Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The tendrils that curled out from the jar in her left hand were almost black. They wove and twined themselves around Grim in a web that hid him from view. Slowly, slowly, they lightened and brightened, separating into two distinct hues – one silver, one a deep, deep green. She breathed a sigh of relief at that; it seemed that the man she loved would be restored after all.

Waitaminute!

"Dammit, Granger! Get a grip!" she hissed to herself, half dreading what would happen next. It felt like it was taking far longer to restore Grim than Cain or perhaps that was just a side effect of the potion and her new longing for the man standing in front of her.

The tendrils disappeared between one heartbeat and the next, and for a moment there was no further reaction. Then Grim staggered and nearly fell, grasping at the table in a vain attempt to stay upright. He caught himself before completely measuring his length, ending up on his hands and knees. A series of expressions passed over his face, ending in something Hermione couldn't read. Finally he looked up and actually saw her.

"Hermione..." He half-staggered to his feet, and then dropped into his recliner, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Merlin – that hurts only a little less than Cruciatus." His voice was hoarse from disuse.

She put the Souljar on the table carefully and moved toward him. "Oh Severus... I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be painful. It didn't seem to hurt Percy like this. Can I get you anything for the pain? I've got a few potions on hand, and some Muggle aspirin. I can go out and get Tylenol if you'd prefer."

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaned. "Spare me." His fingers ran through his hair and he looked up at her. An odd jolt went through him, and he filed the sensation away to analyze later. He cleared his throat again with a harsh barking sound. "If you wish to make yourself useful, something to drink would be welcome."

"Tea, coffee, or something stronger?"

"Tea. Please." He added the last word almost as an afterthought. She stared at him for a moment and then went into the kitchen, gathering up the mug and vial from the table as she left.

~*~

He sprawled in the recliner, taking comfort from its familiar embrace. As he'd told her, the pain was purely mental. His mind was spinning, processing all his memories of the last months, sorting and filing them appropriately. It was, he decided, somewhat like having his brain stirred with a swizzle-stick. But as the memories sorted themselves out, the pain lessened.

He remembered the battle with Voldemort clearly enough; he'd been in the thick of it, providing a distraction while the Boy Who Should Be Smacked sneaked behind him and fulfilled the Prophecy with a harshly delivered Avada Kedavra. It was only after the battle that the victors learned that their leader had disappeared. Albus Dumbledore was gone. Missing. Severus remembered that all too well. He and Minerva had grieved together for the loss of their old friend.

The victory had galvanized Fudge into action. The Minister of Magic mobilized the Auror Corps, and soon had them rounding up the scattered remaining Death Eaters. Severus remembered being frog-marched out of Hogwarts at wand-point. Fudge had sent three Aurors to "subdue" him, though he'd come quietly enough. They'd taken him to Azkaban to await trial. The trial was a farce, of course. Without Dumbledore's testimony, he was convicted and sentenced to be Soulstruck.

Other members of the Order had tried to speak on his behalf, but what they said was ignored. None of them were there the night he'd come to Dumbledore and betrayed Voldemort for the first time. His actions in the last battle were branded the mark of a man desperately trying to save his own skin.

His lip curled as he recalled his treatment at the hands of his jailors once convicted. One in particular had a fondness for a Muggle invention called brass knuckles. Another used steel-toed boots. It was no consolation that the other convicted Death Eaters were treated just as harshly. He'd soon learned that fighting back in any way brought even harsher treatment.

His last thoroughly clear memory was the day they'd hauled him into a small laboratory and chained him spread-eagled to a wall. Then they'd forced a potion down his throat and left him there. After that, things were fuzzy for a while. Out of focus. When the fuzziness faded, he was back in his cell with a wall around his mind – he could see and hear, think and feel, but could not do anything other than what was commanded. This complete loss of self-control was the most terrifying experience of his life.

He'd initially thought he was under the Imperius curse, with the potion used to quash his resistance. Inside the wall, the prison of his mind, he raged and swore and 'watched' as his body obeyed the commands given to him. It was only as time passed that he came to realize this was something more than Imperius. Much more. He prowled around his mental cage like a trapped panther, unsuccessfully seeking escape.

