Secrets

Chapter 14

1¼ miles due W: sheer cliff to the N, woodland to the S. 3½ miles due W: coastline veering off by roughly 15° S.

* * *

With a nauseating tug behind the navel Ron, and Iris, clutching Snape's still figure tightly, vanished. With a rough jolt and the world still blearily spinning around them for a few more moments, they reappeared outside Hogwarts' main gate mere seconds later. Ron toppled forward with the bump and caught himself on his hands and knees, feeling decidedly sick and very dizzy. Iris herself, bent over Snape's body where she had been thrown by the journey, was desperately trying to control the nausea and the faintness that had suddenly come over her. She couldn't afford to faint, not now; not yet. Taking deliberately slow, deep breaths, she forced herself to carefully sit up. The world spun around her, but she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, willing the dizziness to stop, her heart to slow down to a more or less normal rate, and her mind to stop screaming.

He's dead; he's dead, her brain kept repeating to her, as if it wasn't sure she was paying attention. The image of the last thing she saw before they disapparated from the clearing kept assaulting her mind's eye, over and over again, no matter how many times she tried to push it away from her consciousness: Aidan, dropping lifelessly, at Voldemort's feet, mangled, burnt, mutilated bodies strewn around them, and Voldemort's merciless, snake-like eyes staring straight at her. She had looked into his eyes for less than a second, but it had been enough. She knew, with the same certainty she knew her own name that Voldemort would want someone to pay for what he could only consider a humiliation.

He's dead, her mind reiterated determinedly, desperately trying to get her to accept the inevitable; knowing that she was pointedly trying not to pay attention as she forced herself to look down at Snape. She was drenched in his blood now, but she didn't even notice. Pressing her hand down firmly against the wound once more, she watched the dark, crimson rivulets spilling from between her fingers. If only she had had the potion with her, she thought, as her mind raced. It was, even now, sitting on top of her dresser in her rooms. She always kept one around; because, as everyone in the business knew perfectly well, just because you were paranoid, it didn't mean they weren't after you. Cursing herself silently for not carrying it with her, she raised her wand in the direction of the castle and concentrated.

'Accio,' she called, bringing the small, elaborate bottle clearly to her mind and holding onto the image for dear life. Back in the silence of her room, a silver-plated potion vial, the size of a muggle lighter wobbled for a moment, then flew off the heavy oak-wood dresser, past a startled Maeve sitting on her perch, and out the open window.

'Professor?' Ron tentatively tried to catch her attention. 'Professor, look.'

Her eyes followed his pointing finger and saw three tiny, barely visible, speeding dots, flying in their direction from the castle. Calculating vital minutes in her mind, her eyes darted back up to the empty sky, scanning the horizon for any sign of the potion she had summoned. By her calculations, it should arrive there before the others. Sure enough, with a faint signing sound of air being rent in its passing, a small silver blur appeared, streaking towards her. She raised one bloodied hand and the bottle flew into her waiting fingers.

'Ron, help me,' she said shortly, not meaning to be curt, but the irretrievable minutes she was counting off in her head making her unaware of the sharpness of her tone. 'Press down here, hard,' she said, indicating with her eyes the place where her left hand was still applying pressure, seemingly in vain.

Ron only hesitated for a moment, and then, immersing both his hands in Snape's blood, replaced Iris's hand with his own, pushing firmly down and suppressing the wave of nausea that rose up inside him as the warm, sticky, red fluid started welling up through his fingers. He wanted to look away but he found he couldn't. He had never seen so much blood before in his life, and he most definitely hadn't felt it, its raw burning energy spilling life onto his skin. Mesmerised, he kept on watching in morbid fascination, while Iris unstopped the once silver potion bottle -its silver sheen had been replaced by the sleek, crimson gleam of the blood on her hands.

Quickly but carefully she slid her hand under Snape's head and brought the vial to his white, bloodstained lips. Three drops of pale, lilac liquid she counted, no more, and then secured the bottle again with one hand, immediately dropping it into one of her pockets. With one hand still cradling his head, she reached with the other to his throat, her long, delicate fingers feeling carefully for a pulse. Ron knew that she had found what she was looking for when her fingers froze, and her eyes focused sharply on an invisible spot in the middle distance, as if she was intently listening to something he couldn't hear, like a robber with his ear to a safe whose combination he is about to crack. Then she looked down at Ron's hands and, instinctively, he followed her gaze. His brow creased, as he tried to make sure, and then -

'Professor,' he whispered, hardly daring to speak the words. 'The bleeding's slowing down... I think...'

She glanced up at him and graced him with a half-smile.

'Good,' she whispered back.

Then Ron's eyes slowly widened, and his brow furrowed even more in an expression of total terror.

'I..., I can't feel his heart anymore,' he breathed, almost inaudibly and gulped down something that was either another bout of nausea, or simple anguish.

'It's ok, Ron. I can,' she said softly, 'it's ok. The bleeding's slowed down, because his heart has. And it will slow down even more in the next few minutes, as the potion takes effect. You can fool a medi-wizard with this. If they don't know what they're looking for, they'll think you're dead. But it's more like a deep hibernation. It just slows down your system so much, your vital signs are easy to miss. If your whole system slows down, everything else does as well: bleeding, poison... death...'

She saw, out of the corner of her eye, three familiar figures having finally arrived and hastening towards them, their frantic voices making Ron look up anxiously. She stayed where she was, carefully keeping her hand still, counting heartbeats. At this stage, if she lost his pulse, she would probably never find it again.

'Oh, my good Lord!' McGonagall gasped as she rushed forward.

'Oh Albus!!'

'Minerva, please take Mr. Weasley back to the castle.'

'Come along, Mr. Weasley,' McGonagall's flustered, yet still authoritative voice sounded by Iris's ear, as she grasped Ron gently but firmly by the shoulders, attempting to draw him away from Snape's body.

'Iris, my dear, are you alright?'

'Albus, he's not breathing!' Madame Pomfrey's voice interrupted him.

'I've just given him Mortis Simulacrum serum, Poppy; he's breathing,' Iris tried to tell Madame Pomfrey calmly, ignoring Dumbledore's question.

'When?'

'Not two minutes ago. But he's lost a lot of blood, Poppy. We have to get him back quickly.'

'I can't do much here Albus, she's right!... And I still can't find a pulse,' she added, almost frantically, her fingers desperately searching for the faintest sign of life.

'Here Poppy; here,' Iris interrupted her, grasping her hand and guiding it to the spot where she had been keeping track of his pulse herself. For a couple of seconds, it seemed like everyone held their breaths while Madame Pomfrey concentrated intently on feeling the ghost of a beat that barely registered on her fingertips.

'Yes, I've got it!' she finally sighed in relief.

'Come along Mr. Weasley,' McGonagall repeated, but he wouldn't move. The sudden well-meaning turmoil seemed to have overwhelmed him. He still couldn't quite believe that it was over; that they were home. And he certainly didn't believe, even for a second, that everything was going to be alright. He didn't want to be taken away. He wanted to be there, to see this through to the end. After all, it was all his fault, or at least partly. If Snape was going to die, he didn't want to be shielded from it, he wanted to be there and watch it happen, and remember for the rest of his life; he felt he still owed him at least that. Besides, he didn't want to leave Iris alone with them. He wasn't exactly sure why, but somewhere, behind the perfectly controlled exterior, he thought he could recognise the agonised desperation of someone that was, fundamentally, alone. And then Dumbledore leaned down beside him, gently laying a hand on his arm.

'It's all right, Ron. You have done more than enough. We are going to take care of Severus now. Let go... Professor McGonagall will take you home. Your friends are all waiting anxiously for you.'

'No,' Ron blurted out, without even realising that he had, his voice making Iris's eyes dart over to him. She looked at him and took a moment to search his face.

'Let him stay, Albus,' she said quietly. 'He has earned it. Let him stay, and remember. He's not a child any more. Not after today. He deserves not to be treated as one.'

Dumbledore's kind, blue eyes never left Ron's pleading gaze as Iris spoke. He seemed to be looking for something in Ron's features, probably the last vestiges of innocence that accompany childhood. Finally, with a gentle smile he squeezed Ron's arm and nodded.

'If that's what you wish, Mr. Weasley,' he said and straightened up again.

'I have to fly back and get the hospital wing ready,' said Madame Pomfrey hastily, gathering up her skirts and leaping to her feet.

'Minerva, please go with Poppy and make sure everyone is well out of the way -including the Prefects. I don't want any of the students witnessing this.'

'Albus, maybe we should be going straight to St. Mungo's. Something like this... I don't know if we have the staff or resources...'

'There's no time, Minerva. Besides, I fear that even St. Mungo's won't have the staff or resources right now...'

Iris, Madame Pomfrey and McGonagall all looked up at him in shocked bewilderment.

'Why, Albus, what has happened?'

'Minerva, please, there is no time now!'

'Of course, Albus, you're right,' she gasped hurriedly and summoned her broom, Madame Pomfrey following closely behind her, with a last anxious look back.

'Are you fit to ride, Iris?' Dumbledore asked her hastily, although the gentleness never left his tone.

'Yes, of course, but my broom...'

'Not to worry,' he said and motioned with his finger, without even looking in the direction of the castle. Iris had never seen anything like it before in her life. A second went by and then her broom materialised beside him, leaving only an indistinct impression of blurry movement still in its wake. Had she but blinked, it would have seemed that the broom had been teleported, and not actually travelled there. Dumbledore didn't even glance at it. Instead he flourished his wand again and a stretcher materialised, out of thin air, floating, about a foot from the ground. 'Ready, Iris?' he said.

5¾ miles due W: coastline veers off sharply south by approximately 95°. 1¼ miles S by SE: ocean to the W, woodland to the E. 3¾ miles S by SE: coastline the same, woodland thinning out.

* * *

They found Hagrid waiting for them in front of the school's main entrance fidgeting and biting his nails, a large black dog sitting on its haunches beside him. There was such an expression of abject anxiety on his face, it almost made him look ten years old again; it was obvious that he hadn't been told exactly what to expect, but that it wasn't going to be pretty.

'Dear God!' he exclaimed as soon as he set eyes on the four of them, his expression, if possible, becoming even more panic-ridden. 'Ron, are yer ok? Wha' happen'd?'

Before Ron had a chance to open his mouth, a black blur of movement from beside Hagrid distracted him. The spot where the dog had been standing was now occupied by Sirius Black.

'Ron, lad, are you ok?' he echoed.

'Sirius!' Ron gasped in surprise. 'You're here?! Yes, I'm fine; fine.'

'Professor Dumbl'dore, sir, Professor McGonagall said to tell yer tha' everything's ready.'

'Thank you, Hagrid.'

'Is there anything you need me to do, Albus?' Sirius enquired calmly, although his eyes kept flitting over to Snape, and Iris hovering fretfully over him, and his brow creased slightly. If she had looked up, she would have seen concern in his dark eyes.

'Sirius, if you could, I'd like you to keep an eye on the grounds. You also, Hagrid. If you could also ask Professor Flitwick and Madame Hooch to accompany you; I believe they can be found in the staff room, awaiting my instructions.'

Sirius nodded briskly and a large black dog disappeared running into the castle.

'And Hagrid, take Fang with you,' Dumbledore instructed before walking hastily past him and into the school.

10 miles S by SE: coastline less ragged and nearer sea level. Veers off gradually by roughly 25° E; woodland to the E given way to grasslands. 5 miles due E: ocean to the S, coastline similar, almost at sea level now.

* * *

It was almost half an hour later that Madame Pomfrey declared that they had done everything they possibly could and that now they could do nothing more than wait. She had then taken Ron away, by force, despite his continued protests, to be looked to. McGonagall had received a meaningful look from Dumbledore and had immediately bustled off to attend to something or other, and then Dumbledore had finally turned to look at Iris.

She had backed off in the last few minutes and was leaning up with her back against the wall, her eyes, unfocused but clear, staring at something that seemed as if it might have been in the middle distance, but was most probably inside her head.

'Iris?' Dumbledore ventured quietly.

'I need to speak to Iole,' she said flatly, all of a sudden, and pushed away from the wall.

'Can it not wait?' he asked so gently, it was obvious he had other plans for her. Plans that probably involved rest, and a shower, and other pleasant things of that sort.

'No.'

'Then, by all means, use my office,' he said after a moment's pause. 'The fireplace has a direct floo connection with her office. Auditory, only, I'm afraid, but I think it is best you don't leave Hogwarts right now, anyway.'

Iris's eyes wandered over to him for a moment. It seemed that she was still preoccupied with what was going on inside her head, and not with the outside world. She only focused on him for a second.

'If you don't mind, I will just go and do that,' she said and spun on her heel, heading for the door. She took two steps, and then hesitated. She paused and then turned to look at Dumbledore again.

'Don't worry. I am going to be staying here with Severus for a while,' Dumbledore said with a kind smile, before she had even had the chance to open her mouth.

She looked down for a moment, smiled, and then looked back up at him again.

'Thank you, Albus.'

'There is no need,' he smiled at her again, his eyes twinkling kindly over his half-moon spectacles.

'Thank you anyway,' she said, and walked out the door.

Five minutes later she was in Dumbledore's office, throwing a pinch of powder into the fireplace, and watching the flames turning purple.

'Yes!' she heard Iole's voice come loud and clear from inside the fire.

'Iole, it's Iris,' she said.

'Where the hell are you?! All hell's broken loose here, and Dumbledore said something incomprehensible about you disappearing off somewhere and Hogwarts being under attack, before running off like a madman.'

'I'm in Dumbledore's office right now. What's happened out there?'

'Madness, that's what's happened. Mayhem. Bedlam. Pick any synonym you like. There's been a full-scale attack on the muggle Parliament, and a synchronised, coordinated attack on muggle-borns all over the country. As far as I've been able to gather, all this while Hogwarts was being attacked. We still don't know what sort of casualties we're talking about, but we're estimating them on the higher end of the scale. What's happened over there?'

'Yes, well, it wasn't a serious attack here. It was just a diversion. They were only trying to distract us while three of them scuttled in to set up a portal. It worked too. Well, almost.'

'A Portal?!'

'Yes. Look, I can't go into this in any great detail right now. I'll fill you in on all the details as soon as I've managed to scrape all this blood off me, and sit down for five minutes. There's another reason I needed to talk to you-'

'-Blood?! What blood?! Are you alright?'

'I am... fine. It's not my blood. Look, can we focus here, for a minute?'

'Whose is it then? Have you had casualties over there?'

Iris pursed her lips, closed her eyes, and forced herself to show patience.

'There haven't been any deaths -yet. If that changes, I'll let you know.'

'What the hell are you talking about?! Have you, or haven't you had casualties?'

'Look, one; we've had one casualty. It's pretty bad, but for the time being he's still alive.'

There was silence from the other end of the fireplace, for a moment.

'Who? A student?'

'No. Look, you're not going to like this, so-'

'Iris, just fucking tell me, alright?'

'It's Snape. We might lose Snape, ok? Which brings me nicely onto the subject I wanted to talk to you about in the first place. We might have lost Aidan too.'

Silence.

'What?'

'I said-'

'-I heard you the first time. How the hell...? How did you come across Aidan? And what do you mean we might have lost Aidan too? What the bloody hell happened over there?!'

Iris sighed.

