Part Third: The Hart Subvertant, Chapter 31, Part 2

Chapter 31, Part 2:

But an instant later, the three advancing assassins each found themselves facing an opponent who simply manifested out of nothingness in front of them, three identical figures clad in black armour, with long whisking ears and huge, pitiless dark eyes, a gleaming dagger in hand. Cries of Wot the bloomin' fuck is that? and Bloody hell! rang out.

A wand came up, pointed at her. Stupefy! the man in the leather apron snarled –

The Stunner flew from his wand and crackled through her. The Glamour dissolved, leaving her attacker falling over his own feet, gaping.

The man closest to Professor Snape, the fellow in the woollen pullover and shabby cap, shook his head, confused, then bared his teeth and swung a drawn knife at her – and his attack just stopped, cold. A second later red-black arterial blood was spraying from his throat, and then he had crumpled to the ground.

"Go! Get out of here!" Emily screamed behind her at Snape.

"You first," he rasped back.

She chanced a look in Snape's direction, to see his hand go into his coat and come out with the mithreal dagger.

Unfortunately by that point the second assassin, the man in the grey coat, had already drawn a knife and swung it into his Glamoured adversary – discovering she was merely an illusion. An instant later, he turned back toward their original target, his dagger arm reaching back and coming forward almost too fast to follow – Emily's heart stopped as she saw the blade thrown in a straight, expert line in Snape's direction -

and then embed itself, hard, in a vertical wooden beam just behind him. He had dodged it.

Seeing the knife attack miss its intended victim, his assailant started to reach into his coat again, presumably for either his wand or another dagger, but he never got a chance to finish his action. Emily let the gory dagger in her hand fly toward him, aiming for the soft, vulnerable expanse of liver and crucial viscera just beneath his ribcage. At such close range, perhaps four or five paces, her aim was deadly, and he fell lifeless to the ground with an agonised groan.

Now, in mere seconds, the odds were down from three against one to one against two, and the only man left, the wiry bloke in the leather apron, became desperate. He charged toward Snape, his wand at the ready – and her colleague's icy black eyes fixed on him without fear as he adjusted the dagger in his hand. But before the man could reach him, Snape's black-gloved hand made a pass in front of his face, and a blinding flash of brilliant white light lit up the air in front of him, as though he had thrown a switch on an invisible floodlight. The Glamoured light stopped his assailant in his tracks, cursing and rubbing at his watering eyes, but the distraction only gave him pause for an instant before he aimed his wand at the Professor again –

But Snape was gone; vanished, without a sound.

The man in the leather apron cried out in astonishment, gawking in every direction – "Cor, you sod, where are you!" Emily took advantage of his distraction to Obscure herself as well, silently speaking a word. She invoked the third form of Obscurantis with another utterance of her True Name, scanning for Professor Snape, who had withdrawn several paces back down the alleyway. The leather-aproned hired killer was now standing between them and the portal back to Endustree Alley, and they would have to make their way past him at close quarters in order to escape.

But now the man was panicking – he had gone into what he thought was an easy fight, where their single target would be outnumbered and taken down with minimal effort, and instead he had been confronted with magic he didn't know and a frightening, well-armed creature he had never seen before. Both his allies were now dead, and he was alone against two enemies he couldn't see. "Where did you go, you bastard!" he shouted, shaking, his eyes rolling wildly. A moment later, the wind stirred some dry leaves on the cobblestones to his right, and his wand snapped forward again – "Reducto!" – reducing the leaf pile to ash. Soon every rustle and breath of sound in that alleyway incited him to further paranoia, and he began hurling off Reductor Curses at random, blowing leaves and discarded newspapers and bits of rubbish to dust. One of those newspapers had been disturbingly close to Emily's feet, and she had to dodge sideways to avoid being hit herself. Her heart was pounding; with their enemy laying down this blanket fire of disintegrating curses, it was only a matter of chance and luck as to whether one of them took a serious hit, or they got out alive.

Professor Snape had apparently come to the same realisation as Emily had, and started toward the assailant – but in his haste, he trod on a dry branch on the cobblestones. The man in the leather apron, hearing the snap of the branch, wheeled in Snape's direction and let fly with another Reductor Curse, which to Emily's horror brushed past him close enough to ignite the left sleeve of his coat. He quickly beat the flame out with his dagger hand, but he made himself visible in the process, his Obscurantis effect dispelled.

Their attacker turned toward him with a shout – "There you are, yeh sod! You're a dead man, you and your freaky friend – " His wand snapped forward – "Reducto!"

But Snape's hand had snapped forward as well – "Impedimenta!" he shouted, then spoke an inaudible word – and the golden light of the Reductor curse changed direction in midair, blowing a large crater in the brick wall to their right.

Snape's eyes followed the bolt of golden light with a look of pure horror on his face, glancing frantically around for something, and his opponent took advantage of his distraction to try a different tactic – "Incendio!" he cried, sending a gout of flame toward the Professor –

But Snape instantly countered with an Extinguishing Spell – "Exstinguere!" – reducing out the flames to a wisp of steam.

Instinctively, Emily put herself in the safest place for an onlooker to such a confrontation – right behind the person successfully deflecting all the attacks thrown in their direction, where she wouldn't get in his way, and where wild curses deflected by one or the other would not catch her in the crossfire. But as she did so, she wondered why Snape was merely deflecting all the attacks thrown at him, and not making any aggressive actions himself. Why did he not counterattack? The man was still coming toward him, wand at the ready, throwing all manner of aggressive spells at him; why did he not use a Reductor Curse, or a Stunning Spell, or hurl the dagger in his hand, or something –

Then she remembered –

– in my experience Avada Kedavra... cannot be aimed with perfect accuracy... there would have been one safe opportunity to use it today during the hunt... you were between me and the boar –

– I was afraid of accidentally killing you instead of it –

– and she was still Obscured. In the heat of the battle, he didn't have time to invoke the third form of Obscurantis and find her.

"Here!" she cried – and saw Snape's ear turn toward where she was standing, one or two paces behind him, letting him know that he was free to engage his attacker unhindered.

Her alert came none too soon – their attacker's wand snapped forward again, this time over Snape's shoulder, in Emily's direction – "Die, freaky bitch!" he shouted, and then his lips formed the first syllable of another word – "AV – "

But again Snape reacted instantly, the moment the man had screamed his imprecation at Emily; reacted instantly and with a shorter incantation – "REDUCTO!" and an inaudible word –

" – VADA KEDA – "

Then the bolt of golden energy caught the man full in the chest, and he dropped to the cobblestones as a smoking, partially vaporised corpse.