More memories floated through his mind... His "initiation" into the world of the Soulstruck – the savage beatings that he couldn't defend against... starvation – given food, but told not to eat it... the slap of knotted ropes on his back... baths consisting of being hosed down with cold water... seeing the Malfoys forced to perform gross sexual acts on each other for the amusement of their captors... the crack of his thigh-bone breaking in a fall down the stairs... Avery being made to castrate himself...

He shuddered. Perhaps he had gotten off lightly, after all.

~*~

The shrilling of the tea-kettle broke him out of his morbid thoughts, and he shifted into a more upright position in the recliner and took a new inventory of himself. The pain had receded into a dull ache in the back of his head. Physically... he was rather pleased to note that he felt fine. Of course, he remembered, Hermione had been taking good care of him.

Hermione. What in Merlin's Name possessed him to start thinking of her in that way? She'd always been Miss Granger to him. Now that he thought about it, she'd called him Severus today, rather than using his title or that awful nickname. Grim, indeed!

She brought him a cup of tea, and took her own over to the sofa where she made herself comfortable. "You look like you're feeling better."

"I am. Thank you." He picked up the cup and took an appreciative swallow, letting the hot liquid wash over his throat and down into his stomach. "Earl Grey, I see."

"It was what I had on hand. Bill and Harry like it. I prefer Darjeeling, but I'd run out."

She was giving him an odd look. "Is there something you want to ask me, Herm... Miss Granger?" Damn! He was doing it again!

"I'm glad you're back, Sev.. err, Professor."

He shifted a little uncomfortably. "Thank you, Miss Granger."

"How much do you remember?"

A good question, that. He thought about it. She let him think in silence. Finally he stretched and answered. "It's odd. I know I was Soulstruck, but don't remember much about the actual process. I was drugged with some malodorous potion, early on. I have some memories of my experiences in prison, but they are somewhat disjointed and blurry, as are the first weeks after you brought me here. My first clear memory after that is a discussion between you and Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter – about what to do with me if you failed to break the Soulstriking." He bared his teeth at her in something of a smile. "You seemed bent on putting me out of my misery."

She turned red. "Professor... that was... a mistake." It was easier to remember to call him Professor when he was being snarky.

It was easier to call her Miss Granger when she was off balance. "A mistake, Miss Granger?"

"Bill was right. I didn't have the moral authority to decide to kill you. Euthanasia has its place, but not in that situation."

"Because...?"

"Because there was a chance of bringing you back – if not this time, then the next."

"Why go to all this trouble for someone you despise?" Now he was goading her, and he knew it.

She put her teacup down with a shaking hand. "I don't despise you at all, Severus. I love you." A split second after the words were out, she clapped a hand over her mouth in obvious consternation.

If it weren't for what she'd said, he would've laughed himself silly at her expression. It wasn't often he'd seen her completely imbrangled. As it was, he took refuge in his trademark sarcasm. "Merlin save me from lovestruck children! Did you restore me in hopes that I'd return your affection?"

She muttered something he couldn't hear, then glared at him. "Merlin save me from ungrateful bastards! Should I have left you in that jar?"

"Why not? I would've been your slave – obedient to you in all things... even in your bed, if you so ordered it."

She sputtered angrily. "That wouldn't be love. That would be sex – and bad sex at that!"

He snorted. "What's love then? Flowers and candy hearts? Declarations of undying passion? Only a Gryffindor would be fool enough to expect that from a Slytherin." How had they gotten on this subject in the first place? The idea of taking her then and there on the sofa crossed his mind. He immediately banished the thought, but felt the growing tension in his groin that signaled a desire to do just exactly that.

"Those are just trappings of romance, and you know it." She regarded him for a moment as she realized he was trying to keep her off-balance. "I can't imagine you making a declaration of undying passion unless..." She paused and grinned at him. "Unless it was to a book of potions."

His eyebrows rose as he realized he was being teased. It was a new experience and heightened the desire – there was no other word – he had for her. And that was another new experience. He was more than familiar with lust, but desire was unusual. He shifted again on the recliner and didn't answer.

She moved to the other end of the sofa, closer to him. In the back of her mind, she knew they were both reacting to the Amorata potion. She kept her tone light, not wanting to break the mood that was beginning to build. "And the only flowers you'd probably keep were ones useful to your work."