'Well, exactly that happened: a bloody hell. Couldn't have put it better myself,' she said, whilst examining her hands, still dyed a bright crimson, with seemingly indifferent curiosity. 'Anyway, what I mean is that if he doesn't show up, or you don't hear from him, in the next day or so, you can safely assume he's dead. Last I saw him, he was most likely about to be asked a few questions by Voldemort about something that could only be described as a Death Eater massacre, of which he seemed to be the sole survivor. Do you want to hazard any guesses on what Voldemort will think about that, or what methods he might choose to use to extract the truth? And... Aidan was already wounded at the time. Is this enough, or do you want more?'

Silence.

'Either way, Iole, I really don't see how Aidan can possibly get out of this one. The moment Voldemort decides to use Veritaserum -and I can't think of a situation that would warrant the use of Veritaserum more than this one -well... it's over, isn't it? Which, I'm afraid to say, also means that, even if Snape pulls through this, we've still lost him as an agent as well.'

Silence.

'Come again? Why?'

'Aidan knows about him.'

'How?!! You didn't...!!-'

'-Of course I didn't tell him!!' Iris cried in exasperation. 'What do you think I am, a moron?! He saw for himself. All he had to do was put two and two together. Aidan's not stupid, either, in case you hadn't noticed. Snape... well, he tried to save two students from the Death Eaters, and Aidan was there at the time. Snape blew his cover, all the witnesses to that are now dead;... except Aidan. Are you getting my drift, now?'

Silence.

'Unfortunately, I am.'

'Where was Aidan posted, anyway?'

'Houses of Parliament. Along with another couple of agents. One of them has reported back safely. The other... well, she's still missing in action. We don't know. She was last seen with Aidan.'

Iris frowned.

'There wasn't anyone with Aidan when I saw him.'

'That doesn't mean much.'

'No. I guess it doesn't. But, let me get back to you on that. I only arrived at the scene in media res, so to speak.'

'In what?'

'In the middle of things.'

'Oh.'

'I will talk to the kids, as soon as they're up to it and see if they saw anyone else there that I didn't. And then of course there's Snape, if he pulls through. Now, if you'll excuse me, but if I don't go and scrape all his blood off me, and burn these robes, I think I'm going to have a nervous breakdown.'

There was a brief pause from the other end of the network.

'How is he?' Iole asked finally, her voice all of a sudden notably gentler than usual.

'Breathing.'

'I see. What happened?'

Iris fiddled absently with the edge of her robe and the corner of her lips curled up, imperceptibly, in a cantankerous smile, as she contemplated her reply.

'Well, by my calculations, I now owe him two life-debts -which is quite a lot, considering I've only known him for a few months, and I only have one life to give, anyway.'

'I see...' Iole's voice came slowly, after a while. 'Let me see if I've made an accurate assessment of Snape's character then. He went out and did one ludicrously heroic thing after another, today, blowing his cover, and another agent's in the process, and leaving us with a grand total of zero agents within Death Eater ranks -all because of a couple of kids.'

'That sounds pretty much right; yes.'

'Right. Well then, when he comes to, you can tell him that on my next visit to Hogwarts, I will personally make him pay, dearly, for ruining a perfectly good set-up we had going there. And, if he doesn't remember me, you may jog his memory by reminding him of what I did to him when he was a third-year. I'm sure that will bring back many warm and fuzzy memories! You should also tell him, on my behalf, that if he insists on acting like an idiot, he should go out and be an Auror, not a spy! I'm sure that will go down very well with him, too.'

Despite herself, Iris smiled.

'I really don't want to know what you did to him, do I?'

'No.'

'Thought so. Iole, are you telling me to tell him everything?'

'It doesn't make much difference any more, now, does it?'

'I guess not...' Iris said, her voice drifting off sadly.

'Well,... maybe we should wait a few days and see whether, by some unexplained miracle, Aidan shows up. How about that?' Iole said suddenly.

'Fine. Even though I'm opposed to mindless optimism, on principle, I will make an exception in this case, and agree with you on waiting to see if Aidan shows up in the next day or so -although, frankly, I won't be holding my breath.'

'I'm so glad you approve of my orders, Iris dear. Now, bugger off and go and have a lie down, before you collapse. I am swamped here. Did I mention it's a bloody nightmare taken right out of Dante's Inferno out here?'

'Yes, you did.'

'Thought so, now go away. I'll talk to you soon.'

Iris sat back slowly, on the edge of Dumbledore's desk, as the flames in the fireplace went slowly back to their normal, deep orange colour. She wasn't quite sure whether she wanted to sigh, or just sit there and stare into blank space for a few moments. Her eyes wandered over absently to a pile of grey ash -lying underneath an elaborate perch -which was all that was left of Fawkes at that moment. Great timing Fawkes, she thought to herself. Oh well, she concluded, and pushed herself away from the desk. She walked slowly to the door, feeling the adrenalin starting to drain from her body with every step. All of a sudden, she felt as if all she wanted in the world was to crawl into a dark, silent room, and stay there for a couple of weeks, not seeing and not speaking to anyone. Then maybe... maybe... she would feel up to facing the universe again.

'No,' she said out loud to herself as she realised what she was thinking and forced, by sheer willpower alone, another surge of adrenalin into her system. Not yet. Eventually, she would allow herself to have a nervous collapse, but not yet. Shower first, have a cup of very strong coffee, then go check on the kids, and of course talk to Dumbledore, she listed all the things she had to do in the next hour or so, and strode, purposefully, out of Dumbledore's office.

I'm sure I have a pack of cigarettes stashed away somewhere in my travelling chest, she thought to herself, as she went down the mobile, spiral staircase; the proper, self-lighting wizard stuff, with the pure, chemical-free, stay-fresh tobacco that always tastes as if it has just been dried and harvested three days ago, not the wimpy muggle stuff. Yes, they're definitely in there somewhere. Mmm... shower, coffee and cigarette: what else could a woman want?

7 miles due E: grassland to the N and NW, ocean to the S

* * *

She walked up to her rooms, thankful that she met no one on the way and that McGonagall had apparently done a bang-up job at locking all the students up in their common rooms. Once in her room she locked the door behind her and leaned back against it for a moment, closing her eyes. She just stood there, eyes closed, trying to feel something past the numbness that seemed to have overwhelmed all other possible sensations. All she could feel was an uncomfortable tightness, like a sliver running through her abdomen. Only then did she realise that that tightness had been there for at least the last hour. It was now starting to make her feel slightly sick.

Coastline visible due S at approximately... 20 nautical miles.

* * *

Suddenly, she pushed away from the door and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Turning the water on first to a comfortable scalding temperature, she started pulling her robes off. The outer robe came off easily enough, but the gown underneath she virtually had to peal off her skin before she could let that drop to the ground too, to join the sticky heap of fabric that was already there. She stepped under the hot water, tilting her head back for a moment to feel the comforting hot streams spill down her face. Finally, running her fingers through her hair, she looked down, only to notice swirling red eddies forming and flowing away from her. For a few moments, she stood there, mesmerised watching the water turn from crimson, to pale red, to pink, to something that was almost clear but for a hint of colour that could only be seen if one looked closely. She raised her hands and looked at them. They were clean. At least as clean as they would ever be. Blood didn't wash away that easily, even muggles knew that. They had chemicals that made bloodstains show up after they had been scrubbed clean. But centuries before they had even invented such a thing, they had written plays about the fact that you couldn't wash blood away. Unfortunate representation of Witches in that particular play, but the rest of it was about as insightful as one could ever expect the work of a human to be. Blood always left something behind; it left a mark. Everyone knew that.

And then she thought of Ron. He was still so young. It was unfair that he should have had to be marked by blood at such a young age. Whether he ever realised it or not, he would carry that mark with him for the rest of his life now. And contrary to popular belief, this was not something that one got used to through repeated exposure. She could vouch for that. One got used to dealing with it, one didn't get used to it. There was an enormous difference between the two.

She stayed in the shower much longer than there was any real need to, but the heat of the pounding water on her skin, the steam, the seclusion, was something she was loath to part with. Eventually, however, she talked herself into leaving these comforts behind. She pulled on some clean robes, leaving the old ones lying where they had fallen, on the bathroom floor, she made herself a cup of steaming, hot coffee, and rummaged through her travelling chest, located her cigarettes and finally sat down in the armchair again, armed with everything she needed: caffeine and nicotine. She flicked her wand absently in the direction of the fireplace and instantly flames lit up the previously cold hearth. Running her hand through her still wet hair, she shook some of the excess water from it and turned her back to the fire as she put a cigarette to her lips, which lit up instantly, of its own accord. She inhaled deeply, savouring the smooth, sweet, tobacco-smoke rolling round inside her mouth and then exhaled slowly again, watching the pale blue smoke curl, twist and rise up languidly towards the ceiling. She took a sip of coffee and brought the cigarette to her lips again. The fire would dry her hair in no time. In the meantime she listened to the silence.

20 nautical miles S by SW: ocean to the N, coastline at sea level, grasslands to the S.

* * *

She looked almost human again, as opposed to like a vampire who'd just been playing with her food, when she eventually made her way back down from the Ravenclaw tower again; almost, but for the unusual pallor of her face and the flat, lifeless quality of her gaze. It wasn't that her eyes seemed unfocused, they were as penetrating as always, it was just that there didn't seem to be anything alive behind them. And it was deeply disconcerting. She had forced Hecate and Maeve to stay put in the room and not follow her around the school, simply by shooting them a warning glance.

Her gaze softened though, when she walked into the large, hospital wing dormitory, to see Ron and Hermione. They were sitting on a bed, surrounded by the usual entourage that consisted of Harry and the twins. Whatever they had been discussing stopped very abruptly the moment she walked into the room, and all of them suddenly started looking down at their hands awkwardly.

'How are you two?' she asked as she sat down on the edge of the bed, next to them.

'Fine,' Ron mumbled. 'There really isn't any need for us to be here.'

'I'm sure this is just arranged so you can get a bit of peace and quiet. Which... you don't seem to be getting,' she added shooting Harry and the twins a good-natured look. 'But I guess the company of friends is always welcome, right?'

She didn't get an answer, just more staring uncomfortably down at hands, so she just continued.

'As you can understand, we will eventually have to talk about this, a bit more extensively, but for the time being that can wait. There is one thing, however, that is rather important and I'm afraid I have to ask you now. Presumably everyone in this room is fully acquainted with most of the details, so I won't ask anyone to leave; I will, however ask that this conversation does not get transmitted to anyone other than Professor Dumbledore. Is that clear?'

To the chorus of nodding heads she continued.

'Good. Now, you two, I want you to think back very carefully, and try to remember. I know it was all rather bordering on madness over there, but, do you remember seeing a woman with Aidan at any point, no matter how briefly?'

Ron and Hermione's brows creased as they considered this, then they finally looked up at each other.

'I think so...' Hermione said first. 'Aidan, that was the man with the short blondish hair that helped us, right?'

'That's right.'

'Yes. There was definitely a woman with him when we first went back there. She was wearing muggle clothing and she disapparated almost immediately as soon as we showed up; remember, Hermione?' said Ron.

'Yes, I do remember. I remember she summoned her wand which that man, Aidan, seemed to have had in his pocket. I noticed because it was strange, her wearing muggle clothing, and then summoning her wand like that. At first, I had thought that she must have been some sort of muggle prisoner.'

'Do either of you remember what she looked like, at all? I understand that you probably only saw her for a second, but anything you might remember would be useful.'

Hermione's and Ron's eyes narrowed, staring into the far distance, as they both tried to remember.

'She had short black hair,' Ron said finally.

'Yes. She wore black jeans and a tight black top. I think there was something like a card hanging round her neck. She was very slim,' Hermione offered.

'And very pale,' Ron added.

'Yes, she was,' Hermione agreed. Then they both turned and looked at each other in puzzlement.

'How do we remember all this?' Ron asked Hermione. 'We only saw her for like a second.'

'I know, it's strange, isn't it?'

'Not really,' said Iris with a kind smile. 'In extreme situations, our brain is more alert and registers much more detail than usual. It's just a matter of thinking back afterwards, and recalling everything. In any case, you have both been most helpful. The information you have just given me is very important. Thank you. Now I will let you get some rest, and some peace and quiet.' She had found out all she needed to know. Obviously the missing agent had indeed been with Aidan, and according to the kids, had disapparated before things got too ugly; which meant she was bound to show up at the Haven sooner rather than later. She was probably back there already. No need to go running and report back to Iole right now then.

'Em, Professor?' Hermione stopped her before she had the chance to move.

'That man... Aidan... what was he? He wasn't a Death Eater, right? I mean, he looked like a Death Eater, black robes and everything, but... well, he helped us. And you know him, right?'

Iris's lips curled up, faintly, in a wan smile that she didn't quite manage to suppress.

'No. He wasn't a Death Eater. I... unfortunately I can't tell you what he was, except that he was a friend. A very close friend.'

'Professor, you're talking as if he's dead... But he wasn't dead when you left. Ron said he wasn't. Do you think... do you think Voldemort's killed him?' Hermione ventured tentatively and gulped. 'It's just that... well, he helped me, out there, and well... I'd like to know. I owe him a debt now, and I'd like to know if I'm ever going to have the chance to pay it back.'

Grief almost welled up behind Iris's eyes but she stifled it before it even had a chance to register in her gaze.

'I don't know, Hermione,' she said and rose from the bed, trying to convince herself that she had spoken the truth. It was the truth. She didn't know. 'But I won't lie to you,' she added in the end, before leaving, 'I think it is more likely that he is dead, than alive.'

'Please, Professor, won't we ever know?'

Iris stopped in her tracks and turned slowly around.

'We will. Eventually. I will tell you, when word reaches me. Now stop worrying about it. There isn't anything you, or anyone else, can do right now. Ok? Besides, if it makes you feel any better, Aidan was perfectly aware of the risk he was taking by staying there. It was his choice.' She couldn't help thinking, even as she spoke, that if she had had just ten more seconds, it would have been her choice that would have prevailed, because she would have taken him with her by force.

Hermione nodded and looked down at her hands again, briefly, then her face contorted, she bit her lip and frowned in evident torment.

'Professor, what about Professor Snape? He's going to be okay, right?'

The knot in Iris's stomach that seemed intent on staying there, tightened, just that little bit more.

'I... Madame Pomfrey isn't telling us anything. All she keeps saying is not to worry,' Hermione continued.

'How can we not worry?' Ron burst out suddenly. 'She's acting as if I wasn't there when it happened? How does she think that telling us „not to worry" is going to help? What does she think we are, five years old?! I mean, it's a straightforward question. Is he going to be alright? Not answering that question just makes us worry more!'

For a moment, Iris didn't speak. She had never seen Ron angry before and it was proving to be quite a revelation. She made a mental note of it. Ron's outburst had taken her by surprise, but she had to say that she sympathised and agreed with him. She only also wished that she could tell him something different from what she was about to.

'I don't know, Ron. Madam Pomfrey doesn't know either. That's why she hasn't been saying anything.'

Ron slumped forward and buried his head in his hands with a groan.

'When will you know?' he suddenly erupted again. 'What is it like going to be hours, days, weeks? How long?'

Iris's brow twitched slightly in consternation.

