Secrets

Chapter 11

Term, strangely, got off to a very smooth start. It was almost as if nothing peculiar had happened at all in the past week. Then again, maybe it was because of recent events, that everyone seemed to be behaving themselves beautifully. Even Snape was surprised at the saintly behaviour that greeted him when he walked into his first class of the new year. Teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins was never a pleasant way to spend a morning, for anyone involved and for more reasons than one. From the Gryffindors' point of view that was because it inevitably involved Snape and the Slytherins, and from Snape's point of view it was because it involved George and Fred Weasley.

Having prepared himself for yet another excruciatingly aggravating morning, he walked into the classroom to find everyone, including Fred and George Weasley, behaving like angels. To have said that he found the event surprising, would have been the understatement of the decade. In fact, he found it so surprising, that he promptly came to the conclusion that the notorious duo were up to something; something for which he was quite convinced he would have the pleasure of deducting several score points from Gryffindor, as soon as it occurred.

When, fifteen minutes into the lesson, nothing unexpected, or untoward had happened, he started becoming even more intrigued, not to mention suspicious, and began paying even closer attention to them; that was when he realised that there was something even stranger happening than the fact that they hadn't yet attempted the inevitable practical joke. They were both paying attention. Not only that, but they were putting enormous efforts into their attempts at performing the Patronus spell that Snape had been trying to teach the class to perform since before the Christmas holidays. Even though he was loath to admit it, they were also doing reasonably well. But the strangest thing of all was the way they were looking at him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, probably because he was unaccustomed to that sort of thing coming from Gryffindors, let alone Fred and George Weasley, but there was a certain kind of seriousness about their demeanour and the way they regarded him. For a moment, no more, he even contemplated the possible appropriateness of the use of the word 'respect' in relation to their manner towards him. Of course, he dismissed the idea instantly, as being simply absurd and on a par with the notion that the earth was the centre of the universe and the sun revolved around it.

The last straw, however, came at the end of the class, and it was so manifestly bizarre that it left Snape standing, staring after them open-mouthed, wondering whether he was hallucinating. On their way out of the classroom, George and Fred, in chorus, voluntarily, and without a hint of sarcasm in their tone wished him a Good Morning...Professor!

Later that same day, Iris had a similar experience with the Weasley twins which left her, too, more than a bit bemused; especially since it had been preceded by a full hour --during which she had been trying to demonstrate the proper way of casting a magical Circle of Containment --of Ron gazing at her in what seemed like awe, and Hermione in something akin to wistful reverence. That particularly unreal experience had culminated in Hermione pausing, just before leaving the classroom, to cast Iris one last glance of what seemed like sympathy, accompanied by a slightly romantic, melancholy smile, while Ron waited at the door with an air of gallant gravitas about him.

Iris tried to shrug the incident off as just another peculiar symptom of adolescence, but failed. That last little melancholy smile had made her feel too much as if someone had died, and no one had bothered to tell her about it. Coupled with Ron's gentlemanly solemnity at the door, it had all rather unnerved her. And then, immediately afterwards, the twins had not only abstained from any form of mischief, but had made every effort to appear serious and courteous and had paid unswerving attention throughout the class.

Something extremely strange was going on, and she couldn't stop herself wondering about it, on and off, for the rest of the day.

When, at dinner, she met Snape for the first time that day, she quickly realised that he, too, seemed to be carrying a pensive frown. That, in itself, was not in the least surprising, since the frown and the pensiveness, was an integral part of his usual, sunny disposition. What was unusual was the fact that he seemed slightly perplexed. Snape never looked perplexed. Undoubtedly, he often felt perplexed, but the emotion was one that, as far as she could tell, he never allowed anywhere near his expression.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her.

'What is it?' she asked with a slightly conspiratorial tone in her voice, between gulps of pumpkin juice.

'What?' asked Snape, sounding even more perplexed than he looked, as if she had just interrupted the solving of a particularly difficult intellectual problem.

'What is it?' she repeated meaningfully.

'Oh... Erm... I don't know,' he said, frowning again.

'Strange day?'

He turned, sharply, to look at her.

'Yes, it was,' he said, a bit suspiciously.

Iris nodded in understanding, which confused Snape even more.

'Mine too,' she said. 'Did the strangeness of your day involve the entire Weasley family and Hermione Granger, by any chance?'

Snape's eyes narrowed and his frown deepened even further.

'You too?' he asked in disbelief.

Iris nodded again, then shook her head in profound puzzlement.

'Was it just me, or were they all being inexplicably solemn today? That girl made me feel as if someone had died and I needed sympathy, or something!'

'Couldn't have put it better myself,' Snape exclaimed quietly. 'At the end of Potions today, for a moment I was convinced she was going to walk over and pat my arm and say "there-there". And Ron Weasley was looking all manly and silent, and almost ready to come and shake me by the hand and offer his condolences,' he sneered in disgust.

That particularly eloquent description of events made Iris choke on her pumpkin juice, while Snape shook his head and grimaced in disbelieving incomprehension.

'If I could have deducted points from Gryffindor simply on account of the expression on their faces, believe me, I would have done!' he added scowlingly. 'Unfortunately, the peculiarity of their behaviour also extended to a surprisingly well-behaved overall performance in class. Which was something that happened with the Weasley twins in Defence Against the Dark Arts today too, and qualifies as equally odd.'