He intended to tell her to leave him alone to recover his equilibrium when his nose picked up the subtle scent of her pheromones. His body reacted at a primal level as his blood began singing in his ears. He stared at her, unable to form words.

She could tell she was having an effect on him. The deer-in-the-headlights look was one she'd seen on other men. I may regret this later, but... She threw caution to the winds, and kissed him. Figurative sparks flew between them, and the next fifteen minutes were entirely predictable. Neither of them was in any condition to notice the wave of magic that settled over them as they joined together.

~*~

Hermione was curled up next to Severus, playing possum and trying to figure out how to handle the treacherous new ground she was on. She'd had other relationships, but they'd always been mutual, and not enhanced with potions. The Amorata potion had evidently worked a little too well. Maybe Severus knew of an antidote. But that would mean telling him that she'd doped him as well as herself. She could just imagine his reaction to that! He'd be furious!

Severus. He's going to be Severus to me until this potion wears off. I think the book said three days. How am I going to deal with this for three days? She snuck a peek at the clock on the bedside table. Only 1pm. There was no way to pretend to be asleep until tomorrow morning. If nothing else, they'd at least have to eat something. Maybe they could agree to stay away from each other. But again, that would mean explaining what she'd done.

Oh HELL! I didn't cast a Contraceptus charm. That, Granger, was one of the most stupid things you have ever done in your LIFE. Ten seconds. That's all it would've taken. Stupid, stupid, stupid! No excuses. That was bloody ignorant! She quit berating herself and forced her mind onto a more productive track – like what to do about the current situation. She didn't think he was any more asleep than she was, but there was no way to tell without turning around and facing him. The thought of meeting his eyes sent a shiver through her.

He's awake. I felt him move just then. So now what? What in Merlin's Name do I say to him? "Sorry, professor. Just had to jump your bones." Errrm. No. Maybe I'll just pretend nothing happened. She rolled her eyes, knowing that wouldn't work unless he was willing to go along with it. She was about to get up when she realized both of them were completely nude. Where'd I put my wand? I'll summon something to wear... She had to think for a minute to remember where it was. Probably on the floor with the turtleneck she'd been wearing. Neither of them had been concerned about such things. And her dressing gown was, of course, across the room, neatly folded on the back of her desk chair. She finally rolled onto the floor in one violent move, and sprinted for the bathroom – the destination chosen by the increased nagging of her bladder.

It wasn't until after she'd taken a long hot shower and combed her hair that she realized that she'd forgotten to grab her dressing gown. She grimaced and wrapped a towel around herself and cracked the door slightly. He wasn't there. She dressed quickly, opting for robes rather than more revealing Muggle attire. A few quick cleaning charms took care of the tangled bedding and other mess on the bed and banished her scattered clothing to the laundry. She took another look around the room. He'd evidently found her wand, for it was now on her bedside table. She picked it up and tucked it up her sleeve. Seeing nothing else to delay her, she took a deep breath and walked into her living room.

~*~

Severus was so wrapped up in his own reactions to their joining that he'd been taken by surprise when she bolted. He wasn't used to having sex with former students, or anyone else for that matter. For most of his adult life, he'd bottled up his emotions until something shoved him over the edge and he exploded. This... This was different. He remembered her kissing him... him sweeping her up and carrying her into her bedroom... both of them shedding clothing in desperate haste... and Merlin's BALLS! Neither of them had given a thought to contraception!

He got out of bed – her bed – and picked up his scattered clothes. As he reached for a stray sock, his hand brushed against her wand. He picked it up and considered. Obliviating her was out of the question. That spell was unpredictable under the best of circumstances. Using another's wand, she'd either wind up as another Longbottom or be completely unaffected. He put it on the table next to her clock. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of an untidy stack of parchment on her dresser – Aberon's notes, his memory told him. Intrigued, he picked them up, and took them with him into his room.

The notes were placed carefully on his bed while he showered quickly and dressed, dropping his laundry in the hamper. He knew he was delaying the inevitable; he had to have a discussion with Miss Granger about how, exactly, she'd freed him from the Souljar. That would, unfortunately, probably lead to a discussion about their more recent activities, and he wasn't sure he wanted to discuss that at all. My apologies, Miss Granger. Twenty years of abstinence, and all that. No harm, no foul.