Both wizard and Faerie paused a long moment, on guard, assessing the situation, and then realised the fight was over.

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"That was far too close," Emily murmured.

"Absolutely," Snape replied.

They turned to each other, and something relieved and triumphant passed between them; the same understanding that compatriots in battle have felt since human and Faerie had first attained awareness – the enemy is vanquished, and we, my friend, are alive.

"Are you all right? Are you bleeding?" she asked, coming to his side and bending over his arm.

"No, I'm fine – my coat took the worst of it. I'm not hurt, just a bit singed." He held up his left arm, revealing a long char mark burnt into the black woollen sleeve of his frock coat. "It was headed right for me – by rights, I should have taken far worse damage than I did." His hand reached under his collar, then held up a silver medallion on a chain. "A very useful bit of magic, this." He glanced toward her, black eyes narrowing in what could only be described as keen appreciation.

"Well, you know... everyone makes them at home," Emily said quietly, feeling heat climbing her cheeks.

"Would you show me how?" he asked, turning the amulet over in his fingers.

"I will. Later," she replied. Much as she wanted to stay here and get her breath – and bask in his gratitude and admiration – years of combat training and experience demanded that she make sure everything was secure. "But first, we'd better check out the building and the perimeter, just to see if there were any more thugs or potential witnesses about. If anyone saw what went on tonight, we're going to need to be busy with the Obliviate spells."

She was turning away from him and heading toward the factory back steps – when her eyes met those of a black-cloaked man with long grey hair who had just come out of the building's back doors. His face was totally unfamiliar to her, but the deep scowl of anger on his face looked murderous. His wand was already at the ready, pointed straight at her, his lips peeling back from his teeth in an incantation –

"Avada – "

Emily stared at the cloaked newcomer, calculating desperately – he had the drop on her, had taken her completely by surprise, and thus had the advantage. She had armed herself with a dagger and a sword that night; and then she had first killed one assailant with the dagger, then thrown it away in killing the second, and hadn't had time to retrieve it. Now it was a matter of whether she could draw her sword and somehow either hurl it at her attacker or cross the space between the two of them and get up the steps before he got out the last three syllables of the incantation –

She had gotten her hand to her sword grip and was gathering herself to spring –

Later on, Emily would realise that she never should have worried.

She never had to complete the action, because her attacker never got the fourth syllable out. In another second a dagger hilt was protruding from his throat, and a long gush of red blood welled forth, the remainder of the incantation drowned into incomprehensible gurgle – and then a dark figure suddenly appeared just beside her, wand at the ready in case his first attack with the thrown dagger had been insufficient.

But there was no need. Emily's would-be murderer crumpled forward, gagging and choking, and grasping at his throat – then tumbled headfirst down the steps. He came to rest on the cobblestone alley floor and was still, more of his blood pooling beneath him unheeded.

As she let her hand fall from her sword hilt to her side, it occurred to her that she had done very well indeed to ask her colleague to attend her lecture on physical ways of countering Unforgiveable Curses. Always such an apt pupil.

Emily finally exhaled.

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Snape stepped forward, held out his hand to her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She grasped his hand and straightened up. "Fine, I think." She wavered on her hooves a bit – just narrowly evading two Killing Curses in rapid succession being a somewhat disconcerting event for anyone – and Snape caught her opposite elbow and steadied her. "Thank you."

No answer but a curt, courteous nod. They both stood, just breathing hard for a moment.

"I read in your inquest report that the judge said he dearly hoped never to startle you in a dark alley," Snape said finally. "How sensible of him."

"You do pretty fecking all right in dark alleys yourself, sir," Emily replied. "I always said you were talented."

He took one instant to give her an absolutely diabolical grin in reply – not a smile, but a jubilant baring of his teeth that would have done any successful predator proud. But then his moment of triumph passed, and he was all business again.

Emily went to the corpse of the fellow in the grey coat and retrieved her dagger, while Snape warily approached the man lying at the foot of the steps, then grasped the man's shoulder and turned the body over.

"Oh, bloody hell, Corin Jugson," he said, examining the corpse's face. He pushed up the man's left sleeve, exposing the unmistakable image of the Dark Mark seared into his left forearm.

"Did you know him?" Emily asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Snape dropped the corpse's arm, then tugged the dagger he had thrown free of the man's throat, coolly wiping the mithreal blade clean with a fold of the man's cloak. "I'd dealt with him once or twice. I was better acquainted with his cousin, who is another corrupt administrator in Magical Law Enforcement. They're the reason why Shacklebolt and Tonks run into so much red tape in taking illegal items seized by Arthur Weasley's department into evidence. He'd also been known to use Cruciatus Curses on petty criminals who weren't prompt enough with their bribe money." He sheathed the mithreal dagger and tucked it under his coat, then threw the fold of the late Corin Jugson's cloak over his head, covering both his staring-eyed face and bleeding throat. "Believe me, his loss does not leave the world the poorer."

"We should see if there's anyone else inside," Emily said, nodding brusquely at the back doors. "Turn away from me – I'll Obscure myself and take point. Then you'll want to Obscure yourself as well, and follow me."

Once Obscured, they both took a moment to locate the other using the third form of Obscurantis, and then Snape motioned Emily forward, following a pace behind her as she silently made her way up the back factory steps. She paused at the threshold, giving the wrought-iron door handle a wide berth, and nudging the door open with one hoofed foot.

The two of them passed quickly through the building – administrative offices, a kitchen and lavatory, and a large metal-smelting forge and metalworking facilities. Other than the four men they had met with tonight, the place appeared to be entirely deserted.

"Professor Swain?" Snape called to Emily as they passed through the metalworking facility, and reappeared solidly beside her. "There's no sign of anyone. If there was anyone else here tonight, he's had time to Apparate away and perhaps summon reinforcements, so let's get out of here. This place is also absolutely full of forged iron, so it can't be safe for you."

When they emerged from the back doors, Emily cast an appraising eye over the four men lying strewn about in the alleyway. "So, what should we do with the bodies?" she asked, bending over Corin Jugson's unmoving corpse.

"We can't let them be found," Snape replied, shaking his head. "Your work is too distinctively precise – Lucius would know you were here after a cursory examination. The forensic evidence has to be destroyed." He led her a few paces aside with a tactful hand on her elbow – "You'll want to stand clear."

Snape then pointed his wand at Jugson – "Papyrus." In another moment, he had Tranfigured each of the bodies on the ground into human-shaped bundles of wadded-up paper, which he then lit on fire with Incendio spells. The paper ignited and began to go up with a faint whoosh of indrawn air, swirling Snape's black coat and Emily's black cloak around them.

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He had to hand it to Albus.

