A Glimpse Into the Past

Chapter Eight

A Glimpse Into the Past

Snape surveyed his class. Gryffindors and Slytherins again. It was a much smaller class, now that O.W.L.s were behind them. Only a small handful had made it through the natural filtering process that the exams were. These were the students who would have to take Potions more seriously than ever before, if they were to continue their chosen paths. And thank the gods that Longbottom wasn't here.

His own house was represented much less fully than that of Gryffindor, he was depressed to notice. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had washed out, Lucius Malfoy's once-powerful influence with the Ministry not good enough to carry his son for yet another year. Snape dimly wondered what would become of Draco, now that his father was no longer able to throw his wealth around the Ministry. As for Draco himself, Snape noticed that he was keeping a low profile.

So, he had three Slytherins left to teach: Pansy Parkinson, who planned a career in healing---pity to those in need of her 'tender, loving care' in years to come; Millicent Bulstrode, whose ideas about her future were seemingly nebulous---she'd probably end up to no good end; and Scott Sneed, a boy Snape had rarely noticed before. Sneed seemed to want to crawl into the woodwork, and go through life unnoticed by all. If Snape remembered correctly, his plan was to go into research and development; a choice Snape envied. Well, no matter. If Voldemort would be kind enough to stay hidden for a while, Snape could get on with his own research; something that had been sorely neglected for these past several years.

As for the Gryffindors, he still had to deal with Golden Boy Potter, who thought he might be an Auror; the wretched Mr. Weasley, who thought he might also have what it takes to be an Auror. Snape snidely wondered if his choice would be the same if Potter had decided on a different goal. That Granger girl was still here, not sure where she'd be in ten years' time; Dean Thomas, seeking a career in healing as well.

And Tanya. He was happy that she wanted a career in Magical Creatures. There was definitely something there, he knew. Animals seemed to seek her out. Was it part of her gypsy magic? Or would it be the same if she were an ordinary witch, or even a Muggle? At any rate, she'd need a NEWT in Potions if she were to provide care for these beasts.

He'd had a bad night after he saw his class roster. Although he knew he'd be teaching her in class once he found out what path she'd chosen, he wouldn't allow himself to think how he'd treat her in the company of the other students. He was honest enough with himself to know that he treated her better than he would ever have allowed himself to treat any other student. It was because he'd never be able to fully think of her as his student. Not considering the way they'd met, and the experiences they'd shared. But their history was no one else's business, and he'd tossed and turned last night wondering how to approach the situation. He didn't want to hurt her feelings by behaving as coldly toward her as his other students had come to expect. But there'd been no chance to explain ahead of time. He hadn't found any opportunities to speak to her privately before the other students began arriving in the Great Hall.

He'd just have to plunge ahead, and hope she'd not take it personally.

Now the class of eight students was watching him, not knowing where to begin this new year.

He began the speech he made to all sixth years, his words coming automatically after years of it. "Just because you have managed to get through your O.W.L.s, don't even begin to think you're past the hardest part of your education. On the contrary; it's just beginning.

"Now you have to prepare for your NEWTs. I realize they're not until next year, but that's hardly enough time to cram into your resisting brains all you need to know to get through them. And those exams are much more important than the O.W.L.s. If you're planning a career that needs knowledge of Potions, then you'd better have a Plan B; once you fail your NEWTs, it's not as though you can return to sixth year and start all over again.

"I will work you harder than you believe I've ever worked you before. The first time you get a grade of failure, you're out the door. There is no margin for error left to you. And for those of you who have declared definite career choices, you do need Potions, or you wouldn't have been scheduled for this class. If you fail, you'll have no career to fall back upon. Those of you who aren't sure yet what you'll do," he glanced at Granger and Bulstrode, "you'd do well to make up your minds quickly, and get out of this class if you don't need it after all. I won't be pleased to learn that I've wasted any time teaching you something you can't grasp, or have no need of."

He gave them a moment to let his words sink in before continuing.

