

References to Macsen's treasure are consistent with Mary Stewart's depiction in her books The Crystal Cave (1970), The Hollow Hills (1973), and The Last Enchantment (1979).

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.

Many thanks and a great many blessings to TeaOli for beta-reading and giving this chapter a detailed polish.

---

Petrus waited silently in the prisoners' dock, resisting the urge to test the strength of the glowing bonds encircling his wrists and ankles. Instead, he concentrated on not flattening his ears at the sound of the cross-examiner's incisive, condescending discourse. Keeping his head respectfully bowed, he sneaked a sidelong glance at Mademoiselle Granger as she answered questions and countered arguments with courtesy, intelligence, and gravity. She was, indeed, a remarkable young witch. Monsieur Severus, you are a most fortunate wizard, he thought, sending a silent prayer of well-wishes for the couple.

His attention was arrested by a murmuring movement from the assembled Wizengamot. A gavel clacked noisily. The Chief Warlock stood with tremulous difficulty – he was, after all, a very old man. Petrus cocked his head and squinted up at him. Elphias Doge reminded him of an old priest in Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris: a kindly old soul who had gone a bit strange in his final years. The blissfully confused priest had started blessing everyone – from gypsy children to pigeons and, eventually, any gargoyle he could reach. Petrus swallowed as he remembered the frail, withered hand resting on his head while the priest's wavering voice made fervent entreaties on behalf of his soul.

"The Wizengamot will adjourn for due considerations in this... most unusual... case," Elphias announced. The high benches slowly emptied. Not a word was spoken. Kingsley stealthily looked down and caught Hermione's eye. He gave her a reassuring wink.

As soon as the last robed figure vanished from sight, Hermione gave a great sigh and plonked into a hard, wooden chair. "I wonder what they mean by 'due considerations'," she muttered.

"Most likely, a lively debate on the surrounding complications which may pertain to the eventual reaching of a decision," Minerva stated primly. "As lively as that lot get, anyway," she added, rolling her eyes.

Hagrid leaned over and patted Hermione's shoulder. "Yer doin' a fine job, 'Ermione. Complications, nothin', Minerva! 'Ermione didn' need ter 'ear tha'. Perfessor Dumbledore could not 'ave argued a better case..." Hagrid's voice cracked as he mentioned Albus' name. He pulled a large, spotted handkerchief from his pocket and delicately dabbed his eyes.

Petrus turned slightly, searching out Hermione as uncertainty surged through his mind. She gave him a small smile. Minerva held up crossed fingers. Hagrid gently thumped the left side of his chest in a universally understood conveyance of a single word: Courage!

---

Severus let himself into his rooms and allowed his agitated weariness to manifest by way of an undignified collapse onto the sofa.

He grimaced and rubbed his eyes. His visit to Rookwood – or what was left of Rookwood – had been very unsettling. Legilimency had revealed a ragged-edged void where memory and the vibrant sparks of thought should have been. Rookwood's appearance echoed the ruin of his mind: gaunt, grey-skinned and blank-eyed. When Severus greeted him, Rookwood simply stared back at him without recognition. It was also obvious that the ex-Unspeakable did not know – or even care – where he was. When questioned, he would only repeat his name over and over again in a hoarse, clumsy bark better suited to an Inferius than to a man who still had a pulse.

Severus concluded that his guess as to what ailed old Rookwood was correct – a Dementor had partially kissed him. Part of his soul had been consumed, and like a tree whose roots had been severed, Rookwood's mind had withered, died, and crumbled. It was the only explanation Severus could offer to the anxious Healer who had accosted him on the way out of the prison.

Back in the Ministry, Kingsley had taken Severus' grim news calmly enough. He ordered Head Auror Robards to send out another team to search for Arawn. He also gave the necessary permissions to activate international contacts. Only then did the Minister reveal how troubled he really was – it showed in the movement of his eyes, the pitch of his voice, and the restless movements of his body. Curiously, the only reassurance Severus could offer was to himself: Kingsley trusted him enough to reveal a perfectly human moment of vulnerability in a very uncertain and increasingly insidious situation.

Sprawled on his back, Severus looked around the darkening room and wondered what stage of deliberations the Wizengamot were currently engaged in. He scowled to himself, then scowled at Crookshanks when he noticed the half-Kneazle watching him accusingly.

"And what is your problem, if I may have the privilege of asking?"

Crookshanks flicked an ear, glared at the fire-less grate, huffed into his whiskers, and stared pointedly at Severus while allowing his nictitating membranes to slide over his eyes.

"By that little display, I assume you're trying to convince me that you're sickening from cold and neglect. Fortunately, I have a remedy at hand – though I warn you, it tastes terrible."

Crookshanks moaned petulantly. He faced the fireplace and hunkered down into what Hermione described as "roast-chicken-posture".

"Or it could mean that you want the fire lit so you can spend the rest of the evening in a coma of moderately singed warmth."

Crookshanks glanced over his shoulder.

Severus could have sworn the furry beast rolled his eyes. Hiding a smirk, he obliged the animal before he could be placed on a vengeance list.

Trying not to think of Riddle's unknown and unexecuted plans, ancient hidden powers, mysterious ancestors, centaurs' divination rituals, unhealthily obsessed Unspeakables, secret caches of aurochs horns, and an uncounted swarm of Dementors busily herding – and possibly snacking on – Death Eaters, Severus growled his way to an upright position and poured himself a glass of wine.

There was one situation he knew he really did have to give some thought to. It was unavoidable. He could not examine the Llygad y Ddraig again without some form of interaction with his father. At least he had not harmed the Muggle during their last close encounter. Severus was quietly pleased with himself for showing restraint. He did not explore the reasons as to why he had let Tobias go with little more than a flea in his ear and a demonstration of power.

Of course, questions had been asked as to how a suit of armour ended up in such a noticeable state of distortion. To hope that the headmistress would not notice it as she and Firenze escorted Tobias back to his rooms would have been a pointless daydream.

The loitering portrait of an Irish balladeer fitted Minerva's brief inquest to song and so passed it on to Phineas Black. Phineas Black, having apologised for being unable to sing, told Severus half-way up the stairs to the guest wing.