'Yes! That too!' Iris agreed fervently. 'They didn't try anything on, at all. They didn't even so much as snigger, or exchange a single word between them, for the entire class. I know I haven't been here very long, but I've never seen the Weasley twins look serious before!'

Snape nodded sombrely, and shook his head slowly again.

'They wished me a good morning --"Professor" --as they left...' he said bemusedly.

Iris gaped at him. Now that was odd. Fred and George seemed to live just for the sake of aggravating Snape.

'What on earth's going on?!' she exclaimed in a loud whisper.

'I don't know,' replied Snape slowly, with the same bemused expression on his face and seemingly unable to stop shaking his head in disbelief.

As they sat there, heads bowed closely together, having their whispered conversation, Iris turned, for a moment, and her eyes fell on the Gryffindor table and Hermione Granger, sitting as always between Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. The girl was, at that particular moment, looking up at her and Snape with that same wistfully romantic expression on her face Iris had seen that morning and which seemed to be saying 'Awww!'

The fact that she met Iris's puzzled gaze had absolutely no effect on her. She didn't blush, or turn away, but just smiled faintly to herself, it seemed, and kept on looking at them.

Iris nudged Snape with her elbow, discreetly, and he too looked up at the Gryffindor table, his eyes, narrowed and piercing, inevitably locking onto Hermione's for a moment. That had the expected result of finally making Hermione blush, a bit coyly, and then turn away.

'Ok! That's it! Whatever it is they're up to, I'm going to make them regret it!' Snape growled in a furious whisper.

Iris turned and looked at him.

'They are up to something, aren't they?' she said in the tone of someone who has just had an epiphany, but couldn't yet quite believe it.

'Oh yes!' said Snape meaningfully. 'And I hate to be the one to say "I told you so!".'

No matter how hard he tried, however, for the next month, Snape failed to find out what it was that Ron, Hermione and the Weasley twins were up to. Against all expectations, all four of them remained the picture of innocence and studious hard work, while continuing to show unprecedented levels of respect towards him. The latter, especially, made him more suspicious than he ever considered possible, and imbued him with the deep-seated desire that they return to their normal adolescent behaviour. He made every effort to convince them to do so, by exhibiting inordinate levels of gratuitous maliciousness --which also failed to provoke any change in them, although it had the desired effect on Harry, who had now progressed to openly glaring at Snape in undisguised loathing every time he saw him. This led Snape to the inevitable conclusion that, whatever Ron, Hermione and the twins were up to, Harry Potter was not a part of; which only confused and, consequently, irritated him even more. He also couldn't help but notice that the twins, in the past month, had shown a simply astounding improvement in all their practical work in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Their Patroni, by mid-February, were on a par with any qualified wizard's --and quite interesting ones, at that.

Iris continued receiving looks of womanly sympathy from Hermione, while the twins showed that their sudden one-hundred-and eighty-degree turn in the direction of seriousness was longer lived than Iris had expected. In the meanwhile, Ron had managed to achieve astonishing progress in the field of Evocation. Such, that he had left the rest of the class trailing many miles behind him while he swiftly disappeared over the horizon, hurrying in the direction of excellence. So much so, in fact, that she had taken to occasionally tutoring him privately, after classes, where he continued to exhibit an absolutely incredible thirst for knowledge and improvement. Soon, he could cast a proper Circle of Containment in ten seconds flat --an emergency one he could do in five. By early March, he had mastered the Evocation of Water and Earth Elementals and she had began contemplating the judiciousness of showing him how to do Air Elementals as well, although that went completely against her better judgment.

As far as she could tell, Hermione was always good at everything, so that didn't count.

Although everything seemed peacefully uneventful, barring the occasional magical accident of course, Iris only became all the more uneasy as the days went by. It was all simply too quiet. Not that she had anything against 'quiet', per se. She liked 'quiet'. It meant that Snape hadn't been called back to see Voldemort, people weren't dropping dead, left, right and centre, Dementors hadn't been anywhere within miles of the school, and she didn't have to worry about Aidan being inadvertently killed by some Auror just doing his job and not having the vaguest idea that the Department of Mysteries had Lunariors undercover with the Death Eaters.

Having said that, she didn't worry too much about it. She only got the occasional twinge of anxiety whenever she was in one of her particularly pessimistic moods --Aidan was too good to get himself into a situation like that, she knew that perfectly well.

Still, it was too quiet.

*

When, in early March, Dumbledore decided that the Quidditch matches, which had been discontinued after the Christmas holidays for safety reasons, should be resumed, it seemed that life in Hogwarts was well and truly going back to normal. With the peace and quiet being very effectively replaced by wild excitement, though, Iris only started to worry even more. Normality had the undesirable, in her view, effect of lulling all the students --and even some of the teachers --into a false sense of security. Dumbledore, on the other hand, reasoned that life simply had to go on, and, if it didn't, Voldemort had already gained his first victory.