'I don't know. Hours, maybe days. Ron, both of you, calm down,' she said as she moved back towards the bed and sat down again. 'There's no point fretting like this, or beating yourself up over it. Whatever your mistakes-and we will talk about those more extensively some other time -you both conducted yourselves with remarkable presence of mind, altruism, loyalty and courage that borders on sheer stupidity, at the point where the situation most called for it. And you two,' she suddenly turned to the twins, 'although you went ahead and completely ignored my instructions and did what you thought best instead, should be congratulated for exhibiting the same virtues at a time of crisis. Now, I suggest you think about everything that you did wrong and everything that you did right. We are human, after all, and we will always make mistakes. We just have to examine those mistakes, when we make them, and make sure they are not repeated. We must also be able to distinguish, and examine the things that we did right; just so we can go out and keep doing the right things, over and over again. Is that clear?'

No one said anything. They had once again developed an inexplicable fascination with their hands.

'I will take that as a yes,' Iris decided, and stood up again.

* * *

A couple of short corridors and two sets of magically locked doors later she quietly opened the door of the last room in the farthest end of the hospital wing. Dumbledore was still there, sitting quietly, head lowered, eyes closed, brow creased in sadness and resting on the fingers of his right hand. He seemed to have retreated so far inside himself that Iris, for the first time, thought he hadn't heard her enter the room.

'Albus,' she ventured softly.

'Come in, Iris,' he said, without opening his eyes.

'Albus, I wonder if we could have a chat, when you're free,' she continued whilst closing the door behind her.

'Certainly. Yes. I would like a word too' he said and finally opened his eyes and looked up at her slowly. 'But I think it would be advisable if I first had a little chat with Ron and Hermione; and maybe even with the notorious Weasley twins. Now that you're here, I should probably go and get that out of the way. It shouldn't take too long.'

'I'll just be here. Call me when you're ready,' she agreed with a brief nod.

Dumbledore nodded and slowly glided out of the room. Iris shut the door behind him, then, turning, leaned with her back against it, her eyes resting straight ahead, on Snape's still figure. Slowly, she pushed herself away from the door and walked over to sit down on the seat that Dumbledore had been occupying until a few moments ago. For several minutes, she sat there, perfectly upright, fingers laced rather tightly in her lap, studying calmly every single detail of the pallid, corpse-like figure in front of her; the black silky strands of hair spilling over the white pillow, the slim, aquiline features and the soft line of his lips, the long elegant hands and the lean, wiry lines of well-defined arm and shoulder muscles showing under white, almost translucent skin. Finally, she found that she couldn't help but lean forward, rest her elbows on the edge of the bed and bury her head in her hands. And that was where she stayed, she didn't know for how long; until she heard the door open behind her and quiet footsteps walk in and then hesitate. Immediately, she raised her head and turned round.

¾ mile E by SE: fishing village.

* * *

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you,' Sirius said the first gentle words she had ever heard him utter. It was amazing how his whole countenance changed when he wasn't trying to be sardonic. For once, his gaze was sincere, open and forthright.

'No need to apologise. You're not disturbing me. I'm not doing anything,' she said expressionlessly.

'I just came in to see how things are, but if you'd like to be alone...'

'It's fine. Just come in and stop apologising. There really isn't any need.'

She watched him as he hesitated for a moment longer, then drew up another chair and sat down beside her, in silence.

'So, how are things?' Sirius asked eventually.

'Uncertain.'

Sirius didn't speak for a few moments, and Iris felt no desire to break the silence.

'And how are you?' he asked finally.

'As you can see, I'm in perfect health,' Iris replied without looking at him.

'That's not what I meant.'

This time Iris turned round slowly, but now he wasn't looking at her.

'I meant, how are you holding up. I erm..., I... know that you and Severus are... close.'

Sirius felt the burning, penetrating heat of Iris's narrowed gaze on the side of his head, but he refused to turn and look at her.

'And how would you know anything about that?' she said so flatly it gave him goosebumps.

'I've been around for quite some time now,' was all he offered as an explanation.

'Yes. So I gather. And what have you been doing whilst you've been „around"?'

'Watching,' Sirius replied after a moment's pause. 'And listening.'

'Watching and listening on whom?'

'Everyone. You wouldn't believe how easy it is for a black dog to hide in the shadows. And there are so many shadows in Hogwarts.'

Iris couldn't tear her eyes off him. She could hardly believe what she was hearing; not so much because of what Sirius was saying -now she thought about it, it made perfect sense for Dumbledore to want to keep an eye and ear out on what was happening and being said inside Hogwarts; kids talked, a lot, and there was bound to be the occasional interesting titbit of information to be gained. Not to mention that there was a rather large staff of teachers that, at a time like this, was prudent to keep an eye on. What she couldn't believe was that Black had escaped her attention all this time. All she could come up with as an explanation were the words 'bloody incompetent' to describe herself, and/or 'bloody good' to describe Sirius.

'I see,' she said in perfect noncommittal.

'So, how are you holding up?' he insisted.

'Adequately,' was all she offered in reply.

Sirius nodded quietly.

'Tell me something,' Iris said suddenly. 'What is the problem between you and Severus? -I mean besides the very obvious personality clash.'

To her surprise, Sirius's lips curled up in an amused smile.

'Very astute of you to notice that in the space of the couple of brief encounters we have had.'

'What can I say? It's a gift,' she sneered flatly. Sirius smiled again.

'That it must be,' he agreed. 'However, I think Snape should probably be the one to bring you up to speed on that little issue, not me. So I will leave it all up to him,' he said and rose from his seat. 'And, do me a favour, will you? When he wakes up, don't tell him I was here. It would totally wreck my image and I wouldn't want him to get any funny ideas. Concern for his personal well-being has never been one of my strong suits,' he shot a sly grin at her and turned to leave.

Iris followed him to the door with her eyes; they were still narrowed, the cogs and wheels of her brain spinning furiously.

'Can't promise anything,' she said, as he was about to reach for the door handle, and waited for the inevitable reaction.

Sirius paused in mid-movement, lowered his head, long black locks of hair not quite managing to hide the smirk that teased the corner of his mouth.

'You're not going to be the first one to attempt to force a... reconciliation. It won't work,' he said and turned to look at her, hand still grasping the doorknob.

'I said nothing about a reconciliation. I don't suffer from incurable optimism. I just think he has a right to know the position of the people around him and I don't think that this is the best possible time in the world to have you two at each other's throats. I realise that both your lives would seem infinitely emptier without this little feud to spice it up, but save it for peace-time. Right now, all this energy wasted in despising each other is better spent in the direction of the actual enemy.'

Sirius tilted his head to one side and searched her eyes thoughtfully for a few moments.

'And now I can actually understand how you and Snape hit it off so well, in such a short space of time. You're just like him, only more pragmatic and not quite as unpleasant; although definitely as obstinate and dogged. Slytherin, I presume?'

'I went to Beauxbattons,' she said flatly without batting an eyelid.

'Ah. Well, a French education... that does explain a lot too, doesn't it?' he said with a sly smirk. 'Do what you must,' he concluded. 'I will not go as far as to say that you're right, because that will only encourage you, but, do whatever you think is best. We all must, mustn't we?' With that, he pulled the door open and left, leaving Iris alone once more.

„RØVAERSHOLMEN"

* * *

She continued staring at the closed door for a few more moments after he had left, thinking. He wasn't a bad sort, really. Probably would have been a lot worse when he had been at school. She could recognise the type. The heart and soul of the party, the prankster, the quintessential teenager who could bend the world to his own will, just by sheer force of conviction, had absolutely no conception of consequences, and whom nothing could touch. He would probably have had throngs of love-struck teenage girls following him around Hogwarts for years and he would have thought nothing of it. It would have been the most natural thing in the world. He would probably have thought that that's how life was. It was quite sad really that life had proven him wrong in such a spectacular way. Sad, but as far as she was concerned, had done wonders for his character. It was nice to see that he still retained that indomitable force of will, though -and the cheek. She could probably come to like him a great deal, given time. He would probably also have got on with Aidan like a house of fire -in fact, she found the idea of the two of them in the same room together slightly frightening. Snape would have moved out of the country if he had thought it likely that that was ever going to happen, she was sure.

Suddenly she started wishing that just such an eventuality would be given the opportunity to arise. For one thing, it would mean that all of them would still be alive and, after today, the idea of Snape emigrating to a different continent didn't seem so unattractive. With that thought still in her mind, she turned back to him. Giving in to the suddenly overwhelming desire to reach out and touch him, she slipped her fingers round his and grasped his hand gently. She tried not to think of Aidan. There was no point. She just sat there, head resting in her free hand, holding Snape's ice-cold hand in hers, fighting back the first surge of emotion she had felt in hours. There was little else she hated in the world as much as the feeling of helplessness. She thought that if someone didn't give her something to do soon, she would go mad.

The clutching, gripping, crushing pain in her chest that seemed to be cutting off her breath, finally alerted her to the fact that she wanted to scream -and then put her fist through a wall. Or tear someone limb from limb with her bare hands, that would probably help too; and she could very easily name quite a few candidates for dismemberment, very easily, just off the top of her head. The fact that none of them were currently available only made her want to scream all the more. The idea of actually allowing herself to do just that was so inconceivable that it didn't even cross her mind. Consequently, when, with no other recourse for release the despairing, helpless anger started spilling from her eyes in the form of burning tears, streaming unhindered down her face, she was quite surprised. For a moment, she contemplated forcing herself to stop, but then thought better of it. It was better this way. Maybe afterwards she would be capable of rational thought once more, rather than just inarticulate rage.

Dumbledore found her like that, in exactly the same position, eyes now dry, having run out of tears long before she had ran out of rage and anguish. But it was a quiet, calculating anger she now felt, and a dull, tugging pain, which she used to fuel her strength of will rather than wasting it on emotional outbursts. Her eyes had once again acquired that cold, razor sharp quality of a steel blade; incisive but quite dead.

She looked up slowly at Dumbledore as he came to stand next to her, and then quietly sat down. He didn't speak immediately; he just regarded her with compassionate concern.

'We need to talk,' she said.

'Are you sure you're up to it?' Dumbledore asked kindly.

'Yes. We need to talk, and we need to talk now,' she repeated, finally sitting up and pulling her hand away from Snape's with the faintest last lingering caress of his skin with her fingertips. Dumbledore saw her brow twitch, imperceptibly, and then her face regained its expressionless equanimity.

'I'm listening,' he said with gentle seriousness.

Atlas, atlas, atlas...There's an atlas here somewhere... Ah-ha!

Gotcha you bastard!

* * *

She started talking and told him everything. Every single detail she could remember and everything she could only surmise. She told him about Aidan, and Snape, and Dumbledore's brow had creased in sadness, he had closed his eyes and had reached up and had rubbed the ridge of his nose, but had said nothing. He listened patiently to everything without uttering a single word. She told him everything she had learned from Iole too, the fact that they had one more agent missing in action, at least when she had last talked to her, and that Ron and Hermione it seemed had last seen her with Aidan, and about the attack on the muggle parliament and muggle-borns all over the country. When she finally finished speaking, he remained silent for several moments. She had never seen such sadness in Dumbledore's eyes before. For a long moment, he turned and looked at Snape, the sadness in his eyes only becoming deeper and his brow creasing even more, then he turned back to face her and finally spoke.

'I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am, Iris. If we have indeed lost Aidan to this madness too, I know that you especially would also have lost a good friend and colleague. But I don't think we should lose hope just yet, even though I know it looks like there is no hope left. Many a time have I seen hope rise up from what had previously seemed as devoid of hope as the abyss is of light.'

He proceeded to explain to her what he had only just found out himself: what Ron and Hermione had done. How they had placed the Earspy in Snape's office months earlier, and how the Death Eaters had spotted it and tracked it back to them. He then told her everything that they had heard and witnessed before she had arrived.

'The children... the children blame themselves for everything; but, the horrible fact remains that, had they not acted as foolishly as they had, we might never have known about the portal -not before it was too late, at least. And I know that then the casualties would have been much higher; and more innocent. They delayed them. Long enough for Severus to find them and mark the portal for us to see -and for you to get there in time, of course. It is almost as appalling as the events themselves, to contemplate what we have gained today, but today's terrible incident also means that one or more of Voldemort's plans has been thwarted, and we have also gleaned some valuable information in the process.'

'I know Albus. I don't blame the children. I'm perfectly aware of what would most likely have happened if they hadn't been as brash, thoughtless and courageously interfering as they have. They did what we would never have risked doing ourselves. I have no reason to blame the children. I blame Voldemort. The fact remains, however, that -barring some unexpected miracle -we now have no one on the inside. We are back on square one.'

Dumbledore nodded sadly again, and said nothing for a moment. Then-

'I believe we should wait for a day or two and see whether any such miracle occurs, and also gather some more information from wherever we can. I'm sure Iole will have more information for us soon too. Besides, before deciding on any course of action whatsoever, we need to talk to Severus first; don't you think so?' he concluded and shot her a kind smile. 'We have just been to battle. It is now time to regroup, analyse the events, re-evaluate the situation, and, of course, recover and rest before we soldier on. I will think about everything we have just discussed, as I'm sure you will be doing too, and I will talk to Iole. You are welcome to use my office, whenever you need to contact her. Just come straight up, whatever the time of day or night. And, if she needs to talk to you, I will of course let you know immediately. In the meanwhile, I suggest you take the time to recover, too. I promise that the moment there is anything you can do, about anything, I will let you know.'

'Fine,' was all she said.

'Good. Now, I have to go and attend to certain matters. I know better than to even suggest that you go and get some rest,' he said with a gentle smile and a kind pat on the arm, before rising. 'But please, do try and get some sleep, eventually. I will be coming in at regular intervals myself, and, of course, Poppy is going to be here all the time. Call me immediately if there is any change.'

'Of course,' she said and watched him leave.

Oh good God!!........................Talk about perfect fucking timing! ...Right ...............Ok... Priorities. It's all about priorities.........Deep breath............Off we go......

* * *

Madam Pomfrey came in soon afterwards, fussing around fretfully for a while, and checking her watch far too many times than was strictly necessary. She physically bit her lip to stop herself from asking Iris whether she would like a sleeping draught to help her rest, knowing full well what the answer to that would be. After looking at her watch one last time, she finally looked over at Iris, concern furrowing her brow and obviously still not sure whether she should say anything.

'I know Poppy. The potion's effects will be wearing out soon,' Iris decided to put her out of her misery. 'It might all suddenly get worse. I know. There's nothing to do but wait and see, right?'

'Yes,' said Madam Pomfrey worriedly, whilst smoothing out her white apron. She had changed. Probably burnt the previous one. 'Although I'm sure it won't...' she added, not very convincingly. Iris decided to grace her with a kind smile. Madam Pomfrey looked as fearful as she herself felt. It was hard not to let her in, or say at least one compassionate word.

'I'm sure you're right,' said Iris. 'You're the expert, after all.'

Madam Pomfrey tried to smile back but didn't succeed terribly well. She looked at her watch again, and seemed to be calculating minutes in her mind.

'Well, I'll just pop out and try to force Mr Weasley and Miss Granger to take their sleeping draughts and get some sleep. They're both as tense as a barbed wire fence. A good, early night's sleep will do them a world of good. And I'll try to get the Weasley twins and Mr Potter out of here too. I don't want them around here all night,' she said and scuttled to the door. 'I won't be five minutes,' she added with one last look back.