As the story went, Firenze was not fazed by Minerva's scalding annoyance. He quietly stated that he had not been there, had seen nothing, and was not in a position to offer enlightenment. Tobias, when questioned, gave the armour a disinterested glance before shrugging and telling Minerva, 'It were like that when I got 'ere'. Minerva had grumbled about 'the solidarity of miscreants', and admitted she did not have the time to investigate further: she had a hearing to get to, and the Wizengamot waited for no-one. In a gesture of surrender, she summoned Smithy – the house-elf overseeing the repair of metallic objects – and instructed him to have the armour restored to its original configuration.

Severus watched the snoozing half-Kneazle, admiring how the flickering light turned Crookshanks' fur into burnished copper and molten bronze. An unexpected idea slipped into his mind. He weighed it incredulously. It would be a step into very strange territory indeed. He dismissed the idea. After a moment, he considered it again. There was only one way to find out...

"You have a reputation of being an astute judge of character." Severus was glad nobody else was in the room. He felt more than a little foolish attempting conversation with Kneazle-kind, let alone asking one for an opinion. He shook his head and scowled. "I suppose it is impossible to judge the character of someone you haven't met, even for one with Kneazle heritage."

Crookshanks sat up and stretched, then turned his back to the fire and tucked his tail safely away from the flames. After a head-splitting yawn, his eyes and ears focussed on Severus with alert attention.

Severus decided to experiment anyway. "If I mention the name 'Tobias Snape', do you experience an urge to claw someone's eyes out?"

Crookshanks padded over to Severus and helped himself to a vacant cushion. Sitting bolt upright, he raised one front paw as though to wash it.

With a speed that caught Severus completely off-guard, Crookshanks sprang forward. His paw shot out and came to rest on Severus' hand. Severus belatedly recoiled, expecting the sting of five curved needles – but felt only a soft pressure. Crookshanks' claws were completely retracted. Human eyes met feline eyes. Crookshanks' expression was one of calm assurance, emphasised by the curling hook in the tip of his tail.

"Does that mean 'No'?"

Crookshanks purringly oozed onto his favourite wizard's lap and butted him affectionately.

A companionable silence followed, during which Severus' thoughts turned solely to Hermione. He idly smoothed Crookshanks' fur and pretended he was not clock-watching. Crookshanks pretended to doze, one ear betraying his wakefulness by occasionally straying towards the door.

All pretensions ceased when Crookshanks sat up and briskly washed his face, seconds before Severus felt his wards lift. Schooling himself into a neutral frame of mind so he would be ready for any news Hermione might give, he settled the excited animal in one arm and opened the door. His first thought was of how utterly exhausted his witch looked – though an animated brightness hovered in her eyes and a smile played hide-and-seek on her lips.

Hermione briefly forgot sore feet and fatigue as her familiar stretched out his front paws to reach her and Severus welcomed her inside with a look of ardent adoration. This is what 'coming home' should be all about, she thought, nestling happily in a dual embrace of heavy, black wool and soft, ginger fur.

"They agreed to give Petrus his freedom," she whispered. "I can hardly believe it. He's with Kingsley and Minerva, signing the parchments for release and the three-year probation here at Hogwarts." She pushed back from her wizard to look him in the eyes. "You have been busy, haven't you?"

Severus kissed her tenderly. "I am always busy; only the intensity varies."

Hermione carefully disengaged her dress-robes from Crookshanks' insistently questing claws and enthroned her delighted pet on a usually-forbidden-footstool. "Minerva told me of your recommendations for the position of Assistant Librarian, but she still has some doubts as to how Madam Pince might be persuaded to agree to it." Hermione rested a hand on Severus' shoulder as she eased off one of her shoes. "Owww... Relief with a capital 'R'."

Severus took the high-heeled shoe from her, raising one eyebrow as he appraised her wonderingly. "These look like instruments of torture. Why on Earth...?"

"To make me look taller." Hermione winced as she took off the other shoe and flexed her toes. "I needed as much presence as I could get. I was so absorbed in the minutiae of debate, I kept forgetting to renew the cushioning charms."

"Surely your presence of mind and intellect far outweighs..."

"It's alright for you! Merlin, Severus, you just have to walk into a room and you command everyone's attention without even trying."

"Hardly due to stature alone," he countered.

"No, but I am sure it helps. First impressions are usually visual ones – and I'm afraid I don't look... impressive."

"Enough, witch! I find you most impressive. In a great many ways." He scooped her into his arms, carried her to the sofa, and deposited her there. Pouring another glass of wine, he pressed it into her hands.

Hermione took a long, grateful sip of wine and sighed blissfully when Severus rested her feet in his lap and gently rotated her ankles. "Now, shall I tell you about..." She bit her lip and wriggled as Severus pressed his thumbs into the aching muscles along the arch of each foot. "Gods! That feels amazing!" The proceedings of the Wizengamot fled from her consciousness as he methodically restored movement and sensation. "Second only to making love," she breathed.

"An interesting observation, my dear, though I suspect it is a subjective one. I would find an objective comparison far more engaging."

---

Minerva peered over her spectacles as Severus and Hermione Floo'd into the office – fifteen minutes later than requested. Oh, look what the Kneazle dragged in, she observed, giving them both a terse glance of reprobation. Their sentiments of apology were offset by a certain smug satisfaction, which hinted at the reason for their uncharacteristic tardiness. Minerva shook her head. Too much information.

Irma caught her eye, subtly nodded towards the couple, and arched her eyebrows. Minerva took the librarian aside to impart intelligence while the late arrivals converged on Petrus to offer their congratulations.

"Yes, they are an item," Minerva whispered. "I never would have predicted it – and when I found out, I did have one or two reservations. However, after some discreet observation, I think they will do very well together."

"It is a surprise, certainly." Irma replied, frowning as she reflected. "Though I believe you are right. They will be good for each other. It's nice to see that Severus has left the Evans girl behind. To think, he held a flame for her all those years and nobody knew it! An unhappy situation, but it looks like it's resolved now."

Irma's eyes clouded with remembrance. She gave a fond smile as she brought herself back to the present. "While it was none of my business, I did wonder at Hermione's choice of the youngest Weasley boy. I'm sure he is brave and loyal, but he is not the brightest candle in the castle. He was in the library so rarely, I think I would have forgotten what he looked like if not for compulsory meals in the Great Hall. I suspected all along that it wouldn't last." She watched Severus indulgently. "Hermione is always in the library, just like Severus when he was a student. Do you know – they are the only ones to consistently return books in a better condition than when they were loaned out?"