He was right, of course, but that didn't stop her from worrying. The more normal everything seemed, the more she worried. She found herself seeking out Snape's company more and more, knowing that he was the only other person in Hogwarts, besides Dumbledore, that would never be fooled into appeasement by the illusion of normality. It sounded strange when she thought about it that way, but she felt that, in his company, her worries were justifiable, the reasons being real, concrete and not figments of her imagination. He seemed to understand. More than that, he seemed to share her feelings on the matter and, although he never said as much --of course --he seemed to be glad that she was there. Her presence made the dark, troubled reality that he inhabited seem somehow less empty. Not that they talked about these things, when they were alone together. It seemed rather unnecessary. Both of them knew why the other was there, by some kind of unspoken understanding, and both enjoyed each other's company. It was enough.

It was also rather imprudent. The more time they spent together, the harder it became for her to continue lying to him. On one occasion she had come so close to telling him the truth about who she was and what she was doing at Hogwarts, that she had forced herself to leave the room, that being the only way she could think of that would stop her breaking her cover. It was not her cover she was worried about at this point, however, but the possible implications of Snape actually knowing the truth and having to lie to Voldemort about it. He seemed to have understood what had happened, because, when she avoided him for three days straight, after that, he made no attempt to seek her out himself, electing to allow her the space she needed to recover her composure. It was the first time that she had failed to appear and he had not sought her out himself, in over a month. It had not been easy for him, either. A part of him had seized those three days and the opportunity to stay away from her readily, while another part of him had fought this decision with passion. The truth of the matter was that, the more time he spent with her, the more difficult it became for him to keep his distance --and his self-control --whilst at the same time, he found it impossible to bring himself to forgo her company.

The three-day, voluntary quarantine from each other seemed to have the desired effect of helping them to regain some semblance of self-possession, however, and, when they met again after that, they had both returned to their wonderfully disciplined and conveniently dispassionate outward manner.

In the meanwhile, Aidan had been leading a reasonably comfortable 'triple' life as a freelance political correspondent, cum double agent, in the heart of London. In fact, it had been so comfortable and perfectly organised, that he had started trying to find ways to keep himself entertained. As fascinating as Muggle politics may have been --for the first two weeks --the novelty wore off very quickly, and simply reminded him of a slightly more complex, non-magical version of wizard politics. Voldemort had not requested his presence since his official initiation, he had not seen another Death Eater in over three weeks, he had not spoken to Iole since she had shown up in his flat almost two months ago, and, all in all, he was starting to get slightly bored.

The only redeeming factor in this entire assignment were the two animagi he was liasing with. They had proven to be just the sort of people he liked to work with --when he was obliged to work with someone. Generally, he preferred working alone. They were both smart, with a sharp sense of humour that he appreciated. The three of them used a simple, but remarkably practical and effective little spell to be able to communicate with each other. Its only drawback was that they had to be within sight of each other, for it to work, although maintaining eye contact was not necessary. And a good job that was too, because maintaining eye contact with a spider at twenty yards, is no mean feat; in fact, it's practically impossible. Fortunately, all Aidan needed do was locate the spider, which, once you knew what you were looking for was not that hard to do, tap his ear with his wand, which he always kept concealed in his right sleeve and needed only allow to slide out slightly, and say the word:

'Inaudio,' he whispered discreetly and grinned at a distant, black dot that sat high up on the wall, by the main door of No. 10.

'Testing, testing, 1,2,3,' he heard Phaedra's melodious voice say cheekily in his ear.

He tried to control a ridiculous grin that threatened his composure and would have looked simply daft to any onlooker, since there was nothing around that could have provoked it. Instead, he nodded discreetly in the dot's direction.

'Hold on, I'll be right back,' Phaedra's voice continued as soon as she saw the signal.

Aidan saw the dot scurry at immense speed up the wall, over to the closest window, and disappear inside the house through a minuscule crack in the window frame. Two minutes later, it was back again.

'Two-way communication now functional,' she said with theatrical solemnity. 'Please respond, over.'

'Will you cut that out?' Aidan thought very loudly. 'You're making me look like a nitwit out here, chuckling to myself for no apparent reason whatsoever!'

'You don't need much help, mate,' came Phaedra's voice, with the exaggerated flatness still in her tone.

Aidan spluttered and promptly pretended to cough loudly as another reporter turned to look at him quizzically. Phaedra's amused chuckles sounding clearly in his ear was not helping him in the least, as he desperately tried to stop laughing.

'Where's Felix?' he thought as clearly as he could manage, his sniggers transmitting to Phaedra along with the words.

'Look up and to your left, you idiot! I'm where I always am at this time in the morning!' came Felix's robust voice in Aidan's ear.

Aidan looked up as instructed, to the second floor bedroom window, and noticed the net curtains move slightly and a large, ginger and white muzzle with a pink nose and simply enormous whiskers appear. The tom's gleaming blue eyes seemed to wink, for a moment, and then it disappeared behind the curtains again.

'Doesn't anyone say good-morning, any more?' Aidan thought with theatrical indignation. 'And I can take being insulted, every morning, without fail, by her! She's a peach! She can afford to do what she likes! But you mate, you can't afford that luxury, with that enormous ugly, ginger mug of yours. And, what were you thinking when you designed those whiskers?! It's a miracle you haven't had someone's eye out with those yet!'

Felix's and Phaedra's laughter reached him stereophonically.

'Flattery will get you nowhere,' said Phaedra silkily in his ear.

'Just wait till we finish with this assignment, and I'll show you who's got an ugly mug, you little runt!' Felix snarled histrionically, not quite managing to keep the amusement out of his voice. 'I'll rearrange your face so much that you won't be able to recognise yourself in a mirror!'

