By Order of the Phoenix – Part 2

A/N's

Kew Gardens – The Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. Located in southwest London, this botanical research and education institution holds the world's largest collection of living plants. Of course they have a magical plants facility!

Pugsley's reference to a "bust of Pallas" is taken from the poem The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)

Words from t' Northern UK

Spelk – a splinter

Wazzock – a fool, a daft individual

Australian

To spin a yarn – to tell a story

French

Mon hibou – My owl

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

'Senior Auror McPhee' is adapted from the character Nanny McPhee in the film Nanny McPhee, Universal Pictures, 2005

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

Blessings and thanks to TeaOli for the most thorough beta read this side of Severus' essay marking. Thankfully, Tea, you do not use red ink. ;o)

---

"Jean told him to wear this for at least five days," Poppy grumbled, dropping Tobias' discarded sling into a large wicker basket. "Merlin, he took that very literally."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "It is the morning of the fifth day..."

"Barely! I doubt Hagrid has even fed the Thestrals yet."

"...so one could say that he has exercised compliance. Where is he now?"

"Compliance? Your father? Oooh, don't get me started! The week I've had..." Poppy shook a warning finger and placed her hands on her hips. "I don't know where he is, Severus. But I can tell you that he and Filius have been plotting something for the past few days."

Leaving Poppy to her morning duties, Severus decided to see if the Incompliant One had sought sanctuary in his rooms. He gave a half-smile when he caught sight of Draco poring over a sheaf of crib notes while navigating the staircases on autopilot. Hermione had been doing a similar thing when he left her alone to pace and mutter as she would. The second-time-around seventh-years had voted to have their Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures N.E.W.Ts on the same day – with a decent break for lunch. Severus gave a small frown and shook his head. Hermione already had enough credit from her research into Petrus' case to earn the highest score ever awarded for Care of Magical Creatures, but she had obstinately insisted on participating in a formal examination procedure.

Stifling a yawn, he trailed up the stairs to the barrel-vaulted hall where he had confronted his father – and caused no small amount of damage to a suit of armour. He halted in surprise when he got to the top of the stairs. The expertly restored armour had an attendant: a surly house-elf with large, calloused hands, notched ears, and ropey arms speckled with burn scars.

"Good morning, Smithy," Severus intoned, smirking internally at the house-elf's instant stare of accusatory suspicion.

Smithy took his time in replying. He reached up to give the cuisses one last rub with an oiled rag, squinted in satisfaction, and tucked the rag into the suede tool-apron he always wore over his scorch-marked blue denim smock. "G'mornin's. Is no more damages – no thankings to some," he mumbled, in a tone that could have also said: "Do me a favour and let a giant stand on you".

Satisfied that he had achieved a near-impossible feat in eliciting a multi-word response from the notoriously grouchy house-elf, Severus was just about to knock on Tobias' door when a shout echoed from another door at the end of the hall – a shout immediately followed by peals of laughter. Sensing the imminent disclosure of the room's occupants, Severus folded his arms and waited.

The door opened, and Filius staggered out. Leaning against a fluted arch, he made an effort to simultaneously hold his aching sides and wipe tears of mirth from his eyes, only to fail at both tasks. "Oh, Merlin!" he gasped. "I warned you, Tobias... I t-told you... th-they spit. I d-didn't know Muggles could m-move so fast."

Tobias appeared, besmeared with Gobstone expectorate and grinning like a rapscallion schoolboy. "You didn't say 'ow far they could spit – and that they'd wait and try again if I dodged t' first one! Crikey! It got me from t'other side of the room... Don't even think about a Cleansin' Charm, sport! Laughin' like that, you'll mess up and blow me bloody leg off."

"Gentlemen," Severus began, steadfastly upholding Hogwarts' last reserves of dignity as Filius and Tobias looked innocently at him, glanced guiltily at each other, and dissolved into another bout of hilarity.

---

Travelling in the guise of a Muggle business executive, Kingsley wended his way through cold, damp streets, following a carefully randomised path to the Ministry offices. The previous afternoon, several wizards and witches in the vicinity of the Ministry had reported a distinct feeling of being watched. Pausing at a Muggle newsstand, he looked back along the streets and shop-fronts, checking for anything untoward. Seeing nothing but his fellow "investigators", he purchased a daily paper to justify his unscheduled stop and used the appearance of scanning headlines to check along the route he intended to take.

Turning into a graffiti-marked lane, he caught sight of Auror Proudfoot – disguised as a Muggle council-worker – who was about to enter a dilapidated red telephone booth. He silently hailed the Auror, waiting until he had come within quiet conversation range before wishing him good morning.

Auror Proudfoot returned the greeting and saluted with a handful of bacon-and-egg roll. "From the Muggle bakery down the road," he explained with a gesture in the appropriate direction. "They make the best rolls in London – must have a house-elf working in secret." He held the booth door open and waved Kingsley inside. "After you, Minister Shacklebolt," he said.

As soon as the Minister's surname been spoken, a hoarse caw sounded from above, and a scruffy-looking raven dropped into the middle of the lane.

Having drawn their wands on a subconscious reflex, both wizards quickly scanned the bird. A faint pulse of magic surrounded the creature.

Kingsley signalled Auror Proudfoot to survey the immediate area while he cast more revealing charms on the raven. After a moment, he sleeved his wand and slowly approached the exhausted bird. "You're no Animagus, are you?" he stated.

The raven gazed up at him sulkily and fluffed out its feathers until it resembled a large, black feather duster.

"All clear," Proudfoot announced, frowning speculatively at the raven. "What've we got here?"

Moving carefully, Kingsley lifted the unprotesting bird, his fingers brushing paper on the raven's lower leg. The pulse of magic flickered and died – a pre-set version of Finite Incantatem. "A messenger: bound by magic and sent, I presume, specifically to me," Kingsley said softly. He looked the raven in the eye. "And you've come a long way – but on whose order?"

The raven settled into his hands with the listless surrender of the utterly fatigued.