'Take your time,' Iris replied and instantly regretted it. Knowing her luck, everything that could possibly go wrong would go wrong within those five minutes Madam Pomfrey would be away. Murphy's law, wasn't it? Damned wizard; it was so infuriating when someone was always right. And to think that muggles thought he didn't actually exist. Well, technically he didn't. He'd been dead for ages now, but he had existed. She got up, deciding to stretch her legs a while and not think about it any more; besides, her back was starting to ache. She walked over to the window and peered outside into the gathering gloom of nightfall. She paced up and down the room for a few moments, fingers laced loosely behind her back, and then went back to the window. Strangely, she was grateful for the night. She didn't know what it was in her personality that made her feel more comfortable in the still darkness of night-time, but she had always felt that way. Ever since she had been a child. Her parents had in vain tried to get her to sleep at some reasonable time, for years; they had failed miserably. She found night-time calming, gentle, and it helped her think; she was sure that at night her mind opened up, became more alert, more incisive; more aware.

She didn't know what made her turn, when she did, but she turned without questioning the impulse until after she had acted. For a moment, she didn't move; she hardly dared blink. She stood there watching Snape's chest rise and fall in the first perceptible intake of breath she had seen from him in hours. It hardly counted as noticeable, but she had seen it. The potion's effects were wearing out. And Madam Pomfrey was not back yet. All that remained to be seen was whether Murphy's law would be confirmed once again. As she took a couple of quiet steps towards Snape, she contemplated whether actually calling Poppy back right now would have been a good idea. But she would be back any minute now, anyway; there wasn't any point frightening the life out her without good cause. He was breathing. That was good, not bad -at least she hoped that was the case. The next half a minute or so would prove her right or wrong and show her whether everything that Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore had done earlier had had any impact whatsoever.

She was less than six feet away from him when he stirred, imperceptibly, as if waking, then suddenly, with a strangled gasp that instantly turned into a sharp, shallow cough that brought blood to his lips, his body shuddered.

'Poppy!' Iris shouted loudly as she covered the remaining distance to him in one stride and immediately slid her arm under his shoulders, uplifting him and drawing him up to rest against her own body, with her free hand cradling his head and keeping it upright as it rested on her shoulder. She didn't want him choking on his own blood, and he was still coughing, more blood spilling from his lips every time. She could hear Madam Pomfrey's frantically running footsteps approaching the door, when the coughing abated for a moment and with a rasping gasp his eyelids fluttered open. Bloodshot and glazed, his eyes seemed unable to focus; his eyelids heavy with pain and weariness fluttered again, faintly, but he was aware.

'Iris,' he rasped almost inaudibly as Madam Pomfrey was bursting into the room, and immediately the coughing began again, and more blood rose up from his lungs.

'It's ok. I'm here... I'm here. Please don't try and talk. I'm right here... We're home. Everything's ok,' she spoke to him urgently as she held onto him. Her eyes flew over to Madam Pomfrey who had just sprinted across the room, summoned a potion bottle which had instantly flown into her hand from a dresser in the opposite corner, and was diving across the bed towards them. 'Poppy?' she asked, an edge of panic in her voice.

'It's ok, Iris. Just hold him. Keep his head up,' Madam Pomfrey said so calmly one would have thought that the shy-looking, apprehensive person Iris had talked to less than five minutes ago had been someone else. 'Let it come out; the blood has to come out,' she added as she uncorked the potion bottle and waited for the latest bout of coughing to subside. It had been quieter this time, not as wracking, with not much more than a few drops of blood rising up to his lips. She reached out and stroked back Snape's hair from his forehead, her hand lingering on his brow while she concentrated for a second and then she brought the potion bottle to his lips. She measured one drop only, no more. Iris didn't know what the potion was, but whatever it may have been it was obviously powerful stuff if one drop was all it took. Madam Pomfrey stroked his brow and hair back one more time, taking a moment to search his features and then pulled away again, her brow furrowing slightly in distress, as his body shook once more with a last weak spell of coughing that brought the last few drops of blood up from his lungs.

By the time it all stopped he was only semi conscious. Iris felt his body relax in her arms and a barely audible groan escape his lips. Slowly, gently, she let him sink back down onto the bed, her hand sliding up to support the back of his neck as she laid him down. His parted lips, stained red once more, moved imperceptibly.

'Iris,' he breathed, with obvious effort, and so quietly only Iris heard.

'Shhh,' she interrupted him, hastily placing a finger on his lips. 'Please don't talk. Whatever it is, it can wait. Everything's ok, Severus... I promise... Everything. Now let go...' she whispered. 'Please...'

As he slowly drifted off into dreamless, painless sleep, she rose and, with one slightly unsteady step, backed away from the bed realising, all of a sudden, that she was shaking and that she felt she couldn't breathe. With a sharp, shaky gasp, she blindly grasped the nearest chair, pulling it over and collapsing in it, hands gripping its sides tightly.

'It's ok, Iris,' she heard Madam Pomfrey say to her, but she sounded strangely far away. Iris's eyes, staring unseeingly into nothingness, made an effort to flit over to her, but fell on the door instead, left wide open by Madam Pomfrey when she had burst into the room -and that's where they stayed. Two fleeting shapes that could have been none other than Ron and Hermione had just been ushered hurriedly away, by Sirius Black, and now he was standing at the doorway looking straight at her. She had never seen him look distressed before, but that was the only word she could find to describe his expression right now. Obviously deciding that there was no point in pretending he hadn't been there all along, he finally walked quietly into the room. His eyes never left Iris.

'Is there anything I can do?' he inquired quietly.

'Ah, Sirius,' Madam Pomfrey finally noticed him. 'No, thank you. Everything's under control here. You might want to go up and let Albus know that Severus came to and things seem to be under control.'

Sirius nodded, but he was still looking at Iris and she was looking at him. He hesitated before leaving.

'Are you ok?' he asked her gently.

She nodded.

'Yes, thank you,' she breathed.

Sirius seemed to make an effort to accept this answer as the truth, but finally he nodded again, and headed for the door.

'Oh, and by the way, you might want to know that I found Ron and Hermione outside the door, watching.'

'Oh those infuriating children!' Madam Pomfrey huffed in exasperation, as Sirius left and shut the door behind him. 'I'll give them a piece of my mind, I will. Now, Iris, why don't you drink this, dear?' she added and offered her a glass with something pink in it. 'It'll just help calm you a bit. Don't worry. It won't send you to sleep.'

'No,' said Iris with deceptive calmness. 'I'm fine. It was just...'

'-A bit of a shock, I know, and it looked very ugly. Don't worry, it wasn't as bad as it looked. It was just something that had to happen. And you did absolutely the right thing. Wouldn't have done anything different myself, had I been here. Just had to get all that blood out of his body. Had it been at a muggle hospital, they'd have cut him open and sucked it all out with machines. Fortunately we don't have to do that here. A simple -well, actually a rather complicated -potion will do the trick. I should probably have warned you, but I really didn't think it would happen so quickly.'

'Murphy's proven right once again,' Iris murmured with a wry half-smile.

'Excuse me?'

'Oh, nothing. Murphy's law. It's always right, isn't it?'

'Oh, I see,' Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and smiled knowingly. 'Yes, he does tend to be. I'll try and remember Mr Murphy from now on. Now, won't you please drink this? It'll do you a world of good.'

'No. Thank you Poppy. I'm fine. Really. Well, recovering, at least,' Iris smiled at her. 'I'll probably just go splash some water on my face,' she said and got to her feet.

'As you wish. Now don't you worry, dear, alright? He's just going to sleep now. It will probably take a while for him to recover, but I think he will be fine,' she paused. 'Presumably it would be a waste of breath to ask you to go and get some sleep yourself?' she added with a kind but shrewd little look.

Iris couldn't help but smirk self-deprecatingly as she walked towards the door.

'You either know me better than you think, Poppy, or I am totally transparent. My money's on the latter.'

Madam Pomfrey smiled and shook her head in the way one would if a troublesome teenager had just come up with a witty reply to a totally justified, yet minor, chastisement, and then she went back to fussing over Snape.

'As soon as I've finished here, I will go and give Mr Weasley and Miss Granger a piece of my mind,' she said, more to herself than to Iris's retreating figure.

Sure enough, on her way back a few minutes later, Iris could hear Madam Pomfrey's stern voice, carrying several corridors away, and doing a rather admirable job at giving Ron and Hermione a piece of her mind. They had been asking for that, Iris considered coolly. She was just glad Madam Pomfrey took it upon herself to perform the necessary scolding and she wasn't the one that had to do it. She didn't quite feel up to disciplining a couple of teenagers at the moment; she didn't think she would be able to show the appropriate fervour or eloquence and would probably have just resorted to taking points off Gryffindor, which was rather pathetic, under the circumstances.

She sat there with Snape for a while, then left, went up to her room, fed a small magical animal menagerie consisting of two crows and a cat -someone had to do it -came back again, wrote a report for Iole, paced up and down for a bit and finally sat back down in her chair around nine-thirty at night. In all this time Dumbledore had shown up, a couple of times, sitting with her for ten minutes or so and then leaving again, McGonagall had appeared once, Madam Pomfrey came and went at regular intervals, but otherwise, everything had been completely quiet. Not that she objected to quiet, right now -in any way, shape, or form; she also wouldn't have objected to some good news though, either -however unlikely that may have been. Just as she was deciding that, at this stage, it was probably a good idea to accept the saying which avowed that 'no news is good news', she saw a rather large, leather armchair floating slowly in through the door.

She felt her eyes becoming transfixed on the image and her jaw drop. Her expression didn't change, except for her eyes widening slightly, when she saw Sirius following the piece of levitating furniture into the room, his wand raised and guiding it deftly around to land silently beside her. She kept on staring at him wide-eyed, as he turned again, without so much as a word or a glance in her direction, walked out the room for no more than three seconds, then reappeared, holding two glass tumblers in one hand and a bottle in the other, walked straight over and sat down in the chair opposite hers.

'Since you are so obviously not going to leave this room for the rest of the night, I thought that you might as well be a bit more comfortable while you're here,' he said, with a brief nod in the direction of the armchair without actually looking at it, or Iris, but being preoccupied instead with pouring some of the contents of the bottle into the two tumblers. 'Who knows, you might even get some sleep in that. Also, seeing as I, in a similar situation, would right about now have been willing to kill for a very stiff drink, I thought you probably wouldn't turn this down. I did ask, and was informed that you apparently prefer tequila. And I have to tell you, it was a bugger finding this. It's the last bottle, left over from the Halloween party and it took me about twenty minutes to track it down. I was just about to give up and settle for one of McGonagall's single malts -I'm told you wouldn't turn that down either -when one of the house elves finally found this for me.' Finally he looked up at her and smiled wryly. Her mouth was still hanging open and she looked as if she had just seen a Martian; of the green, antennae-bearing variety. Sirius offered her the glass. 'So, will you join me?'

She didn't speak, immediately.

'You asked?' she said finally in utter disbelief.

'Yes.'

For a moment she didn't move, then she grasped the glass, raised it to him, and then downed it in one.

'Don't even want to know!' she murmured.

Sirius grinned.

'Tequila was the right choice then,' he said and took a hefty swig of his.

'Wouldn't have turned whisky down either, but tequila is my favourite, yes. For some reason it doesn't give me hangovers,' she added flatly as she extended her glass in his direction. He grinned again and refilled it. 'Cheers,' she said and downed half of it immediately. 'Are you often as indiscreet and blunt as this?'

'All the time,' he replied slyly, taking another swig of his drink.

'Can't think why Severus can't bear the sight of you. By the way, do you often get brainwaves of this sort?'

'All the time.'

'Do they involve the consumption of alcohol?'

'More often than not.'

'Then I might be able to forgive your overbearing tactlessness and hang out with you a bit more often,' she said, smirked, and downed the remaining contents of her glass.

'I'm honoured,' Sirius replied with a failed attempt at keeping a straight face.

'20 nautical miles due North of R∅vaersholmen, Norway. North-East end of island.'

Iole read and re-read the almost incomprehensible, hurried scribbles on the scrap of parchment that had just floated up out of her fireplace and unto her desk. She frowned.

'Alice! When did this note arrive, and from whom?' she called at the green flames in her fireplace.

'It arrived around 16:45pm, Ms Ranger. It's so small and the scribbles so difficult to read, I almost threw it away thinking it was scrap paper. I don't know the source.'

'Alice, try and match this handwriting to the samples we have of all agents currently active in Britain,' Iole said and tossed the piece of parchment back down the fireplace.

'In Britain?' Alice asked in puzzlement. 'But, Ms Ranger, I believe it says something about Norway...'

'I know. In Britain, Alice,' Iole replied shortly. 'And be quick about it. You have five minutes.'

'Five minutes??!!'

'Five minutes, Alice! Start with agents White, Frost and Warr.'

'Yes Ms Ranger,' Alice replied resignedly.

Iole walked over to the enormous, mahogany bookcases taking up two full walls of her office from ceiling to floor, and ran her fingers quickly across a couple of shelves, finally snatching one enormous volume out, taking it over and slamming it down on her desk. She waved her hand over it and the cover flopped open and the pages started flicking quickly forward. Suddenly she pulled her hand away and the pages stopped turning. Leaning down, she peered closely at the detailed geographical map in front of her and ran her index finger over the coastline of Norway, starting from its southern-most tip and working her way up. Her finger hesitated for a moment and then slid slightly to the west, then a few centimetres up; and there it stopped. She continued peering for a few more moments at the tiny, roughly oval shape in the midst of the endless blue surrounding it; it was so tiny there wasn't even a name for it on the map. Then she looked up again.

'Well, I'll be damned,' she murmured and looked up at the exquisite mahogany clock on her wall.

6:30pm.

* * *

Sirius didn't stay very long. After half an hour or so he announced that the time had come for his 'shift' and had left to go and relieve McGonagall who had apparently spent the last two hours or so patrolling the school's grounds. In that short space of time, however, he and Iris had managed to get through a substantial part of the bottle of tequila. He smiled at her before he left; an honest, genuine smile, and then had closed the door behind him.

In the suddenly very loud silence of the room, Iris turned slowly and regarded the large leather armchair beside her. Then she rose and walked over to the window. She looked outside into the darkness but realised she could only see the reflection of herself and the room behind her in the pane. For a second, she looked into her own eyes, then she snapped her fingers and every candle in the room went out. The night outside flooded in through the window in streams of silver and black and the corners of Iris's lips curled up imperceptibly in unforeseen pleasure as the night washed over her. She stood there, fingers laced loosely behind her back, looking out into the silvery darkness.

* * *

Something black, the size of a fifty pence coin, reached up with one long, spindly leg to the hem of a black robe and, silently, crawled up onto it. The robe swirled as the owner turned round sharply and a chill wind caught the black fabric. Slender, weightless legs held their precarious grip with determination, and the creature braced itself for what it knew was coming as it scuttled soundlessly upwards, sideways, and finally into utter darkness. There was a moment, no more, where the creature doubted its very existence. Then, with the faintest pop, tangible reality returned. With lightning speed, the creature scurried out into partial light again, down the same black, billowing fabric, leapt off the edge of the robe and onto a cold, marble floor. Hardly noticeable in the half-light, it darted across the bare, open expanse of the ground and into the safety of the almost complete darkness of a corner. With another mad dash, it made it up to the minuscule crack between the wall and the window frame and finally out into the twilight. Down the stone wall it went, over cold, sparse grass and rock and earth to the first visible tree. Under its bulging roots it hurried, coming out on the other side where the tree's bulky, twisted, bare trunk stood between itself and the house from which the creature had come. There it paused, backing up until its hind legs were touching the tree trunk. There was a moment of hazy movement and then the creature wasn't there any more. What stood in its place was still black, mostly, but it now stood with its spine against the rough, cold bark of the ancient tree and it was fighting to control the frantic beating of its heart. It only stood there for a second or two, then, with a faint pop it was gone.