'Now, now, boys! Let's put a cork on the testosterone flow for a moment, and try to compose ourselves,' Phaedra used her most reasonable, placating tone, and immediately started laughing again, as she saw Aidan's sarcastic glance in her direction. 'Oh, Merlin, if Iole could hear us now...'

'She'd ruin all the fun!' said Aidan.

'I'm sure I could convince her to see the humour in our little situation,' Felix offered.

'You're far too optimistic for your own good,' Aidan scoffed. 'Just the mention of her name has ruined my mood, already! Now I have to think about bloody work! See what you've done?'

'I'm truly and profoundly sorry for bringing you down to earth again with such a thoughtless remark,' Phaedra sneered elegantly.

'As well you should be! So, anything new, or interesting to report, you two?'

'No.'

'No.'

'God, I can't stand all the excitement!' Aidan pretended to groan.

'Anything from your dark and mysterious friends?' Felix asked.

'Nope.'

'Just as well, I suppose. We should probably be grateful for yet another uneventful day, which we can pass in peace, listening to amazingly dull discussions on the government budget. I think the Chancellor of the Exchequer is coming over today,' Felix volunteered.

'He doesn't like cats,' Phaedra joined in happily.

'Which is something I'm profoundly grateful for,' Felix added.

Aidan and Phaedra sniggered.

'Who's babysitting at the Commons today?' Aidan asked.

'Me,' came Phaedra's voice. 'Felix refuses to listen to anything more on the budget for at least the rest of the week.'

'I'm not surprised,' Aidan sighed. 'Wish I had someone to take shifts with! Sometimes I just want to poke my eyes out with my own wand, out of sheer boredom!'

'Oh, come on, it's not that bad! I'll be there, and keep you company, and hold your hand... so to speak,' Phaedra sneered again.

'I don't believe you,' Aidan pretended to sulk. 'You've promised that before and you've never done so!'

Felix chuckled and Phaedra burst out in hearty laughter.

'I will, I promise... If and when the mood so takes me!'

'That'll be the day!' Aidan sighed in blatant disbelief. 'Oh, hold on! Someone's coming out! Excuse me, but I have to pretend to report now!' he added and swiftly joined the rest of the journalists crowding around the press officer that had just appeared from No. 10, to the sound of Felix's and Phaedra's continued laughter.

By mid-March, Cornelius Fudge had somehow managed to convince himself that it wasn't Voldemort that had set loose all the prisoners from Azkaban and recruited the Dementors to his cause, on the basis that nothing untoward had happened in the wizarding world in three months, and since that unfortunate incident. Having to somehow justify the existence of a cause to which the Dementors could have been recruited in the first place, he came to the conclusion that it must have been renegade Death Eaters, trying to establish themselves anew, with a new leader. That, however, was not reason enough to panic, since your run-of-the-mill Death Eaters could be dealt with --or so he chose to believe. The few veteran Aurors that were still alive would have begged to differ, but Fudge was not renowned for his acumen, so people generally didn't even try to argue with him. Everyone with even a smidgen of common sense continued preparing for the worst, even though Fudge made their attempts at this increasingly difficult.

He had been trying to convince Iole to withdraw her Lunariors from the Muggle Prime Minister's protection for about three weeks. A waste of resources, he called it. Fortunately, Iole was empowered to act under her own discretion, so all of Fudge's complaints fell on deaf ears --when there were ears there at all, because Iole had spent those entire three weeks desperately trying to avoid having to talk to Fudge at all. In her opinion, uneventfulness was something that was much more worrying than the occasional 'incident' that didn't go beyond the simply 'unfortunate'. One of the drawbacks of uneventfulness, also, was that it didn't give you anything to work on; there were no leads, no interesting little tit-bits of information, nothing to give advance warning of what she considered to be an inevitable storm brewing. Her hands seemed to be tied, and she hated that with a passion that beggared description.

Occasionally, she would contact Iris, in the vain hope and the off chance that she would have had something of even minute significance to report, but she had repeatedly come back with nothing. Dumbledore seemed as stoically patient and placating as always, and that only served to aggravate her even more, although she knew that he had the right idea. When there was nothing one could do, there was no point driving oneself spare with paranoid anxiety. The best thing would be to take full advantage of the quiet period, remain alert, of course, and just try and live as normally as possible. But Iole was a Slytherin; obsessive compulsion came with the territory, practically in the same package as the green and silver uniform and the sunny disposition. She remained relentlessly apprehensive.

*

'Who's refereeing the game on Friday?' asked Ron.

'Don't know. I'm assuming it's Madame Hooch,' Harry replied. 'At least I hope it's Madame Hooch. We really need to win, and at least she's fair --which is more than I can say for some people.'

It was the end of March and Gryffindor were playing Slytherin who were, at the time, leading in both points and wins. Harry and Ron were sitting in the Great Hall having breakfast together and discussing sport. It seemed like a good time to do so, since Hermione wasn't around. The look of barely contained disdain on her face when this sort of discussion went on, in her presence, for more than five minutes was something that killed the conversation as surely as a stake through the heart takes care of a vampire.