Had it been twenty years? He remembered how, in his fifth year, Narcissa Black had brought him up to her room. He'd been a shy and awkward fifteen year old virgin. She'd gotten him half undressed and herself more so, and then accused him of trying to rape her when he'd lost control and climaxed. The ensuing investigation by the Hogwarts staff had been bad enough, but the true story of his humiliation and lack of control spread through Slytherin House like wildfire. Narcissa was convinced that he'd done it on purpose – scorning her "charms".

At the end of his seventh year, he swore his loyalty to Voldemort and received the Dark Mark along with a fair number of his classmates. They'd been given no direction, nothing to do. So they'd devised their own amusements in the form of raping and torturing Muggles. Severus grimaced at the memory. In the two years they'd run wild, he'd become a very accomplished rapist, even learning to enjoy it.

As they grew older, they began taking on a larger role in Voldemort's plans. Severus was earmarked to be a researcher and developer of new potions, and his laboratory became his life. He didn't have the time or the inclination to terrorize random Muggles any more. He'd felt productive and happy. This lasted until Narcissa married Lucius the summer she turned nineteen.

He received a summons to appear before Voldemort. Such things were uncommon, but not so much as to be worrying. He'd thought that Voldemort wanted a status report on the latest potion he was developing. He'd arrived promptly, only to be seized and disarmed by Avery and Wilkes – his two least favorite people. As sadists, only Bellatrix LeStrange was their better.

His stomach clenched at the memories of what came next. They'd raped him savagely while Narcissa had watched and taunted him. It was her revenge for the incident in their fifth year. The summons had been faked. But it was the following day that had driven him back to Dumbledore. Another summons, this one genuine. He'd been unable to move without pain, and Voldemort had noticed and demanded the reason. Expecting his tormentors to be punished or at least chastised, Severus had told him everything. Voldemort had laughed. Then he'd said that Malfoy's gold was more valuable to him than any researcher. Three hours later, Severus was in Albus Dumbledore's office.

He shook himself like a wet dog. Memories weren't getting him anywhere. He returned to the living room, settling himself in his recliner with Aberon's notes. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps and looked up as Hermione entered the room. She looked uncomfortable but determined, and he cast about for a somewhat neutral topic of conversation. "A most peculiar man, Mr. McGaven. Brilliant, but twisted."

She brightened almost instantly. "Yes – modifying the old geas that was used to create the first House Elves was a stroke of genius. If you read further, he explains a lot about what he was thinking. It's enlightening and disturbing all at once."

"Enlighten me, Miss Granger. How, exactly, did you break McGaven's spell? I was under the impression that it was permanent."

For some reason, this simple question seemed to make her uncomfortable. "Errm. It was luck more than anything. McGaven has a drinking problem, and one of his drinking buddies was Alastor Moody."

"So Alastor interrogated McGaven. Then what?"

"From what Harry said, it was more a matter of McGaven spilling his guts to Alastor and anyone else who would listen. He was quick enough to take up with Bill Weasley." She bit her lip. "We thought Bill's knowledge of curse-breaking would be useful."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Miss Granger, you are surely more organized than this. Please give me a brief and orderly synopsis of your actions since you attended the auction, with emphasis on how you broke McGaven's spell."

"Please... sir... can we discuss it tonight? I have some things I absolutely must get done today."

"Perhaps that would be better." He nodded slowly. "That will give me time to read these notes thoroughly. Very well then."

"Is there anything you'd like me to get for you while I'm out."

His attention was already mostly focused on the notes. "No. Thank you."

She took that as her cue to leave, lowered her wards, and Apparated.

~*~

Hermione reappeared on the street that ran in front of her house. Once she made sure no one was in sight, she raised the wards again and Apparated again, this time to Hogsmeade. A few minutes later, she was walking up the path toward her former school.

She knew she was putting off the inevitable, but she had other things on her mind. It had occurred to her that there had to be some sort of "morning after" potion that she could brew up. Also, she wanted to see if the library at Hogwarts had any more information on potion interaction.

The holidays were a good time of year for some clandestine potion brewing. Minerva was only too happy to allow her to use Snape's old lab, and carefully did not ask any questions, though her eyebrows rose fractionally. She did ask Hermione to stop by her office again before leaving. Hermione nodded and made her way down into the dungeons and was absorbed in brewing up her "morning after" potion, when Poppy Pomfrey knocked on the door and came in.

