Harry Potter and the Fifth Year from Hell

Chapter 17 - Myrmidon Potion

"But me - I say there are spots that don´t come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d´you know what I mean?"

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Ch. 25

* * *

As September wore into October, the fifth-years recovered from the giggling and whispering triggered by the Fifth-Year Assembly and returned to their normal pursuits. Ron apparently wasn´t able to come up with an idea for asking Hermione out, and Harry didn´t find the perfect girl.

Harry found that captaining the Quidditch team was taking up more and more of his time. He had the responsibility of deciding what kind of offence to run. His most talented chaser, Angelina, played best in an improvisational one-on-one style. But Katie and Alicia - both excellent passers - favoured a slower-paced, controlled game, with strictly defined plays. It was Harry´s job to keep them both happy. Fred and George looked to Harry to tell them which of many possible Beater strategies fit best with his game plan. And Ron, too, needed to be told what style of Keeper play to use.

Harry found that team meetings went much more smoothly when he hid his ignorance as best he could and pretended to have all the answers. He was grateful to Ron for his help - Ron never betrayed to the rest of the team how confused Harry sometimes was before practice, and how frantically he looked through Charlie´s books for the most elementary information about game strategy. He´d nod respectfully at Harry´s orders in front of the others, though in private he was more likely to be teaching him Quidditch plays. At least, Harry consoled himself, the team was confident and everyone got along well. No one had raised any objection to his scheme of practicing five nights a week, and they all worked hard with cheerful good humour.

When Harry wasn´t studying Quidditch strategy, he was doing seemingly endless reading, as their teachers continued to pile on the assignments to prepare for their OWL exams. The only exception was Professor Weasley. She rarely gave them any reading to do besides researching jinxes and hexes for her practical tests. Hermione fretted about this, complaining that they wouldn´t be properly prepared for the OWLs, but Harry couldn´t help feeling grateful.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was Harry´s favourite course by far. They disarmed booby-traps and practiced self-defence moves in every lesson, with Professor Weasley telling them exciting stories of how those moves had saved her and her MLE colleagues from painful deaths. She had also declared that they were all of them miserably out-of-shape, and instituted a "voluntary" Saturday run for all fourth-years and above, with a separate session for each of the four houses. On fine days, she led them around the Quidditch field and the lake. On messy days, they really got a workout, running up and down the stairs of the castle. Harry and Ron enjoyed the running. Hermione hated it, but she wouldn´t dream of doing as Parvati did, and foregoing the extra credit points Professor Weasley gave out to those who ran. So she ended up panting at the very back of the pack, with Neville, James Arnold, and other less athletic Gryffindors.

Besides her heavy load of schoolwork, Hermione was now researching magical methods of immortality. Ron had written to his dad, asking for a report on the Direction-Writer that was supposed to be in the Ministry of Magic vaults. Harry finally got a letter from Sirius.

Harry --

I´m sorry I´ve taken so long to write back to you. It´s been insane. You know by now that I told Dumbledore what you wrote about the letter with the Hogwarts-type address. Good thinking! Moony & I are busy keeping an eye on a certain individual.

You should have told the Headmaster about that spying ball while you still had it. Come to think of it, I wish you had sent the ball to us! Merlin knows we could use something like that. Even now, with no proof, I think you should go ahead and tell Dumbledore. These aren´t school games we´re talking about - your life could be at stake. Be very careful! The Malfoy kid has probably already set it to spy on you again, and you don´t know what other methods he may be using.

I´m very glad to hear you have our old Map again. That will help. No, I have no idea why that slimy your respected professor gave it back to you, and I´d rather not think about it.

Harry, I have to go. I´ll see you for sure the last Saturday in October, and we can talk. If anything happens before then, TELL DUMBLEDORE!

- S

Harry showed the letter to Ron and Hermione as they walked out to Care of Magical Creatures.

"So... d´you think I should tell Dumbledore about Malfoy?"

"You´ll have to explain why we didn´t tell him earlier," said Hermione slowly.

"Ye-es," said Ron. "It seems a shame, though..."

"What?" said Harry.

"Well, it´s nice how it is, isn´t it?" said Ron. "We can say whatever we want to Malfoy, and we don´t have to watch the Map all the time."