In the past couple of months, Ron and Hermione had returned to spending much more time with Harry than they had over the Christmas period and January. They still occasionally disappeared, individually or together --to the library, apparently --but at least Harry had stopped feeling as if they were up to something behind his back. For a short while, there, he had even started wondering whether they were avoiding him just so they could be alone together... It wasn't something totally inconceivable, even now. Ron and Hermione seemed to have become much closer than they ever were before. At least, that was what Harry thought. But it wasn't the only odd thing he had noticed over the past few months, in relation to his two best friends. As soon as the term had started, he had seen the first signs. Suddenly, both of them were all attentive and serious during Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and were practically hanging from Raveneye's lips during Evocation classes --not to mention the fact that Ron had suddenly become so good at this subject, that she had started tutoring him privately after class, sometimes. That, in itself, wasn't that peculiar, since Harry remembered being himself afforded the same privilege when Remus Lupin was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. What was peculiar, however, was the way in which Ron apparently went to great pains to avoid commenting on Snape's customary unpleasant behaviour. He had, quite suddenly, stopped complaining, and Harry couldn't remember the last time he had heard the word 'evil' being uttered by Ron to define the name 'Snape'. That was definitely weird.

Hermione had always been much more tolerant of Snape's malevolence. But by now Harry was almost certain that he had spotted her staring at Snape, on more than one occasion, with some sort of bizarre reverence. On a couple of occasions, in fact, the additional adjective 'romantic' had sprung to Harry's mind, to precede the term 'reverence', but he had instantly dismissed it on the grounds that there could have been no other explanation for this, other than the fact that he must have been delusional. Raveneye, Hermione seemed to idolize, but that wasn't something that surprised Harry unduly. He put it down to the fact that Hermione probably wished she could be Raveneye --dark, sleek, wavy, cascading hair and all. Once, Harry had seen Hermione sigh wistfully, at the sight of Snape and Raveneye simply walking down the corridor together and talking. This incident had struck him as so utterly inexplicably bizarre, that he had quickly pushed it to the back of his mind and convinced himself that it just could not have happened. In fact, the whole scene had been all but totally wiped clean from his mind. He vaguely remembered noticing something else odd about it, besides Hermione's inexplicable reaction, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The sight of Snape actually smiling genuinely at someone --in this case Raveneye --was so alien to Harry's reality, that his mind had simply rejected the incoming data as patently illusory.

Harry still had a small niggling doubt in the back of his mind about whether Ron and Hermione were being entirely truthful with him, but he chose not to think about it too much. Considering that their behaviour seemed to be almost back to normal, it was more convenient for him to believe that --at worst --it had been a phase they both went through, and at best, it had been nothing more than his imagination.

'So, do you think we'll win?' Ron asked.

'We'd better! That's all I can say. Can you imagine what it's going to be like if Slytherin win both the Quidditch cup and the House cup this year? It can't bear thinking about!'

'You're right, it doesn't!'

'Are you two talking sports again?' Hermione's disapproving voice came from somewhere behind them. 'How can you bear to be constantly talking about sports? I don't understand! Don't you get bored?'

'Hermione, we don't constantly talk about sports. Do you know why? Because you constantly interrupt us!' said Ron irritably. 'Can't you just not say anything about it, for once? Just once! Is that asking too much of you?'

'Fine!' Hermione sighed and sat down beside them. 'Fine. Please continue. I will not breathe a word, I promise. I'll just sit here and read my book, you just go ahead and ignore me. I won't interrupt again!'

'Good!' said Ron and immediately turned back to Harry. 'So, where were we?'

'We were discussing how awful it would be if Slytherin won both Quidditch and House cups this year. I'm sure that even Hermione would agree on that score!' Harry added and turned meaningfully to look at Hermione.

After a moment, she realised Harry was looking at her, and she raised her head from the page she was reading.

'What?'

'I said, surely you'd agree that it would be terrible if Slytherin won both Quidditch and House cups this year.'

'Oh. Yeah. Terrible. It really would be.'

'Hermione, you really don't sound that bothered!' Harry complained.

'No, no; really, I am. It would be absolutely horrific,' she said and went back to reading her book.

Harry looked up at Ron perplexedly. Ron shook his head, shrugged and spread his hands, grimacing in bemusement. Harry shrugged, too, after a moment, and went back to discussing Friday's match. They didn't have much time to talk about it, however, since, not five minutes later they had to get up and go to their first class of the day. By that time they had decided that Slytherin couldn't possibly beat Gryffindor, since Gryffindor were so desperate, they were bound to play better than Slytherin, who seemed to be resting on their laurels, somewhat, lately. At least that was Harry's and Ron's interpretation of the situation. Hermione didn't deign to contribute to the conversation. She just closed her book, calmly, when the time came, and followed them to their Transfiguration class.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, just like the entire last two months, and at dinnertime Harry, Ron and Hermione were still in their usual little pack. They had separated briefly, during the day, of course, since they weren't all taking the same electives --or rather, Hermione continued taking much too many classes than could have possibly been good for her --but they met up again, as was their habit, to have dinner together. They were about to leave the Great Hall, when George and Fred appeared. Harry hadn't yet noticed that, in the past couple of months, George and Fred very rarely found themselves simultaneously occupying the same space as both Ron and Hermione. Either the twins were around, or Ron and Hermione were around. All four of them couldn't usually be found in the same room together, and if they were, it was only very briefly, while one set was coming and the other leaving; much like as in this particular case.