The mediwitch spared the bubbling cauldron a single glance. "Oh Hermione! I'm so glad Minerva told me you were here. I need to restock my supplies for the spring term. Could you give me a hand?"

Well – that was a great excuse to stay as long as she needed. "Certainly. There's room for two or three other cauldrons here. What do you need?"

"Pepper-Up, Bruise-begone, Skele-gro..." she enumerated a total of half a dozen potions. "I know that sounds like a lot, but usually Sev..." she trailed off.

"Professor Snape used to spend the holidays brewing without you having to ask." Hermione finished.

"That's so true." Poppy dabbed at her eyes with a pristine handkerchief. "He was such a good man under all that gruff exterior." She opened the supply cabinet and began laying out ingredients on the counter.

"He's not dead, or even sick, you know." Hermione found Pomfrey's reaction a little irritating. "I take good care of him."

"I'm sure you do what you can. But I feel that he would be better off in my care."

Hermione set a second cauldron down with slightly more force than necessary. Poppy had taken care of Severus for years, literally. She'd evidently developed an attachment for the dour Potions Master. "Let's get the Skele-gro started. It takes a while to simmer."

"Where is he today?" Poppy asked as she began adding ingredients. "I thought you took him everywhere."

"He's at home." Hermione adjusted the heat under her potion. "I was doing a lot of running around this morning, and didn't want to risk splinching." Part of her wished she could tell the mediwitch the truth. But Poppy, though completely trustworthy, had never been a full member of the Order, stating that her oaths as a Healer might come in conflict with it.

"That was a good thought. I'm sure it's difficult to for him to use the Floo." Poppy set out a third cauldron. "Bruise begone or Pepper-Up next?"

"Bruise Begone. It takes less time over-all, but it's more fussy. I'll get the ingredients for you." She poked through the supplies, carefully selecting the best and freshest herbs. Comfrey, chamomile, and sage – among other things. She put them down on the counter and got out a clean mortar and pestle. "Has Professor McGonagall hired a new Potions instructor yet?"

"She hasn't said anything about it to me. I don't even think she's been looking – and Merlin knows what we'll do next term!" She wrung her hands. "So many vacancies on the staff – it's going to be dreadful."

"Vacancies? I know Madame Hooch retired. Who else left?" The faculty and staff had gotten off lightly in the War; Albus and Severus were the only known casualties.

"Filius and Ivy both resigned at the end of the fall term. They said they were getting along in years and wanted to retire also. They moved to America – Florida, I think it was."

Hermione thought a moment. "So Minerva needs three core classes, plus a Quidditch coach to bring things back to normal – in 2 weeks. A tall order to fill."

"She told me that the Quidditch position was taken care of. Personally, I think we could do without the sport. It's only good for hurting children!"

"I've never been much of a fan," Hermione agreed. And with that, the two conversed amiably about their mutual dislike of Quidditch until their potions were done. They were cleaning up when Minerva came in.

"I'm glad you're still here, Hermione. There's something I'd like to ask you. Are you still working for Flourish & Blotts?"

"Yes – I'm on vacation till next week when the textbooks for next term start arriving."

"I'm sure Poppy told you that we expect to be short-handed this term. I realize this is somewhat irregular, but would you consider taking a position here as staff pro tem – until I can find and hire a full-time replacement?"

"Me? An instructor? What subject?"

"Potions." The Headmistress looked worn and tired. "My old friend Liam Carpe has agreed to come out of retirement and teach Charms for a term or two, and Sylvia Brancher has accepted my offer of the Herbology teacher position. But I haven't found a qualified instructor for Potions yet, and time is running out."

"I'll let you know this evening. I'd like to think about it for a little while. Who's going to be coaching Quidditch?" She'd've jumped on it like a shot if it weren't for Snape.

Minerva's eyes lit up. "Your friend Mister Potter has agreed to take on that job. As a matter of fact, he suggested I ask you to take the job of Potions instructor. Please, let me know by tomorrow about the Potions position."

Hermione nodded. "Certainly. I understand you're in a bind." She looked around. "We've got everything cleaned up down here, so I'll be off now. Thanks for everything." She gathered up her things and Apparated back to her house. Lowering the wards, she Apparated once more and reappeared in her living room.