It was true. They checked every few days (when they could confirm Malfoy wasn´t watching) to see if the spying charm was still in place under their table, and it always was. Ron threw an occasional insult into their conversations, and Hermione made horrible faces whenever she thought they were saying something Malfoy shouldn´t hear. They wrote notes when they needed to say something privately. The worst part was that Harry and Ron couldn´t talk Quidditch strategy anywhere in the common room - Harry didn´t want to risk giving the Slytherin team any inside information.

It was a relief not feeling that they had to keep an eye on Malfoy with the Marauder´s Map so much. Hermione, especially, appreciated being able to concentrate on her work while Ron and Harry were at practice.

"We don´t have to decide straight away..." Harry began, only to be interrupted by Ron.

"What the he-- Charlie! Oi!" Ron sped up, and Harry and Hermione hurried after him.

Charlie Weasley was standing with Professor Grubbly-Plank and Professor Anne Weasley by the gate to the horse paddock. He turned and smiled at Ron´s approach.

"´Lo, baby brother... Here´s your new broom." He tossed a long package to Ron. "Harry, Hermione - it´s good to see you."

Ron immediately tore the paper off the broom while Harry and Hermione shook hands with Charlie. "A Comet 940!" Ron exclaimed in surprise, "I didn´t know they were even out yet."

"Just out," said Charlie proudly. "But Johnny Ryan´s been testing it for them for months, and he swears it´s the best Keeper´s broom ever made - as stable as one of the old Nimbus 1700´s, but far more manoeuvrable. No real speed, of course, but you don´t need that to keep goal. He´s switching to it this season."

Ron held his broom with as much awe as he´d ever handled Harry´s Firebolt. Harry didn´t blame him - he knew this was the first brand-new broom Ron had ever owned, and his old Shooting Star, inherited from Bill, was so worthless that Ron had been practicing on a school broom instead. He shot his brother a serious look.

"Charlie - thanks."

"It´s not all from me," said Charlie with a grin. "Mum and Dad and Bill kicked in as well. I did choose it, though. Happy Christmas."

"Mr. Weasley." Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had been looking increasingly impatient, broke in. Ron looked up apologetically, but she was glaring at Charlie. "I need to get this lesson started. You will be able to help us tonight?"

"Right you are," said Charlie. "Ten o´clock." Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded brusquely and strode into the paddock, followed by her students - including Malfoy, who raised an eyebrow at Ron´s new broom and shook his head scornfully. Ron glared after him.

Harry looked at Charlie. "What was that about?"

Anne Weasley grinned. "It´ll take the three of us to do what Hagrid could probably do all by himself. Something´s been eating the livestock - it looks like there might be a Griffin in the forest. If so, we need to capture it and give it some lessons in deportment." Her bright blue eyes were sparkling at the prospect.

"I´m sure you two could have handled it," said Charlie, "but I´m glad I happened by here today. I haven´t handled a Griffin since - I don´t even remember when." He, too, looked as if life could offer nothing better than a night visit to the Forbidden Forest and a struggle with a deadly beast. Harry supposed that, after dragons, a Griffin was a pleasant break.

"Harry, Ron - come on!" Hermione jerked her chin at Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was glowering at them. Ron and Harry gave the two Weasleys a quick wave and hurried after Hermione through the gate.

*

Ron paid more attention to his new broom than to anything else for the next couple of days. Charlie sat with his brothers and sisters at dinner, and talked to Harry and Ron for over an hour afterward about Quidditch strategies. He left the next morning without seeing them, to report to his new job in Scotland, but there was no doubt about the success of his overnight mission - the first-year Gryffindors returned from their Care of Magical Creatures lesson the next morning gabbling excitedly about the captive Griffin.

Harry would have liked to ask Professor Weasley how the Griffin capture had been accomplished, but Ron wasn´t interested.

"You can´t ride them or anything," he said impatiently. "They´re too fierce - they´re only good for guarding treasure, and things like that. But look at this -" Ron waved a page from Flying with the Cannons at Harry - "Erhard Barton used a Comet from 1955 through 1963, and he led the league in Quaffles stopped for five of those years!"

Ron kept trying to argue the superior merits of the Comet 940 as a Keeper´s broom, though neither Harry nor Hermione ever tried to disagree with him. Harry half expected Ron to put his head under their table in the common room and argue it out with Malfoy directly.

"It said in the August issue of Which Broomstick? that most brooms today are too light to absorb the impact of the Quaffle," he was explaining to Harry as they made their way into Potions on Thursday. "If it knocks you backward, that can slow you down in passing the Quaffle up the pitch to your Chasers...." Ron trailed off as Snape fixed him with an cold eye. Hermione shook her head and sat on the opposite side of Harry from Ron. Harry was used to that by now.