"For those of you who have not taken the hint to vacate these rooms, turn to page 596 and we'll start with a seminar on substitutions when rare herbs and plants aren't readily available in emergency situations."

As he continued his lesson with only half his mind on it, he took in the subtle body language of his sixth years. Bulstrode seemed of half a mind to simply walk out now, before wasting any more time. Parkinson seemed, as usual, to be only giving half her mind to his lecture, and Sneed was writing furiously, afraid to miss a word. Why didn't he simply invest in a dictating quill?

On the Gryffindor side, Potter was actually paying attention. Weasley, as usual, simply looked confused; he'd be using Granger's notes again. She, on her part, only wrote sometimes; kudos to her for reading the lecture ahead of time. She might actually make it through another year.

Dean Thomas seemed his usual self . . . half paying attention, half confused. Tanya, he was amused to see, had chosen a seat in the middle of the classroom. A stranger entering the room wouldn't know if she were a Gryffindor or a Slytherin. She was writing, but he could tell she was listening as well.

Out of curiosity, he began walking the length of the classroom, up and down the aisles, so he would have a chance to see what ended up in their notebooks. As he glanced down at Tanya's writing, he abruptly stopped talking. The symbols were nothing he'd ever seen before. A type of shorthand? A foreign language?

"Miss Relke," he sniped. "Pray tell me what hieroglyphics are these? Are you playing games in my class?" Any other student would have wet his pants at his tone of voice. He inwardly winced.

But she rose to the occasion beautifully, as if she'd never heard him speak kindly to her before. "It's Rom, Professor," she answered. "It's the only thing I can write quickly in."

"I trust you're able to write in English for your essays and exams?"

"Aye. I wouldn't expect you to be able to read this."

He looked quickly at her eyes, wondering if she was being impertinent.

He decided to let it go, knowing full well, as did she, that he knew all about her English writing abilities. Hadn't they conversed in writing for more than a year while she awaited entrance to Hogwarts? He had detected no hurt in her eyes at his snide tone. Perhaps he'll be able to carry this off after all.

He continued through the lesson, docking twenty points from Gryffindor simply because he was tired of the confused look on Weasley's face. Business as usual.

For homework, he assigned them fifty-four inches of parchment on how to best brew a potion for bleeding and shock in the outdoors, with only a small list of herbs and plants available, and only a certain amount of time before death. Exactly the sort of thing they should learn if Voldemort insisted on making his presence known.

Snape headed to the staff room after class, and was almost glad to see McGonagall there. He pumped her for information about how Tanya was adjusting to school.

"She seems to be doing well, so far," Minerva said. "I suppose it helps that she's already become close to Potter, Weasley and Granger. I don't have her for Transfiguration until this afternoon, but she's been doing exceptionally well in that area already. How is she with the Slytherin students in your Potions class?"

"She doesn't seem affected by the usual separation of the Houses," he said thoughtfully. "That may be a good thing, as our esteemed headmaster pointed out at the Welcoming Feast last night."

He wondered aloud at what her schedule was, and Minerva supplied her timetable to him. She didn't seem to think twice about his interest, he realized. It seemed that all the staff looked to him to be her mentor, Gryffindor or not. It must be because he'd been the one to bring her here.

Madam Sprout came into the room, and as she and McGonagall talked between themselves, Snape tuned out and examined the schedule Minerva had given him.

True to form, Dumbledore stressed Defense Against the Dark Arts for her, as he knew it was true for all students currently enrolled at Hogwarts. It also stood to reason that her chosen profession would also be keeping her busy. He sighed, wondering how boring his Thursdays and Fridays would be without seeing her in his class.

He stopped his breath with a start. What was wrong with him? Was he actually jealous of the time she spent away from his scrutiny? What was he worried about, that she'd actually develop friendships and interests that didn't include the Order, or conversations with him? He snorted to himself. For a brief moment, he'd almost felt like he might be harboring a schoolboy crush on her.