If this was what the woman was capable of, then she truly was just about the finest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor he could have obtained in this world or any other, and it was a crying shame that she wouldn't be staying on for another year.

She was standing perhaps five feet off his right hand, and had not yet changed back to her more humanlike physical form – too caught up in watching what had been their assailants turn to charred ash to notice, perhaps. He was silent, indulging his curiosity with a long look at curved haunch and slender leg, one delicate hoofed foot bent sideways in an alert, alarming angle. The cervoid ears were just visible through her windblown hair, whisking toward the sound of the paper crisping.

What struck him the most about her other form at that moment was how absolutely natural it looked. It suited her, somehow – he hadn't noticed until that moment just how fey and deerlike her expressions and mannerisms were in her more human form. It was so obvious now, in the way her whole attitude and expression seemed to strain toward whatever interested her, the way she seemed to listen to and sense her surroundings so actively and acutely; her sense of animal vitality, untroubled by the existential dilemmas of humankind. Always the impression of subtle thought and motion, even when she was completely still.

But then her attention flicked back in his direction, and she saw him looking at her. She twitched a fold of her black cloak closer around herself, hiding her legs from view. Snape turned back to watch the fire consuming the newspapers, and knew without glancing back at her that she would be Obscured and gone when he did.

"There's no need to be so self-conscious about your other form," he muttered to the empty air. "I'd already seen it before tonight, you know, and I've never found it terrifying."

No answer. He had no idea if she had heard him.

"I'll finish up here, and meet you back at the castle," he called out to her.

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Snape quickly finished clearing up the scene of the attack, first letting the Transfigured remains of their attackers burn to ash, and then reducing the ash to vapour with Reductor Curses. He also cast a Reparo spell on the blasted wall, and locked the factory's back doors to preserve the illusion of security for anyone showing up for work on Monday. He then Apparated back to the gate just outside of Hogwarts.

As he returned through the castle's great front doors, he found Professor Swain waiting near the steps in the front foyer. She was still in armour, but had put the weaponry away somewhere, and had resumed her more humanlike form, her feet shod in black boots. Upon his return, she immediately came forward to meet him.

As he went to greet her, euphoric aggression singing in his veins, all he wanted was to embrace her, crush her in his arms, exultant and victorious, but he didn't dare. Instead, he coolly held out his hand, and they congratulated each other in the manner of warriors after a victory.

"Professor."

"Professor."

Her hand clasped in his, still warm and a bit damp from her recent exertions – and in that chaste touch he could almost feel the exertions of her heart, the blood rushing beneath her skin. A memory recurred to him with painful vividness; a moment from a callbox –

– clutching her, sheathed aching in her body, fourteen years of hunger exhaling from every cell. Her fair head fell back, revealing the most biteable drift of neck flesh he could imagine, and for a long moment his lips found her pulse fluttering wildly, that vitality just under his kisses, her scent sweetly concentrated here – then her arms and thighs tensed around him with the long indrawn breath of suspense that let him know her orgasm was perhaps a second away –

Now he could just as vividly imagine her lying under him as he drove his lust and triumph into her, more of those soprano gasps of pleasure in his ear, her arms locked around his shoulders as he again brought her to orgasm in what felt like a few heartbeats after he was inside her. Her profile and the line of her cheek again struck him as beautiful – had always been beautiful to him – and he wanted to outline that beauty with his fingertips, wanted to take her chin in his hand and turn her face to his, and whisper down into those uncanny eyes, I know what we both need, at this moment, here and now. May I offer you a companion with whom to sleep tonight, if there is any chance that the moment when you desired such has not forever passed?

But he was not the sort of man to say such words out loud, and even if he had been, he could not have imagined that such advances were welcome. He resolved, however, that if he ever again unexpectedly found himself in the arms of a woman such as this one, never to take his eyes off her for even an instant.

"Good night," he said. "And thank you."

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"Anytime," she said, smiling faintly. "Thank you."

Emily knew that she was lingering too close to him, hovering really. His personal scent was a miasma of adrenaline rage, spent muscle acids, testosterone – he smelled like pure intensity. There had been times in her past, with a very different – yet similar – black-haired, black-eyed man, when she couldn't wait to launch herself onto him after a victory, when the only way to calm their aggressions after battle was with the most raw and animal kind of sex. Now, faced with someone equally worthy and enticing... she had to concentrate hard on forcing herself not to reach for him, although he of course remained cool as a winter night as he very respectfully and politely took his leave of her, then turned toward the Slytherin dungeons.

"Sir... wait, please," she called to him. "Would you perhaps confirm or deny something I've been wondering about tonight?"

"If I can, madam," he said, wearily turning back to her. No doubt their work of this evening had been exhausting.

"On the day of the hunt, back in November – it seems as though you would have let Lucius die, rather than risk harming me with a Killing Curse," she said.

"Of course I would have." He acknowledged that as if it was, again, the most obvious truth in the world. "And it wouldn't have been one of those decisions that kept me awake at night wondering if I had done the right thing, either."

Then he nodded to her again, and made his way toward his own quarters.

It occurred to her, as she watched him move out of sight, that she was in love with an extremely uncommon man.

At that moment, she would have run after him, stopped him, tried to sway him with protestations of her affection and sincerity, the most heartfelt apologies she could muster for any slight he still cherished, just said any damn thing he needed to hear and meant every word of it – if only he would have tea with her again.

But it never occurred to her that he would have accepted such an invitation, now, at this late date, after all that had never been between them.

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Later that evening, Severus returned to his apartments to enjoy some privacy and rest, but oddly, he now found them so silent as to be unnerving. It seemed years since he had been in these rooms; nothing seemed to be where he had left it. The only constant was Swain's Encyclopaedia, lying open on his desk, to an entry headed:

"FAUN. Pl. Fauns. A member of one of the shapeshifting race of deer changelings native to Arcadia... "

There was a woodcut illustration of a nude male faun; with antlers, sinewy muscles, and handsome endowment all richly detailed; and on the next page, a corresponding woodcut of a nude female faun, slimmer, narrower in the shoulders and more graceful than her male counterpart, but no less physically formidable.

"Historical Notes: The faun tribe most likely takes its modern name from Faunes I, one of the first kings of this race, who is believed to have ruled the territory that later became the Third Kingdom from approximately 30 B.F.A. to 83 F.A., or 1033 B.C. to 950 B.C. – which would place his ascension to the throne as approximately a century prior to the founding of the Roman Empire. (See also Third Kingdom, History of; Pan, Bona Dea, Lupercalia.) The Ardensea portals of his time are believed to have opened not into what is currently Great Britain, but the European continent near what is now the border between Italy and Greece; it is thought that a substantial amount of peaceful integration and intermarriage went on between humans and Fae fauns and satyrs at that time. King Faunes I is reported to have been a worldly and cosmopolitan traveller, who kept counsel with many of the Second-World European sovereigns of the time. The Muggle leaders of this time by all accounts regarded King Faunes I as a benevolent demigod, Latinising his Arcadian name to Faunus.