Harry listened, glowering, as Snape lectured to them about the proper preparation and use of Jobberknoll feathers. Every time he walked into this dungeon, he remembered Snape´s sneering voice talking about Harry´s parents - implying that he, Harry, had been of use to his mother in getting his father to marry her. Implying that his father hadn´t wanted to....

"The most effective of all Truth Serums is known as Veritaserum." Snape´s voice broke into Harry´s thoughts, and he shuddered, remembering Barty Crouch Jr. speaking on and on in a strange, expressionless voice.

"The brewing of Veritaserum is strictly controlled," Snape continued, "and much beyond your capacity. I will teach you to make the Truthteller Potion - I trust you will be able to accomplish that much. The Truthteller Potion works for one statement and one statement only - the first thing you say after drinking it. If you tell the truth, nothing will happen. If you do not tell the truth, your nose will grow longer.

"Like Pinocchio!" said Dean with a startled laugh. Harry and Hermione both nodded, but most of the pupils looked puzzled.

Snape sighed. "Indeed," he said. "Someone invariably produces that stunning bit of wit whenever I introduce this potion." He sneered. "You will actually find it listed as the Pinocchio Potion in some books."

"Errr - we´re going to be using it on each other?" Ron asked. Harry looked at him - Ron very rarely spoke in Snape´s lessons.

Snape inclined his head. Draco Malfoy snickered.

"Can´t imagine why you´d be worried, Weasley - I don´t think that nose can get any longer!"

Ron flushed and opened his mouth to retort, but Snape cut him off.

"I will have silence. Weasley, Thomas ..." He glared at the two of them, completely ignoring the fact that Malfoy had spoken as well. "Thank you. The Truthteller Potion begins with an infusion of..."

Harry´s quill flew across his parchment as Snape´s voice droned on. He knew from harsh experience that Snape would not repeat any of the instructions, and he rarely paused to give them time to write. They had learned to compare their notes after lessons, and correct any...

Harry dropped the quill and his hands flew to his forehead as a sharp pain seared his scar. The pain was intense for a moment, and Harry´s eyes squeezed closed as he grimaced. But immediately, it lessened to a mild burning.

"Harry?"

Harry heard Ron´s concerned whisper, and realized that Snape was no longer speaking. Harry looked up, only to find Snape´s black eyes boring into his. Harry stared back, frozen. Snape was... Snape was clutching his left forearm with his right hand. His mouth was twisted as if in pain. Harry felt his own eyes widen in sudden understanding as Snape´s gaze left him, and shifted quickly to Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had his head down, writing, but he looked up quickly as if he felt his teacher´s gaze. Snape´s eyes shifted away again, toward the door of the office.

"I will return momentarily," he said brusquely, and stalked into his office with a swirl of his black cloak.

Ron turned to Harry.

"What´s the matter with you?" he muttered. "Are you okay?" Hermione looked narrowly at Harry, and then swung her gaze to the door where Snape had disappeared.

"Shhhh," she said to Ron. They all three jumped as Snape strode back into the room.

"This lesson is over," said Snape harshly, hardly pausing on his way to the classroom door. "You will find the complete procedure in Anselm´s Ars Forensica. I suggest you have it mastered by our next meeting. Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes sir?" Malfoy rose and hurried after Snape. Snape handed him a folded piece of parchment.

"Would you see that this is delivered to Professor Dumbledore, please?"

"Of course." Malfoy stood in the doorway, watching with open curiousity as Snape quickly disappeared down the corridor. Then he shrugged, opened the folded parchment, and read the contents. Harry glared at him, hoping that Snape hadn´t been stupid enough to put the truth in an unsealed note and give it to Malfoy. Harry had no doubt that his professor had just received a summons from Voldemort.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered their things and left the classroom, along with the throng of Gryffindors and Slytherins chattering happily about this unexpected break. Harry reflected that it was the second time they´d been released from Potions early that term.

"I suppose you think that´s funny, Potter?" Draco Malfoy spat as he reached the corridor.

Harry turned in surprise. Beside him, Ron bristled. "What´s funny?" said Ron.

"As if you don´t know!"

Harry refused to let Malfoy see how confused he was. "Don´t you have a message to deliver?" he asked coolly. Malfoy gave the three of them a malevolent glare, and then strode off, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him.