As if, he muttered to himself. A child.

No, he qualified. He knew she'd passed by childhood. But it was important for her to form friendships with her own peer group. Let her enjoy being young, while she was. Too bad she allied herself with that Potter group. She could have done better.

He wondered if she was apt to continue working so hard, now that the O.W.L. testing was finished. He really didn't want to think about having to give her detentions, or failing grades because she didn't come up to par after all.

He wouldn't, he decided. He'd find a way to privately tutor her if she needed it. It was for the Order, he told himself. It had nothing to do with wanting to spend time in her company. After all, he'd been without companionship for so long, he still didn't know how others seemed to always want to surround themselves with people. He was uncomfortable with people always hanging around. He needed his solitude.

But still, the honest part of his mind ruthlessly reminded him, he wasn't uncomfortable around her. And a little solitude went a long way. He knew he'd be seeking out her company now and then. He just hoped she didn't begin to grow away from him. It would be such a shame for someone like her to regress to the point of taking on the characteristics of some of her peers.

***********************

Harry was glad he'd talked McGonagall into scheduling him for Care of Magical Creatures classes. Although they weren't necessary for Aurors, she'd bought that line about having the class as a second choice in career in case he couldn't make it as an Auror-to-be. And if he were to be honest about it, he wasn't sure he would make it. He had a feeling that Snape would be trying harder than ever to fail him in Potions.

So, he happily joined Tanya and Ron as they made their way out to Hagrid's cabin, wondering with a little trepidation at the creatures they might face this year. They were bringing Tanya up-to-date on Hagrid's lessons in the past, when Harry became aware of movement in the path behind him.

"So, another year of having to share classes with the Gryffindor trash," drawled Malfoy.

"Speaking of trash," Harry shot back, "why didn't we see you in Potions?"

"I don't need Potions anymore," he replied snidely. "I'll be going into finance, and Potions isn't necessary."

"Did you choose finance because it didn't involve Potions?" Harry asked cruelly. He had it on fairly good authority (Lupin) that Malfoy had failed his O.W.L. in Potions miserably.

"Watch your mouth, Potter," he said. "Soon, I'll have the ability to completely destroy your credit rating, if you ever manage to get one."

"And where are your hired hands? Crabbe and Goyle no longer part of your entourage, now that you're in disgrace?"

"There's no disgrace here, Potter! My father couldn't be held by Azkaban, and he'll be back on top once again. As for Crabbe and Goyle, they're not here anymore. And they weren't hired hands."

"Do you mean to say they failed every exam?" Ron was instantly gleeful at the thought that there were those who did worse than he did.

Through all this verbal battle, Tanya had been watching Malfoy closely. When he noticed her scrutiny, he turned on her.

"So, this is the filthy little gypsy Dumbledore allowed into Hogwarts, eh? This place has sunk to a new low."

Before Harry or Ron could jump to her defense, Tanya had stopped to openly stare at Malfoy. "Your father . . . is . . . Lucius Malfoy?" she asked incredulously. "The one that escaped from Azkaban?"

"So, even the gypsies have heard of him, eh? None of you are fit to wipe the dirt from his shoes."

"One of us has heard of him," she said mysteriously. "Are you in the habit then, of running to Daddy when things go wrong? Does Daddy fix everything for you?"

"Watch your mouth, gypsy trash! My father wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire!"

With that, he shoved roughly past them and they slowly followed up the path to Hagrid's. Harry looked at Tanya, who, instead of looking insulted, simply looked deep in thought.

"You don't want to mind anything that prat says," said Ron, loyally. "He's said worse to Hermione ever since we started here. He doesn't like Muggle-borns, either."

"But do you think," she asked, "that if someone were to abuse Malfoy junior in some way, that Malfoy senior would come around to set things right?"

"I doubt it now," Harry said. "He's on the run. It looks like Draco is on his own for a change."

"But what if it were something life threatening?" she persisted. "Something that only he could help? Surely he'd not leave his son to the wolves."