A figure resembling King Faunes I became incorporated into the Greek and later Roman religions of the era. He was venerated as an agricultural and woodland deity, the protector of farmers, crops, and livestock, and the patron of winemakers. The Greeks and Thracians created a springtime fertility festival called the Lupercalia in King Faunes I's honour; this festival was later assimilated by the Romans along with much of the Greek religion. The Greek god of wine, agriculture, and poetry, Dionysius, was often described by the Muggle poets and playwrights of this time and region as possessing an entourage of satyrs, fauns, and wood nymphs, and the Greek nature deity Pan was often pictured in a faun- or satyr-like form, with cloven hooves, the legs and lower torso of a goat or deer, horns or antlers, and a goat's beard.

Fauns, on average, tend to be taller and of a more attenuated build than their close cousins, the satyr tribe. Like most changelings, however, they enjoy many of the same physical advantages – proportionally higher muscle density, especially in their hoofed forms, and senses of smell, hearing, and low-light vision comparable to their deer counterparts. Fair, russet, or light brown hair is most common; large, well-separated brown eyes are universal to this race. Male fauns have short cervoid antlers in their hoofed forms, but female fauns do not, also like their deer counterparts.

Like their satyr cousins, the faun race is often thought of as highly sensual, and possessed of an acute appreciation of Nature in all its forms. Given the prevalence of winemaking in the Third Kingdom economy, it is not surprising that the faun race is also closely identified with wine and carousing; and given the extreme physical grace fauns are capable of, it is also not surprising that they are closely associated with dance and revelry... "

Now, when Snape recalled that a knight and noblewoman of this race had looked at him for an hour or so, then gone to the ridiculous lengths that she had to pursue him, so enthusiastically accepted him as a lover... based on what he now knew of her people, and of the woman herself, her actions no longer seemed as offensive as he once felt them to be.

He was now almost flattered.

As he readied himself for bed, it occurred to him that he should be more upset about the events of this evening, that he should be terrified by this confirmation that Lucius actively sought his life. In days past, he would have been sleepless and jittering with terror all night. But instead, he felt luxuriously exhausted, as though after a long day's work.

When he went into that confrontation with her, he had known with bone-deep certainty that he would come out alive. It hadn't been easy, not by a long shot – the victory had been hard fought. Both of their lives had been in danger that night.

But he had been with her, and her presence had allowed him not to worry. Somehow, his fear was gone, at least for that night.

Then sleep engulfed him, the heavy, numbing, natural slumber that had eluded him since the night of the Third Task, and finally, he let himself rest.

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Emily had a long, exhausted lie-in the next morning, awakening to Cecile traipsing in with another of her tempting breakfast trays and humming a blithe little song. During her breakfast, a messenger owl appeared at her sitting room window – and Emily recognised the Malfoys' black eagle owl, bearing a long white box tied with velvet ribbon. She paused a long, wary moment before accepting the package, but inside the box, she found nothing more dangerous than dozens of brilliantly red, fragrant, long-stemmed roses, and a letter in Lucius's distinctive handwriting:

Darling,

Please, get well soon, my love. You can't imagine how worried I've been.

I would have come to see you the very next day if you had chosen to recuperate in St. Mungo's, but as you haven't been admitted to hospital there, I'll assume that you've sought out a physician among your own people – probably a wise choice, as you don't want anyone administering morphine to you by mistake. Please let me know if you need anything, anything at all. If you want a licensed nurse at your bedside, or painkillers, or a burn specialist, I could have them for you in a moment.

I have to admit, dearest, I'm shocked over the way things turned out – what an unexpected turn of events that was. The best laid plans do seem to go awry now and then, and I'm so sorry you had to take the brunt of it. I know you wanted to make an excellent first impression, and I share your disappointment that things went so badly.

At any rate, do be sure to let me know what I can do to aid your recovery. Also, my love, be sure to let me know when you've recovered enough to see me again, and when we're reunited, don't feel the need to apologise or heap blame upon yourself. You already know that no matter what happens, I find it hard to withhold forgiveness. Of course everyone would have preferred if things had gone the way we planned them, but as they say, better luck next time.

Don't worry, my dearest, all is not lost. I expect that this is merely a temporary setback, and we'll still welcome you back into the fold as soon as you're able to return. (And you know what kind of welcome I'll give you, as soon as you're able – as always, I can't wait to see you again.)

Emily put Lucius's letter aside, scowling with distaste. She then took quill and parchment and composed a note:

Dear Catherine,

Good morning! After all that St. George's has done for me, I'd like to do something for St. George's. Please give these to whichever patients you think would most enjoy them.

Thanks again for taking such great care of me when I was hurt, and please let me know when you next have an evening off, because I'm taking you and Roddy out for dinner. Also, please let me know the address of the charitable donations office at St. George's when I see you next – I think an anonymous donor may have to thank them for hosting a certain guest unawares.

Love you, and hope to see you soon!

~ Emily

Then she showered and dressed, took the box of roses up to the Hogwarts Owlery and dispatched it off to St. George's, then took Lucius's letter up to Dumbledore's office.

She found the Headmaster sitting in one of the armchairs near his hearth, paging through a book – The Rise and Fall of Grindelwald, 1933 – 1945 – and then he greeted her with a pleasant smile. "Ah, good morning, Emily, I was going to ask you to come see me today. Please, have a seat. May I offer you a cup of tea?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, and took a seat in the chair opposite his.

"Just a moment – " Dumbledore picked up a china tray sitting on an end table, containing a teapot of what smelled like the dregs of Earl Grey tea, and two empty cups. "Has Professor Snape already told you what happened last night?" she asked.

"Yes, Severus came to see me first thing this morning," Dumbledore replied. He set the tray down on his desk, cleaning all the china to sparkling whiteness with a single pass of his hand. "He was grateful for your help last night."

"He was very welcome," Emily said. "And he needn't lay all the credit at my feet – he's pretty bloody capable himself."

"Yes, he certainly is. Filius thinks Severus might have been a duelling champion, if he had ever cared to enter the competitions." Dumbledore busied himself adding what smelled like citrus-spice loose tea to the pot, then replacing the lid. He then tapped the pot with his wand – "Aqua fervens" – and plumes of steam began to rise from its spout. Dumbledore brought the tray back to the sitting area and poured out two cups, handing one to Emily.