"What was that all about?" said Hermione quietly. Ron and Harry shared a mystified glance.

They found out soon enough. When they walked into the Great Hall for lunch, there was a spattering of applause from the Gryffindor table, and Fred and George bounded up to them, beaming.

"Well done, my boy," Fred said to Harry, offering a handshake.

"Ultionus Montezumus!" George shook his head admiringly. "We couldn´t have chosen a better hex ourselves."

"What?" said Hermione sharply. She looked every inch a prefect as she turned on George. "What are you talking about?"

Harry frowned meaningfully at the twins. "It wasn´t me. You´ve got the wrong person."

"Oh, yeah, right... our mistake," said Fred hastily, winking at Harry.

"Sorry," said George, backing away.

"You didn´t really?" said Hermione severely, as they sat down at the table.

"Really what?" snapped Harry. For some reason, Ron was laughing uproariously. "I don´t even know that spell."

"You should..." Ron managed to gasp. "It´s in your Curses and Countercurses book." Harry searched his brain. Hermione made an impatient noise.

"If you´d ever bothered to learn any Latin, you´d know it," she said. "`Ultionus´ means `revenge,´ Harry. `Montezuma´s revenge.´"

"Oh..." Harry had heard that expression before.

"Snape´s got the runs!" snickered Ron.

"But he... this is too public," whispered Harry. "Hurry up and eat, and let´s go talk outside."

They bolted down their curry as quickly as possible and huddled together in a quiet section of lawn near the greenhouses. Harry told the other two about his scar hurting and Snape holding his forearm.

"So I´m positive he was summoned by Voldemort," he finished.

"That´s what I thought," said Hermione. "His face was really white - did you notice? And your scar was sort of red."

"So he doesn´t have the runs," said Ron, looking disappointed. "But... where´d everybody get the idea that you hexed him? D´you think that´s what Snape wrote in that note that Malfoy read?"

"Yeah, I reckon so," said Harry, "because of what Malfoy said. Snape must have known that Malfoy would look at the note and spread it around."

"´Cause he´s a skanky bas -"

Hermione cut Ron off. "So does Professor Dumbledore know the truth yet? We have to tell him right now!"

But Professor Dumbledore was no longer in the Great Hall when they ran back inside. They were too occupied with lessons to try to look for him that afternoon, and it was dinnertime before they saw him again, sitting in his usual place at the head table. By that time, everyone in the school seemed to be aware of Harry "hexing" Snape - the Slytherins were looking at him with resentment, the Gryffindors with open admiration, and the other two houses with more cautious support. The Gryffindor fifth-years seemed to assume that Harry had got revenge on Snape for his remarks about Harry´s parents, and approved wholeheartedly. The second-years, whose afternoon Potions lesson had been cancelled, clapped when Harry took his seat.

"Everyone seems to think you did it," said Hermione in an undertone. "That was pretty quick-thinking of Snape, really."

"It´s libel, is what it is," said Ron.

"Slander," said Hermione automatically. "`Libel´ is when it´s published in a newspaper; `slander´ is..."

"Whatever," said Ron. "The point is he didn´t ask Harry´s permission to..."

"Good evening." Harry jumped, and turned to see Dumbledore right behind him.

"Goo - good evening," he mumbled, rising to his feet. Seen this close, Dumbledore´s face looked serious, even drawn. Harry looked around nervously - people were watching them from all over the Hall, though no one was close enough to hear what they were saying. "I - we - I wanted to talk to you about Professor Snape."

"I know all about Professor Snape´s indisposition, Harry," said Dumbledore gravely. He met Harry´s eyes. "All about it. We´ll speak of it some other time."

Harry gulped and nodded. Was Dumbledore trying to say that he knew where Snape really was? It seemed he was. Was he... had he used the Direction Writer to find out where the meeting was being held? Had he sent Sirius or Remus there?

But Dumbledore walked away, and Harry stood there with his questions unasked.

*

Harry, Ron, and Hermione forced themselves to snigger and make a few comments about Snape´s `indisposition´ as they sat in the common room after practice that evening. The Marauder´s Map showed that Malfoy was in his dormitory, probably watching the Revealall. Dumbledore seemed to approve of Snape´s cover story, so they felt obliged to support it. Several people visited the table to congratulate Harry, which helped.