'Hello,' said Fred jovially.

'Alright Fred?' Ron asked with slightly exaggerated casualness.

'Blooming marvelous!' Fred exclaimed theatrically, giving them his best possible impression of a ludicrous posh accent.

'What have you lot been up to?' George asked conversationally, but wasn't really expecting an answer, as he took the seat Ron had just vacated.

'Nothing much,' said Harry. 'Classes, classes, and yet more classes. And you?'

'Oh, much the same. This and that...' said Fred vaguely.

'Right, well, see you both later, I guess,' said Harry.

'I guess so,' said George as he bit into an enormous roast potato. 'Staying up late in the library tonight Hermione?'

'Yeah, think I should,' said Hermione. 'There's loads of stuff I need to get through.'

'Why am I not surprised,' Fred offered and shot Hermione an imperceptible wink that Harry missed entirely.

'Yeah, well, we might see you there,' said George. 'Unfortunately, there's stuff we need to get through too.'

'Ok, then. See you later,' said Hermione.

'See you, guys,' said Harry.

'Later,' Ron said offhandedly, and the three of them walked off.

In the staff room, Snape and Iris were having a game of chess. As usual, Snape was winning, but by now he was having a much harder time staying in control of the game, than he would have had two months ago --plus, Iris had a plan... He hadn't yet spotted it, but she had a plan. She still lacked his patience at this accursed game, but what she lacked in patience, she had started compensating in deviousness. She knew he would very soon spot what she was doing, but by then, she was hoping that it would be too late. Although it would have been impossible to tell by the completely emotionless expression on her face, she was starting to get excited at the prospect of finally beating him. Every minute that went by and he still hadn't noticed what she was doing she became more and more excited and satisfied with herself.

And then he spotted it. She knew he had, because she saw the corner of his mouth quiver and his eyes glimmer slyly as he looked down at the board. That was it; no other reaction. It was quite enough, however, to appraise her of the fact that she had just lost another game to him. Damn, she thought to herself, but she didn't let it show in her expression. Maybe, if she pretended she hadn't noticed, she would have the chance to recover from the setback --unlikely, but it was still worth a shot. She watched him make his first --very efficient --move to counter her little strategy, and prepared herself for her last shot at this --

Which she never got around to having, because at that precise moment they were interrupted by Sybil Trelawney and Professor Sinistra bursting into the staff room. Snape and Iris both looked up in surprise.

'I tell you, Sybil, that is what you said!' Sinistra was saying hotly.

'But I have no recollection of making any such prediction,' Sybil Trelawney complained mistily. 'Are you quite certain that you didn't drift off, for a moment, my dear? I have noticed that the incense I use does sometimes have that effect on people unaccustomed to it. With me, of course, it only helps open up the inner eye...'

'Sybil, your rooms are filled with enough smoke and are hot enough to qualify as a Turkish Bath. That's why people drop into a stupor the moment they walk in through your door --as do you, more often than you can possibly imagine, as I've come to realise in the past two months. In this particular instance, however, I guarantee that I, at least, was wide awake! You, on the other hand, were most definitely in a trance, and that is why you remember nothing!'

Snape and Iris turned away from the spectacle for a moment, to stare at each other, and then turned back to staring at Professors Trelawney and Sinistra.

'She made a prediction?' Snape asked incredulously.

'If that wasn't a genuine prediction, then I don't know what would be!' Sinistra replied vehemently.

'What happened?' Iris asked.

'She sort of fell into this trance, completely out of the blue, without warning, and started speaking in a bizarre, hair-raising voice that was definitely not hers! When she came out of it, she had absolutely no recollection of what had happened. No wonder Albus wanted someone with her twenty-four hours a day!'

'Have you told him what happened?' Snape enquired, probably needlessly.

'We've just come down from his office. She's been complaining ceaselessly about it for the past twenty minutes. She seems to think that I was the one that dreamt it all! Can you believe that?!' Sinistra exclaimed in complete and utter exasperation.

'Easily,' Snape murmured under his breath and Iris's lips twitched in barely contained amusement. 'What did she say?'

'She said "The time is nearly upon us. All is prepared. We shall finally make our presence known to all. Soon, the entire country will be at our feet." And then she suddenly woke up, thinking she had simply closed her eyes for an instant.'

Snape and Iris turned to look at each other again; only this time concern had replaced their earlier amused surprised. By some sort of unspoken understanding, they both rose from their seats simultaneously, and made their way out of the staff room, Snape leading the way and Iris following closely behind him. The chess game was left forgotten and unresolved where it stood.

They didn't speak, as they made their way up to Dumbledore's office. There really wasn't much to say. Both of them thought they knew exactly what Sybil Trelawney had been talking about.

They went up the mobile, spiral staircase and were about to knock on Dumbledore's door, when they heard his voice calling to them from the other side.

'Won't you both come in?'

Snape pushed the door open and Iris followed him into Dumbledore's office. Both of them had ceased being surprised, long ago, by the fact that he always seemed to know who was standing outside his door.

'I was expecting you,' Dumbledore said kindly. 'Presumably you've just heard about Sybil's prediction? Don't stand. Please, take a seat,' he added.

Iris sat down, but Snape remained standing.