"Now, I would very much like to hear your impressions of what went on last night," the Headmaster said, settling into his chair and blowing on his tea.

Emily then gave him a long, detailed account of what had gone on outside Vulcan Ironworks: how Professor Snape had immediately been set upon by three assailants upon their arrival, how Emily had then killed two of them in defence of both herself and Snape, and how Snape had killed their final attacker and a Death Eater accomplice in order to pre-empt Killing Curses aimed at her. After she had given the Headmaster a thorough briefing, she handed him the letter she had received that morning.

"Lucius still expects me to carry on as a Voldemort supporter even after what happened," she said, with an ironic grimace. "And he knows I was never admitted to St. Mungo's, so it's obvious that he's still keeping close tabs on me. I know from experience that Lucius has a very effective network of informants at the hospital. When I was admitted there after the attack in Diagon Alley, he knew about it within hours."

"I see," the Headmaster said gravely, handing the letter back to her. "I've called a confidential meeting this evening at Grimmauld Place, and if you wouldn't mind, Emily, I would like for you to attend. I believe Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and the Order's Aurors should all be made aware of what happened yesterday. If you could meet us at eight tonight at our headquarters, bringing all the correspondence you have in your possession relating to both the attack on Mrs. Weasley and the Endustree Alley incident, I would be most grateful."

"I'll be there, sir," she replied.

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Later that evening, Emily Disapparated on the sidewalk just outside number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and made her way up to the front foyer – only to be all but mugged on the threshold by the very anxious Mrs. Molly Weasley.

"Emily, dear! Oh goodness, they told me you had just gotten out of hospital – I've been so worried. Please, how are you?" Mrs. Weasley asked, all in a rush.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley. Yes, I got out of hospital yesterday. How are you?"

"I'm fine, dear, some attacks of the nerves as you can imagine, but I've never put anyone in hospital before, so it's been rather a shock. Are you sure you're all right?"

"My doctor pronounced me fully recovered Saturday afternoon. I'll be just fine, thank you for asking."

"Are you sure?" the other woman asked, her voice cracking. "It was terrible, dear – no one's skin should look like that, it's not right at all, I had no idea iron was that harmful to Faeries, I couldn't have done it if I'd known how bad it would be. That burn looked like it hurt awfully – I mean, I've seen well-done beefsteaks that looked like that, I cook them up for my husband's supper with a little brown gravy and sprouts... Oh, I'm sorry, I am babbling a bit, aren't I, it's just that I've been so upset ever since – "

"It's all right, Molly, really. See, look." Emily propped her left foot on the very ugly umbrella stand made from a troll's leg that stood in the hall, and lifted her calf-length skirt to discreetly bare the bit of thigh where the burn had been – all that was left of the wounds were two oval splotches of slightly bluish new skin.

Mrs. Weasley's eyes nervously scanned the site of the injury for a moment, then pressed her hands to her ample bosom, sighing deeply with relief. "Oh, good, you are nice and healed up, aren't you – that's wonderful, dear. It doesn't hurt anymore, does it? I'd heard this week that iron burns can be stubborn even with Healing Potion – how did they get it to clear up so fast?"

The front door creaked open at that moment, and Professor Snape came in, his hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He stopped short at the sight of his colleague standing there with her skirt hiked alarmingly above her knees, one fine black brow arching toward the ceiling.

Emily immediately smoothed her skirt back down. "I thought Mrs. Weasley should see how well I had recovered from the burn," she said, blushing.

"Of course," he replied.

"To give credit where it's due, Mrs. Weasley, the reason I healed up so quickly is because Professor Snape and some colleagues in the medical field decided to create a new Healing Potion formulation specifically to treat iron burns," Emily said, with a hesitant smile in his direction. "It's worked famously well in my case."

"Really!" Mrs. Weasley turned to Snape with a decidedly less hesitant smile. "How clever of you, Professor."

Snape glanced rather self-consciously from Emily to Mrs. Weasley, then nodded to them both and made his way past them down toward the kitchen, muttering Well, no one else was doing a blessed thing about it as he went.

After he had gone, Mrs. Weasley turned toward Emily with a matter-of-fact little shrug. "Well, you know, dear, he is Professor Snape," she said, and to her, that explained everything.

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Emily and Mrs. Weasley followed Snape down into the kitchen, where Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, and Arthur Weasley were clustered around the table. Kingsley Shacklebolt was putting the kettle on for tea. Nymphadora Tonks was perched on the kitchen countertop talking to Shacklebolt, but she sprang to her feet when she saw Emily come into the kitchen – "Swain! How're you feeling, mate?"

"Fine, thanks," she replied. "My doctor pronounced me fully recovered as of last Saturday."

"Glad you see you're up and about again – you gave us all a scare the other night, lassie." Alastor Moody got up and clomped up to Emily's side and offered her his hand, and this time she felt no reserve about taking it.

Mrs. Weasley and Shacklebolt meanwhile busied themselves providing everyone with tea, and then the group assembled at the kitchen table.

Professor Snape and Emily both made reports on the previous night's incident in Endustree Alley, answering questions when the Aurors asked for more details. Emily also described exactly how Lucius had gone about asking her to murder Mrs. Weasley in order to be initiated as a Death Eater, and her conversation with Voldemort before she set out. She also described everything she could remember about what had happened after she returned to Malfeasant with the news that she hadn't completed her assignment, but had to admit that her memories of her return were rather patchy.

"Yes, Crucio has a way of inducing selective amnesia in those who suffer it," Snape muttered, and the others nodded grimly. Mrs. Weasley looked especially haggard and distressed as these tales were related, holding tight to her husband's hand.

Dumbledore then asked both professors to bring out their correspondence from Malfoy regarding these incidents for the Aurors, to be reviewed as potential evidence against Malfoy, and asked them to compare the letters they had received regarding the same incidents. "I do apologise if this is at all embarrassing for either of you," the Headmaster said, as Emily hesitated before giving up her sometimes sentimental letters from Lucius.

Emily was outraged when she saw the letters Lucius had written to Snape – "'Yes, it's a Muggle place – I do apologise in advance for the stench of unwashed non-magical humanity' – 'When I arrived, the bloody establishment had burned down, how do you like that. I do hope that idiot Muggle who owned the place was suitably fined or imprisoned for his negligence in allowing the gas lines to get so old and decrepit' – oh, that son of a bitch! Could he possibly be more transparent?" She threw Lucius's letter down on the table with a torrent of extremely profane-sounding Old Arcadian, sending most of the assembled company's eyebrows quirking toward the ceiling. Dumbledore discreetly hid a laugh under his hand.