But laughing was the last thing Harry felt like doing. He was tense and jumpy, wondering what exactly was going on, and if he would ever hear anything about it. The idea of Sirius being in danger was a torment. Even the idea of Snape being in danger was... worrisome. After an hour of trying without success to concentrate on either their Herbology reading or their Charms homework, Harry and Ron gave up and went up to bed. Hermione, deeply absorbed in a long Magical Languages translation, barely looked up as they said goodnight.

Harry lay awake, wondering why Voldemort had summoned Snape so early in the day. It didn´t seem right. Dark for dark business, thought Harry, as his Quidditch-exhausted body overruled his racing mind and he drifted off to sleep, there are many hours before dawn.

*

She curled up beside the fire. It was cold in the forest tonight. A wind whipped through the thin branches, rattling the occasional brown leaf. She raised her head and looked at the small group of humans nearby, all robed in black, their masked faces shadowed by hoods. There was an odour... she stuck out her forked tongue to smell better. It came from the black pot that was floating over the fire, bobbing upward whenever a flame crackled high, and drifting down whenever the flames sunk low. One of the humans was hovering over it, stirring it carefully by hand.

She had smelled that odour before. The humans had drunk from it another time, in a house. She had been warmer then. It wasn´t food, though it had food smells in it - newt eyes and bat spleens, and other delicious titbits. But there was poison in it as well - she wouldn´t be drinking it, no matter what the humans did. Her master spoke. Though he wasn´t speaking Parseltongue, she somehow understood him.

"This is unacceptable, Nott." Her master spoke quietly, but the old man shivered as with a fever. The stink of his terror filled the air of the clearing.

"They are stubborn, Master," the man stuttered. "They do not fear your power. They think they are safe, under the sea; they think you cannot get to them. They demand much gold and treasure, just for a glimpse of the thing."

The stooped man´s ploy was successful. Her master´s face contorted in a hideous grimace of rage, but his anger was at the distant people, not the cringing creature in front of him.

"Fools!" he screeched. "They will learn my power. They will fear me, and I will destroy them, to the last fishy fin!" With an effort, he calmed himself. "But I must make myself invulnerable first. We must deal with them." He paced back and forth across the small clearing, and the other humans backed nervously into the trees to clear his path.

"You did tell the queen that I require... the thing... only for a moment?" he demanded. "You did tell her that her mother bargained with me gladly, and was richly rewarded?" His voice rose in a shriek. "I offered the old queen immortality!"

"Yet she is dead, my Lord." This came from the man who was stirring the cauldron. Her master turned savagely toward him.

"She was an impatient fool! I would have given her the secret, if..." His face worked, as his rage went momentarily beyond speech. Again he calmed himself.

"I offer her immortality, but she wants only treasure. So be it!" He turned to the others. "Lucius, this is your department."

A tall human came forward, clasping his hands together. "The amount, my Lord! It would nearly bankrupt me if I tried...."

"So?" Her master waved a languid hand. "What matters that? When I come into my own, you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams, and not only with treasure." His red eyes narrowed. "You begrudge me this?"

"No, my Lord! Master! I begrudge you nothing... all that I have is yours to command!" The tall man held his hands out imploringly. "But it will take time. I will have to liquidate many holdings, collect on many debts."

"How long?"

"If I can move openly -" The man spread his hands. "--two months. If you wish me to work in secrecy - it cannot be done in less than six months."

"Six months!" Her master pulled out his wand and pointed it at the man. The man flinched, but stood his ground. "Six months," her master repeated in a whisper. "´Tis enough. ´Twill serve." He raised his voice again. "Nott, you said they demanded half of the reward in advance?"

"Yes, M-master." The stooped man shivered as her master´s attention returned to him. "The jewels in advance, and the gold when you hold the thing in your hand."

"You will have half of this amount gathered in two months, Lucius." Her master´s voice was silky and slippery now. He nodded around the gathering. "All of you - my trusted lieutenants - will give as much as you can command. Lucius will report to me if you are... stingy." There was a rustling and murmuring of agreement. "You will move in complete secrecy for now," he continued to the tall man. "Later, it may be safe to sacrifice secrecy for speed. You understand me?"

"Yes, Master. It shall be done." The tall man fell to his knees and kissed the hem of her master´s robe.

"My Lord?" It was the cauldron-stirrer. "My Lord, the potion is nearly complete. It needs only your blood now."