'You think it's genuine?' he asked shortly.

Dumbledore shrugged.

'It seems as genuine as predictions can ever get.'

'Now what?' Iris asked immediately.

'I'm open to suggestions,' said Dumbledore mildly. 'It's a shame that the prediction didn't involve a more precise indication of either time, or what exactly we should be expecting to happen. But, then again, that is also usually a part of the nature of genuine predictions; one can't generally specify what it is one wants to predict. One rarely gets anything more than an indication of what to expect.'

'So, what? We sit here and wait for whatever it is that is going to happen, without doing anything?' Snape asked vehemently.

'If you have anything better to propose, as I said, I'm open to suggestions. I personally don't think that there's anything else we can do, other than be alert, and on our guard.'

'Shouldn't we alert the Ministry?' asked Iris, reasonably.

'I have done that, already,' Dumbledore said. 'Although I don't know how seriously they will take Sybil's prediction. I have also contacted the Department of Mysteries,' he added, before Iris had the chance to work out how she was going to ask him about that, without Snape getting all suspicious again. 'The Department of Mysteries seemed to take my warning a bit more seriously than the Ministry itself. But then again, by its nature, the Department is generally more open to ideas, and tends to not disregard warnings of danger, no matter how vague or far-fetched they may seem. I am going to talk to Arthur Weasley too, as soon as we've finished here, and let him know what is going on so that he, at least, and the rest of the old team, are vigilant and prepared.'

Snape stared at Dumbledore fixedly, without saying anything. Apparently, he was fighting against his natural tendency to protest angrily that all the above precautions were simply not enough. The only thing that was stopping him was the fact that he couldn't think of anything more he could suggest.

'What about here?' he asked instead. 'Should we cancel the Quidditch match?'

'I don't think that's necessary, since we don't really know what sort of time-scale we're talking about. It will just distress the students --for more reasons than one --and possibly create more problems than it would solve. I don't want the entire school in a state of panic. If we had something more precise, then.... of course. Besides, we don't even know if Hogwarts is the target. It hardly qualifies as "the entire country".'

'Albus, I think you should cancel the Quidditch match,' Iris said calmly. 'We might not know when we should be expecting something to happen, or even where, but I really do think we should be hedging our bets.'

Dumbledore looked at her quietly and then smiled.

'Objections noted,' he said kindly, to the both of them. 'What I will do is make sure there are even more security measures than usual taken, for Friday's game. I will have Sirius and Minerva both patrolling the Grounds' perimeter, and maybe you Iris, can lend a hand, by using Maeve to do the same...?'

'Black is still here?!' Snape and Iris both exclaimed in chorus.

Dumbledore chuckled in amusement at the concerted reaction.

'Of course,' he said with a broad smile still playing under his quivering moustache. 'Sirius and Minerva have been taking turns at patrolling the Grounds' perimeter at night for the past two and a half months. In their animal forms they are discreet and generally much faster than in their human forms. That's why I wanted Sirius here in the first place.'

'But no one's seen him at all, in two months!' Iris cried in astonishment.

'That is the whole point, Iris my dear,' Dumbledore explained patiently. 'Minerva, of course, has seen him, but no one else has.'

'I don't believe this!' Snape breathed fiercely to himself.

Dumbledore ignored him.

'So, Iris dear, will you be so kind as to offer us your crow's sight?'

'Of course,' Iris said distractedly, apparently still trying to come to grips with the fact that Sirius Black had been in Hogwarts for almost three months and she had known nothing about it. Iole wouldn't be very impressed with her when she found that out; in fact, Iris wasn't very impressed with herself, if she wanted to be honest.

'Severus, I would ask you to do the same, but I think I would prefer to have you present at the game --just in case!'

'Fine,' Snape said stiffly. He still couldn't get over the idea of Sirius being in vaguely the same space as him for over two months and him not knowing anything about it. He hated the idea of not knowing what was going on --especially when that involved Sirius Black.

'Good,' said Dumbledore casually, while pretending not to notice the rather averse reactions both Iris and Snape had had to the news that Sirius Black had been in Hogwarts all this time. 'So, if there's any other news, I will of course speak to you both again. If nothing else comes up, which I profoundly hope won't, I will expect you both to do as we discussed, on Friday.'

That was their cue. The conversation was over. Iris rose from her seat and headed for the door. A couple of moments later, after a brief hesitation, Snape followed her.

*

Aidan's magical mobile phone started ringing, which surprised him slightly. He wasn't usually on the receiving end of many phone calls. He rose from his sofa, taking the newspaper he was reading with him, and went to pick up the phone.

'Hello?'

'It's me,' Iole's voice came from the other end of the mobile.

'To what do I owe this honour?' Aidan asked with a smile. 'You haven't been in touch in months? Anything happening?'

'Maybe,' Iole said cryptically.

'Maybe?!'

'I just talked to Dumbledore. The Divination Professor at Hogwarts, apparently, just fell into a trance and made a very strange --yet according to Dumbledore genuine --prediction. We should be expecting something rather important to happen soon.'

'Soon?' Aidan asked incredulously. 'Define soon, if you please. That was the prediction?! We should expect something to happen soon? Don't you have anything more specific than that?'

'No. I was rather hoping you might have some knowledge on the subject that would help us define things a bit more precisely.'