Tucking the raven into his greatcoat, Kingsley assured Auror Proudfoot that the bird itself presented no immediate threat and made his way into the Ministry complex, attracting some curious stares as he passed through the Atrium. He glanced at the group of golden statues standing in their pool, noting in particular the centaur and the house-elf. Keeping his thoughts at bay for the time being, he collected his daily schedule from his administration assistant and warded his office to "Do not disturb."

Minutes later, he read the raven's message with alarm.

---

"Aren't you 'avin' breakfast with yer lass?"

Severus thumbed through the Prophet while he waited for Tobias to finish cleaning himself up. "She is indulging in a last minute swot-session. I couldn't get anything out of her that didn't relate to the contents of the greenhouses, so I left her to it." He scowled at the slightly ajar bathroom door. "By the way, her name is Hermione. Challenging, I know, but could you attempt to make an effort?"

Tobias sauntered out of the bathroom, clad in clean trousers and vigorously rubbing his hair with a towel. "Her-my-oh-nee."

"Very good. Now try closing the gaping chasms between the syllables."

Toby rolled his eyes and absently tossed the towel over the back of a spare armchair. He rifled through the contents of his wardrobe and produced one of several new shirts Tocky had brought for him. "God's Teeth, this is a bit fancy," he said, holding the garment up for inspection.

"I'm sure you will rectify that situation in a remarkably short period of time," Severus observed silkily, checking Gringotts' latest interest rates.

Toby rounded on his son with a barrage of recalled ammunition. "Oh, really? Ha! You need talk! Remember Jonesy from next door? The cranky old wazzock with the crabapple tree? Yeah, I see you do – don't shake yer 'ead. 'Ow many times 'ad yer mother put you in clean gear, only to 'ave you go scootin' over t' side fence and pinch as many crabapples as y' could carry, eh?" Toby paused for dramatic effect. His experiences in Australia had taught him how to "spin a yarn" or two. He dragged on his shirt and folded his arms. "Then y'd come back – mucky as a chimney sweep's 'prentice – buttons missin', 'air a mess of twigs, and yer 'ands full of spelks. Not a bad effort for a five-year-old lad."

Severus risked a glance away from the economics editorial. He did indeed remember. Next door is a woman called Jones; she whinges and grizzles and moans. Gods! I used to sing that! Climbing the fence – and the crabapple tree – had been his first application of the magic which had begun to stir, albeit fitfully, in his blood. Sometimes, what had started as a carefully planned jump had ended in... well... a bit of a disaster.

Another memory made him wince. He quirked an eyebrow at Tobias' puzzled scrutiny. "Accio candlestick!" The heavy bronze object flew across the room and intercepted his waiting palm with a loud smack. "Around the same time as I began to explore magically assisted climbing, I discovered that I could summon objects even though I didn't know the verbal command. In practice, it was... unpredictable. Sometimes it would not work at all. Other times it would work a little too well," he admitted.

Toby gave an "Ah!" of enlightenment. "Summoning fruit off t' tree – if you could call those sour bloody things fruit. Is that 'ow you got the shiner: that time y' came in with one eye swollen shut?"

Severus nodded.

"Well, that explains why you were coated in crabapple pulp. Always did wonder 'ow that'd 'appened." He shifted uncomfortably, remembering other occasions when his son had worn bruises – when he had been the cause. A bubble rose up from his chest, lodged in his throat, and burst. "Sev'rus, I'm so sorry... I can't take it back or nothin', but... I'm sorry." He shrugged and stared out of the window. "Shit," he muttered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I tried to get away from it, but I didn't 'ave the willpower. It took whatever yer mother did... that night... to scare me enough to stop."

Severus realised that Tobias was talking about the alcohol-fuelled rages that had torn life apart for the inhabitants of the house at Spinner's End. He got up, replaced the candlestick on the writing table, and stood beside his father. Grasping Tobias' arm, he pressured him into turning to face him. "If you're going to talk about this, look me in the eyes."

Toby complied with steely resolve. "It started when we didn't 'ave jobs no more – and didn't have a snowball's chance in t' devil's kitchen of pickin' up anythin' else. Couldn't provide for our own – that 'urt like nothin' else. Even worse, Britain's money were made with t' sweat an' blood of people like us – not that t' workin' classes ever saw much of it. But it were like bein' told: 'we don't need you anymore, piss orf and bury yerselves.' When we lost work, we lost respect, we lost independence, and we lost our pride. Christ, I'd been bringin' in 'onest wages since I were fourteen: sweepin' floors at t' mill until I worked me way into machines!" He paused, shaking his head. "Sev'rus, y'know what I found on me first day replacin' parts on one of t' looms?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued: "I found bones. Buried in years of sump muck. Finger bones of some little tyke no more'n ten year old. Sliced off clean, they were. I put t' bones in a gasket box an' took 'em to t' cemetery. Buried 'em under a tree. That little kid were used and thrown away when 'e – or she – were no longer useful, I reckon. Same thing 'appened to us lot."

And my soul, Dumbledore? Severus inwardly flinched at the memory of Albus' cool, distant reply – and the gut-gnawing sensation that had arrived with the knowledge of his own expendability. Oh, he knew what that felt like.

An impulse he would not have experienced only weeks ago struggled to make itself heard and made him struggle to define it. Noting the haunted look in Tobias' eyes, Severus did the best he could: "I do know that Muggle children were often used as – under any other name – slave labour during the peak of the Industrial Revolution," he affirmed quietly. "In the more unscrupulous establishments, children would be literally worked to death."

Toby gulped and nodded. "After t' shock wore off, and we knew there were no goin' back, drinkin' and fightin' went through like a plague – and the ones it got 'old of couldn't escape. I know you and yer mother suffered for it. Every time I sobered up, I'd promise meself it wouldn't 'appen again. I'd promise Eileen the same. You wouldn't look me in the eyes no more – wouldn't stay in t' same room – I couldn't fault you there. In secret, I'd promise you as well... that I wouldn't give in. But then the drink called, and like a cringin' dog, I'd answer and I'd be even worse... 'cause I'd been too bloody weak to resist... couldn't keep to what I'd promised. I was ashamed, Sev'rus. Then everythin' would be a red mist of... somethin' worse than temper.