10 miles due S: rolling hills to the W, sparse, scraggly woodland to the N, rough, high hills to the E, rolling hills and pastures to the S...

* * *

The soft rustle of robes and virtually silent footsteps that made their way into the room somehow completely failed to surprise Iris. It was not so much that she had been expecting it; it simply came as no surprise, for some reason. Again inexplicably, she felt a sudden urge to look at her watch, as if the precise time was something that she knew she would want to remember when she thought back on this moment. It was one of those rare moments where you felt that something enormous had just happened, only you didn't know what. She turned, silently, to face the latest visitor. Dumbledore looked quietly into her eyes and smiled warmly as he handed her a folded piece of parchment. He said nothing and, as she reached out to take it, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. Dumbledore kept looking at her with his sparkling, kind blue eyes, as she unfolded the parchment, glanced up at him one last time in confusion and then read it.

Then she read it again. And again. It still said exactly the same thing. After reading it one last time, just to make sure, she slowly looked back up at Dumbledore, entirely unaware that her eyes had become as wide and round as saucers, gleaming eerily now in the silver half-light. His smile widened. Then, suddenly, her lips curled up, she smiled, and finally started laughing; a laugh resonating with a mixture of relief, triumph and pure, simple, unadulterated disbelief.

Dumbledore shot her one last beaming smile, bright enough to chase away the darkness of the surrounding night, turned on his heel and headed for the door.

'I thought you should know,' was all he said and left.

* * *

'Alice!' Iole called sharply into her fireplace. 'Alice, get me Fudge on the line right now! I don't care where he is, or what he's doing; find him and get him on the line!'

'... Yes Ms Ranger,' Alice replied, her voice sounding slightly startled.

'And have you matched that handwriting with anyone yet?'

'I want to double-check with our experts Ms Ranger...'

'Screw the experts, Alice! Who's is it?'

'I believe it's agent Warr's...'

'Yes!!' Iole hissed, clenching her fist triumphantly, in a rare moment of unreserved enthusiasm.

'Thank you Alice. Now get me Fudge!'

'Right away Ms Ranger.'

Iole glanced back up at the clock. 6:35 pm.

* * *

50 miles S by SW: Drumnadrochit -Loch Ness.

I've got you now you fucking bastard!

Now, priority number two. Maybe... just maybe it's not too late.

*pop*

*pop*

The scene looked exactly as it had roughly half an hour earlier, save for the absence of the two black-robed figures that had been standing right there, across from the large cluster of rocks and that corpse -one of the several around. Taking first the reasonable precaution of looking around for any sign of unwanted life, she ran straight over to one of the bodies and knelt down beside it. It was the one that looked the most intact out of the four that she could see in the immediate vicinity, at least. The one by the rocks looked like its head had been cracked open right down the centre, there was one that seemed to have been singed lightly to a nice crisp state, and the third one she was trying to not even look at directly, in an effort to hold down the contents of her rather empty stomach. The body in front of her was still in one piece, however, and, if it wasn't for the bloody robes, the deathly pallor of its face and the ashen lips it looked like it might have escaped most of the violence that had taken place here. Still, it looked quite dead. Dead, except for the faintest, almost invisible warm haze that rose up into the cold wintry air from its parted lips, and the imperceptible movement of its closed eyelids as she grasped its hand.

'Aidan... Aidan, look at me. Aidan, open your eyes and look at me!' Phaedra ordered, watching hawkishly as his lashes moved again, flickered and finally opened slowly. She tried to smile at him but didn't succeed terribly well; for some reason that she couldn't even begin to fathom at that particular moment, there was a rather restricting pain in her chest area. Besides, she needed to keep the tension up in both body and mind. A cool mind and the use of intellect was what she needed right now; it shouldn't be too hard, considering that that was exactly what she was used to doing and had done for her entire life.

''thought you were s'pposed to go back...' Aidan breathed almost inaudibly.

'Shut up, Aidan,' she said. 'Save your strength, you'll need it. Now, I have to figure out how I'm going to get you off this bloody excuse for an island, seeing as you're in no shape to apparate anywhere, and walking is totally out of the question.'

The corner of his lips twitched faintly and his glazed, bloodshot eyes glinted briefly.

''less you know something I don't, 'don't think that's possible,' he whispered, but stopped abruptly as his brow quivered in apparent pain. Phaedra's jaw clenched tightly and her own brow furrowed in what could only have been angry determination. 'I suggest you go...' he continued after a moment. 'Just tell Iole that Snape's in the clear...'

'You tell her,' Phaedra said flatly. 'Now, I'm going to leave, and I'm going to come back. I'm going to be as quick as I can. I have someone that will do me a favour; and if he doesn't I'll just zap him. All you have to do is stay awake. You hear me? Stay awake and fucking fight! Alright?' her eyes blazed fiercely for a moment and then gradually softened again. 'Besides, I owe you a cup of coffee in Diagon Alley,' she added and smiled at him, a bit more successfully this time. She squeezed his hand gently, before getting up. It was ice cold. Drawing out her wand she pointed it several yards to his right. 'Incendio,' she ordered and a very comfortable, camp-size, magical fire burst up out of the ground. 'Fucking Norway!' she cursed, with a last, gently mischievous look at him. 'The cold's enough to kill polar bears around here.'

Phaedra apparated in what might, with a stretch of the imagination, have been considered someone's living room. It looked more like a laboratory, or a workshop, except for the added presence of the more normal type of furniture one would have expected to see in a lounge: a sofa, a couple of armchairs, bookcases laden with books and scrolls of parchment of all conceivable types. These were almost entirely hidden by the absolutely astounding assortment of wizard and muggle objects of every imaginable shape, size and function, lying around on three enormous workbenches which took up most of the available space in the room and which forced any visitor to literally climb over chairs, coffee tables, an armchair and various randomly strewn artefacts whose assigned position seemed to be the floor, when trying to get from any one point of the room to another.

A figure which, until that moment seemed to have been deeply preoccupied, as he leaned over one of the workbenches, with a plain biro pen, the sort that would have cost a muggle less than fifty pence in a corner-shop, yelped and jumped at Phaedra's sudden appearance.

'Oh for fuck's sake, you scared the living daylights out of me!' he shouted. 'Hasn't anyone taught you how to knock?' Suddenly he stopped and his eyes narrowed as he looked at her more closely. 'What the hell's wrong with you? You look like you've just been on a guided tour of hell.'

'I have. Now, Seth, shut up and listen carefully, I don't have much time. I need a portkey, and I need to have had it an hour ago. I need it to take me from Norway, straight into St Mungo's, so it has to have at least a range of a couple of thousand miles. I don't want it glitching on me while I'm using it!'

'Are you mad?!' Seth inquired calmly, sharp, dark brown eyes still narrowed and observing her closely. 'Do you have any idea how long's that going to take to make?'

He hardly had the chance to finish his sentence because Phaedra suddenly leapt over the armchair that stood between them, landing right in front of him, and grabbed him by the lapels of his robe.

'I don't give a flying fuck, Seth,' she growled. 'You have fifteen minutes! I have someone's life hanging by a thread here, and a portkey is the quickest way to help him. So get to work, because if he dies, I will come back here and make you pay for something that wasn't even your fault! Am I making myself clear?'

Seth regarded her calmly, for a moment, his keen eyes and penetrating mind analysing, calculating, drawing its own conclusions, as he searched her gaze.

'Right...' he said flatly after a rather lengthy pause. 'Well, the fastest way I can think of doing this is going to be to adapt an already functional portkey to go where you want it to,' he continued as he turned away from her casually and started sorting through some of the items on the bench before him. 'It's still not going to be easy, especially considering the range you want this thing to have, but I'll see what I can do.' He stopped talking as he picked something up off the workbench, raised it up and examined it closely. 'If you're lucky, I'll have something appropriate somewhere here...' he added as he tossed the wooden spoon he had been holding aside, and continued rummaging, moving over to the next bench now, and then the third, while Phaedra watched him, arms folded over her chest, jaw clenched so tightly it was starting to hurt. 'No... No... Nope, you definitely won't do... No -too old. Nope... No -range too small.' Finally she couldn't stand it any longer.

'Will you stop babbling, you infuriating Hufflepuff and just hurry up?!' she shouted, almost precisely at the same time as Seth was letting out a cry of excitement and holding something up triumphantly.

'A-ha!' he cried with an enormous happy grin. 'Perfect!' He was holding up something that looked very much like a muggle pocket-calculator. It probably was a muggle pocket-calculator. 'And one more jibe about my House, you stuck-up Ravenclaw, and you're not getting your portkey,' he added, as he turned away from her again, but he was still grinning manically at the calculator. 'Now, let's see what we can do with you, my darling...' he cajoled slyly.

He's talking to a calculator, Phaedra thought in desperation, but managed to keep her mouth shut, with immense effort, and pace the room instead, glancing alternatively either at her watch, or at Seth, while she waited anxiously. He's not what you'd expect from a geek, she thought, in an effort to distract her mind from the only other thought that seemed to have been caught up in some kind of loop in her head: I'm going to be too late, I'm going to be too late, I'm going to be too late, she kept thinking, no matter how hard she tried not to. Even while she contemplated Seth's geekiness, or lack thereof, the same mantra was still playing somewhere in the background of her thoughts. He was a good-looking chap, Seth; seemed older than his years, too. What was he? Barely a year older than herself, and yet he seemed to be in his late twenties, or early thirties. It was something about his face; she didn't know what it was. And for someone that spent almost his entire life in a dark room fiddling with gadgets, he was in remarkably good shape; she didn't know at which point during the day or night he found the time to exercise, but he obviously did so, because there was no other way in heaven or hell to get a body like that. And she had no idea what sort of Faustian pact his parents had made to give him the kind of hair that he had, either. Women turned green with envy at the sight of Seth's hair. It simply wasn't fair that a man should be given hair like that, all glossy, long, and rich like a lion's mane, and sleek and wavy, without him having to lift a finger to make it so. It was a deep dark brown, almost black, save when seen under direct sunlight where it suddenly acquired the most peculiar auburn highlights. Yes, definitely not what one would expect of a geek, Phaedra concluded. On the other hand, unless you were one of the very few people that knew Seth well, it was also totally unfathomable how he could possibly ever have been -or still be -a Hufflepuff; it simply did not compute. Unless you knew him well, of course, but that was so difficult to achieve, few people she knew had ever had the patience to do so. So, for most, Seth remained a mystery...: one more point in his attraction rating -for most people at least. For her part, number one in the list of Seth's attraction points was his brains. He had a mind like a razor-blade; she still, after all these years, couldn't quite get her head around how Seth could have possibly ended up in Hufflepuff and not in Ravenclaw. Geeks -no matter what they looked like -went to Ravenclaw it was a simple law of the universe.

Her musings were interrupted by that same persistent thought still running in a loop in the back of her mind and which suddenly decided it deserved more attention. I'm going to be too late, she found herself thinking again, and her heart missed a beat with the shock.

'How's it going Seth?' she asked sharply.

'Shut up!' he snapped without turning to look at her. He seemed to be in the middle of something delicate which required his undivided attention.

She gritted her teeth and glanced at her watch again. I'm going to be too late! Her heart started picking up speed again, and seemed to be refusing to comply with her brain's insistent demands to calm down. I'm going to be too late! Fuck, fuck, fuck!! By now her mind had started presenting her with visual representations of what it was already expecting would happen. She could see herself, apparating back on the island, kneeling down beside Aidan just as she had a few minutes earlier and finding his body cold and lifeless. The crushing, restricting pain in her chest returned, suddenly. It felt a bit like a minor coronary episode, she considered, as she deliberately stopped her hand from going up to clutch at her chest, in mid-movement, and grasped the nearest workbench tightly, instead.

'SETH?!!' she called with renewed anger.

'SHHhhhh!' he hissed, and she had to stifle a scream of frustration as she spun round and punched the bench with all her strength. The strange, strangled growling sound that came out of her throat instead didn't escape Seth's attention, even though he showed no sign of it. A few more seconds, that was all he needed, just a few more seconds and the damned portkey would be ready.

'Ready!' he exclaimed finally and turned round, pocket-calculator in hand. Phaedra almost leapt at him in an effort to get her hands on the gadget. He kept her at arm's length with one hand, while pulling the portkey back at a safe distance from her with the other. 'Uh-uh!' he said, shaking his head. 'Listen to me first. This is an adapted gadget, and I haven't had the time to erase its previous function; I've just added to it and extended its range a bit. Now pay attention, otherwise you're going to end up in Torquay, and that's not going to be very useful to you right now, despite the lovely sunshine that they probably have round there this time of year. You want to go into St Mungo's: that means you hit „set", then you hit number „0", then you hit the „on" button, when you're ready to travel -not before. Is that clear?'

'Yes, yes, it's clear! „set-0-on". It's not rocket-science! Just give me the fucking portkey!'

Seth handed her the portkey and grasped her hand for a moment, just managing to make her pause before she stepped away from him and disapparated.

'Good luck!' he said quietly, his voice serious even though his eyes still glinted with their usual slyness. 'Let me know whether I managed to save someone's life today, ok?'

Phaedra stopped in her tracks and looked at him properly for a moment. She leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

'I'll let you know. I promise. Oh, and needless to say, I wasn't here, you didn't see me, you know nothing about any portkey. Right?'

Seth, grinned crookedly at her.

'I have no idea what you're on about. What portkey? I haven't seen you in two months.'

'Thanks, Seth,' she said, beaming affectionately at him, and promptly disapparated with a faint pop.

With easily the roughest journey by portkey she had ever had in her life and a violent jolt that almost knocked her over Phaedra appeared, on her knees, in the middle of the reception area of St Mungo's, thinking several things simultaneously: a) it was only to be expected that she'd get a ride like that when she'd forced someone to make a portkey for her in fifteen minutes flat, b) she didn't want to be sick right now, but it was a more than distinct possibility, c) at least she hadn't ended up in Torquay and d) Aidan was still alive. She was holding him in her arms, his body propped up against hers and his head resting in the crook of her neck: she had anticipated a bit of a bumpy ride, considering the circumstances. He had still been conscious -more or less -when she had returned to the island with the portkey, but she doubted he still was. The dead weight of his limp body in her arms suggested that at some point during the last few seconds, he had finally passed out. She couldn't say that she was surprised.

She vaguely noted that the situation in St Mungo's around her seemed to be bordering on madness, and that her sudden appearance in the midst of it all had only added to it, provoking several startled yelps and cries of surprise, and even a few panicky leaps in the opposite direction from the people that had been standing or sitting near the location in which she had apparated, but she really didn't care. She raised her head to try and spot a medi-witch or wizard, but she found one already there, looking profoundly startled and more than a little bit haggard and harassed, but with his wits still about him, apparently. He took one look at her, made a quick evaluation of the situation, and instantly called two more wizards over, by shouting to them across a room full of people at the top of his lungs, something which had the desired effect of them sprinting across with little thought to whom they may have stampeded over, as they elbowed their way very efficiently through the throng. She considered that they probably would have had quite a bit of practice in that department over the years.