"Really?"

"My word, yes. Further, it did not escape my notice: Hermione chooses the same secluded nooks as Severus used to when he wanted to read in peace."

"It was meant to be, then," Minerva concluded dryly. A match made in library credits.

"Tell me, Minerva, what do you think Severus' intentions are?"

Minerva leaned closer to give her certain opinion on what news might be heard at some time in the future. "Well, I have good reason to think he will..."

"Sh!" Madam Pince, in the time-honoured fashion of all true librarians, nipped further whispers in the bud as the subject of their exchange approached them.

"Madam Pince." Severus bowed as he greeted the elderly witch. He raised an eyebrow when she took his arm and possessively steered him to the far end of the room.

"Severus, it's good to see you looking so contented." Irma looked over her shoulder. "I understand this is your idea," she whispered, nodding towards Petrus, who was engaged in an excited exchange with Hermione. "Normally, I would implicitly trust your judgement where the library is concerned... but, Severus... a gargoyle?"

"I understand your concerns, which are based – I venture to suggest – on appearances?" Before Irma could respond, Severus played the first of two cards. "You have reviewed the results of the academic exercise I assigned for him?"

"I have, but..."

"If those same abilities were demonstrated by a human applicant, would you consider that person for the position?"

"I would, but..."

"You fear that a taloned, winged Being of stone might not physically be capable of handling valuable, and at times irascible, tomes with due care and dexterity?"

Madam Pince's pursed-lip silence gave Severus the opening to play his second card. He produced the single volume retrieved from his hidden treasure. "What do you make of this?" he challenged, handing it to her.

Irma held the book in her hands and looked it over with professional scrutiny. Turning to the frontispiece and title page, she gave a gasp of wonder. "This is the very first book to be produced by the Salem Underground Publishing Company. Severus, you do know how valuable this is? Collectors and museums all over the world would be clamouring just to catch a glimpse of it!"

"Yes. I know," Severus intoned regally. He held out his hand, and Irma reluctantly surrendered the book. "Petrus, a word, if I may?"

"Oui, Monsieur Severus, certainement!" Petrus made his way across the room, pausing momentarily to look at a glass cabinet housing replicas of the Relics of the Four Founders. "Ah!" he breathed, "these four items, they remind me of the tale of Macsen's treasure. There was a sword and a cup there, also – the great sword, Caliburn, and a Grail most Holy. But, mon ami, the treasure of Macsen had a spear and... What is the word...? A platter, or perhaps a shallow bowl – not a locket and en petit crown for a beautiful lady." Petrus paused and surveyed his audience with the look of one who was about to tell a dramatic tale. "It was said, many hundred years ago, that the true spear and the true platter, they are yet to be found. I heard the scholars and the priests arguing about them in a gathering most secret. Under a decree from the Palais des Papes, they desired to expunge the mysterious relics from history." He eyed the book in Severus' hands with curiosity. "But the legend so powerful is not easily buried. They did not succeed entirely."

Severus casually handed Petrus the antique item. "I think one week should be sufficient for you to examine this book in its entirety." He could feel Madam Pince staring at him in disbelief.

Appearing to move on the promptings of an internal autopilot, Petrus approached a phoenix-shaped lectern. Resting the book on the lectern's outstretched wings, he examined it thoroughly. There could be no mistaking the deep reverence with which he handled the age-yellowed pages and murmured over the beautifully illuminated margins. He turned to Severus, his eyes glowing mineral-silver. "This is a great privilege, Monsieur Severus. I will guard it with my honour and my life."

Irma looked at Minerva and shrugged. If Severus was prepared to trust Petrus with a book worth a king's ransom, she could probably trust the gargoyle with Hogwarts' collection. She decided to start him with the First Year general reference books – purely as a precaution. Producing an ibis-feather quill, she summoned the parchment describing the service conditions and agreements for Hogwarts' Library. She signed her name and beckoned to Petrus to add his signature. Minerva witnessed the procedure while Severus gave Hermione a conspiratorial half-smile.

"Well," Minerva sighed in satisfaction. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Petrus." She sent the parchment into a meticulously re-ordered filing drawer. "I shall call a full staff meeting for tomorrow afternoon and make the official introductions." She eyed him thoughtfully. "I think that, like Professor Firenze – whom you shall meet tomorrow – robes are not quite your style." With a wave of her wand, a white silk band appeared around Petrus' upper right arm. Embroidered on it, the Hogwarts crest shone in resplendent colour above a neat array of books. "White means you are officially in training," she explained. "When you have mastered your duties, it will turn black."

Irma observed her new charge as he lovingly wrapped Severus' book in a square of soft velvet thoughtfully provided by Hermione. Her deep-rooted resistance subsided as she considered how much easier it would be to have an extra pair of eyes keeping vigil over an immense number of books, though she did wonder how Petrus would manage when it came to supervising students. Time enough to prepare him for that, she told herself. She sighed away a faint shadow of nostalgia. Change was always a challenge, but in her heart she knew that the library had become too much to handle on her own.

"Come along then, Petrus. I will show you around the library and sort out your accommodation. Minerva suggested you might enjoy having access to the outdoors. There is a small annexe which may prove very suitable. It used to be a staff reading-room before it fell into disuse one hundred years ago. It has a snug indoor area for inclement weather and a balcony for those rare days when the sun is out."

A long, informative walk later, Petrus gazed at the vast expanse of book-filled shelves in silent awe. Clasping his hands together, he turned to Madam Pince and whispered, "C'est magnifique!"

"Yes. Yes, it certainly is," Irma answered, looking around at her life's work: her pride, passion, and joy.

---

"Aha! Another win for me!" Filius happily drew a line through four tally marks on a piece of slate. "I have increased my lead in the competition," he announced, underlining his name with a flourish.

"By two games," Toby pointed out. "There're four more to go – it ain't over 'till the fat lady sings." He swiftly cleared Filius' dartboard and arranged the elegant missiles on the table, grinning as his newest acquaintance celebrated his lead with a vigorous attack on a bowl of peanuts.

On his fifth day in the castle, Minerva had recruited Filius into what Toby suspected was "Muggle-watching duty". It had not taken long at all for an easy camaraderie to fall into place between Toby and Filius, aided by a common interest in darts and chess.