Dumbledore, the Aurors, and especially Snape were equally disgusted when they saw Malfoy's letters to Emily – it seemed to her that Snape put each communication aside after reading as though he thought they would dirty his hands. Tonks was likewise unimpressed – "Isn't he full of himself. Hey, Swain – 'don't feel the need to apologise or heap blame upon yourself' for not killing Molly now, we all know how shite happens," she said sarcastically.

"Yes, I'll do my best not to wallow in my sense of failure," Emily replied, also sarcastically. She stood and held her tea mug aloft – "Ladies and gentlemen – a toast to the continuing health and well-being of Mrs. Molly Weasley."

"Bloody right," Mr. Weasley exclaimed, getting to his feet as well. There came a round of Hear hear from the assembled company, and everyone drank to that sentiment. Mrs. Weasley smiled and blushed.

"Which brings us to the next burning question of the day – how long do you all think Molly should hide out here at headquarters?" Mr. Weasley asked, turning to Moody and Dumbledore. "Do we have any way of knowing as to whether they'll be after her again?"

"Yes, I've been considering that as well," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "At this time, we don't seem to have any way of knowing."

Snape held up his hand for the group's attention. "I think another week or two of hiding out here will be enough – they won't be out looking for her. I honestly think Mrs. Weasley is quite safe for the time being, as she's probably no longer a priority to them."

Dumbledore, both Weasleys, and Emily glanced sharply in his direction, each coming out with some variation on Why not? in unison.

Snape regarded them all coolly. "Truthfully... I believe that Professor Swain was never really meant to succeed at the task they assigned her," he replied. "I'd lay even money that they expected to benefit from her failure just as much as they would have from her success."

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"Think about this, Professor – when they gave you that assignment, they had to know they could only benefit by both your success or your failure," he told her. "Their primary objective was to intimidate Arthur Weasley – and I think they've handily managed that, even now." The Weasleys exchanged a long look, clasping each other's hands tightly.

"And not only that, madam, but you had the advantage in negotiations, and you knew it," Snape continued. "As such, their secondary objective was to negate your edge there. If you had succeeded in this task, you would have been guilty of murder, and they would have used that against you whenever it suited them. But you failed, so the Dark Lord took the opportunity to grind you under his heel with a Cruciatus Curse, which was probably just as effective in bringing you back into line. I've no doubt that this task was as much a means of intimidating you as it was the Weasleys."

Emily scowled, considering what he had just said – and twisted logic or not, it made sense. Far too much sense. "As always, you seem to be able to think about five chess moves ahead of me," she said tartly. "I wouldn't have thought of that."

"I simply have the advantage of about sixteen years' experience on you in this matter," Snape said dismissively. He turned toward Mr. Weasley – "My advice to you, sir, is to refuse to be intimidated. Carry on at work as though nothing had happened, and be glad that your wife is safe." Weasley put an arm around Molly's shoulders and nodded, his face set in a look of grim determination.

"Nonetheless, I'd rather err on the side of caution. Molly should remain here at least until the end of the summer," Moody declared. The other Aurors nodded agreement.

Molly sighed in resignation, her head inclining onto her husband's shoulder.

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Some time later, the confidential meeting broke up, and Mrs. Weasley began clearing up the kitchen as the rest of the group began to disperse toward home.

Emily caught up to Snape in the foyer. "So, they're trying to keep me in a weak and subordinate position, and you've seen my last letter from Lucius," she said, folding her arms in front of her. "What do you think I should do next?"

He considered for a moment. "If I were you, I would put off my next meeting with Lucius for as long as possible. You have the perfect excuse – none of them know about the iron burn potion, so as far as they're all aware, you're still lying in hospital getting your wound painfully debrided every day. I would milk that excuse for all it's worth, because the second you return, it's all going to start over again."

"I see," she said, nodding.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, madam. I shall be leaving Hogwarts for some time as of this evening, and I still have preparations to make, so now I'll have to bid you good-bye."

He gave her his usual curt, courteous nod of farewell, and started toward the door.

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"Bid me good-bye?" she repeated in dismay. "Where are you going?"

He stopped, then took her aside in the foyer for a private confidence. "From what you've told me, what I've gathered from Cecile's memories, and after that attack in London, I'm now convinced that the Death Eaters are sharply divided as to whether or not I should be allowed to return," he told her. "We both know that Lucius wants me out of the way, but there are others who don't, and I've gotten in contact with some of them. For the next day or two, I'm going to meet with the faction that wants me to return as a Death Eater – and my other contacts may have enough pull to outweigh Lucius's influence and talk me back into the Dark Lord's good graces, if I can convince them on a few points. But that's all I'll say about it. As I've said before, madam, it's better if no one else knows the details."

He again nodded to her and started to take his leave, but Emily stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "Is that really safe?" she asked, concerned. "Are you going by yourself? What if this is all another trap?"

"I truly don't think it is," he assured her quietly. "The people I'm meeting have much to lose by my death, and a great deal to gain by my return. I've done some of them quite a few favours in the past, and I'm counting on their desire to keep me alive to do them more favours in the future. Good evening, madam."

He opened the front door and proceeded onto the porch, but she persisted, following him outside. "When will you be back?" There was no mistaking the upset in her voice at this news.

Snape stopped dead, turning back to face her on the porch landing. The wind caught his hair and blew it over his pale face; haggard black eyes watching her through dishevelled black locks. "What's it to you?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Emily looked at him silently. Don't leave. I couldn't endure it if anything happened to you.

Then she stared down at the dirty porch floor. "I've worked with you all year – is it so impossible that I might be concerned about one of my colleagues?" she protested softly.

"Then I'll have to come back, if only so you don't have to mourn for one of your... colleagues," he said dryly. "I should be away for a day, perhaps two."

"I see. Well... best of luck to you, then," she said, resolutely holding out her hand even as the tightness in her throat threatened to make it impossible to speak.

"Thank you." He kept his eyes downcast as he shook her hand.

It took all the strength she had to let go of his hand, and say nothing while he left, down the front steps of Grimmauld Place.

At the foot of the steps, he turned back and saw her watching him go. He paused long enough to give her the smallest, most ironic bow of farewell, and then, with a crack of Apparition, he was gone.

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Two days. He would be gone for two entire days, he said.

Emily now had Hogwarts mostly to herself, and the time until Professor Snape returned loomed long and empty before her. She had not even Dumbledore or Argus Filch for company, as Dumbledore was off on mysterious Order business, and Filch had taken his battered luggage and Mrs. Norris in a wicker cat carrier and gone to Brighton for his annual summer holiday.