"What difference would it make?" Ron asked. "Who's going to bother him here, under Dumbledore's care? It's not Draco that's in danger, it's Harry."

Further conversation was cut off as Hagrid beckoned them all closer. Besides Draco, Ron, Harry, and Tanya, there was Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. Holy cow, Harry thought. Not only was Draco without his mates, he was the only Slytherin in the crowd. That ought to keep him subdued.

As Hagrid introduced his lesson plans for the next couple of weeks, something involving treating injured mammals, Harry watched Tanya. She, oddly enough, didn't seem too interested in her chosen career, but instead seemed to draw deep within herself, her thoughts apparently elsewhere. He wondered how much of Malfoy's taunts was the cause of it.

By the end of the class, she seemed to have come to some sort of decision. She looked more chipper than she had at the beginning of the class, and shook away Harry's questioning look as they headed to the Great Hall for lunch.

During the meal, they caught up with Hermione, who had spent the morning in Arithmancy and Muggle Studies. They'd all be sharing Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes this term, but it hit home for Harry for the first time that they were beginning to go their separate ways. It was the beginning of the end of a period in their lives, and Harry sadly wondered how distant or close they might be in ten years' time.

After lunch, Harry was disappointed to find out that those pursuing a career in finance were strongly recommended to take the advanced Transfiguration classes, if only to know when valuables had been transfigured from something much more useless. Sort of an anti-counterfeiting class. So, another class they had to share with Malfoy. And, since everyone was required to master Defense Against the Dark Arts, they'd all be there, too. Harry began to wonder, in amazement, if Potions would end up being his favorite class, simply because of Malfoy's absence from it. Snape might appreciate that sort of irony, he thought.

It turned out to be an exciting class, Harry thought. McGonagall informed them that if their interests lay in becoming an Animagus, she'd be offering extra lessons for those that had scored high enough in their Transfiguration O.W.L.s. Anyone who wanted to pursue this was welcome, at the end of class, to confer with her to get their exact score, and schedule a time every week when their class would be held.

He was happy to find out that he made the grade. So did Hermione, Dean, and happily, Tanya. All four of them wanted to learn the art of transfiguring into an animal. Ron lagged behind, even after finding out he didn't score highly enough, to ensure that he would still be able to pursue a career in the Auror field.

McGonagall smiled kindly at him. "Yes, Mr. Weasley," she said. "Not all Aurors are Animagi. But I'm afraid that the class requires stronger skills in Transfiguration to attempt to learn this skill. The mistakes that a student who isn't up to it would make are far too dangerous for the casual student."

"Oh, that's all right, then," he said, brightening. "I didn't really want to make myself more schoolwork. I just was afraid that I'd have to drop this line of study to find another profession."

"No worry of that," she replied. "If your grades weren't up to it, you wouldn't have been permitted the classes that I scheduled for you."

It was determined that Hermione, Dean, Harry and Tanya would have to take these classes on Saturday, 5:00 pm. That would enable all of them to take the classes together, and still play Quidditch. Harry brightened, knowing that all of the laws Umbridge had put into effect last year as High Inquisitor were abandoned, and his "life-long ban" of playing Quidditch was no longer an issue. He would again be Seeker!

The next few weeks passed by in a blur of activity. Potions demanded at least two essays every week, and Transfiguration was becoming more and more challenging. Defense classes were becoming even more interesting, if that were possible, and learning to be an Animagus was proving to be more difficult than Harry imagined. He couldn't wait to master it to the point of actually changing. He wondered what his Animagus would be. A stag, like his father? A dog, like his godfather?

The only one of them so far that seemed to be making any progress was Tanya, of course. Although this wasn't any sort of magic she'd ever done before, she was amazingly talented. Her Animagus looked like it wanted to be a raven, but she wasn't far enough advanced in her changing for them to be sure. Some sort of bird, obviously, but what sort, they had yet to find out.