"It were like a door to escape through – to get away from weakness, to get away from the 'opelessness, and the indignity of takin' money that I 'adn't earned. Me, I went through that door like a blind fool, and it slammed shut be'ind me. Then I realised: it weren't a door to escape – it were a door to insanity, and I didn't know t' way back out. But, like I said before... it were no excuse for what I done. If yer mother 'adn't made that... that..."

"Golem."

Toby shuddered. "I'd be there still. And I'd be long dead, for sure."

Has it ever occurred to your brilliant mind that I don't want to do this anymore? Severus pondered the fact that he had also been locked into a situation he could not get out of. The undefined impulse began to struggle again. This time, Severus realised what it was: a need to demonstrate that he could begin to understand the man he had always thought to avoid. "Listen," he said as his childhood scrolled through his memory – images bleached with desolation, emptiness, and helpless rage. "There are some things I cannot forget... where too much was done... and too much not done. I don't know, yet, what may be salvaged between us, and what can be bridged. I would be lying to myself – and to you – if I pretended to know otherwise." He looked at the floor, yet again thinking of how many things he would like the chance to undo. "Can you appreciate, from all the reports Oriens gave you to read, that I am heartily sick of pretending?"

"Yeah, and I can see why," Toby responded. "You do what yer most comf'table with, Sev'rus – so far, it's more than I ever thought possible."

Severus leaned against the wall and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Of course, I will not forget that it was you who protected Hermione's honour and life at great risk to yourself..."

"Couldn't have done it if that phoenix 'adn't given the means..."

"The phoenix wasn't the one shooting the arrows. You intended to come back regardless of Fawkesian manifestations." Severus gave a half-smile when Tobias shrugged and turned his whole attention to the low fire burning in the fireplace. He pushed off from the wall and paced across the room. "Someone I know once said: 'I couldn't do anything about the past, but what might happen next was up to me'."

Recognising his own words, Toby sat down heavily. "Surprise a minute, you are."

Severus eyed him astutely. "Indeed. May I summon your house-elf? I believe the next thing to happen should be breakfast."

"Yeah... 'ang on a minute, he's not my 'ouse-elf! Tocky belongs to t' castle!"

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "That's what you think."

---

Having fed the raven Owl Treats and bits of breakfast sausage, Kingsley left the bird to sleep in a box by the fire while he paced and thought. He needed more information. He penned a meeting request on pale violet paper and sent it speeding away to International Magical Co-operation on Level Five. Next, he made a secure Floo call to the Department of Mysteries. Finally, he trekked up to the owlery. There, he surrendered a scroll to the ever-reliable Turbary, a Ministry owl named after the sanctuary that had taken her in as a storm-orphaned owlet. "Deliver this to Severus Snape at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he instructed.

Turbary replied with a soft hoot and took to the air. Banking sharply, she turned north and flew with the wind at her tail.

---

"I could do with a Butterbeer," Draco sighed, rubbing at the ink smudges on his hands.

"Without lunch to line your stomach, it would put you to sleep," Hermione cautioned, retrieving her crib notes from Madam Sprout's desk and sorting them in readiness for filing.

Draco vanished the ink smudges and shoved his own notes into his pocket. "Hm, maybe it would. I'll wait until we've finished N.E.W.T.-ing for the day. Then, I shall procure a pint or four and spend the evening in glorious indulgence."

Neville burst out of the examination room and enthusiastically clapped his Potions mentor on the shoulder. "That test was inspirational! I could have written a book on the subject of question three! Draco, I hope you're not planning on drinking alone."

Draco froze in mock astonishment. "What! Write more than three-feet-not-six-Miss-Granger? Impossible!"

At Neville's snort of laughter, Hermione gave both wizards a warning look before breaking into a smile. Draco did not have Severus' mesmerising tones, but he could match the cadence precisely.

Neville beckoned to the Patil twins to include them in an impromptu plan. "The castle has decided to produce an all-House common room – we can all meet there, if you like. Luna found it last night while she was tracking Wrackspurts. The little blighters were plotting to sabotage the N.E.W.Ts."

Draco sent a sly look in Hermione's direction. "Sounds like a plan – unless some have previous engagements to partake of finer offerings than Butterbeer and... what are those dangerously addictive Muggle condiments again?"

Neville grinned. "Crisps. They are accompaniments. Also known as bar snacks – when taken in the appropriate establishment. Remedial Muggle Studies for you, I think."

"A practical class in a Muggle highland inn would be most beneficial," Draco agreed.

A shout echoed off stone walls: "'Mione!" Several dozing portraits unwillingly opened their eyes and grumbled irritably about disrespectful youth.

Harry Potter – the disrespectful youth responsible for the shout – disengaged himself from a milling swarm of students and bounded up the stairs. Draco made a quiet, dignified apology to his N.E.W.T. companions, excused himself, and withdrew into a shadowed corridor.

Hermione braced herself for a hug that would have done Molly Weasley credit. She grinned happily to think that while Harry was nowhere near as comfortably padded, he had regained the weight he had steadily lost in the time leading up to Voldemort's defeat. She pulled away, held him by the upper arms, and looked him over. "You look so well," she said, her eyes tearing a little.

"So do you! Merlin, I'd hardly recognise you!" He lightly pinched her cheek. "Where'd all this colour come from?"

"I've just come out of the Herbology N.E.W.T.; intensive thinking must have sent the blood to my head."

Harry laughed and took her arm in his. As they all walked to the Great Hall, he regaled his former classmates with anecdotes of life as a trainee Auror. Eventually getting Hermione away from the crowd, he had just begun a tentative discussion on Ron's progress when one of the side doors flew open with a bang and Severus Snape billowed into the Great Hall, sporting a scowl fit to intimidate a mountain troll at one hundred paces.

---

Not noticing Hermione, Harry, or a huddled group of suddenly crying first-years, Severus half-turned and snarled over his shoulder: "You cannot seriously expect the Quidditch budget to come in under..."

"Of course it can! I have great faith in you, Severus." Minerva followed at enough of a distance to give her time to react should the rather exasperated wizard draw his wand.