"You've met the Fat Lady already? Goodness, you did go on an escapade," Filius said, dispatching peanut shells into the fire with a snap of his fingers. "Between you, me, and these walls: I would rather not hear the Fat Lady sing. It is quite agonising." He tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. "For the remaining games, we could try a moving target," he offered a little too innocently.

Toby acknowledged the challenge with exaggerated – and blatantly false – reluctance. "Oh, I dunno... magic and all." He shook his head. "Nothin' good'll come of it."

"Hm. Perhaps you are right. There would be tears before supper, I'm sure," Filius needled through a badly concealed chuckle.

"Not from me, there won't." Toby shook hands with the Charms professor. "You're on!"

Four games later, Filius stared at the randomly roaming dartboard. Toby's last throw had resulted in a draw. The two contestants looked at each other and shrugged.

"Our scores held equal during the last ten throws," Filius mused, his brow creasing with the onset of a new inspiration. "Tobias, I simply have to teach you how to play Gobstones!"

---

Two Dementors patrolled through the ruins. From a low, sullen sky, persistent drizzle spattered over cold stone, pooling on the floor wherever a crack or depression offered opportunity. The pools grew a skin of brittle ice as the Dementors passed by, their dull shrouds blending with the grey of misty desolation.

Only one source of vivid colour slashed through the prevailing monotone: above the fireplace, the mosaic had been washed clean of dust. Given an illusion of movement by merging rivulets of water, the red dragon leapt and shimmered against its golden background.

The Dementors ignored the mosaic. It had no significance for them. They passed through the derelict hall, finding nothing to report to their human contact.

---

Toby shivered and turned up the collar of his sheepskin jacket. The mid-Autumn breezes of Scotland inspired him to re-define his assessment of "bloody cold" to "'effin' cold."

"Are you sure you don't want your cloak?" Filius asked.

"Nah, not me," Toby growled, not wanting to reveal the fact that he thought he would look downright stupid in such a garment. Wearing it indoors was fine... but outdoors? Where he would be seen? He balked at the very idea.

Filius glanced up at him cannily. "Warmth before vanity."

"Whaat? Oh, fine. You wander through... I dunno... Piccadilly bloody Circus in your robes and stuff. See 'ow many strange looks you get."

"In Piccadilly Circus, I expect I'd get a few strange looks no matter what I chose to wear," Filius replied reasonably.

Toby gave an apologetic shrug – he had ceased to notice Filius' vertically challenged state. "Yeah, I s'pose you would." He changed the subject. "Those bloody painted people kept followin' us on t' way out."

"Only because the portraits have not seen a Muggle in the castle before. They're curious about you – especially since they found out who you are."

"Uh huh. Best not give 'em any reasons to be even more curious by wearin' gear that's made for wizards."

Filius rolled his eyes and cast a waterproofing charm over his shoes as the stone stairs gave way to damp grass. "Hullo! There's some commotion over by Hagrid's hut."

Toby surveyed the 'commotion' warily. He spotted Severus immediately, engaged in earnest discussions with a heavily built wizard in teaching robes. He did a double take as an even bigger form appeared from behind a rustic, round hut. "I seen t' Granger lass before. Who're t' others?" Who or what, he added to himself.

Filius was delighted to expound. "The large, hairy one is Rubeus Hagrid, our Care of Magical Creatures professor. Everybody calls him 'Hagrid'. He's a half-giant. Next to him is Pomona Sprout, professor of Herbology. The bearish-looking wizard is our Potions master – Pugsley Addams."

"What's that lyin' on t' ground?" Toby asked, shielding his eyes as a keening wind swept a scant veil of sleet down from the high hills.

"I can't tell for certain," Filius answered. "Come on: we'll go in for a closer look."

As they approached, Toby could tell it was trouble. Pomona stood back with one hand covering her mouth. The half-giant shook his head despairingly, while Pugsley and Severus turned in response to a shout from the Forbidden Forest.

Two centaurs emerged from the tree-line, flanking what at first looked like a white horse – though Toby had never seen such a pearly hue on any creature's coat. Stumbling against the centaurs, the creature let out a groan of agony and tossed its head. It was not a horse at all.

"That's a unicorn!" Toby gasped.

"Why, yes," Filius affirmed, momentarily forgetting that Toby had never seen one in the flesh before. He then added with a concerned frown, "Two unicorns – in a great deal of distress."

Forgetting that unicorns were supposed to be mythical creatures, Toby closed the distance between himself and the unfolding incident. The unicorn's pained cry had a familiar note – one to which he instinctively responded.

Filius called out as Hermione spotted them and raced across the grass, her brown hair an untameable wilderness of curls.

"Professor Flitwick," she gasped, "I don't know if charms can help, but please, come and see if there's anything you can do! It's colic. Hagrid has put warming charms in place to try and ease the pain, but..." She paused as she fully registered Toby's presence. She opened her mouth to speak, then suddenly – guiltily – seemed unsure of what to say.

"Miss Granger," Toby said, automatically moving to take off his hat before realising he wasn't wearing it. He morphed the gesture into the kind of salute rural people use to acknowledge each other in passing.

"Mr Snape," she answered, recovering a precarious formality which collapsed entirely when the second unicorn dropped to its knees in spite of the centaurs' best efforts. "Hurry!" She pleaded, running back to the group.

Filius' urgent movement called Toby back to attention. Colic. Out of necessity, he had experience in treating several forms of the ailment. In places where the nearest vet might be eight hours or more away, keeping an afflicted horse alive held the same level of importance as any form of human first-aid. Shelving his misgivings about Severus' reaction to his presence, Toby cautiously followed Hermione to where she knelt beside a stricken beast.

"D'you know what kind of colic it is?" he asked, keeping a respectful distance and not directing his question at anyone in particular.

"It'll be from their food," Hagrid answered, without taking his attention off the unicorn. "They need grype-nuts, but there's none ter be found. I'm tryin' not to let 'im roll; if 'e does, 'e'll twist 'is innards an' that'll be th' end of 'im. Little Moondancer... not yet three year old..." He watched Pomona warily approach the second unicorn. "Shanando, too..."