Hermione was becoming frustrated. She wasn't in the habit of being bested by other students, but Harry didn't think she was holding it against Tanya, at least. McGonagall had to keep reminding Hermione not to try to will a certain animal onto herself. It was a magic beyond any of them as to what they would turn into.

Dean had lightly suggested a beaver, remembering how large Hermione's teeth had once been, but Hermione was not amused. Dean himself said that he'd begun to feel very large, and powerful, so perhaps his animagus would be a hippogriff. McGonagall had her hands full keeping them from trying to second-guess their results, but she seemed happy that they were progressing at all.

In the evenings, brain-tired and sleepy after the evening meal, Harry enjoyed sitting at the table in the common room doing homework with Tanya sitting across from him, looking up now and then to share secret smiles. Harry was beginning to go mad, wondering if he'd ever get the chance to be alone with her again. And then, Hogsmeade weekend!

Sure, there were plenty of students milling about, but at least it was time in each other's company, with no pressing business like schoolwork to get in their way.

As they walked down the road to Hogsmeade behind Ron and Hermione, Harry asked her how Malfoy was treating her. She looked at him, eyes narrowed, and countered with her own question. "If he were to insult me again, would you be leaping to my defense?"

"Of course I would," he replied easily. "He almost spits when he talks to you. You, of all people, don't deserve to be talked to that way."

He swore her eyes had tears in them when she answered. "That's sweet, Harry, but you have to realize that I'm more than able to take care of myself." She looked directly at him. "It's important that you don't interfere with anything between himself and me. It's very important."

Harry got an uncomfortable feeling of impending disaster in the air. "You sound as though you're planning there to be something between the two of you," he said carefully.

"Don't you worry, Harry," she said, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. "I've been handling people like Draco since before you ever knew you were a wizard."

She changed the subject by nodding toward Ron and Hermione, who were walking up ahead. They smiled at each other when they noticed Ron's nervous attempt to hold Hermione's hand without Hermione noticing. But Harry was happy to see Hermione reach out and grab Ron's hand herself.

When they reached the village, Harry asked Tanya if she'd like to browse the shops, seeing as this was her first foray into the town as a student. She surprised him, however.

"What I'd really like to see is the famous "Shrieking Shack". I've heard it's haunted."

"It isn't really," Harry told her. "My father, Sirius, Lupin and that sneak Wormtail only pretended it was, and got others to believe it, so that Lupin could stay there while he was a werewolf without the villagers knowing."

"Then it's empty," she asked. "No one's tearing it down?"

"No, Hogwarts owns it. Dumbledore made sure of that because he needed it for Lupin."

"Then show me."

So, Harry turned down the side path that would take them there, giving Ron and Hermione time to assess the new turn in their relationship without an audience. It was the only way it would come to anything, Harry knew. Ron was way too bashful to chat up Hermione if there was anyone within hearing distance. Hermione would have her job cut out for her if she wanted to pursue that relationship.

The shack stood up on a high hill, and Harry picked out a trail through the fallen leaves that lead to a back door. He'd never entered the shack from the outside before; the only time he'd been inside had been via the underground tunnel that began at the Whomping Willow.

The door was locked, but a simple alohamora charm took care of that. He locked it again behind himself, and they stood in the kitchen, looking at all the accumulated dust.

Tanya moved further into the house, ignoring the rickety looking stairs in favor of a sitting room toward the front of the house. She found a sofa that didn't look too uncomfortable, and took off her cloak to drape it over the cushions. Harry followed suit, and they sat down, Harry suddenly trying to swallow, fighting the dryness of his mouth.

Tanya took his face in her hands, lifting her lips to his. Harry kissed her, moving his hands to her waist. She'd dressed casually for the outing; button-down oxford shirt, softly faded blue jeans, and scrunch-boots. He took in the soft smell of her shampoo, jasmine, and allowed her to remove his glasses. She placed them carefully on a table behind her. She turned back to him, and began to unbutton his shirt. As she lowered her lips to his neck, and began to blaze a trail of kisses down his chest, he removed the clasp from her hair so he could lift it in his hands and let it slide through his fingers. He loved her hair. He leaned back into the sofa, pulling her with him.