"In a moment," her master said casually. "First, I must - reward - Nott for his incompetent negotiations on my behalf." Before the stooped man had even registered the statement, her master pointed his wand. "Crucio!" The man fell to the ground, writhing and screaming in a horrible, high-pitched wail....

...Harry sat up in bed, panting. The pain in his scar was a hideous, burning torment, as though a tiny portion of the Crucio Curse was lodged there. He didn´t doubt, this time, that his dream had been real. He had seen Snape working on a potion, heard his oily voice. He had seen - no, he had been the big snake, cold in a dark forest. He pressed both hands hard on his forehead, desperately willing the pain to stop - he knew, somehow, that as long as the pain continued, the man named Nott was suffering horribly, somewhere. Just when Harry thought he could not bear another moment, the sensation gave way to a dull throbbing. He could imagine what the man must be feeling; he had been through it himself. The sick nausea... the exhaustion... the shame.

Harry was shaking. He knew he should go back to sleep, and return to the dream. The meeting had not been over - there was more he could learn. But, instead, he found himself whispering.

"Ron? Ron, are you awake?" Harry forced his raspy voice louder. "Ron! Wake up!" He waited, straining his ears, until - finally - he heard the rustle of bedclothes, a thump, and footsteps approaching his bed. His curtains were thrust aside, and Ron´s pale face looked down on him.

"Harry? Did you call me? What the...?" Ron shoved the bed curtains wide and held up his wand. "Lumos." He leaned over. "Are you all right? You´re all shaking and sweating!"

"Yeah. Can you hand me my specs? Thanks." Harry felt safer, somehow, as the room came into focus. He could see Ron´s face, all wide-eyed and concerned. "What time is it?" said Harry.

"I don´t know -- early. Eleven or so," said Ron. "Did you have one of those dreams - about You-Know-Who?"

Harry nodded. "Snape was there. Voldemort was torturing a man named Nott. Malfoy was there. Voldemort wanted him to give him loads of money, to exchange for something, somewhere..." It was maddening how quickly the details of the dream faded. He needed to tell Ron straight away, before he forgot more. "Some people - a queen - they have something that Voldemort wants. He just wants to see it for a minute, for immortality, I think. He offered the queen immortality, but - " Harry frowned, trying to remember. "She doesn´t trust him, or.... Something about her mother. She wants treasure instead. And Lucius Malfoy is raising the money. Two months... he said two months."

Ron was goggling at him, but he didn´t interrupt Harry´s stumbling monologue. Instead, he poured a glass of water from the pitcher by the window and silently urged Harry to drink. Harry clutched the glass, feeling the dream trail away like smoke as the comforting sights and sounds of the dormitory sank into his consciousness. "Nott... was negotiating; Voldemort said he did a bad job. Snape... making potion, blood. People... there were about ten people. Men and women, I think, but you can´t really tell. There was a fire and trees." That was it. He couldn´t remember anymore. Ron waited silently. Finally, Harry shrugged and gulped down the water. The throbbing on his forehead was almost gone now.

He grinned shakily at Ron. "Got all that?"

"What people?" said Ron. "What do they have?"

"I don´t know," said Harry. "They never said what the thing was. The people... I... I can´t remember - there was something." He shook his head. It was gone.

"This Nott fellow - is he the same one you saw last June?" Ron asked. His brow was scrunched in concentration. "The older one?"

"Yes. I think so."

"It´s got to be Henry Nott, the publisher," said Ron. "Dad said he was one of those people who claimed they were under Imperio last time." Ron shook his head. "He´s really influential - it´s weird to think of him being tortured. Crucio?"

Harry nodded. He felt better now.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"This is going to sound stupid, but I think I should try to go back to sleep. Maybe I can dream some more."

"All right." Ron took the glass from Harry´s hand and put it on the bedside table. "Do you want your curtains closed."

"No. Just... leave them open."

"Okay." Ron backed up to his own bed and sat on it, staring at Harry. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight."

"Nox." Ron´s wand light disappeared, and the room was plunged again into darkness.

Harry took his spectacles off, and tried to sleep.

*

"Harry Potter, sir? Harry Potter must wake up!"

"Ouch!" A hard finger was poking Harry´s upper arm. "What are you doing that for?"

"Dobby is prodding Harry Potter. Harry Potter said that Dobby should not stare at him. Harry Potter said Dobby must always prod him to wake him up."