Filius gave a frown of comprehension. "This is not a cure, but it will help lessen the danger of intestinal damage while we work out what to do next," he said. Quickly adapting a charm he had devised in response to injuries witnessed during the Battle of Hogwarts, he spoke the words that would hold 'innards' in their proper alignment. He then excused himself to repeat the process – from a safe distance – on Shanando.

"Spasmodic, then," Toby thought out loud. "Y' 'ave somethin' for 'im, surely?" He was vaguely aware of Severus and Pugsley tossing ideas back and forth in a welter of multi-syllable words and complicated descriptions of procedures. Their debate did not sound encouraging: they kept returning to the number of hours it would take to "brew" whatever they had in mind. The unicorns might not last the distance without immediate help.

"Normally, unicorns prevent colic themselves," Hermione offered in a small voice, beckoning to him to come closer. She winced when Moondancer groaned again. "During the autumn and winter, they switch from grasses and herbs to any kind of browse they can reach. If the winter is very harsh, they will even eat bark and dig up roots. Some of the browse contains some fairly nasty irritants. They counteract the irritants by eating grype-nuts."

"Which 'ave some supply problems?"

"Since Voldemort's return, yes. His Death Eaters introduced a form of sooty mould to the Forest. It targeted the grype-nuts and spread quickly. The few patches left uninfected were in natural clearings, where there was enough light to keep the mould at bay. Of course, the unicorns were attracted into the clearings and the Death Eaters could easily kill them. They would take the blood for their master – you probably don't want to know why. While we were all distracted with the lead-up to the war, the mould spread right through the Forest. Professor Sprout has recently tried a number of neem-based sprays, but the mould is very resistant.

"If there are any grype-nuts left at all, there will not be enough. Severus and Professor Addams are looking for a substitute, but it will take time that I don't think we have. There's no quick way of brewing a remedy."

Looking to Hagrid for permission, which the half-giant granted distractedly, Toby reached out and stroked the unicorn's neck. Moondancer's flesh felt hot and damp, quivering and twitching as spasms tore through his body. Toby pressed an ear to the unicorn's heaving side and listened intently. "These unicorns, 'ow similar are they to 'orses – in the guts, I mean."

"Close ter identical, I'd say," Hagrid rumbled, looking the Muggle over with bluff curiosity.

"Then there's summat we can try." Toby stood up and looked back towards the castle. "Tocky!"

The house-elf appeared with a crack, his ancient pillowcase partially obscured by the tattered remains of a knitted scarf. "Master Tobias?"

"I need beer. A good, strong lager'll do it, I reckon."

Tocky gasped and wrung his hands. His ears drooped and his eyes filled with tears. "But Master Tobias is telling Tocky he isn't drinking..."

"Not for me; for t' unicorns! Does it come in barrels?"

"Yes, Master Tobias, wooden..."

"Find one around a third full and bring it 'ere. Quick as y' can, lad."

Toby turned to find himself the subject of several questioning stares and one excoriating glare.

"Beer?" Pugsley asked, his accent cueing Toby to think of Harley Davidson motorcycles and Chevrolet engines.

"Yeah, beer. An old trick, but it's got a beast or many out of trouble – only use it on spasmodic colic, though. It'll 'old the fort until you and Sev'rus come up with somethin' better. I 'ope it will, anyway." He looked away before Severus could scowl him into the next century. Thankfully, Tocky reappeared, staggering under a barrel several times larger than himself.

"Is not very heavy; is very awkward shape," Tocky explained as Toby appropriated the barrel and lugged it over to Moondancer.

"Right-e-oh. I need a shallow bowl."

Hermione transfigured a flat stone into the required receptacle and handed it to him. Toby allowed a little beer to run into the bowl and held it near the unicorn's mouth. Hagrid took hold of the creature's horn to prevent any accidental skewering.

"Come on, soldier," Toby entreated, dipping his fingers in the beer. Moondancer snuffled suspiciously. Toby slipped his fingers under the unicorn's lips, murmuring encouragements when a muscular tongue caught the taste and searched for more.

"Will ye look at tha'," Hagrid whispered as Moondancer began slurping noisily.

Having licked the bowl clean, the unicorn half-closed his eyes and twitched his tail, then let out a thunderous belch.

"Better out than in, tha's what I always say," Hagrid affirmed stoutly.

Toby wiped his hands on the ground. "Get 'im up and walk 'im in straight lines, nice and slow. Don't let 'im turn a circle – 'e'll want to lie down. Keep 'im warm, too. Give 'im another dose in fifteen minutes."

"Professor Sprout and I will attend the other unicorn," Hermione said. "Shanando is a mare, you see, and... well... adult unicorns prefer female humans to touch them – that is, if they are going to let humans touch them at all."

Toby nodded. "Fair 'nough. Besides, I'd rather not 'andle this stuff any more than I 'ave to," he said, uneasily eyeing his hands and the beer barrel. As Hermione levitated the barrel and steered it to where Shanando lay, a tell-tale shiver ran through his limbs.

"Oh, shit," he swore under his breath. Temptation flared and stirred a desperate, obsessive longing to down a pint of... No! He clenched his fists and felt the sticky residue of the substance he spent every day avoiding – every day not picking up the first drink that would drag him back into a hell designed especially for him. Shutting his eyes, he sent his memory back to the thing Eileen had created from air, water, earth, wood, fire, and blood. Re-living the terror of that night had always succeeded in blocking the merciless summons of addiction.

He yelped when a cool, moist sensation washed over his hands and completely removed the scent and feel of torment. He opened his eyes. Severus stood a short distance away, wand pointed in his direction, black eyes diamond-hard and staring right through him. Realising what had happened, Toby managed a quavering "Thanks."

Without a word, Severus gave what might have been the smallest sign of a nod and tucked his wand into his sleeve. He turned to watch a small army of witches approach across the grassy verge, a tartan-fortified headmistress leading the way.

"Thank you, Pomona, for your timely message," Minerva gasped, adjusting her cape against another biting gust of wind. "Miss Lovegood, perhaps you could take Professor Sprout's place? I think she'll be needed elsewhere. Hagrid, I have excused these students from classes and this evening's curfew to assist you with unicorn emergencies. Severus and Pugsley, I understand a remedy may be brewed within six hours?"

The two wizards voiced an affirmative.