'I know nothing more than what I've said in my last report. As I've said before, they don't like sharing! If anything is going to happen, chances are I won't know about it until it starts happening. You know everything that I do, which is everything I've been telling them about Muggle state of affairs, in the reports I send them. What they're going to do with that information is anyone's guess.'

'Well, I want you to let Felix and Phaedra know about this, and I want you all to be on full alert, from now on. We can't afford to disregard this information, no matter how bizarre its source. I will also try to get Fudge to see sense and put the Ministry on full alert, also, but frankly, I'm not holding my breath. The only good thing about having the idiot as Minister for Magic is that it's possible to manipulate him. I'm going to ask him to assign me as many Aurors as he thinks he can spare and I'm going to station them with you three, undercover, of course.'

'You really are taking this "prediction" seriously, aren't you?' said Aidan with mild surprise.

'I am. And so should you! Be alert, be vigilant. The moment you hear anything even remotely odd, or interesting, contact me immediately, do you understand? That's an order!'

'Ok, ok. Point taken. I will. Tomorrow I will let Felix and Phaedra know about this too. Just let me know if and when you get your Aurors. I need to know who's going to be around.'

'Of course I will. Do you think I just started doing this job? You will get full descriptions of everyone involved --so if worst comes to worst, you all know who to stay well clear from. They won't know either you, or Felix and Phaedra, for obvious reasons, so if Death Eaters show up, just try not to get caught between the two groups, ok?'

'Iole, I've been doing this job for quite some time too, remember? I know perfectly well that standing between an Auror and a Death Eater is a full-proof way of committing suicide, believe me! I've seen it happen!'

'So I don't have to worry then,' Iole said flatly, in a manner that implied that, no matter what Aidan told her, she would still worry.

'No. You don't. I will make sure everyone's abreast of recent events, and I'll be sure to forward your order of caution and alertness. If I hear anything, I will call you, instantly. Ok?'

'Ok. If I get my Aurors, I'll let you know. Goodnight Aidan. And good luck!'

Iole hung up and Aidan went back to his sofa and his newspaper. He quickly realised, however, that he couldn't concentrate on reading it any more and just tossed it on the floor beside the sofa, and reverted to thinking, instead. Although he lacked faith in predictions, as did so many other people, the nature of his profession didn't allow him to disregard information on a possible threat, no matter how strange the source of it, or how unlikely it may have seemed at first glance.

*

'I can't believe Black has been in Hogwarts all this time and we knew nothing about it!' Iris exclaimed as she and Snape were making their way back down from Dumbledore's office.

'No. It's not a pleasant thought, I agree.'

'Makes me wonder what else we don't know about.'

'It's probably best you don't. The mind boggles at the infinite possibilities.'

'That's rich, coming from you! You're the one who's compulsive about knowing everything there is to know about everything and everyone. Now you're telling me not to wonder about what we don't know?'

Snape shrugged. Maybe a couple of months ago he would have thrown a temper tantrum at being called compulsive, but now he only shrugged. It did help that by now he was quite aware that she was just as compulsive as he was about information, and that she would also never make any attempt to deny that fact. In effect, when she used the term 'compulsive' she wasn't actually trying to insult him, any more than she would have been insulting herself. That definitely helped.

'Now you know why I'm particular about being kept informed.'

She looked at him pensively.

'I guess you have a point,' she admitted, after a moment.

'Thank you,' he replied with exaggerated graciousness.

Iris smiled.

'You're welcome. Now, what do we do about all this?'

'I don't know,' he snarled grumpily.

'We have to do something!'

'I'm open to suggestions.'

'Coffee?'

'What?!' Snape exclaimed in astonishment.

'Coffee, while we're thinking about it?' she explained with another little smile.

He paused, in mid-step, to look at her with something akin to wonderment. Then he smiled; a genuine smile that still held a suspicion of slyness trapped in the depths of his eyes.

'Are you offering?'

'Of course.'

'Then I cannot but graciously accept the invitation.'

'Wonderful,' said Iris, keeping a straight face with some difficulty, and started leading the way up to her rooms, Snape following closely on her heels.

By around one o'clock in the morning, they had drank their coffee, and they had thought about it, discussed it extensively, and had failed to come up with anything of any significance that either of them could do about the situation; with the possible exception of Iris deciding that it was probably a good idea to let Iole know that Sirius Black was still at Hogwarts. She didn't mention this to Snape, of course.

Finally, they admitted defeat when they realised that, for the past hour and a half, they had not managed to come up with even a suggestion --no matter how unrealistic --of something that could be done. Regardless of the fact that there really wasn't anything either of them could do, their brains had also stopped cooperating with them, due to sheer fatigue. They had spent that last hour and a half mostly staring aimlessly at the fire.

Snape rose from his chair slowly, with a sigh.

'Even though I am loath to admit it, I think it's time we admitted defeat.'

'You're probably right,' Iris agreed grudgingly. 'We should probably think about this again tomorrow.'

'Undoubtedly.'

She followed him to the door, where he paused, as he was about to pull it open, and turned to look at her. His eyes seemed to search her face for a while, their blackness gleaming eerily in the fire's half-light, and then the merest shadow of a smile flitted across his lips.

'Goodnight,' he said quietly, and turning away again, left.

Goodnight

, she thought, as she closed the door softly behind him.