"What did I ever do to earn it?" Severus stopped to ask the Enchanted Ceiling. The Ceiling mildly rearranged some puffy white clouds and did not deign to give him an answer.

Minerva caught up and patted his arm soothingly. "You are from Manchester. You could do it for half that amount."

Severus glared at her defiantly, his black eyes snapping with ire-stoked sarcasm. "I. See. Aye, Minerva, an' I'd still get change from t'Knut!"

Minerva lightly applauded. "Precisely! And being a Slytherin, you could always negotiate a discount or two on top of that." She smiled at him before preceding him through another doorway. "I haven't heard you use your northern accent since you were in first year!"

---

As the headmistress and Severus left the Great Hall – still bickering – Hermione felt Harry's intense stare. Time to face the music, she thought, raising an eyebrow and readying herself to cast Langlock at a split second's notice.

Harry's gaze turned to the doorway Minerva and Severus had passed through. His expression flitted between juvenile suspicion, rebellion, anger, confusion, and grief, before dissolving into one of mature, guarded regret. "So it's true, then," he said quietly. "You and Snape. I could see the way you looked at him. There've been rumours... and Skeeter is snooping around for gossip every day." He looked her in the eyes, his glasses slightly askew. "Snape... Bloody hell, 'Mione! I know he's earned his Order of Merlin and all – I can get my head around that, but... I mean... what's the attraction?"

Hermione considered a staggering number of reasons for her attraction to Severus. They all seemed to come down to one summarising statement. "I love him, Harry – and he loves me. That's the attraction." Her stomach rumbled as lunch materialised on the tables. "Come on," she said, dragging him through the students' mad scramble for seats. She scooped up a plate loaded with sandwiches, thrust a pitcher of pumpkin juice into Harry's hands, and led the way to a vacant classroom. "We can talk here," she said, transfiguring two broken inkwells into goblets and levitating them onto a desk.

Harry took a seat and fidgeted uncomfortably.

Hermione gave a cheese and cucumber sandwich immediate priority. "You could be Mother and pour, you know," she managed around a mouthful.

"Er... yeah. Sorry..." Harry filled the goblets with pumpkin juice. He selected a ham sandwich and picked at it morosely.

"What's on your mind?" Hermione asked bluntly, guessing that whatever it was, it would have something to do with Severus.

"I thought I was seeing things when I was in St Mungo's – or Snape's ghost was going to haunt me. I was actually relieved when I heard he'd survived." He rubbed his jaw ruefully. "Thanks for the letters and the ice cream, by the way." He fiddled with his goblet. "Remember I wrote back about that run-in with Snape's dad? Merlin, when I got back to the Aurory, Robards skinned me alive over it! Do you know I report to Senior Auror McPhee as punishment?"

Hermione gave him a serves-you-right look. "Severus learned of it at the Ministry. He told me over dinner."

"Whoa! Great dinner conversation – and he probably smirked like a goblin in a gold mine the whole time... " Harry shook his head and gave in to a moment of despair concerning his supervisor. "'Mioneee, she's an absolute Gorgon!"

"She can't be that bad..."

"She's worse! I can't even fart and she knows about it!"

"Harry! Do you mind? I'm trying to eat lunch."

Harry gave a boyish grin. "She'll know I said that, too. You wait and see. It'll be six months before I'm allowed out again. At least I get to take Gin out for lunch this weekend." He grew serious. "Look, you know about... about Snape and my mum, right?"

Hermione nodded and tossed a crumb to a mouse waiting hopefully in a corner. "You mentioned it while you faced off Voldemort, and you gave me a little more detail once we knew – for sure – that he was dead." She put her sandwich down, the memory of those cold hours temporarily stemming her appetite. "Severus told me a bit about her as well. She was the reason he learned to fly without a broom... They would jump off the park swings at the highest point and see who could stay in the air longest." Her eyes flashed fire in defence of her lover. "For the record, flying was not something he learned from Voldemort."

She noted the sadness and worry in Harry's eyes and reached across the desk to squeeze his arm. "He's moved on, Harry. Memories of your mother were the only light he had for so many years – the only things that kept him focussed and, inadvertently, protected him against the worst influences of Dark Magic. He'll always have a place in his heart for her – like I'll always have a place in my heart for you and for Ron – but the... I suppose you could say romantic... interest isn't there."

Harry grimaced. "Snape and romantic shouldn't be mentioned in the same sentence! It's just not right!"

Hermione smiled serenely. "True. Severus is definitely more amorous than romantic."

"I really didn't need to know that." Harry took off his glasses, cleaned them, and put them on again. "Getting back to what I was going to say... I found my mum's photograph, and her signature from a letter, when I was laid up in St Mungo's. At first, I wondered who'd found them and put them there."

"You didn't see?" Good!

Harry shook his head. "All I remember is thinking that I saw Snape looking at me. Now I know he gave those things back. Why would he do that if he hadn't moved on? Wouldn't've guessed he'd moved on to you..." A deep blush stained his cheeks. "Er... Oops... That wasn't the best choice of words."

Hermione rolled her eyes and snaffled a cress sandwich. "You could have phrased it with a little more sensitivity, but I can live with it – years of hanging around you and Ron taught me to do just that."

Harry nodded sheepishly. "Do you think... he... Snape..."

"Severus."

"...yeah... would ever tell me about her – my mum?"

Hermione chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then sipped her pumpkin juice. "My considered opinion is that it will probably take some time – if he chooses to tell you anything at all."

Harry's green eyes widened with a flare of outrage. "But..."

"Neither of you sought to keep your interactions civil," Hermione interjected firmly. "Casting Reparo will not fix the situation, but time and courtesy might. If I were you, I'd try written communication as a starting point. And do try not to use his acquittal by the Wizengamot as leverage." She eyed her friend knowingly. "I won't do any writing for you. Not even an introduction. This is an assignment you'll have to do all on your own, Harry Potter."

"I think the Wizengamot gave more weight to Professor Dumbledore's portrait's testimony than mine – after all, he'd known Snape for ages." Harry shrugged and toyed with his sandwich. "Would you put in a good word for me and smooth the waters?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, Harry. This is between you and Severus. I won't play the intermediary, nor will I do anything to coerce him into an action that should be entirely his decision."