Snape looked up as she appeared in a rush of displaced air. "Good evening, Miss Granger."

She set her box of carefully packed vials on the table and sniffed experimentally. "Are you cooking something?"

"Yes – when it appeared that you would not return home for dinner, I took the liberty of exploring your pantry." He rose with a swift elegance and strode over to the kitchen. "I've read over McGaven's notes, and there is much there to discuss." He reappeared with two bowls of stew, thick and hearty with vegetables. "But not until you've eaten." One bowl was set in front of her. He kept the other and sat down at the other side of the table. "I assure you, Miss Granger, it is not poisoned."

She laughed a little nervously. "Sorry, sir. Just a little preoccupied." She sat down across from him and began eating, trying to ignore the sweet sticky fog of Amorata that was insisting on settling around her now that she was in his presence again. "You don't discuss business over meals?"

"Not by preference. It upsets the digestion." He ate with quick economical movements that were beautiful to watch.

In far too short a time, both bowls were empty. Hermione took them into the kitchen and rinsed them off, leaving them in the sink. They could be thoroughly washed later. She returned to the living room wondering what one should use to gird one's loins.

Snape was still seated at the table where they'd eaten. "Well, Miss Granger, it seems we have much to discuss."

"Agreed – and something new that came up today, which takes precedence." She outlined Minerva's job offer. "I would enjoy the job, certainly. It would give me – and you by extension – complete access to a well-stocked lab and library."

"An intriguing thought – assuming I am enough of a Thespian to pretend to be Soulstruck." He stared up at the ceiling. "Have you ever heard of a Heliax potion, Miss Granger?"

"No, sir. And if you please, I'd rather you called me by name. Miss Granger makes me feel like I'm a student again."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "As you will, Hermione. Although I trust you'll forgive me the occasional slip." His eyes rested on her, studying her as if seeing her for the first time. "If we are to be colleagues, then you should perhaps use my name as well."

"Yes, Severus." It almost came out as a purr, and she bit her lip in embarrassment. "What is a Heliax potion?"

"It's an emotion suppressor and relaxant." His lips twitched slightly. "I'm not sure of my ability to rein in my temper indefinitely without it. It's not available generally; you need a prescription to get it from St. Mungo's. Or Poppy might have some on hand; I made a great deal of it during the war. If we are relocating to Hogwarts, it will be a necessity."

"I can see that. It's not going to be easy pretending."

"No it's not. But I survived for years as a spy against long odds. I should be able to survive this as well." He inclined his head towards the stack of notes. "By my calculations, virtually every adult wizard alive today is subject to Soulstriking."

"That's what I thought also." She rested her chin on her hands. "I know McGaven meant well, but during the war, desperation made everyone... desperate."

"I found the list of mnemonics intriguing," he continued. "Do I remember correctly that there were only thirty-four Death Eaters auctioned off?"

"Thirty-three. You're not a Death Eater."

"I was, at one point in my life. However... There were thirty-six jars. And here's another puzzle for you: there were over eighty Death Eaters caught and convicted. Why were only thirty-six Soulstruck, and what happened to the rest?"

She shrugged. "Is it important? I was more concerned with rescuing you, than caring about the likes of... the ferret." She regarded him for a minute. "Why doesn't Fudge like you? Or more properly, he knew you were a spy – why did he have you convicted?"

"You really don't know? Here are some facts for you to consider. Item one: at the end of your fourth year, Fudge refused to believe that Voldemort had returned. It wasn't until the end of your fifth year, when his nose was rubbed in it, that he could no longer ignore the facts. Even then, he was slow to take any action. Item two: Fudge attended Hogwarts and was in Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw? I never would've guessed! I was thinking Hufflepuff."

"Item three: after Voldemort's defeat, Fudge sprang into action and did what he should've done three years earlier. He had every surviving Death Eater arrested, including quite a few people that were never suspected. He was always right; the Aurors always found the Dark Mark."

She processed this information. It was news to her. "But how would he know? Torture? Veritaserum?" She looked up at him. "Did you tell him?"

"No. Remember, he did not trust me."

"If you didn't tell him..." She bit her lip in thought. "Oh my god."

"What have you concluded?"

"Fudge is a Death Eater!"