The three wizards immediately took matters into their own hands, all three of them talking simultaneously, and very loudly, to each other in a language in which she only understood every third word or so, and even that was usually a verb or a pronoun. Part of her was glad she couldn't understand a word of the jargon they were using; she suspected that understanding would only stress her out even more. As they took Aidan away, she grabbed the hand of the medi-wizard that had arrived first, forcing him to pause, as she got to her feet. He looked at her with urgent anticipation but she didn't say anything. Instead, she held up the press-card that was still hanging round her neck, passed her right hand over it once and then raised it for him to see whilst looking meaningfully into his eyes. The wizard looked down at the card in some puzzlement and Phaedra watched as his expression changed from confusion to resigned understanding as he read the words: Department of Mysteries - Agent Ph. Warr, and regarded Phaedra's photograph carefully. She passed her hand over it again and the card turned back into a perfectly normal and legitimate looking muggle press-card.

'Listen to me,' she said levelly. 'I was never here. If anyone asks, ever, you -and your colleagues -are going to swear on Merlin and any other deity you wish, that you never saw anyone, of any description whatsoever, here today -no matter how many other people are convinced of the opposite. As far as you're concerned, he came in on his own: apparated, and collapsed in the foyer. „Maybe it is someone else you're thinking about, sir...",' she said, enacting an exaggerated version of the innocence she was instructing the wizard to exhibit. 'You know absolutely nothing, about anything. Right?!' she concluded meaningfully.

'Right,' the medi-wizard said after a moment of concerned contemplation and, turning, hurried off after his colleagues, Phaedra close on his heels. Knowing nothing about anything was perfectly fine by him. Where the Department of Mysteries was concerned, that was always the best attitude to have. 'Is the patient an agent also? Presumably you will want him placed in a secure area?' he asked instead, preferring to stick to practicalities.

'No. I want him placed in a private area, but I don't want any higher security than normal.'

The medi-wizard shot her a sharp, sideways glance, but didn't say anything more than:

'As you wish.' It hadn't escaped his attention that she hadn't answered his first question -or maybe she had -he'd probably never know, but he knew better than to ask for more information. 'If you have any information on his condition, it would be very useful,' he said instead. 'For example, beside the physical trauma, do you know if he's been the victim of any magical attacks, or imbibed any potions, and if so, what?'

'Magical attacks, I don't know, but if I had to guess I'd say most probably yes. Potions: I am fairly certain that he has been given some type of veritaserum, but other than that I don't know,' Phaedra said so calmly she surprised even herself, as they reached the room where the other two medi-wizards had taken Aidan. The man paused at the door.

'Right, thank you. That's very useful. Now, if you'd like to wait out here and...' He never finished the sentence because at that point he saw Phaedra's expression and noticed that she had just taken one slow, absolutely fearsome step towards him. It was amazing how a woman as slim and delicate-looking as her could somehow become so terrifying that one's brain short-circuited. '... or, you are welcome to come inside, if you prefer,' he amended hastily and, throwing the door open, scuttled into the room. 'He's had Veritaserum,' he yelled at the other two medi-wizards in virtually the same breath.

'Right,' one of them said and immediately turned and summoned a bottle from an open cupboard in the other corner of the room.

'What's she doing here?' the other one shouted indignantly as he spotted Phaedra. The first wizard leaned over and whispered something hurriedly in his ear. 'Oh,' he said flatly and turned and looked at her again for a moment. 'Right,' he added and immediately went back to work. Phaedra wasn't sure whether she had just imagined it or whether the man actually was working more zealously now.

Unnoticed, out of the way of the general pandemonium that still reigned in the reception area, in a corner near the front door, Seth watched Phaedra and a medi-wizard hurry away down a corridor. He smiled. 'It worked. Thank Merlin for that. They didn't end up in Torquay, after all,' he murmured to himself and, with a faint pop, disapparated.

* * *

'Fudge, you incurable moron, this is potentially huge! This might mean a turn-around of the war in our favour. Get your head out of your arse and the rest of you out of your little hiding hole, and get me some Aurors together! And I don't mean two or three of them, Fudge, I'm talking a score of Aurors at least!' Iole was screaming down her fireplace. Her face had acquired a rather interesting livid colour and she looked like she might have been, at that particular moment, in the high-risk group for a coronary episode. 'We have to be ready! My Agent may show up at any time with even more information. We can't afford the luxury of sitting around and discussing this. I know your resources are stretched right now, but this takes precedence over anything else, including your personal security, and even that of the muggles. I need twenty Aurors and I need them to be ready and awaiting instructions in less than an hour.'

'But Iole, my dear, the location you have means nothing at all. It's probably just a random, out of the way spot they picked, from which to launch their attack...'

'Fudge!' Iole screamed, 'it might be possible to track them from there! We can't afford to waste time trying to get together Aurors after we've tracked them! Besides, we might send scouts over there and find fifty Death Eaters waiting for them. I'm right now pulling agents from assignments left right and centre and bringing them over here to boost the Auror ranks, but for them to do that, there are going to have to be some Auror ranks to be boosted in the first place! Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm going to send Lunariors to the front line to do the job that your Aurors should be doing!'

'My dear, all I'm saying is that I think we should wait a bit, and see if your agent shows up before we go sending every able-bodied Auror we've got to Norway. What if it's just a trap, a bluff, or simply a diversion? And I'm not even saying that your agent has made a mistake. But I think it's advisable to speak to him first before we go galloping off into-'

'-Her!' Iole interrupted him.

'What?'

'Her, Fudge! My agent's a her!'

'Oh. Right. Whatever. Anyway...'

Iole suddenly looked away from the fireplace. Something was happening outside her office; something that was creating quite a bit of commotion and noise. It was a different sort of noise and commotion than the one that had been happening for the last few hours.

'Fudge, I'm going to have to call you back,' she interrupted him. 'Don't disappear and have me looking for you again! And get me some fucking Aurors ready!' she yelled in the end, before glancing up, instinctively, at the clock on her wall and hastening towards the door.

6:45 pm.

'Get out of my fucking way!' Phaedra was shouting to several people that were asking her, all of them at once, a veritable stream of desperate questions as she hurried along the corridor towards Iole's office.

Damn, word travels fast in this building, Iole thought, as she threw the door of her office open to see what the excitement was about. To be fair though, I could probably be heard screaming half way across Britain just now...

'Everyone out of her way this instant! And the next one to so much as open his or her mouth is fired!' she shouted at the top of her very imposing voice and was very gratified to find that she was instantly greeted with a resounding silence that trickled down the corridor, round the corner and even started seeping down the stairs. Quickly, she ushered Phaedra into her office and, with one last threatening look outside, she closed the door behind her. She took one deep, slow breath and carefully looked Phaedra up and down, taking mental note after mental note of every minute detail she could notice in that couple of seconds.

'First of all, are you hurt?' she asked, her eyes lingering for a moment on the rather extensive bloodstains on the front of Phaedra's top and her hands.

'No. I'm perfectly fine. The blood's Aidan's,' she said flatly and watched Iole's brow furrow. 'He's alive. Don't worry. I've taken him to St Mungo's, don't even ask me how, but that's the reason I'm late. Otherwise I would have been here an hour ago. He's in pretty bad shape, but I've been assured that he'll be fine... in a few days.'

'He's alive?' Iole asked slowly, the relief in her voice very clearly overwhelmed by the disbelief. She wasn't one for unreasonable optimism either.

'You weren't expecting him to be?' Phaedra asked. It was her turn now to frown.

'To be honest, no,' Iole replied. 'But right now that's beside the point. I'm just eternally grateful for small miracles. We don't have the time now to go into this in great detail, but I'll explain everything to you eventually. Now, what else do I need to know?'

'Well, Aidan said to tell you that Snape's in the clear -I'm damned if I know how that happened and why he thought you'd know what he was talking about, but I'm just the messenger; and, secondly, I'm pretty sure I've located Voldemort's HQ.'

Iole felt her eyes widen and her jaw slacken. For a moment, she realised that she had stopped breathing.

'Are you sure...?' she whispered in pure, unadulterated incredulity.

'About Snape, I have to take Aidan's word for it. As for Voldemort, well, I snuck into his pocket and apparated with him into a large, empty manor house, 50 miles north by north west of Drumnadrochit in Scotland. So, I'm pretty sure.'

Iole felt herself gaping at Phaedra.

'You did what?!' she screamed, suddenly. 'Are you out of your fucking mind?!' Phaedra shrugged.

'It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He was within reach, seemed quite distracted, and was very obviously heading home -or whatever it is he likes to call it. Couldn't very well let him go without giving it a shot, at least. It meant I had to leave Aidan lying there, in the middle of nowhere, in Norway, probably to bleed to death, but I thought... priorities! Anyway, I think today I expended all the luck I was allocated at birth for the entire rest of my life, in just over two hours.'

'Yes! I rather think you have!' Iole shouted again. 'There's apparition barriers upon apparition barriers around Voldemort's HQs -not to mention the fly-by barriers, and no one knows the exact radius of any of the above. How the hell did you know how far you needed to go before you could apparate without getting splinched?'

'I didn't. I risked it. But I have to tell you, if those apparition barriers actually exist, then they're at a surprisingly small distance around the house. Perhaps he thinks that something doesn't actually need to exist for people to believe it's there, and for the fear of its presence to act as a deterrent. It's a well established fact that it's a psychological trick that works. He's an arrogant bastard and I wouldn't put it past him, using something like that. Besides, if this is the case, it seems to have worked perfectly well thus far. Alternatively, it could also be that he's got co-centric circles of barriers round the place, with small gaps between them, and I just happened to find one of those gaps. It would be a remarkably efficient trap for potential traitors, if that's what he's worried about, and you could have it go on for miles and miles. It'd be virtually impossible to figure out where one barrier ends and where another one begins without getting yourself splinched somewhere along the way! As I said, I just risked it. I was lucky.'

'Good God, I don't know what to say! I'm torn between giving you a piece of my mind for attempting something as evidently suicidal as that, and giving you a medal! Ok, now, one thing at a time,' she suddenly changed tack, sighing, and moving over to sit behind her desk, feeling inexplicably rather faint. 'Sit down, and let's start at the beginning. Before I start sending people to their deaths, I'm going to need a few more details. Start with this morning and keep going, in every little detail, until I tell you to stop.' All of a sudden she turned to her fireplace, tossing a pinch of powder in it. 'Alice!! Get me two cups of very strong coffee and any food you can get your hands on!' she yelled sharply.

'At once Ms Ranger!' Alice's slightly tremulous voice came from the fireplace.

Half an hour later, Iole was satisfied that she had all the information she needed at this point. She ordered Phaedra to take off, go home, have a shower and change, and be back in The Haven by a quarter to nine. She hoped that by that time she would have managed to reason with Fudge and have got her contingent of Aurors.

When Phaedra returned to The Haven, it looked like Iole had managed to talk Fudge into giving her her Aurors. Not that the Aurors were there, but the entire Haven seemed to be on red alert and full battle-stations. Phaedra went straight to Iole's office.

'Good, you're back,' Iole said as soon as Phaedra walked in through the door. 'I got Fudge to finally agree and he's promised me twenty Aurors for tonight. I've pulled around seven other agents from other assignments for this, so it gives us a total of thirty, including myself, you and Felix.'

'Oh, Felix! Where is he?' Phaedra asked excitedly. She hadn't seen him since that morning. Iole had of course told her that he had returned safe and sound and that the muggle PM had been stashed away somewhere safe for the time being, but she wanted to see him nevertheless. Not least to thank him for that morning.

'He'll be back soon. He's gone to see how Aidan's doing and if he's in any shape to talk and give us anything more on the situation.'

Phaedra nodded.

'Now, I'm thinking we should be ready to go at around ten o'clock, if nothing else crops up before that. Unfortunately, I'm going to need you there, at the front line, since you're the only one that actually knows the territory. Well, the only one that knows the territory and is still standing, that is.'

'I wouldn't miss it for the world,' Phaedra said quite flatly. 'I wouldn't at all mind getting the chance to blast a few Death Eaters into Kingdom Come; especially that prick, Malfoy and Voldemort. By the way, what about Dumbledore?'

'I haven't talked to him yet. 'Haven't had thirty seconds to spare since you left, but I will let him know what's happening before we leave. Unfortunately, I don't think he'll be joining us tonight. Not after what happened at Hogwarts today.'

'What did happen at Hogwarts today?' Phaedra asked. It had been niggling at her for the past two hours.

'The short version: they had a Dementor attack that proved to be just a distraction, while three Death Eaters scuttled in to set up a portal. It must have been the three you saw over on that island.'

'Firstly, I only saw two that seemed like they had anything to do with a portal, secondly, how the hell did the two kids and Snape get involved in all this?'

'You only saw two?'

'Yup.'

'Well, I guess Snape managed to dispatch the third one then, before you arrived.'

'Snape... Right. And how did he, and the kids, get involved in this again?'

'Long story. Can't go into it right now. Only found out myself about the kids around five this afternoon. All you need to know is that Snape's working for us. Well; Dumbledore, technically, but for us by proxy. Hopefully, he won't need to do so again, after tonight... If he's still alive of course, after tonight...' she added, as she turned to examine an extremely detailed map of the Highlands, very closely.

'What?... Why wouldn't he be alive after tonight?'

'Oh.' Iole stopped looking at the map, hesitated for a moment and then turned back to Phaedra. 'That's right. You don't know about that. Right. Well, you know that little massacre, on the island, you described for me earlier? Unfortunately, Snape didn't quite manage to get out of that one unscathed. Last time I talked with someone at Hogwarts, the outlook wasn't terribly bright. Don't know what's happened since.'

Phaedra stared at her silently.

'You mean Snape might die, because he tried to help those two kids escape?'

'Strangely, that's exactly how I asked that same question,' Iole said with an entirely mirthless smile.

'The universe never ceases to amaze me,' Phaedra sighed and, strolling over to a chair, sat down in it. 'Somehow I didn't have him capable of something like that.'

'You're not the only one.'

'Maybe I should pop over to St Mungo's myself and see how things are,' Phaedra said distractedly, after a moment. She wasn't entirely sure that it had been all this talk of death that had aroused in her the sudden desire to visit Aidan, but it certainly wasn't an unreasonable explanation.

'I'd rather you didn't,' Iole said flatly, without even turning to look at her. 'I don't want to have to be trying to find you, desperately, at the eleventh hour, when we're all set and ready to go. Felix will be back shortly and he'll let you know how Aidan's doing.'

As if on cue, Iole's door opened and Felix appeared on the threshold.

Phaedra let out a small yelp, leapt from her seat and flung herself around his neck happily. He laughed and squeezed her tightly in a bear-hug that squashed all the air out of her lungs and left her panting.

'I knew you'd make it back just fine, you little maniac, you!' Felix said, beaming broadly at her. 'Iole told me all about your suicidal escapades today.'

'Felix, you'd have done exactly the same thing. I know. Well, if you were able to change into a pocket-sized animal, of course!' Phaedra grinned at him. 'So don't you even dare lecture me about this, ok?'

'I admit that my argument has been demolished. Won't say another word about it!' Behind them, still examining the map closely, they didn't see Iole shoot a quick glance in their direction and smile quietly to herself.

'How's Aidan?' Phaedra asked suddenly becoming sombre again. Felix's smile faded a little too.

'He's going to be fine. He's just going to need a few days in St Mungo's, but I'm sure that by tomorrow, the day after at the latest, they're going to have to start chaining him to the bed if they still intend to keep him there.' Phaedra couldn't help grinning at the mental image Felix's words generated in her mind, but she knew better than to wholeheartedly believe Felix's reassurances.

'Did you talk to him?' Iole asked seriously now.