A moment later, he sat up abruptly, startling her. "Tanya," he began, not knowing what he could say that wouldn't make her think the worst of him. "I've never . . . I mean . . . we seem to be heading somewhere . . . " He took a deep breath. "We have to stop this. I'm not ready for this."

"I can tell you want me, Harry."

"It's too much, too soon. I . . ."

She put her finger on his lips to silence him. "I understand, Harry. We should take the time to know each other better."

"You do understand, then?"

"Aye, of course I do."

She leaned over to pick her hair clasp. Her necklace swayed away from her, and she clapped a hand to it to settle it back against her skin.

"Does that necklace have special meaning for you?" he asked. "I've never seen you without it, except when you're in your school uniform."

"I just got into the habit of wearing it. It's special, I guess." She looked as though she had made a decision. Continuing to put herself in order, she spoke to him through a curtain of her hair.

"It was given to me many years ago by my sister, Natalia. She said it would protect me, bring me good luck."

"I didn't know you had a sister," he said, hoping she would open up to him.

"I don't, not anymore," she said softly. Harry held his breath, not willing to push for information, but hoping she'd give it.

"I have a brother somewhere; that's all that's left of my immediate family. We don't keep in touch," she added sharply.

"Do you hate him?"

"No. He is a stranger to me. When I was very young, when I had my family with me, I hated him. He used to live for delivering bad news to me, taking great delight in telling me things I lived in fear of."

"What things?" He asked quietly, trying not to dispel the mood.

"My father used to play poker," she said, not looking at him. "He was good, but even he sometimes ran into a string of bad luck. When I was four, my brother, Petro, almost broke his neck running into the camper, waking me from my sleep, and almost wet his pants telling me that Papa had promised my hand in marriage to the ante."

"At four years old? How is that possible?"

"If he had lost, I could hope that the winner of the pot would take me into his own family, and raise me as his ward, until I was old enough to be married. Otherwise . . ."

"And how old would that have been?"

"Thirteen. In the meantime, his daughters or current wife would have taught me the things my mother should have been teaching me. Things like how to raise children, cook, sew, tell fortunes, mix potions, read the tarot, whatever."

"Wasn't your mother teaching you these things? And how did she feel about this bet of his?" Harry couldn't believe that in this day and age, such things happened.

"My mother never taught me anything," she said, without rancor. "All I remember about her is that she was . . . there. Just hanging around, like a shadow. Whatever my father said, she agreed with. It was Natalia who raised me, who taught me to read, against my father's wishes. Papa was one of those who didn't believe a woman with any education at all was a good idea. Natalia wanted a better life for me. She was the one who kept giving me books to read, and telling me about the gaje, and encouraging me to live life the way I wanted, not according to Papa's plans."

"Didn't your father try to stop her from doing that?"

"He couldn't. Natalia was already married. She was about fifteen by the time I was born. Her husband, Paulo, adored her, and would never have allowed Papa to interfere. Papa was happy that Natalia had found such a good man, and he never tried to interfere. You see, once the girl marries, her new husband owns her, not her father."

"Wow. I never knew gypsy culture was so . . . primitive." Too late, Harry worried that his words would offend Tanya. But she smiled.

"We could maintain our primitive culture because we were so cloistered away from the gaje. We had nothing, sometimes, and the less we had, the more important tradition seemed to be. And when we were rolling in wealth, tradition seemed important then, too, as proof that we were living right."

"So, your father didn't lose, right?"