Harry visibly bit his tongue. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled inside his Auror's robe and placed a package on the desk. "When I asked permission to come here, I had to tell McPhee what I hoped to achieve. Anyway, she agreed, but said that I would not be able to cross Hogwarts' wards until I'd properly considered a question she set me. It was: 'What would a wise man do?' I'm here, so I suppose I'm on the right track."

He enlarged and opened the package to reveal the Half-Blood Prince's slightly singed Potions textbook, and a crystal phial of silvery memories. "These belong to Snape... Severus. He gave my stuff back to me, and I realised it's only fair that I give his stuff back to him. I wondered if it might break the ice, you know?"

Hermione smiled, a small wave of pride warming her eyes. One of the boys was finally beginning to grow up. "If you write that reasoning on a covering note, I think you'd be making a good start."

Harry coloured a little and produced a self-inking quill. "I'll do that now... 'Mione... Do you have any parchment?"

"Silly question!" Hermione handed over a spare sheet and watched her friend take more care over a few lines than he had over the most crucial essays of his schooldays.

The trainee Auror signed his name, then tucked the note in with the textbook and the phial. "I don't suppose you'd mind dropping this off to him?" he asked optimistically.

Hermione pulled the package over to her side of the desk. "That much I will do."

---

Arawn walked along the road leading through the centre of a small Muggle village. Snow crunched cleanly beneath his boots. Cruel laughter rang from the fields behind the simple houses, punctuated by the sound of breaking glass, and embedded in the mingled scent of blood, mud, frost, and rough alcohol. Here and there, the heavily clothed bodies of Dementors' victims lay motionless – slowly freezing solid in the sub-zero air. The fretful wail of an infant was abruptly silenced.

Indifferent to the cold, Arawn located the rusting case of an artillery shell. Several days before the raid, he had fashioned it into a Portkey to move his human associates to a mustering point in an isolated mountain chain far to the southwest. There, he intended to create another Portkey to bring them to their final destination, should their persuasive power be needed. It really depended on Snape's cooperation, which Arawn was sure the ex-Death Eater would be obliged to give – this time. Wizarding Britain's resources were depleted after the war: the collective attention was focused on rebuilding. Both situations were, Arawn considered, advantages there for the taking.

He summoned the first wave of Dementors, noting that the creatures were certainly more attentive after several days of feeding their way through isolated Ukraine villages on their way to the Romanian border. "Join your scouts in the underground," he told them, sending a mental image of the city they were to travel to. "Do not move to the crossing point until I give the word." He did not need to tell them how to find the Eurotunnel. The Dementors that had crossed into England before had shared the information when they returned. They could, apparently, mind-link with several hundred of their species at a time – a mechanism of mass sharing that Arawn found fascinating.

When the pre-selected eight hundred Dementors took their leave to wait in the vast underground labyrinth that was the Parisian sewers, Arawn listened impassively to the revelry of his mortal resources. The Dementors had not taken so much from them as to dull their need for activity. If Snape proved incompliant, they would get all the activity they could ever want. Each human would be grouped with three Dementors, thus forming a reserve force of about two thousand in total, divided into five regiments, each led by one of the late Voldemort's high-ranking Death Eaters.

Arawn fingered the Llygad thoughtfully and smiled. Even more Dementors waited by the rift in Pripyat. He turned his thoughts to the wording of the ultimatum he would send to Snape.

---

"Severus!"

Severus turned and waited for Pugsley to shoo the recently dismissed fifth-year Potions class out of the dungeons – something he had never had any trouble with.

With a final instruction to his students to have their essays in on time, Pugsley hurried over to where Severus stood and pointed him in the direction of the private laboratory. "You have to see this!"

Indulging his peer's excitement, Severus didn't say a word as he was all but shoved into the room and steered towards a heavily warded corner.

Pugsley cancelled the wards and lifted the cover of an incubator, beckoning to Severus to view the contents. "Aren't they something?"

I assume they can't be nothing, therefore they'd have to be... Severus stared at two rows of tiny, bright green seedlings, some still struggling to rid themselves of the wrinkled black caps that had been – "Peppercorns," he murmured in awe. "They actually germinated."

Pugsley lightly punched Severus' shoulder. "May I present Piper antarcticus: snap frozen for over fifteen million years and still raring to go!"

One of the seedlings threw off its cap and reached hungrily towards a sunlamp.

"Antarctic pepper vines," Severus said, watching in fascination as the tiny plants turned towards him and waved warning tendrils before stretching towards the sunlamp again. "The last time this species saw sunlight, Antarctica still had forests and flowing water. Aside from fossilised mature plants, we know next to nothing about them."

"Except that they're feisty little devils! Check this out..." Pugsley pointed at one seedling with a toothpick, ignoring its angrily coiling tendrils. With a lightning-fast strike, the hours-old plant snared the end of the toothpick and inflicted a vicious bite. "I can't wait until they start producing fruit!"

Severus folded his arms. "How fast do you think they'll grow? We may need some time to adequately fortify a greenhouse in a suitable location."

"Yeah, that's the next thing... I copied the soil sample analysis of the place where the frozen peppercorns were found and keyed it into the GeoWizard Land and Soils Atlas down in Kew Gardens. According to the results, the little so-and-so's won't thrive here without a whole lot of help – which I don't want to do in case it threatens the integrity of the plants' as yet unexplored properties. I'd like to let them grow as natural as possible." Pugsley covered the seedlings to keep out the cold air of the dungeons. "As for how fast they grow – search me, I don't know. I'm hoping the aggressive tendencies ease off a little once the plants are big enough not to be snack food."

"Did the results indicate any potential growing sites?"

"Sure did. None of them close by. Eastern Australia looks like the best bet – but I need to find some remnant vine forest."

Severus gave the incubator an artful glance. "Vine forest in a sheltered mountain gully?" Pugsley's instant, all-consuming interest gave the impression of a bear on the track of a beehive containing a motherload of honey. "Are fig trees likely to be a problem?"