'I... He came round, for a few minutes, but I only had a couple of words with him. He really wasn't in much of a state for much more than that. Besides, there was this absolutely fearsome wizard there, glaring at me the entire time and timing my visit with a stop-watch. I asked him if there was anything else we should know before we set out tonight: he said that we should watch our backs. In not quite so many words, he said that there's more magical defences in Voldie's HQ than in Gringott's Bank and Hogwarts combined, and that they're not all obvious. We shouldn't necessarily expect big explosions, or anything like that, but we should at all times expect that Voldie's aware of exactly where we are and what we're doing. He also said that if we manage to find that house again, a second time, he'd eat his wand. Apparently we shouldn't have waited this long and should have stormed the place within an hour of finding it -before Voldie got the chance to leg it. I didn't tell him that Fudge wouldn't give us the Aurors and that Phaedra was the one that found it, and instead of coming straight here went back to Norway to save his sorry butt. Didn't want to upset him, don't you know...' Felix finished with a grin and a wink in Phaedra's direction. 'That's it. He's an optimistic one, White, isn't he?'

'Great,' Iole mumbled. 'Nothing we didn't expect. Just more stress.'

She walked over to her desk and sat down behind it. Taking a sheet of parchment out from a drawer and picking up a quill she started writing. 'We're leaving in two minutes to go and meet up with the „cavalry". We'll have about a half hour's briefing session with them and we should be on our way by ten,' she said as she wrote.

'What're you doing?' Felix asked.

'Letting the only person with any brains and the ability to do anything about all this know what's going on. Just in case it all goes horribly wrong.' She finished writing, threw a pinch of powder into the fireplace and called Alice. 'Alice, send this note to Dumbledore as soon as you have a free minute, please,' she said. 'But first, call Fudge and let him know we're on our way.' She tossed the now folded piece of parchment down the fireplace.

'Right away, Ms Ranger,' Alice's voice came up through the fire. 'Is there anything else you would like me to do?'

Iole hesitated for a moment.

'Just one more thing... Alice, how long have you been working for me?'

'Ten years, Ms Ranger,' Alice replied, sounding more than a little bit surprised and confused.

'Ten years... That's a long time... Well, Alice, I'm going to charge you with something I would only trust a friend with. If tonight goes to pot and I don't make it back tomorrow, and knowing who my most likely replacement is going to be, I want you to contact agent Raveneye before anyone else in this Department does, and tell her that I left standing orders that she should take the job Dumbledore will offer her and continue doing what she has always done, only now she will be doing it under his orders. Tell her that it's important to have a competent agent out there, that's not under any obligation to the Ministry or this Department. The world is populated by idiots Alice, and idiots can do as much damage as any evil maniac. Knowing agent Raveneye, if I'm replaced by an idiot, she will continue doing what she's told to, until she can't stand it any longer, and then she will quit. I don't want her following either the instructions of an idiot, or to quit. She's too good an agent to go to waste. I want her to continue working for me, even if that's only in spirit. As soon as you've contacted agent Raveneye and given her these orders, I then want you to contact agent White, whose first reaction, I know, under such circumstances will be to quit. You are to tell him that I left standing orders that he is not, under any circumstances, allowed to resign his position; even if my replacement is a mindless cretin. He is to stay put and continue doing what he has always done; that is, completely ignore any and every order he is given that sounds as if it has come from an intellectually challenged moron and do what Dumbledore tells him to do, instead. You are also to inform both agents of the other's position in this little scheme of things, and you, Alice, are going to be their -and Dumbledore's -point of contact. Which, of course means that my order to agent White also applies to you. You are not, under any circumstances, allowed to resign from this position, no matter who my replacement is! Now, agents Frost and Warr are here with me and have heard this entire conversation. There is a reason I wanted them to hear this. If, at any point in the future, they decide that they would like to be included in this little scheme, they will contact you and you will bring them in contact with Dumbledore. If he wants one of them to go work for him, that is fine, but one of the two, they decide which one, will have to stay in the employ of the Department. It's important to have people both on the inside and on the outside. Now, is all this clear, Alice? Are we agreed?'

Iole's final words were greeted by a moment of silence that seemed so heavy it made it difficult to breathe.

'Perfectly clear, Ms Ranger. We are agreed,' Alice's voice finally came, sounding strangely strained, as if she was struggling to hold back a wave of emotion.

'Good. And Alice, these orders stand indefinitely. They are to be set into motion at any time that I may be replaced, regardless of the circumstances which lead to it, unless I tell you otherwise at any point. Are we clear?'

'Totally, Ms Ranger.'

'Good. Thank you Alice. Now give the moron Fudge a call.'

'Right away... And, Ms Ranger...?'

'Yes?'

'Good luck tonight.'

'Thank you Alice,' she replied after the briefest pause.

* * *

The black-robed figure suddenly hesitated, in mid-step, as it swept up the enormous, grand, marble staircase. It paused, for a moment, as if listening for something only it could hear. The similarly black clad figure that had stopped next to it certainly couldn't hear anything, but it too paused, looking at the first man in frowning anticipation. With heavy black robes swirling round its heels the first figure suddenly strode up the rest of the marble steps, taking them two at a time. With heart starting to pound a bit faster than usual, the second figure followed it at a safe distance. It was always prudent to keep a reasonable distance from someone that exuded this sort of pulsating, furious menace; it was also prudent not to look them in the eye again and to try to disappear into the background until they had calmed down, because if they decided that they wanted to take their anger out on someone, the only distance that would serve as reasonable would be the one where you were somewhere else. And, although it wanted to ask the obvious question: i.e. 'what's wrong?', it also knew that it was much more prudent to keep its mouth shut and it would find out soon enough, anyway. So it followed, silently, a few steps behind the first man, thinking itself into the background.

The man in front thrust his hand forward and the door he was approaching burst open with such force the oak panels cracked. Without so much as blinking, he swept into the room and stalked towards a large, three-panelled, standing mirror that occupied one corner of an otherwise empty room; empty but for an armchair, standing a few feet in front of the mirror, and a simply enormous, geographical map of Britain of astounding detail that hung on the opposite wall and occupied virtually its entire breadth, width and height. In fact, if one looked closely at it, and it was impossible to not do so -so astonishing was the quality of the workmanship that was obviously involved in making it -one very quickly realised that, what seemed like simply staggering detail from a distance, from up close looked more like an actual aerial photograph of exceptional resolution. Only it wasn't a photograph. That much was very clear upon closer inspection. It was a painting. A painting in which the little trees -the size of a pin-head -when looked at under a magnifying glass, could be seen to move and sway in the wind -when there was a wind to speak of. Sometimes they were completely still. The rivers swirled and flowed in exactly the same way they did in real life, and the sea surrounding this map had very clear, white-crested waves in areas where, at this precise moment, it was rough and choppy, and conversely seemed calm and still in areas where the weather, right now, was fine.

Lucius Malfoy felt his jaw slackening, as he looked at the map. He had never before been in this room. He had known of its existence, but had never had the honour of being invited in. He doubted if anyone else had had that honour either. He found his gaze being torn away from the map, however, when Voldemort stopped in front of the three-panelled mirror, spoke a word Malfoy had never heard before, and passed his right hand in a wide arc over the three panels, starting from the one on the far left-hand side and finishing with the one on the far right. A faint, blueish mist swirled in the first two panes, for a moment, and as it cleared, two images formed; perfect, real-life, moving images of the sort one would expect to see if one was looking out a window. The image on the first pane seemed to be the view from the front window on the left-hand side of the house -almost. Because the angle was slightly askew, as if one was standing outside the building and a few yards diagonally away from the wall. There were trees in the image, the trees that stood in a wide semi-circle round the east side of the house. At first, he didn't see it, but after the image began changing he realised that his eyes had registered the minuscule movement of what had been there before. There was a brief blur and then a slender, pale woman with short black hair, wearing black muggle clothing was standing with her back against the ancient tree trunk; exactly where before, his mind informed him in retrospect, there had only been a spider. She only remained there for a second, as if taking a deep breath in preparation, and then with a faint pop that he actually heard, she was gone. As this was happening in the left-hand panel, in the middle pane of the mirror, there was a different image. This one was of an area Malfoy was not entirely familiar with, but from the landscape seemed as if it couldn't be too far away from their current location. The same woman appeared there, with another light pop, looked around her briefly but with obvious attention and then disapparated again. The third section remained completely devoid of any reflection, even of himself and Voldemort standing in front of it, for another second, and then another image began forming. In this one, the landscape had started changing, subtly, but still looked as if it must have been within twenty miles of the house. The woman apparated again, scanned the area around her closely for a moment, and then disapparated once more. Malfoy stared at the mirror in undisguised awe. Time wasn't an issue, space wasn't an issue, distance... he couldn't tell yet. He watched, silently, as Voldemort turned back to the first pane, which was now completely blank once more, and waited for a few moments. Nothing happened. Distance is an issue, Malfoy thought. She's out of range. With that thought, it occurred to him to back another couple of steps carefully away from his Master. He didn't see three small red dots appear on the map behind him at exactly the locations from which the woman had disapparated.

'This woman just exhausted all the luck she was allocated at birth, in just under fifteen seconds,' Voldemort breathed calmly to himself. 'And an enormous amount of luck that was too.' He turned, slowly, to face Malfoy. 'Today has been a very disappointing day for me, Lucius. I am extremely disappointed. First, not only the muggle PM managed to escape from right under our noses, because, miraculously, the Houses of Parliament were apparently crawling with Aurors, but we also suffered heavy casualties there. Then, my Hogwarts portal plan turns into a complete disaster, in which I lost no less than five loyal, competent Death Eaters, and possibly two not so competent ones; and now this. This has not been a good day for me,' he concluded with a sigh; and suddenly he spun round, with a heart-stopping roar of fury, arm thrust forward, and the room's door exploded into a million splinters, torn backward off its hinges and sent crashing out into the corridor and off the side of the gallery down into the vast, marble hallway below.

'How did this woman find us?!' he bellowed at Malfoy, his eyes narrowed into mere red slits of serpentine hatred, his wand now in his hand and pointed at him. 'How could she possibly have found this house?! I know it is not possible to find this house by any magical or mundane means. I know because I made it so. The only way she could possibly have found us, Malfoy, is if she came here with one of us. She is an animagus Malfoy. Could she possibly have come here with you?!'

Malfoy tried very hard not to tremble in the face of his Master's rage, but was failing. To his credit, he did manage to retain some sort of equanimity, and most of his composure when speaking, even though he could hear his heart racing and pounding loudly in his ears. Although his hands shook and a quiver ran down his spine, his voice was steady when he spoke. After all, Voldemort despised weakness, almost as much as he hated betrayal.

'No Master,' he said. 'I did not bring her here. I have no reason to betray you. I would only be betraying myself.'

'Then how did she get here, Lucius?!' Voldemort shouted again, eyes blazing, teeth bared like a viper's ready to strike.

'I don't know, Master. I have been with you all day.'

Voldemort wanted to kill Lucius, mostly as a means to vent his anger, which was in itself being aggravated by the fact that he knew perfectly well, deep down, that Lucius would never betray him in this way. He would indeed only be betraying himself and Lucius wasn't stupid that way. With the sort of speed few people ever have the pleasure of experiencing, the thoughts streaked through Voldemort's mind. He thought back, recalling and recounting all his movements throughout that day, searching each memory for the even remotest possibility of that woman coming into contact with himself or Malfoy. It seemed utterly and completely impossible, no matter which way he looked at it. And then it struck him. He had been told that one of the Aurors had disapparated just before himself and Malfoy had arrived on the island. He couldn't have been lied to, that was simply inconceivable, but what if the witness had been mislead? What if, she had disapparated, but only to somewhere just out of sight, then had transfigured, and had been there all along while he had been questioning the late Ireson's little lapdog -White? It was the only even remotely plausible explanation he could come up with.

'Damn these accursed Aurors!!' he screamed all of a sudden and, swivelling his wand round, hurled a giant ball of flame at the window. The glass exploded outwards into a million fragments, along with its frame, and part of the surrounding wall, leaving a rather large, still smoking, gaping hole in its place. Malfoy didn't quite manage to check himself and he cringed slightly, away from Voldemort, more than away from the explosion. Then Voldemort inhaled deeply, surveyed the destruction with calm satisfaction, flourished his wand and said 'Reparo.' It didn't really matter anyway; it was just one more unexpected disappointment in a day full of disappointments. It was merely a small inconvenience. He had made sure that any such eventuality would have been nothing more than a simple inconvenience.

Five seconds later, both the wall and the window were back where they had been before, totally and completely unscathed. It was as if that fireball had never happened.

'Right. Well, presumably within the next hour or so, the ministry will know where we are. I want you to go and find out what they intend to do about it. Knowing Fudge, he's not going to be capable of reaching any decision, no matter how obvious, in any sense of the word „quickly", so we have several hours at our disposal. Dumbledore has his hands full right now and he won't want to leave Hogwarts, even for something like this, so at least that part of the plan worked; and besides, Fudge won't want to involve him, because that will mean he will have to admit to being a cretin. Which means that the only thing we need worry about is the Department of Mysteries -if Fudge decides to involve them. But even they on their own can't do much right now. They don't have the manpower. They will need Aurors if they plan any overt action, and Fudge has control of the Aurors.' Voldemort almost smiled at the thought of a frantic Head of the Department of Mysteries trying to reason with Fudge and get him to assign some of his precious Aurors to them. He didn't know who the Head of the Department of Mysteries was; very few people did, and it wasn't even that important. It was simply amusing thinking of how one person's incompetence could so effectively tie the hands of several other perfectly competent people's. 'So, Lucius, I need you to find out what Fudge is planning to do about this, and when he is planning to do it. Do you think you can do that, Lucius?'

'Yes Master.'

'Then go, and be quick about it. And make sure you don't disappoint me again today. You will not like the consequences.'

* * *

Morning's warm, golden fingers slipped in through the window, slid silently across the floor in streams of liquid radiance, crept slowly at first, forward, pushing the darkness back in front of them, then slithered briskly into corners, nooks and crannies, under furniture, behind objects and over the walls, until, with a last, sudden, surging rush they flooded the room with white brilliance, as the sun cleared the horizon and a wave of light washed over the land.

Iris watched the morning gradually steep the room in light, her pupils contracting into mere pin-points of blackness while her irises seemed to expand into a transparent, grey pool with tiny, luminous, blue and green flecks floating in its clear depths. She didn't blink. It was too beautiful, too awe-inspiring to miss even a fraction of a second of it by blinking. Only after dawn had swept in, washed the place clean of darkness and with a gracious smile had handed over the new day to the sun did Iris finally close her eyes, lean her head back to rest on the armchair's back and suppress a sigh of pleasure so simple, so primeval, it had slipped past the heavy tightness of all her other emotions.

She stayed there, with her eyes closed for a few moments, feeling the warm caress of the sunlight on her skin. Then she raised the cup of steaming coffee she was holding to her lips and took a grateful sip. She had slept -a bit. Then she had woken up. Then she had slept a bit more and finally had given up the cause about half an hour before dawn, and had made herself some coffee instead. Maybe this was it. Maybe it was all over by now. Maybe the war had ended. Maybe...

Five minutes ago she had hardly dared give voice to these thoughts, let alone hope. It was amazing what the simple event of a new dawn did to one's head, she contemplated, as she suddenly realised that, without even knowing how it had happened, she was now daring to allow a tiny inkling of hope to seep through her common sense. It was small, and wouldn't create too much discomfort if -when -it was quashed. But if she hadn't had even that, she wouldn't have been human.