"Not that night. I found out that over the next few years, he would put his promise of marriage to me into the pot. It had a lot of value; because of my young age, it was understood that I was pure. Also, my greatpapa, or what you would call your great grandfather, was our King. I was almost royalty, and so whoever married me would be elevated in status. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Ascension to the leadership of our tribe was by no means a given. If things went right, and the King knew his death was approaching, he'd give his medallion over to whomever he thought should replace him as King of the Gypsies. But it was also understood that this new leader would be challenged for his right to lead the rest of us. Only the wisest, strongest, and toughest would be the king. It was important for our survival.

"One night, when I was seven years old, Petro burst into the camper again. Natalia was there, listening to me read. It was a ritual we did every night; 'Talia was bound and determined that I learn everything I could. Petro said that Papa had lost his hand; my marriage would take place the next day at sunset. Then he told me who my husband was to be."

"Who?"

"A man named Samuel Lemke. He was a close mate of my Papa's. He was ninety-three years old."

"But you wouldn't have had to worry about a wedding night, then, would you?" How terrible it would have been to have a husband that old, but maybe she would have thought of him more as an old relative than a husband.

She smiled ruefully. "Rom men are usually virile until they draw their dying breath. He would have wanted his honeymoon, all right. And he had cancer. It went pretty much untreated, so it had begun to eat a hole in his face. I remember once when I was around six, I looked up from our meal around the campfire and caught sight of him chewing his food. I could see it right through his face. It put me off my food for about three weeks. This was to be my husband."

She shuddered, and Harry knew she was reliving the experience. He moved to put his arm around her, knowing she'd have to finish this memory and be done with it. He tried to make it better, comforting her. She leaned into his embrace and continued.

"'Talia immediately started throwing things into a bag. She scribbled something on a piece of paper, grabbed me, pushed Petro down and threatened him with his life if he moved, and shoved me out the camper door.

"She pulled me after her, running as if the devil himself was at our heels, out to the road that passed by our campsite. It was pitch black out there; you could barely see your hand in front of your face. She gave me the paper she'd scribbled on; it was an address. She told me to follow the road until I came into the village. Then I was to search for that address. A friend of hers lived there, a gaje friend of Paulo's. This friend's family would take me in and keep me from being found.

"So I did. It took me until morning to get to the village, and I was too afraid to ask any of the gaje for directions. I was trying to avoid the law, as 'Talia warned, because they'd only return me to my father.

"I must have looked quite a sight by noon. I was thirsty, hungry, frightened out of my wits, hiding from anyone who, from a distance, even looked like my people, and hiding from anyone in a uniform.

"A friendly-looking woman spoke kindly to me, offered me some water from her canteen. She had set up a booth in the marketplace, and she let me rest in the shade of the stand. She made sure I had enough water, then she made me share her lunch. Her name was Bridie O'Hara, and to this day, I make sure she gets a gift from me for Mother's Day and Christmas. She saved my life.

"She took me to the address I showed her, and, like 'Talia promised, the Geritys took me in. 'Talia had planned for this, I knew. She'd already cleared it with the Gerity family. I was there for three days before Papa showed up."

"How did he find you?"

"I found out later that he tried to beat it out of 'Talia, but before he could hit her the once, Paulo stepped in and flattened him. Normally, that would mean he'd have hell to pay, because Papa was a tribal elder, well respected. But no one cared about that when they found out that Papa was going to beat up another man's wife. They turned on him. So, he backed down. I would have been safe from him if not for my loving brother. Petro told Papa where he might look, seeing as how he knew where 'Talia and Paulo went when they visited the village.

"So Papa came to the house of Gerity. They hid me out back in the barn, and stood up to Papa. When neighbors came to help, not wanting gypsies causing trouble, Papa subsided. Mr. Gerity called me out to the front, where Papa gave me his version of the evil eye and spat at my feet. He ripped the sleeve of his jacket; his way of telling me that I was no longer alive in his eyes. Rom men tear a sleeve to mourn the loss of a loved one. My mother, who was with him, grabbed the knife from Papa's belt and began hacking off her hair. That's how Romany women show their grief. I was dead to my parents."