"Hell, no! The figs would keep the micro-climate in the Goldilocks zone. You know of a place, don't you?"

Severus shrugged. "Perhaps. I shall discuss it with the land owner. In the event of granted permission – and quarantine clearance – I will insist on magical protection and a suitable buffer area for a Duboisia tree growing in the same locality. If Antarctic pepper vines behave like their modern-day counterparts, they may try to become the dominant species. Goldilocks zone?"

"Muggle expression: it means 'just right'." Pugsley grinned at the resulting eye-roll. "Well now, that's one issue on the way to being solved..." His face showed a fleeting shadow of pained worry.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing Earth-shattering..." Pugsley sat at one of the benches and sighed. "You remember when Malicia's Puffskein went missing, and I went to find the Bloody Baron to see if he'd help out?"

"Yes."

"Well, the Baron found Cyclops, alright... and put Peeves in his place... but..."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "But?"

Pugsley rubbed at his thick brown hair until it stood up like an animal's pelt. "Now he's Malicia's hero! Gods damn, Severus, she says she wants to marry the Bloody Baron!"

Severus had the sudden feeling that he was drifting on the surface of an alien planet consisting entirely of unbroken ocean. "She's four years old, is she not?" Helplessly, he asked another question: "What does her mother have to say?"

Pugsley slumped on the stool. "Yessir, four years old. And my wife is no help – Nephele thinks it's cute. Oh, she tells me not to worry – that Malicia will grow out of it and find someone with a pulse..." He stared at a row of pewter cauldrons. "But what if she doesn't? What if she does? I'm not ready for this conversation."

Alien planet. Ocean. Drifting. Lost. Very lost. "Conversation?"

"The one I was supposed to have with her when she turns... Oh, I don't know... Twenty-one?"

Severus snorted as he realised what sort of conversation Pugsley was not ready for. "I would have thought that with your extensive teaching experience, you'd have noticed that the need for conversation occurs a lot earlier than the age of twenty-one."

Pugsley stared at him desperately, every inch the overly concerned father.

Severus gave in to a dark streak of humour. "Start worrying when hordes of young wizards start asking her to study with them. After. Curfew."

"That does not help! Sometimes, having you around is like having a hellhound on the porch!" As Severus' smirk suggested that this was quite a compliment, Pugsley took a different angle of retaliation. "You'll find out what it's like."

Severus was momentarily mystified. "What?"

"When you have kids of your own." Bulls-eye!

Severus felt his stomach execute a slow somersault. "I..."

"Oh, sure you will! Hey, I've seen you and Miss Granger together." Pugsley winked cheekily. "It's some years off, yet, but I can read the signs. You'll make a great dad."

"What?" Severus' internal chaos suddenly vanished in a blue-grey haze. Images began to take shape, coming into grainy focus as though through a series of lenses that were still in need of adjustment:

A little girl with black, curly hair stood in front of a mirror. To Severus' offended sensibilities, she was wearing a sparkly pink tutu, and a sequinned top of the same appalling colour. Behind her, a slightly older boy – also with black hair, though his was poker-straight – sneered and mimicked the ungracious act of vomiting up his intestines. Severus stared at the two children with a mixed sense of dread and curiosity, suppressing a snort of amusement when the girl smacked the boy – her brother, obviously – in the chest with a stuffed toy.

"Severus? Come on, cut it out!"

Severus blinked. A very concerned Pugsley held him fast by the shoulders, searching his eyes with genuine insistence. "I'm fine."

"Fine as frog's hair, right? Didn't look like it! I thought you'd gone into shock or something. Then you smiled..."

"I did not!"

The Potions aficionados were spared the effort of sparring any further by a soft tapping at the door.

Signalling to Severus to keep quiet about the pepper vines, Pugsley opened the door a little and gave a short laugh. "I see. Not a raven tapping on my door, but an owl." He stood back to allow the bird to enter. "I have no bust of Pallas, but you can perch on Severus if you want."

Turbary sidled into the laboratory, holding a sealed scroll in her beak, her claws making soft ticking noises on the stone floor. With a muffled hoot of relief, she flew towards Severus and dropped the scroll neatly into his outstretched hand. With what sounded like a sigh, she settled on the edge of a bench.

"Excuse me for a moment," Severus muttered, noting the exclusive seal used by the Order of the Phoenix. He read Kingsley's message several times, keeping his expression unconcerned, though he did quirk an eyebrow at the mention of a raven in the Minister's message – and Pugsley's coincidental reference to a certain poem. He re-sealed the scroll and tucked it into his robes. "As much as I hate to leave you to the mercy of your seedlings, I must go and contact the Minister."

Pugsley shrugged and sat next to the owl. "Duty calls?"

"You could say that." Turning on his heel, Severus swept out of the laboratory.

"Well... that's nice," Pugsley grumbled, looking to Turbary for agreement. "He just billows on outta here and leaves me with a parliament of hungry owls."

Turbary swivelled her head to the left and to the right, making a full visual sweep of the room. She hooted questioningly. As far as she could tell, there were no other owls present – but she was definitely ravenous. She gave the human a sharp nip.

"Oww! Mer-lin! Keep your feathers on, girl. Let's get you something better than Owl Treats and my finger." He settled Turbary on his shoulder and headed for the kitchens, where a generous attendance of house-elves would enthusiastically oblige any request for sustenance. "Do you like burgers?"

---

Severus took the most direct route he could find to his rooms. There was only one way he could send an immediate, confidential reply to the Minister, and he wanted to do it in private. Taking the stairs to the guest wing two at a time, he arrived at the Ravenclaw room slightly breathless and enlivened with exertion.

Inside, after checking that he really was alone, he settled himself and focussed on the love he shared with Hermione. Unexpectedly, other thoughts barged into his awareness with all the finesse of the Gryffindor Quidditch team: Should I tell her that I may have seen our... Gods! I saw our children! They were definitely ours, no doubt at all... But I saw them without the Llygad... Then again, I saw Nagini's attack without the Llygad – and the mosaic in the ruins... But they were dreams; this wasn't a dream. It had to be Sight; it couldn't have been anything else... What names will we give them? Will they really happen? Merlin! I haven't even asked her yet... to be my... When should I ask her? After the N.E.W.Ts, of course – can't have any distractions there... What if she says no? Ah, but what if she says yes! This last thought sent pure happiness coursing through his veins. At any other time, Severus might have given voice to an exultant exclamation other than:

"Expecto Patronum!"