Luna made her way to Shanando's side and relieved Pomona from her bowl-holding duties. Hermione shrugged as Luna tapped the beer barrel and gave a meaningful smile – though what meaning it had, only Luna knew for certain.

"It could make sense, you know," Luna said. "There are several historical accounts of captive Demiguise being successfully treated with beer dregs when they went off their food."

Hermione made a conscious effort to keep her attention on the position of Shanando's horn. "Accounts? You mean there are written records of beer being used to treat magical creatures?"

"Oh, yes," Luna replied distantly, "But I had to translate them from thirteenth-century Korean. It was quite difficult at times, mainly because the scribes used the Chinese word for beer in one scroll, and the Russian word in another."

Hermione signalled Bane to assist with getting Shanando on her feet. "Yes, I suppose that would make cross-referencing a bit tedious."

"Just a little," Luna mused, making soothing noises as Shanando leaned heavily against Bane's flank.

Aware that time was of the essence, Severus took charge of the next phase of operations. "Pomona, we will need you in the Potions laboratory to help prepare ingredients: specifically, sassafras root, camphor laurel, and opium poppy. Pugsley will brew a carrier potion while I work on the active reagents. Filius, when you have a moment, kindly put him" – he sent a curt gesture in Toby's direction – "back where you found him." Black robes billowing, he strode back to the castle.

Pugsley followed at a slower pace, having offered his arm to Pomona. "I left Mr Longbottom and Mr Malfoy down in the lab. I'm sure they can put their New-And-Improved-Skelegrow project under stasis for a while and give us a helping hand. Once we have the potion ready to treat immediate cases, Severus and I are pretty sure we can incorporate it into an edible pellet. Getting the pellets to smell and taste like grype-nuts... Well, ma'am, we might just sign that over to you."

In need of a distraction after his close brush with temptation – and Severus' unexpected intervention – Toby joined Firenze in the task of walking Moondancer. Hermione, Luna, Minerva, and Hagrid obviously had the immediate situation under control, with the diligent assistance of numerous young witches.

Firenze interrupted his observations. "You have the look of a traveller who is missing his home."

Toby glanced at the centaur over the Moondancer's back. "Yeah, a little." He looked up at the cloud-shrouded hills. "It's warmer, for one thing."

Firenze smiled and deftly shouldered the unicorn into a quarter-turn. "It was well done – using beer as medicine."

"I'd've thought these wizards and witches would've known of it. I was told it's been used since the Middle Ages or somethin'." He was reluctant to ask if centaurs ever got colic, and if they did, how did they treat it? Trying to guess how a centaur's digestive anatomy might work made his head spin.

"Many ancient forms of medicine and healing have been left behind and forgotten in favour of the new. I have noticed that, among humans, traditional remedies are often dismissed as ineffectual – purely because they tend to be simple and easy to obtain. Severus is an exception in that regard; he is willing to explore even the most ancient elixirs and adapt them for modern use."

Toby ran a hand along the unicorn's flank, which felt dry and warm. The muscle spasms had all but ceased. He saw Hermione talking with Filius and pointing in his direction. Therefore, he was not surprised when she approached him.

"The beer seems to be working." She looked back at the mare patiently walking alongside Bane. "I think there are enough witches here to take care of any further emergencies until the drench is brewed. I suppose it would be some sort of drench, but it sounds a little undignified. I don't think Severus would call it that." She chewed her lower lip and glanced at him. "I'll see you back to your lodgings, if you like. Professor Flitwick has given me directions."

Toby studied her for a moment. He could see there was something on her mind. "Fine by me," he answered. "Besides, there's somethin' I want to ask you."

Hermione's surprise lasted only a fleeting second before she gave a small smile and pointed to the path leading up to the castle. As soon as they had walked far enough to be unheard, she haltingly broke the silence.

"I... I'm afraid it's my fault that you are here..."

Toby kept his eyes locked on the castle walls. "Sev'rus was with you, wasn't 'e?"

Hermione inhaled sharply. She knew exactly what he was referring to.

Without waiting for a response or an evasion, Toby outlined his conclusions. "Diesel gave it away, for one – 'e knew it was people, even though Eddie and I couldn't see anyone. Invisible people who weren't bad sorts; Diesel would've growled if it were otherwise.

"It weren't too long after that, some galah callin' 'imself Harry Potter and 'is muddle-'eaded wombat of a mate start tailin' me. If that's coincidence, then I'm a sanger short of a picnic.

"After Oriens introduced 'imself, I read 'bout Sev'rus bein' left for dead in some wreck of a shack, then vanishin' for a good while. Not a trace of 'im anywhere. Then 'e shows up 'ere," he pointed to the castle, "after gettin' a full pardon – and where you'd set up camp. Oriens told me you an' Sev'rus might be a bit more than friends. But me lights didn't come on until 'e mentioned yer surname – Granger.

"Coincidence that Diesel was checkin' out invisible people at the Granger place? Doubt it. Coincidence that Eddie 'ad met you but couldn't remember any details?" He snorted. "The Missus dropped spells on me to make me forget certain things. Been there, done that."

Hermione wondered what to do. Obliviate him? Negotiate with him and swear him to secrecy? The latter option seemed far more reasonable. "Severus and I are more than friends," she admitted, colouring slightly.

"That were obvious when we 'ad the meetin' with the centaurs. If yer wonderin' if I plan to tell anyone 'bout you keepin' Sev'rus out of trouble's way, I'm not. I can keep a secret."

"Promise?"

Having put the wild-haired witch in a slightly awkward situation in return for her role in his current predicament, Toby had no need to push the matter any further. "My oath. Besides, I need you get a message to Sev'rus. I'll tell you what it is inside. Not out 'ere, it's too risky."

Hermione decided to trust her instincts. Somehow, they assured her Toby meant what he said about keeping secrets. Restraining her curiosity about the mentioned message, she led him through the corridors and enlightened him on various historical aspects of the castle.

Their progress was eagerly monitored by whispering portraits – and shyly observed by the younger students who had not fought in the War. From behind corners and columns, they stole glimpses of a real live war heroine and wondered if the man with her really was a Muggle. Furthermore, was he really the father of the legendary Bat of the Dungeons?

It would be disappointing if he was – the rumour that Severus Snape had spontaneously arisen from a Gorgon's brew accidentally contaminated with alien spores was far more interesting.