Cecile visited Emily every day in the morning, bringing breakfast trays laden with excellent food and little bouquets, chattering gaily about her new life with the Hogwarts elves. Cecile's schedule was brimful of social engagements this month – apparently summer was a very merry time for the Hogwarts house-elves, when they held quilting bees and cooking contests, and tackled all the big, delightful cleaning jobs like scouring all the ceilings, cleaning all the silver and gold plate, and scrubbing down the castle's upper attics and lower sub-basements. "You is not to be believing what we is cleaning out of the sub-basements," Cecile told her Mistress, with a shudder of giggling, delicious horror. "Sometimes the mushrooms is humming."

On the days of Professor Snape's absence, some of the elves were polishing all the uppermost staircases, the really wild, unpredictable ones that could change at any moment, and Cecile made it sound as though this was the younger elves' idea of a rip-roaring thrill ride, rather like a Muggle roller coaster. "When the staircase will be changing while we is all scrubbing, we hang on and cry, Wheee! It is very fun to do, Miss Professor, even if it is taking some time for my stomach to be settling when we is done," Cecile chirped happily.

"I'm sure it is," Emily said, smiling.

With Filch off at the seaside, Dumbledore doing who knew what, and the elves polishing wild staircases, Emily found herself still full of the mad-doggish energy she had felt after getting out of hospital and thwarting Lucius's latest attack on Professor Snape. She took the opportunity of the time alone to do things she wouldn't have dared to do while school was going on – like put on fleece shorts and a sweatshirt and run all about the castle in her hoofed form. After spending most of the year in her slower, more vulnerable soft-footed form, self-conscious about the very existence of her more deerlike form, it felt like the most delicious taboo imaginable to tear around taking staircases at a bound, and doing handsprings off banisters, all without worrying if she would scare or affront all the humans. Every now and then, she would hear a high-pitched cry of Wheeeee! from above as the elves caught another ride on a staircase.

But then it was evening, then night. When she could no longer keep her eyes open, Emily put out her candles and went to bed – only to be assailed by creeping fear and worry once she was alone in the dark with her thoughts.

An image from seven years ago kept recurring to her: a black-haired, black-eyed man in a blowing cloak, his pale face set with grim resolution, retreating into the distance on a battlefield – and as she watched him go, all she could think of was how her life would be over if any peril befell him. Please don't go, my love. I'll die if anything happens to you. Don't leave me here all alone...

She rolled over in bed, holding a pillow tenderly in her arms. Where was he? What if they tried to blow him up again, and she wasn't there to protect him? What if they set assassins on him again, and she wasn't there to help? What was Albus thinking, sending him off on all these secret missions by himself?

What was happening to him? Where was he sleeping tonight – someone's guest bedroom, or a dank dungeon cell? What were they doing to him?

Where was he?

Yes, so he had gone off on some desperately dangerous mission for the Order, and all she could think to say to him before he left was Well, best of luck to you, then – if those weren't words to warm the heart of a doomed man, she didn't know what were. He hadn't even looked at her.

Well, yes, of course he hadn't looked at her; he probably hadn't wanted to. Of course he was still upset with her, look at everything that had happened to him – the man lost the mother he had obviously adored, and who his father probably abused, at sixteen. Next, because Professor Snape had once described his younger self as an angry and orphaned teenage boy – that meant his father had to have been gone by the time he was nineteen at the eldest. Then some foul leanan of a female, this sharp-toothed sadist Bella, whomever she was, had got hold of him not too much later, and by all accounts had proceeded to shatter his heart into bits. Emily had no idea what had become of this Bella, or whether or not she was truly out of the picture, but that bitch had really better hope that the two of them never found themselves pitted against each other in any sort of adversarial situation, because use of unnecessary force wouldn't even begin to cover it.

Could all of that perhaps have left him a bit sensitive about being abandoned? she asked herself. Really, Swain, you think? Emily pulled her pillow over her head and simply writhed with self-accusation.

Then, of course, she had to come along. So, perhaps when the bitter, lonely thirtyish academic he had become years later found himself having a pleasant evening with a sympathetic stranger, culminating in that totally impulsive act of lovemaking that had been both hotter and more tender than it had ever had any right to be – and lost his new lover immediately afterward, without so much as a good-bye –

Sweet Mother, no wonder he got so upset. She'd feel incredibly upset and let down herself in the same circumstances.

Her panic-stricken dash away afterward now seemed both cowardly and intensely cruel even to Emily herself. Yes, why not just mug some unsuspecting bloke with everything that's missing in his life, give him a few hours of sympathy, understanding, companionship, lust, and a few minutes of damnably hot sex – and then leave him there. He was right, she should have tried to get in contact with him again, surely there was something she could have suggested that would enable them to get together again without revealing everything to him. Why hadn't she said something like, "The truth is, darling, I'd dearly love to see you again, but I'm about to go off and start a new job, and the new job is in a very isolated area where I won't have any way to contact you. Could you possibly meet me back here in King's Cross in a week's time and then we could, er, get tea again? Perhaps have another pleasant evening trading war stories about teaching? Then maybe check into some nice little hotel and spend the night lustily taking each other in every way physically possible?"

No, she had to get scared and vanish. Oh yeah, that was tactful. Why hadn't she just stolen his wallet and tied his bootlaces together on her way out, just to make the poor man's evening really complete.

Oh flaming Christian hell, she thought, I've killed any number of murderous Orcs twice my size on a battlefield, and somehow I got scared of a reserved Englishman who just wanted to get to know me better, and now someone might use a Killing Curse on him before I get a chance to make all of this up to him.

Damn it, she had best stop thinking thoughts like that, because they made her feel like crying.

It was a very long, very guilty night.

Please, holy Mother, just let him come back safe, and I'll never criticise his classroom discipline ever again. I'll tell him how sharp he looks in dress robes, if the opportunity ever arises. I'll even stop losing my temper with him over things that aren't his fault. Please, just let him come back.

Just let him come back.

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The next weekly meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was set to happen that Tuesday at 6 p.m. – the same day Snape was supposed to return from his meeting with the Death Eater contingent still friendly to him – but when Emily arrived at Grimmauld Place that Tuesday for the meeting, the distance between the sidewalk just outside and the kitchen where all the others were assembling seemed as wide and daunting as the Sahara Desert.

She stood in front of the house, unable to go inside – because if she went in, she might hear that Professor Snape had mysteriously gone missing, or been killed. He might be in the kitchen already, sitting at the table... or she might hear news of his awful fate at the hands of the Death Eaters. If they caught him, they would make a horrible example of him, of course... somehow her feet wouldn't move, wouldn't take her up to where someone might tell her that something dire had happened to him; cherishing her ignorance of his fate to the bitter end.