Harry suppressed a shudder next to her on the couch. That she could tell him this without apparent emotion in her voice . . . what had to be the most painful experience of her life . . .

"But 'Talia and Paulo were there as well," she continued. "I was so happy and felt I'd always have their love because when my mother handed 'Talia the knife, 'Talia spat on it and refused to cut off her hair. Likewise, Paulo refused to tear his sleeve. Papa was livid, but he knew he couldn't force it. Paulo would have killed him. Natalia left the horse she was on to speak to me, pulling me away from the others' hearing. Papa couldn't stop this either, as I was dead to him.

"She gave me another piece of paper, with another address. She said the Geritys would help me get to the United States, and I could stay with my grandfather, who had given up the gypsy ways and was living as a gajo in Manhattan, in New York. She made me promise to enroll in a public school; pursue my education so I would never have to rely on any man to take care of me.

"Then they left, returning to our encampment. The Geritys gave me space, enough time to sort out my feelings, knowing it hurt. And then, just before I was to leave for America, I went back to the encampment . . ." her eyes clouded for the first time in her recitation, and Harry waited to see if she'd continue. But she shook herself and looked up into his eyes.

"But aye, the necklace is special to me. And now that I'm at Hogwarts, I can believe that she knew what she was talking about, that she must have foreseen this. I feel blessed to be here."

Harry didn't know what to say. He may never say another unkind word about the Dursleys ever again. He wanted to ask her about what happened at the encampment just before she left Ireland, but he could see the toll this narration had taken. She smiled tremulously and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He pulled her close, trying to erase years of pain, knowing he could not, but also knowing he could share that pain with her, now that he knew.

They quietly left the shack, locking the door behind them. It was understood that they'd come back here, that they would grab any chance they could for this closeness. Heading down the road, they agreed without speaking to return to Hogwarts, not really wanting the company of others right now.

As they entered the gates of Hogwarts, they met Snape on his way out. Snape did a double take when he saw Tanya, and looking closely at her, he glared at Harry.

"What have you done to her?" he demanded.

Harry was confused. He looked at Tanya, but didn't see anything wrong. Tanya too looked confused. She looked at Snape. "What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with me."

Harry worried that what they had almost done this afternoon was apparent to those who knew better than he the ways of the world. But, looking at Tanya again, he could see no real difference, other than that she looked a little depressed. He knew well the reason for it, but what did Snape fear had happened?

"You look as though you've been through quite an ordeal. Has anyone been bothering you in town? Someone making trouble for you?"

"No, Harry and I spent the better part of the day just talking," she answered, her evasiveness apparent only to Harry, and only because he knew what they'd started off doing.

"Talking?" Snape questioned, looking at Harry. "What conversation could possible make you look so drained?" He glared at Harry, silently demanding an answer.

"Tanya was reliving some painful memories," he conceded. "And you're right; it was a draining experience for her." He looked compassionately at Tanya, and for once, didn't feel the anger he would have expected to feel toward Snape. He now understood what it felt like to be so concerned about another person.

"Severus," Tanya said, "I'm perfectly all right. Harry didn't exactly force me to talk, you know. There was some free will involved." She smiled to take the edge off her words.

Snape looked as though he didn't want to let Harry off the hook so easily. But he nodded curtly at the both of them and continued on his way to town.

Harry and Tanya continued to make their way up to the Tower. "Snape sure seems protective of you," he mused, hoping for comment from her. "I've never seen him even remotely concerned about anyone. I mean, unless he was ordered by Dumbledore to protect someone."

Tanya simply murmured her agreement, so Harry was forced to let the subject drop. They entered the common room, after convincing the Fat Lady to let them in just on the strength of their password, instead of listening to her pathetic attempt at singing. Although Harry would have loved to spend the rest of the day with Tanya, he was content to let her go up to her dorm, knowing she'd need a nap before Animagus class this evening. She'd need all her energy.

He also went up to his dorm, hoping that today would be the day he would find out what his Animagus would be.