---

Her mind buzzing, Hermione took the stairs down to the dungeons as quickly as she dared. She played Toby's message over again in her mind, determined not to forget a thing:

When Severus was barley six months old, Toby had come home to find a scrap of a document smouldering in the fireplace. Upon fishing it out to examine it, he had noticed that a brick in the back of the fireplace needed attention. When the fire died down, he set about re-pointing the brick with fresh mortar and noticed that the brick had been tampered with. Prising it out, he had discovered a shallow cavity. Within it was a beautiful piece of jewellery now known as the Llygad y Ddraig.

The next part of the message set Hermione's legs shaking, and she had to concentrate to keep her balance. While Toby would not show it to her, he had told her what was written on the scorched scrap of writing – a physical description of a boy calling himself Myrddin Emrys. Toby believed that the boy in the story had something to do with the Llygad y Ddraig. Further, he was convinced that the boy Myrddin and the wizard Merlin were one and the same person. Toby insisted on handing the writing to Severus personally. For what reason, he would not say. At least he did not insist upon Severus being alone.

She entered the Potions laboratory to a scene of high-precision activity. Pomona deftly sliced sassafras root with a blade of volcanic glass. Draco laboured with a mortar and pestle, a smudge of charcoal marking his face like war-paint. He looked up as Hermione closed the door behind her.

"Hermione, I would not have picked you as the callous sort," he said, a mischievous spark in his eyes.

"Draco... What?"

"You show up when most of the hard work is done – therefore, callus." With a gleeful smirk, he added an ounce of shredded bezoar to the mixture he was vigorously grinding to a fine powder.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione looked around, a part of her wishing she had been able to come down sooner.

Professor Addams tended an enormous pewter cauldron, stirring its contents with a sequence timed to a low chant. At the far end of the laboratory, Neville stood watch over an elution column and a five-minute-glass.

Severus presided over a complicated array of distillation glassware, a scowl of concentration in place as he collected distillate into a tiny glass beaker positioned on a weighing-scale. "Did the centaurs bring any more unicorns out of the Forest?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the scale.

"None at the time I left to come here," she said. Tobias' message would have to wait until she and Severus could be alone together. "Moondancer and Shanando appeared to be doing well." She hesitated for a moment. "Though... Tobias... did say beer was not right for all forms of colic. He insisted on a follow-up with the potion you and Professor Addams are working on – just to make sure."

Severus lifted the beaker with silver tongs and placed it next to a small, silver cauldron. He nodded as Neville unflinchingly delivered a flask marked: 'Opium extract / wash #3 / 10-min.'

"Sound advice," Severus murmured, causing Hermione to seriously consider the idea of going into shock.

---

"Well?" Severus gathered his cloak about him and folded his arms. He regarded Tobias with narrowed eyes.

Toby held out a fragment of what looked like very fine leather. "I reckon this belongs to you."

For a moment, Severus considered a silent Accio, but Hermione's eyes were on him – pleading with him to maintain the tentative truce that wandered in the air like a ghost unsure of its own identity. He decided that the truce should be honoured. After six solid hours of preparing, brewing, bottling, and advising, he had no inclination towards truculence.

With a quiet sigh, Severus manually plucked the item out of Tobias' fingers and scowled at him as though he were a student handing in a perilously late essay. His scowl intensified as he read what was written on it.

Unable to restrain herself, Hermione stood at his elbow, her eyes eagerly devouring words. Her mouth dropped open as she read it again. "It's him, isn't it?" she whispered. "The boy you saw in the cave."

Severus tilted his head as he thought – meaning that he was also a little mystified. "The description written here certainly complements what I saw." He turned to Tobias. "You discovered the Llygad y Ddraig as a result of finding this?"

Toby nodded. "Yeah."

"Can you be sure the Llygad was not hidden there long before the rest of whatever-work-this-was ended up in the fire?"

"The brick it were 'idden behind was fine that mornin'. I took the ash out before I left for t' mill. It were untouched, then."

Severus read the description again and paced the floor, evidently weighing the possibility of coincidence against tangible relationship. "The boy seems to be the point of union between the Llygad and this anonymous shred." He held it up to the light. "It is certainly very old. Graphorn hide has not been used as a writing material for at least seven hundred years."

"Graphorn hide!" Hermione reached out to touch the singed edges of the fragment in Severus' hands. "Why would anyone use Graphorn hide? Wouldn't it be unworkable? And it shouldn't burn like that obviously has, should it? And Graphorn hide..."

"One. Question. At. A. Time," Severus enunciated, holding up one hand to stem the flow of interrogatives. "Hermione, you may find that the answer to your first question will suffice as an explanation for all." He raised an eyebrow at Tobias, who was engaged in furtive conversation with a house-elf. Evidently, a Graphorn was being described in helpful detail.

Toby and Tocky soon noticed the deafening silence – and the uncomfortable prickling of Severus' intense scrutiny. With a guilty glance at each other, they desisted.

"As I was saying," Severus continued, levelling an extra glare at Tobias for good measure, "Graphorn hide has not been used as writing material for many centuries because of the way it was obtained." He looked Hermione in the eyes, wordlessly daring her to ask a question.

Hermione smiled sweetly at him. She was not going to take the bait. She responded to his thwarted smirk with a slightly wicked wink. She would deal with him later.

"Only the hide of Graphorns that had not yet drawn their first breath was suitable for such a purpose," he said, holding up the fragment again. "An unborn Graphorn would be cut from its dam's womb while her corpse was still hot from her final fight. While still wet, the skin would be rapidly removed and stretched to the thickness of heavy parchment.

"It would be cured in a mixture of tea and wine, then rubbed with Graphorn fat and hung in a cold, dry place. In two years, it would be ready for use. It could withstand anything that dragon-hide can, with the exception of Fiendfyre, but was also supple and light. It would take ink without blurring and hold it like a tattoo."

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth. Graphorns were not her favourite magical creature, but no living thing deserved such a dreadful, sickening end. Maybe she would deal with Severus another day.

"As you can imagine, this practise nearly caused the extinction of Graphorns. In a remarkable manifestation of forethought, the Ministry of the time outlawed the use of un-born Graphorn hide. With formidable penalties to enforce the law, the carnage soon ceased."