It took him a fraction of a second to realise what he had just done. He had intended to summon his Patronus anyway, but had expected to need a little more preparation – and the use of his wand, which was still stowed in his sleeve.

He backed away from a hovering, pulsing sphere of light, wondering what might come forth. He was certain that the silver doe – the manifestation of his devotion to Lily and a symbol of the protection given by the same devotion – should have made an appearance by now. Obviously, his Patronus was about to take a new form.

The light intensified to a blinding blue-white. From within it, something flew right at him with startling speed, and he instinctively dropped flat on the floor. Duelling reflexes engaged and primed, he sprang back up into a defensive crouch, wand in hand.

Without losing speed, Severus' new Patronus swooped on him – this time affording a glimpse of long, pointed wings and formidable talons. He ducked just in time, a small part of his mind calmly reasoning that it was silly to be dodging an ethereal creature. Silly, indeed. He sleeved his wand and stood up straight, looking around the room.

Perched on the edge of the pelmet above the door to the bedroom, his Patronus glared down at him angrily.

"I suppose I have been neglecting you," he said, holding out his arm as he had seen Hermione do with her merlin. The large falcon showed no sign of appeasement. "I'm sorry. Now, come here. I haven't got all day."

The falcon launched off the pelmet and circled the room once before landing on Severus' arm. Close up, it was an impressive creature: a peregrine falcon – flying ace of the Feather Clan, renowned for unwavering courage and martial prowess. The peregrine stared down its hooked beak at him, then imperiously ruffled its silvery feathers. Severus remembered the peregrine depicted in the tapestry not far from the Ravenclaw room. "I suppose I am a prince, of sorts, if that's any consolation," he said, also recalling that in Wizarding France, peregrines were regarded as an aerial aristocracy. "I'll have to mind my P's and Q's with you."

Apparently mollified, the falcon tilted its head and listened while Severus dictated a reply to Kingsley's missive.

---

"Severus!"

I am surely the most in-demand wizard to ever walk these halls, Severus mused in disbelief. "Firenze."

With echoing hoof-beats, Firenze trotted up to him and made a casting sign with one hand. "So no-one else will hear our conversation," he explained. "Fawkes has visited three centaur herds – our own, the Schwarzwald herd, and the Camargue herd – and delivered messages warning us to be prepared to fight. The devouring force we spoke of has gathered and is on the move, hungry to claim the bright power..."

"The devouring force being Dementors – and Merlin knows what else – under the supposed command of a renegade Unspeakable who aims to take my inheritance and wield its power as his own."

Firenze swished his tail and backed up a full step, for once looking surprised. "Supposed command?"

"No Earth-born being can control the eaters of souls. When I last spoke to Oriens, he had reason to believe there are increasingly dangerous numbers of them skulking about – and they are highly organised. Dolohov's testimony from Azkaban supports Oriens' conclusion." He drew the scroll Turbary had delivered from his robes and showed the centaur the seal of the Order. "The Ministry has had a tip-off from an unknown informant. From a place alluded to as the northern Ukraine, a power of hatred and pitiless cold is building and spreading. Kingsley has alerted International Magical Co-operation and has requested that they place Auror and Unspeakable operatives throughout the region in question."

Firenze regained his inscrutability. "Bane charged me to deliver an invitation to join our herd for a dawn ceremony tomorrow – in our stone circle. Bryndorach, leader of the Schwarzwald herd, and his son and daughter will also be there."

Severus knew it would do Bane a great dishonour to refuse such an invitation – not that he would ever consider refusing. To his knowledge, centaurs very rarely took humans to their most sacred places. Even Dumbledore had never seen the stone circle of the Forbidden Forest. "May I bring Hermione?" he asked, knowing that she would remember and cherish such an honour as one of her life's most significant events.

"Certainly. Bane expects that Hermione will be beside you." Firenze gave a secretive smile. "Your paths are entwined, and both are the stronger for it."

"Then we shall attend..."

With a loud pop, Tocky appeared. "Master Severus!"

Firenze deftly waved his hand to encapsulate the house-elf in the shared bubble of secrecy.

Severus made a valiant effort to keep himself from scowling. What am I, the go-to wizard for the year? He tucked one hand into his pocket, feeling the dragon brooch cool against his fingers. Possibly. "Yes, Tocky?"

"Master Tobias is been visited by a phoenix. Master Tobias has been needing cups of strong tea and lying down – but not at the same times." Tocky picked at a stray thread on his pillowcase. "Tocky is thinking Master Severus should be told."

Severus' eyes narrowed. This could not be good. "What did the phoenix do?"

"The phoenix is leaving arrows, Master Severus."

Oh, no. "Firenze, I suppose I should go and see if there's anything I can do."

The palomino centaur bowed graciously and cancelled the secrecy charm. "Of course you should. I shall meet you and Hermione in the Entrance Hall two hours before tomorrow's dawn."

"Monsieur Severus!"

What else...? Severus waited until Petrus was within quiet conversation range. "Does it involve, by any chance, a phoenix?"

Petrus halted, astonished. He produced a phoenix feather, a cap from an ink bottle inscribed with Severus' name – which Severus could not recall seeing since he was a fourth-year – and a Muggle postcard. "Oui... How did you know?" He bowed to Firenze. "Monsieur le Professor."

"Fawkes has been very busy lately." Severus eyed Petrus' Hogwarts' crest armband, which was now black silk in acknowledgement of his fully fledged staff member status – Minerva had upgraded him on the spot after seeing that he was quite capable of keeping of law and order in the library. "Congratulations, by the way."