She felt the imperceptible movement from beside her, rather than saw or heard it. It was strange how that happened sometimes, but it didn't really surprise her; not any more. She turned her head, slowly. She watched. Then warmth radiated up from the cold grey depths of her eyes and that was the only change in her expression that any but the most perceptive observer would have noticed. Carefully, unhurriedly, she set the cup she was holding down on the chair beside her and rose silently from the armchair she had been sitting, curled up in. She pulled up another chair as silently as she had done everything else, sat down, slipped her fingers gently round his and watched.

With a silent, imperceptible intake of breath and the faintest, weak flicker, his eyes opened.

'Welcome back,' she said quietly.

A barely audible sigh fled Snape's lips and, for a moment, he allowed his heavy eyelids to cover his eyes again. She felt his fingers curl slowly around hers and clasp her hand lightly. His voice was a soft, ragged whisper when it came.

'Did everyone make it back?' he asked after a moment.

'Ron's here, he's fine. So is Hermione and the Twins. Please don't fret. Everything's fine.'

An almost invisible quiver flitted across his brow and slowly, he opened his eyes again.

'White?' he breathed, briefly.

Iris's lips tightened momentarily, her brow creased and then the corner of her mouth twitched in the beginnings of a wan smile that had already washed over her eyes. She didn't want to go into this in any great detail right now, but his eyes were demanding an answer that she could not deny him.

'He didn't make it back with us. Voldemort came before I could reach him and drag him back here. I couldn't do anything except take you and Ron out of there. Word reached me late last night, however. I don't know how, but by some kind of miracle, he is still alive and seems to have the constitution of an ox, because I've been assured that he will stay that way. I also don't know how this happened, but he sent word that, apparently, you're in the clear with Voldemort. Obviously he knows something I don't concerning Voldemort's interrogation techniques, because there is simply no other explanation to how all the above can have been possible. That's all I know. When I find out more, I will tell you. Now will you please stop fretting?' her gaze, warm and gentle, pleaded with him good-humouredly.

To her complete surprise, a smile that barely teased the edge of his lips glinted in the depths of his eyes briefly. She could have sworn on a stack of bibles that there had been a hint of self-satisfaction there for a moment, but it was gone again so quickly it left her wondering whether she was just being paranoid now. Her eyes narrowed, carefully, as she looked at him. She knew him too well by now to dismiss what she saw as paranoia; she knew his face, his expressions, his moods, and she knew his eyes better than everything else.

'Unless of course it's you that knows something I don't,' she amended shrewdly. 'Although that still wouldn't explain why Aidan thought it would have been a good idea to sit and wait for Voldemort, because that is what he wanted to do. And, in my book, that was the last situation in the world in which that would have seemed like a good idea. So what is it that you -and probably he -knew which I don't?'

'He didn't know anything. Your friend's a fool,' Snape whispered quietly, averting his gaze from her. 'Smart fool -for putting two and two together, but a fool nevertheless -for trusting in such an arbitrary conclusion and in a person that, until that moment he had thought was the enemy.' The corner of his lips curled up imperceptibly. 'He obviously trusts your judgement more than he trusts common sense,' Snape added quietly. 'Because he had absolutely no reason to trust me.' Look who's talking, he reminded himself silently, but there was no force, in heaven or hell that could have made him admit that out loud right now. Besides, speaking was tiring him more than he had ever thought possible, and he wanted to get another couple of sentences in before giving up the effort. 'Even I didn't know if it was going to work. Things work differently in a controlled environment. He took a stupid gamble. Or took things on faith -which is even more foolish than taking a calculated risk.' He stopped, and allowed himself to close his eyes again. He didn't see Iris smiling, as she gazed at him. But he felt her fingers squeezing his gently.

'Maybe I should have shown the same faith in him -and you,' she said levelly as she smiled.

'You have more common sense than most,' Snape breathed flatly, without opening his eyes, then fell silent for a while. Iris didn't say anything either; she just sat there, looking at him. Now that he had taken a couple of steps back from Death's door, she was happy to just let him sleep. Waiting wasn't a problem any more.

'Tell me one thing,' he whispered quietly in the end. 'Tell me that you killed that bastard Ireson, and that he didn't make it out of there in one piece.' His eyes were still closed.

Iris pursed her lips, then finally smiled again, wryly. He's back, she thought, with such happiness and relief, it made her, for a moment, want to laugh out loud.

'Severus, I'll tell you all about it some other time, if you decide that you want all the gory details,' she said. 'However, one thing no one can say about Ireson right now is that he is in one piece.'

Snape's lips curled up briefly in a faint, cantankerous smile of evident satisfaction. He didn't open his eyes.

'That's my girl!' he whispered sardonically and squeezed her hand gently.

* * *

'Enervate,' said Voldemort and, with a gasp, Aidan was back in the land of the living -briefly, most likely, he contemplated -but he had made his decision. He was going to risk it. This would be the ultimate test of how good Snape actually was. If Snape passed, then he was worth taking the risk for, just so he could be kept as a double agent. Of course that would also mean that his own, and everyone else's cover would be safe too. The cover of three agents depended on this working. It was worth the risk. If Snape failed the test, then his own sojourn in the land of the living would be a brief one. Oh well, at least Iris and the kid had made it out of there.

'Master,' he said quietly, finding it uncommonly easy to pretend to grovel, as was expected of him. He hardly had the strength to raise himself to his knees any more. And the pain was becoming rather blinding now.

'What the hell happened here?!' Malfoy roared, from beside Voldemort. His face had a most interesting purple tinge and he looked almost apoplectic with rage. 'You better start talking, and you had better make this a damned good explanation, if you want to hope that you will live to see the sun set!'

'Lucius expressed my own thoughts most succinctly,' Voldemort said so coldly, his eyes two red slits of icy fury, that a shiver coursed down Aidan's spine. 'There is however, also the small problem of my having trouble believing a single word that comes out of your mouth, considering the circumstances. I really don't know what you could possibly say that could convince me that you were speaking the truth, when I am right now counting three Death Eaters dead; several that should have been here, missing; and a woman -who I have reason to believe is working for Dumbledore -a brat, and what looked like a dead Snape, fleeing by portkey just as I was arriving. Miraculously, you seem to have escaped most of the carnage. How do you explain that? And, most importantly, how do you expect me to believe you?'

'I tried to stop them, Master,' Aidan said, looking away from Voldemort's snake-like eyes and to the ground.

'So it seemed. Why did you fail?'

'I wasn't quick enough, Master.'

'Either that -which is inexcusable in itself -or you were deliberately slow off the mark. How do I know which is the truth? I want an explanation and I want it right now!!' Voldemort suddenly roared and nodded to Malfoy who immediately stalked over, grabbed Aidan and hauled him to his knees, forcing him to look up, straight into Voldemort's red eyes. With a ragged, pained gasp, Aidan let something small slip from his grasp. It looked like it had just slipped from inside the pocket of his robes.

This is it, Aidan thought. He's either going to go for it now, or it's over.

Voldemort's eyes flickered over to the object on the ground. He raised his hand casually and it flew into his grasp. Uncorking the tiny potion bottle that until a few minutes ago had been standing on top of a rock, where Snape had left it, he raised it and took one careful sniff of its contents. The corner of his mouth twitched in a mirthless smile. Letting half a drop of the clear, colourless liquid spill onto his fingertip, he tasted it with the very tip of his tongue, and his eyes glinted wickedly.

'Excellent idea,' he purred coldly. 'I see you are always prepared, White -like the boy-scouts. Veritaserum is exactly what would convince me that you are telling me the truth. Very good. There's just one thing,' he added, and suddenly tossed the potion bottle, casually, away. 'Rule number one. Never trust another man's Veritaserum,' he said.

Aidan had hoped that Voldemort wouldn't have done that, but he had been expecting it, nevertheless. Whatever one could have said about Voldemort, he certainly wasn't stupid. The stakes had just gone up another notch, and the test had become that much harder. That's right, you evil bastard, never trust another man's Veritaserum, Aidan thought grimly, as Voldemort reached inside his robes. Never trust anything you haven't made yourself. Let's see who makes your Veritaserum then! Bet you it's the same person that made that one. You're going to want the good stuff, aren't you, and Veritaserum is a bugger to make. Few potion makers have the skill to make it, and if you buy it on the black market, you have no guarantee that the product is up to scratch. You wouldn't risk the legal outlets, would you, because the ministry keeps track of each and every bottle of Veritaserum sold; and why should you risk that, when you have your very own, personal Potions Master -someone who you know is so good, Dumbledore gets his supplies from him. And of course, he couldn't possibly have had the sheer, dumb nerve to hand you a dodgy potion, could he? Because everyone knows what you would do to the man that had the gall to give you a dodgy potion, and of course you have so much faith in your ability to spot one, it's inconceivable that you may have been given a bad batch, without you knowing. That's right, let's see who's better at this: you, or Snape?

Voldemort pulled out a plain, small bottle of transparent liquid.

'Let's use mine, shall we?' he said with a spine-chilling smile, and glided over.

This is it. Now let's see if I can fake it convincingly, Aidan thought as the tasteless, clear liquid slid down his throat. Snape wasn't the only one being tested here. Strangely, he realised, as Voldemort pulled away from him again, that he was more worried about whether he could fake being under the influence, than whether what he had just drank actually was real, active Veritaserum. He seemed to have this ludicrously unreasonable conviction that Snape was smarter than to give Voldemort active Veritaserum -and that was really worrying! He couldn't understand how, and at which point, he had acquired this kind of faith in Snape. He knew it had probably had something to do with Iris's attitude towards him, but even that was enough to make him concerned about his own sanity. His sanity, however, was something that had been in doubt all along, anyway, so it was best not to dwell on it, and concentrate on giving the best performance of his life, instead.

Then, suddenly, he felt himself begin to relax. He had felt weak before, but now, all of a sudden, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to move at all, even if he had tried, and, strangely, the pain had gone. He couldn't move, but physically, he felt fine. A brief moment of panic flitted through his mind, accompanying these realisations, and the thought that this was the real thing after all. It was Veritaserum proper, and judging from the symptoms it had started taking effect remarkably quickly. He probably had another couple of seconds' worth of lucid thoughts left, before the potion took complete control of both his body and his mind. He had gambled, and lost.

And then it struck him that, although his mind was panicking, his body wasn't. His heart hadn't picked up speed, as it should have done; blood wasn't rushing through his body and pounding in his ears; his eyelids hadn't so much as flickered. On the contrary, they felt heavy, and tired, as if with the comfortable warmth before sleep. But his mind was definitely panicking; how was that poss...? The thought drifted off as he realised that the couple of seconds had passed, and his mind was still his own. Not only was he still capable of rational thought, but his brain seemed to be working as lucidly, sharply and with the sort of speed, it was capable of only when he was completely rested, calm, and relaxed -which was definitely not now. He allowed his eyes to close, and he smiled -in his mind. It didn't show on his face, it couldn't; he had absolutely no control of his body. As far as any onlooker was concerned, he was now totally under the influence of Veritaserum. He hadn't needed to fake it, after all. Well, I'll be damned, he thought. Smells like Veritaserum, looks like Veritaserum, tastes like Veritaserum, has all the physical symptoms of Veritaserum... but isn't Veritaserum. That must have been a bugger to invent! Well done, Snape; you pass with flying colours. Now let's see how I do! All he had to do now was choose his words carefully, and think quickly.

If there had been someone there, judging Aidan's performance on technical merit, he probably would have been thoroughly satisfied with the attempt. It had been as close to perfect as anyone could have expected; he had kept his sentences short and to the point, hadn't paused, or so much as hesitated for a fraction of a second, but most importantly, everything he had said had been within the realms of plausibility. He told the truth, more or less, about the kids, McNair, Pettigrew and Snape, and kept roughly to the real timeline of events -roughly. Iris he said had been just another teacher from Hogwarts, who realised something was wrong, and somehow found her way there. He mentioned Phaedra as an Auror, simply because the hulking idiot Crabb knew about her and would probably open his big fat mouth eventually; but he invented another Auror too, who, he said, must have come through the portal with Ireson. Just one teacher and one Auror couldn't possibly have justified this sort of carnage. He mentioned the twins coming in through the Hogwarts portal too, just for the sake of impressions. The more people coming and going, the greater the confusion. He attributed most Death Eater deaths and injuries to the two imaginary Aurors, but he couldn't quite get away with it without having Iris kill a couple of people herself. It worked out pretty well. Snape, he said, had gone down first, hence the teacher from Hogwarts had no idea that he had been helping the Death Eaters. She had assumed that, like herself, he had gone there to save the kids. It had been a surprise attack, apparently; Snape hadn't stood a chance. He attributed his own and Snape's injuries to one of the Aurors, the woman. She had disapparated a few minutes before Voldemort arrived, presumably to go and report to the ministry. She had obviously thought that the teacher had things under control. But, of course, being the last Death Eater standing, he had fought back, because if he didn't give himself some credit, neither would Voldemort. The other Auror had been killed -had gone over the cliff, apparently. It was amazing what a realistic alternate version of events one could paint if one kept everything one could of the truth, and simply added a bit here, left out a bit there, or twisted a few things around. It didn't take very long, and it had been easier than he could have ever dared to hope for. His account of events had been deliberately sketchy in some places, but that was only to be expected with the sort of confusion he had been purposefully describing. If nothing else, Voldemort couldn't blame either him, or Snape, for anything other than being incompetent. That was probably a hanging offence too, as far as Voldemort was concerned, but at this point he found he couldn't bring himself to care any more.

He was too tired. The potion -whatever it was -had been doing wonders for the pain, and had even revitalised his mind for a while, but it couldn't hold back the physical exhaustion much longer. It wasn't designed for something like that. He knew that eventually he would pass out; he couldn't feel the blood still seeping down his back, drenching his robes and making them cling to his skin, but he knew it was, because he was finding it harder by the minute to retain his focus and alacrity. His mind was becoming slower, hazier, and he just wished Voldemort would get on with it and either kill him, or just let him pass out in peace.

It actually came as an enormous relief when Malfoy, presumably under Voldemort's orders, let him slump back down to the ground. Voldemort leaned over him.

'I don't reward incompetence,' he hissed in his ear. 'A school teacher, and a kid. You failed to stop a school teacher and kid escape. I have no use for inept Death Eaters. You need to prove to me that you are not as useless as you seem. I could kill you, but I won't. It seems like a waste of effort. I am going to leave you here and let nature take its course -slowly. The Veritaserum will take at least another half an hour before it wears off and you are once again able to move. If, somehow, you manage to stay alive, and make it back to London, then I might be able to find some use for you. In case I haven't made myself clear, this is a test. You pass it, you live. You fail it, you die. Simple. I won't be holding my breath,' he added, with a cruel sneer. 'But, on the rare occasion, people sometimes surprise me. If you make it back, I will expect to see you when you are next called. Otherwise, I will make you wish you had died out here, ten times over.'

Something black, the size of a fifty pence coin, reached up with one long, spindly leg to the hem of his black robe and, silently, crawled up onto it.

'Come, Lucius,' he said in the end after the briefest pause. 'We're leaving.'

The robe swirled as Voldemort turned round sharply and a chill wind caught the black fabric. Slender, weightless legs held their precarious grip with determination, and the creature braced itself for what it knew was coming as it scuttled soundlessly upwards, sideways, and finally into utter darkness.