Hermione shook her head sadly before a thought slipped into her head. "It was found in the fireplace at Spinner's End," she said. "But normal fire could not have destroyed it..." She did not want to take the next step in her reasoning.

"I had been told that my mother had experimented with Dark Magic at one time. I was also told that she turned her back on it. Apparently, she retained the knowledge on how to wield Fiendfyre."

"God's Teeth," Toby shuddered. She knew Dark Magic? 'Ow the shaggin' Hell did I survive bein' married to 'er? He stared at the floor incredulously. I married 'er... and I never really knew the truth of 'er. I didn't give 'er much of a chance, I s'pose.

Hermione coloured indignantly. Destroying a book – if the remnant did indeed come from a book – was an unthinkable act of treasonous barbarity. Especially if the book was written on the skin of an innocent creature, torn from its mother in an act of double murder before it even saw the sun or tasted the air. "I think we should try and find out if it did come from a book," she stated, suddenly determined to at least attempt a salvage operation. "If so, are there any other remnants left?"

She noted Tobias' negative shrug. "Sometimes," she told him, "valuable books would be split up and the parts hidden in different places. It happened during the Viking invasions, the Inquisitions, and the Muggle Reformation. That way, at least some of the knowledge they contained would be preserved if other parts were found and... destroyed."

She chewed her lower lip and fixed Severus with a scholarly stare. "If you're willing to let him look at it, I think we should ask Professor Binns' opinion."

Severus' eyes slid closed. He gave a theatrical snore.

"Oh, stop it!" Hermione stamped her foot. "I'm serious! Professor Binns has hundreds of years of memory and experience at his disposal. He just might be able to shed some light on it."

"Professor Binns is being a ghost, for hundreds of years," Tocky supplied to Toby. "Students is saying Professor Binns is very, very boring. Students say they is rather writing many essays on rain gauges than sittings in classroom."

"That's not boring," Toby conspired. "That's bloody lethal."

"Can we all return to the original reason for our assembly?" Severus' cut-glass tone commanded instant order and attention. "I believe there were two unresolved assumptions, were there not? The assumption that this remnant of a script more than seven hundred years old bears some relation to the Llygad y Ddraig, and that the boy, Myrddin Emrys, is supposedly the wizard, Merlin."

Arms folded across his chest, he glanced from Tobias to Tocky and back again. "I understand you gained a key piece of... reasoning... from this house-elf."

Toby braced himself. "That's right. Four key pieces, actually." He counted them off on his fingers: "For one, Merlin 'ad Welsh origins – in Wales, his name was pronounced 'Myrddin' – like the lad in t' story.

"Second up, take it or leave it," he challenged, looking the witch and the wizard in the eyes, "Merlin were sired by a Muggle."

He counted a third finger. "A Roman Muggle: which fits with what's written there." He pointed to the piece of Graphorn hide in Severus' hand.

"And the fourth?" Severus prompted, eyeing Tocky dubiously.

"Merlin's magic came from 'is mother. A princess from South Wales." He looked to Tocky for confirmation. "What's the name again?"

Tocky climbed up on the arm of Toby's chair and whispered something in his ear.

"Yeah, that's it. Niniane. She 'ad Merlin out of wedlock and spun a tale about some spirit coming to 'er in the form of a falcon. She ended 'er days in a priory, locked away from t' world. Bastard or not, 'er son were a prince."

"Oh," Hermione sighed sadly. She never saw Merlin's father again?

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Toby continued, again pointing to the Graphorn hide. "But if Myrddin's father was unknown, it follows that 'is uncle – 'a son of the king', it says – was 'is mother's brother, which makes 'is mother a princess. That Myrddin lad's a blue-blood."

Hermione frowned and shook her head. "Tobias, none of what Tocky has told you about Merlin has been written down in our lore-books."

"Not my fault," Toby muttered.

Severus paced the floor, his hands behind his back. "Nobody said it was." He turned on his heel and fired his next question at Tocky.

"How is it that you know of these unwritten histories?"

Tocky gave a small squeak and backed up against Tobias' leg. "Tocky is knowing, yes, but Tocky is under house-elf law."

"What does the law say?"

"House-elf may never tell wizard or witch the ancient tales of Merlin."

"Who made the law? Why are these 'ancient tales' not to be spoken of? Who entrusted this knowledge to house-elves?" Severus fired his questions like counter-curses.

"Tocky is not knowing. Tocky is not asking why, or why not. Not all house-elves is knowing – only some. Tocky is heard law, Tocky obeys law." Tocky covered his eyes with his spindly fingers and shook his head. He could not say any more.

"But you could tell Tobias because he's not a wizard?" Hermione asked gently.

"Yes, Miss Hermione. Master Tobias is not having magic. Law says nothing about not telling Muggles when they is asking. Master Tobias is only Muggle ever to ask house-elf about Merlin."

Severus watched the quaking house-elf with a glimmer of sympathy. "I will not ask you to break your law, Tocky," he said almost kindly. "We shall manage with our own resources, for now."

I'd better not tell him he really can be sweet when he wants to be, Hermione thought as she gave Severus' free hand a squeeze of appreciative affection. Even if he thinks the rule of one-question-at-a-time does not apply to him. In that moment, she knew that she loved him more than ever.

Severus returned the contact, then carefully disengaged himself. He subjected Tobias to a stern evaluation. "I propose to examine the Llygad again. This time, I will search it as I would a Pensieve."

Toby was only too glad to escape Severus' presence for a short time. It was like being minutely dissected and put back together, all at the same time. He went into the bathroom and collected the artefact. He gave a small grin. The preceding discourse was the longest speech he had heard from Severus in a great many years. His son's northern accent had been completely subsumed in tones Toby would lately have dismissed as pretentious snobbery – another thing he had quickly changed his opinion on. Spoken by Severus, they sounded right – and fitted him like the well-tailored clothes he wore.

With a sigh that was equal parts pride, apprehension, regret, and acceptance, Toby returned to the gathering, placed the Llygad on the coffee table and stood back to let Severus commence his investigations.

Severus took the Llygad in one hand and focussed his mind on a name: Myrddin Emrys. He hissed when a pale flicker of light danced briefly within the blue crystal disc. Thinking it might have been a reflection, he looked again. The light reappeared, elusive as a will-o'-the-wisp. He watched it. It shone brighter and changed colour...