"Hey, Swain! Hi!" Someone Disapparated next to her on the pavement just outside the Blacks' house. Nymphadora Tonks, hair now violet and slicked back, dressed in a long black witch's robe over a Weird Sisters concert t-shirt, black jeans, and Doc Martens, and clumsily juggling several bags from Sainsbury's. "Grab one of these, would you?"

"Oh... sure." Emily took a bag threatening to tip canned goods onto the sidewalk, then another full of what smelled like bread, cheese, tuna salad, and cinnamon rolls.

"Thanks, mate." Tonks adjusted her other bags in her arms. "I'm the provisions monkey today – Molly's scared to go out since what happened, so we're all just giving her a chance to calm down." She breezily nodded toward the front door – "After you, then."

"Thanks." Emily took a deep breath and made her way onto the porch, then followed Tonks through the front door. Tonks was still cheerily talking about what she and Remus Lupin and the Weasley family were doing to help Mrs. Weasley settle down, but Emily barely heard a word of it. There were more cheerful voices coming up from the kitchen – surely the group would sound hushed and strained if word had arrived that one of the members had died? Was this a good sign?

"Just set the bags on the counter when we get down there then, and Molly and the twins will put them away," Tonks continued, sounding very much as though nothing was wrong.

"Right," Emily replied, distracted – then forced herself to go into the kitchen, her stomach a knot of acid.

Professor Snape was sitting in his accustomed seat in the far left side of the table. He appeared entirely unhurt and uninjured, dressed in his usual black, and was having a quiet, intense discussion with Dumbledore and Alastor Moody over mugs of tea. He even looked rather animated and relaxed, as though he was well satisfied with his labours of the last couple of days. Apparently whatever had taken him away had gone well.

He never looked up as Emily and Tonks entered the room, but the relief that flooded through her at the sight of him was nearly unbearable. Emily's knees felt watery as she crossed the kitchen and set down the two Sainsbury's bags.

"Hey, Professor, you're back! How'd it go?" Tonks called to Snape. She put her groceries down on a low cupboard, and shook his hand – and suddenly Emily's stomach twisted as she saw him casually greet the young Auror.

"It went better than I expected, Officer. I'll debrief you and the other Aurors on what I learned later."

Then he glanced in Emily's direction for a second, acknowledging her entrance with his usual silent inclination of his dark head as she found a dilapidated kitchen chair and took a seat. He then turned toward Moody as the retired Auror stood up, called the meeting to order, and began to make a report on what were believed to be the Death Eaters' latest acts of public vandalism.

If she turned one long last look – an infinitesimal plea for more attention – at the side of Snape's face before the meeting started, he did not seem to notice it.

But perhaps someone else did.

"No, this can't continue, this will never do," Albus Dumbledore muttered inaudibly into his teacup, glancing from one to the other. "It does truly seem as though some impetus is needed."

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After Moody, then Tonks, then Shacklebolt, and finally the Headmaster had made their final reports, the meeting began to break up. Professor Snape made his single terse good-bye – to Dumbledore – and silently made his exit. Whether the Professor had work to do, or didn't want to linger in Sirius Black's house any longer than necessary, or wanted to avoid someone else entirely was anyone's guess. Emily watched him go, feeling rather deflated and dejected.

A moment later, someone in a bright purple robe appeared at her side – "Emily. Before you turn in tonight, could I have a word?" Dumbledore asked, smiling pleasantly at her.

She looked up in surprise. "Of course, sir. What about?"

"Oh, just something I've wondered about for some time. Could you meet me up in my office at nine o'clock, for a nightcap and a chat?"

"Er... " Emily turned back toward him, distracted. "Yes, of course I could, sir."

Dumbledore grinned at her. "Excellent. I shall see you then." And then he was gone, in a swirl of purple velvet.

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"Ah, there you are. Please, come in."

At nine p.m., Emily arrived at the Headmaster's office. As per his usual habit, he greeted her with a warm smile, and offered her something to drink – "I'm having a nip of calvados. Would you like one?"

"Yes, please, that would be lovely."

The Headmaster busied himself with pouring two large shots of Arcadian apple brandy from a crystal decanter into two crystal snifters. Emily wandered over to the various silver instruments standing on fragile carved tables under the window, absently watching them whirring, and puffing their little puffs of smoke. "Sir? I've always been curious – if you don't mind me asking, what exactly are these for?"

Dumbledore crossed to his companion's side and put a brandy snifter in her hand. "Let me see if I remember. This one – " He indicated what appeared to be a tiny silver replica of the solar system, miniature sun, planets, and moons gently gliding on elliptical silver wires – "this one was made by my friend Cassandra Trelawney, over a century ago. For those momentous decisions everyone must make, she wanted me to know when the planets were aligned in the most fortuitous manner."

"How kind of her," Emily murmured, taking a sip from her glass.

"Yes, she was a very kind and wise woman."

Emily then turned toward another elaborate silver instrument, the one emitting the little puffs of smoke. "And this one?"

"Ah, that one is a Kinaesthetic Perpetual-Motion Machine, powered by an ever-burning flame inside it. It's also an absolutely wonderful self-cleaning incense burner," Dumbledore told her. He took an enamel jar from the table beside the machine and dropped a pinch of dried flower buds into a tray at the top of the device. A moment later, the soothing scent of lavender perfumed the air.

"How lovely," Emily said.

"Yes, I've always rather liked it."

Emily nodded toward a third silvery device, full of shining clockwork gears and pendulums, all engraved with obscure alchemical symbols. "And that one, sir?"

Dumbledore paused, thoughtfully stroking his white beard, then finally turned to Emily with an apologetic smile. "To be honest, my dear, I've completely forgotten what that one does, but I've had it so long I just keep it for sentimental reasons."

She laughed merrily. "Of course."

The Headmaster chuckled, sipping from his brandy snifter. "Now, please, have a seat."

Emily sat down in the proffered armchair, her brandy glass held casually in one hand. "Did you need me to clarify anything more about the Endustree Alley incident, sir?"

Dumbledore settled himself cosily in the other armchair. "No, I asked you to come talk to me tonight so I could offer you a bit of completely unsolicited advice, my dear. Once you've heard it, feel free to call me a dotty old meddling fool, I can take it."

"Sir?" Emily watched him curiously, her brows creasing. "I'm not sure I understand."

Dumbledore fixed her with a very deliberate gaze, his blue eyes as merry as they were absolutely serious. "You really should tell Severus how much you care about him, Emily. He wants so very much to hear it."

The brandy glass fell out of her hand and shattered on the marble floor.