Petrus' countenance briefly took on the hue of rose sandstone. "Merci, Monsieur Severus. It was most unexpected, but Madame Pince told to me that Madame la Headmistress had been considering it for some time." Returning to his usual colour, he showed Severus and Firenze the postcard, then handed it to Tocky, who squeaked an exclamation over the amount of cleaning such a place would need.

"Cathédrale Notre Dame de Paris," Severus murmured, careful to use the proper nomenclature in Petrus' presence.

"If these are signs," Firenze added, knitting his brows in thought and casting his secrecy charm once more. "Fawkes has been leaving them like way-markers."

Petrus nodded. "Oui, Monsieur le Professor. Oriens has been visited also. Five days ago, mon hibou, Porthos, arrived with a message from Oriens: Fawkes had taken the clasp from his cloak – and left one feather in exchange."

Severus shared a calculating glance with Firenze. "Way-markers. Petrus, did Oriens tell you when he would be resuming his duties?"

"Oui, he is leaving St Mungo's today and will be with Monsieur le Minister Shacklebolt for most of tomorrow morning. He said that he would visit Hogwarts tomorrow afternoon." His eyes began to sparkle. "Way-markers are most effective when they are arranged in order, non?"

Severus gave a half-smile. "And to arrange the phoenix-delivered way-markers, we could begin by assembling those who have received them."

Firenze's flanks twitched as he raised one fore-hoof, his blue eyes alight with purpose. "Assemble the ones we know of. I shall put the idea to Bane," he said, doing a quick headcount and muttering names to himself. "I recommend that we keep this gathering distinct from the Order of the Phoenix for the time being, though we should let the Minister know as a matter of diplomacy. We may discuss who, when, and where after the dawn ceremonies."

Severus reached into his pocket again and closed his fingers around the dragon brooch. "I agree – your recommendation is a wise one." Chiron's cauldron! He's almost excited, he thought as Firenze cancelled the charm and saluted a farewell. He couldn't help a smirk as he watched the centaur leave: Firenze was trying very hard not to gallop.

---

"Hermione!" Severus pulled up mid-stride as he entered his father's rooms. He was not entirely surprised: Hermione had visited Tobias a number times in the hospital wing and had offered to "give poor Poppy a break" by escorting the Muggle on long walks through the less frequented parts of the castle.

Tocky hurried over to close the door, then happily rubbed his hands together as he set about preparing tea and biscuits.

Hermione darted across the room and threw her arms around her wizard. "I was just telling Tobias about the goddess Artemis," she said, pointing to the bow which now hung on the wall beside the fireplace. "I finished the Care of Magical Creatures N.E.W.T. early – the practical component lasted an hour and a half, but the theory was an absolute doddle."

"As I told you it would be. I'm surprised you didn't stay to re-write the textbooks."

Hermione pulled a face, seized a cushion from an armchair, and smacked him in the chest with it. "There was a limit to the amount of parchment we were provided with. Draco thought it was hilarious, sod him!"

Severus appropriated the cushion and dropped it back where it belonged. "Tobias, I hear you have received another visit from a..."

"Flamin' bird!" Toby snarled, holding up his quiver – filled to capacity with black-fletched arrows.

"...phoenix." Severus calmly eyed Tobias until the Muggle settled himself and lowered the quiver to the floor. "You're not the only one." In response to a pair of questioning stares, Severus waved Hermione and Tobias into seats. He noticed Tocky hovering near the coffee table, a loaded tray in his hands. "Whenever you're ready, Tocky."

The house-elf placed the tray on the table and fussed with a tea cosy. "Tocky thinks Master Severus is about to say important things... Perhaps Tocky should be leaving?"

"Not at all. If Tobias is required to fight, as are the other recipients of phoenix-delivered items, I would prefer it if you stayed close by him – in the event that I cannot."

The house-elf nodded mournfully, his grass-green eyes serious.

Hermione sat forward. "Who are the other recipients? Do we really have to fight?"

Toby drew one of the arrows from his quiver and showed Hermione the deadly, barbed point. "These ain't toys, lass." He replaced the arrow and experimentally flexed his right shoulder.

"Fawkes has visited three centaur herds, Petrus, and Oriens. Firenze gave some indication that he thought there may be more, but who or what they may be is an open question." Severus produced the scroll and showed the seal of the Order of the Phoenix. "Hermione, you coined the phrase: 'a deepening shadow'. We have news that the shadow is indeed growing in strength. Within it are an uncounted number of Dementors, an unknown number of Death Eaters, and an Unspeakable of single-minded intention."

Toby stood up abruptly and stalked into the bathroom. He returned holding the Llygad by its silver chain. "It's all to do with this bloody thing, eh?"

"Yes." Severus blinked as the dangling crystal flashed in the firelight. He shook his head. Not again... Was it his own Sight – which he was still a little reluctant to accept, having always prided himself on practicality of mind – trying to manifest? Or was it the power in the Llygad calling on him to listen... Trying a different approach, he willed himself... to relax... to allow...

Cold. Bitter, vicious, lethal cold. Cold to make the body scream in pain. Cold to stop the blood in the heart. Cold to tear the mind apart and leave it grovelling in a quagmire of madness. Cold to devour the soul. It poured out of a great, grey void which hung, as smooth and fluid as quicksilver, above a crumbling city. Standing in front of him, Severus saw a slender figure, cloaked and hooded in black. The figure turned, the hood hiding any features in deep shadow, and held up the same spearhead that Severus had seen in the vision of Macsen's treasure. Hermione's words echoed – from where he could not tell: 'Darkness flees from light, cold withdraws from fire's heat.'

He gasped, shivering violently as he came out of the warning revelation. Tocky snapped his fingers and the flames in the fireplace doubled in height and volume. Hermione's arm slid around his waist as he instinctively moved to its warmth.

Toby had turned slightly pale. "God's Teeth, lad, I hope whatever that was'll prove useful."

Severus inclined his head. Northern Ukraine... a city in ruins. I must inform Kingsley to narrow the search. "I believe it will." He took the Llygad from his father's hand. "A source of power, once discovered, will always have those who covet it." He drew the dragon brooch from his pocket. "And there will be those who shall prevent them." He turned to Hermione. "I think it's time you met my new Patronus