"Okay, okay, I´m awake. You can stop prodding me now." Harry sat up, feeling groggy, and groped for his spectacles in the darkness. Surely he had just gone to sleep? "What´s wrong?"

He had gone to sleep, apparently, and he hadn´t dreamt. Did this mean...?

"You must come now! Harry Potter must hurry." Dobby was tugging insistently at his pyjama sleeve. Harry stumbled out of bed and put on his dressing gown.

"Where?"

"The Headmaster is saying that Dobby must bring Harry Potter to him. Harry Potter must wear his cloak, the Headmaster says. No one must see where we is going."

"Where are we going?"

But Dobby just shook his head and wrung his hands together, looking anxiously at Harry from his big tennis-ball eyes. There was just the slightest suggestion of rocking back and forth, so Harry stopped asking questions and got his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk. He didn´t have any desire to see Dobby banging his head against the furniture ever again.

Harry saw the gleam of eyes from the bed next to his - Ron was awake, and watching. Harry shrugged at him. Surely he could trust Dobby; he came from Dumbledore, after all. Harry pulled the cloak over his head and followed Dobby down the stairs.

There was someone in the common room, in a chair by the fire, reading by the light of a wand stuck between the cushions. When he got closer, he saw that it was Hermione. Harry tended to forget that she was taking just as many courses this year as she had third year, even though she wasn´t using the Time Turner. She was handling it better than she had two years ago, but it must be very difficult. The grandfather clock in the common room showed a quarter past midnight - Harry wondered if Hermione stayed up this late very often.

Hermione didn´t look up as they passed. Harry, of course, was invisible, and Dobby was as unobtrusive and soundless as a shadow. Dobby pointed a finger, the portrait door swung silently open, and Harry passed through. The Fat Lady didn´t even wake up.

Quickly and quietly, Dobby led him down seven flights of step to the entrance hall, and then down the steps to the dungeons. When Harry tried to ask him a question, the house-elf shook his head fiercely.

"We must be quiet," he squeaked. "No one must know where we is going." Where they were going became clear soon enough. Dobby led him into the Potions classroom and then into Snape´s office, using his pointed finger to open each door. Harry looked around the office in puzzlement. There was no one here - unless you counted the nameless specimens floating in jars. What was Dobby...?

But Dobby pointed his finger again, and a section of bookcase behind Snape´s desk slid silently open.

"You has to go in, sir," whispered Dobby, nodding encouragingly at Harry. So, as quietly as he could, Harry slid through the opening.

He entered a room with stone walls and a large, empty fireplace, lit only by moonlight slanting in through the high window. It was obviously a sitting room - presumably Snape´s private quarters. There was light and a murmur of voices coming through a door on the far wall. Harry followed it. The next room was a bedroom. Snape was propped on the bed, with Dumbledore sitting beside him.

"It was the same place as before," Snape was saying, in a harsh whisper. "The basement of an apothecary shop, I believe. I couldn´t say where..." Snape looked ill, but not nearly as ill as he had in the summer. His face was pale, and shining with perspiration.

"I know where you were," said Dumbledore calmly. "Both places. Don´t worry about that any longer. But you say Lord Voldemort was - ah, Harry, you´re here!" He looked up, smiling a welcome. Snape looked around the room rather wildly. When Harry took the Invisibility Cloak off, Snape scowled his comprehension, but did not speak.

Dumbledore rose quickly. "I´m afraid Professor Snape is suffering from the Myrmidon Potion a second time. I wonder if you might be so kind as to - ahhh..." He smiled as Harry held up the index finger of his right hand. "I thought you would understand."

Dumbledore retrieved a cauldron from the hearth in front of a small fire and set it down on the chair beside the bed. He picked up a knife from a table by the bed. "Harry?" It was the same white-handled knife as before - the ivory yellowed with age, and intricately carved with some kind of monsters.

"It´s been sterilized," added Dumbledore, as Harry reluctantly approached the bed. "Three drops, I think you said, Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Snape glared at Harry, but he made no attempt to draw the blood himself. Dumbledore pricked Harry´s finger, and carefully let three drops fall, just as Snape had done months before.

"There you go, Harry," he said, putting Harry´s thumb against his finger. "Squeeze it hard for a moment." He turned back to Snape. "Nine turns?"

"Yes." Dumbledore stirred the cauldron with careful attention, humming lightly to himself. Snape continued to glare at Harry.

It´s not my fault, thought Harry wildly. There is no possible way you can blame me for this.

When he was finished, the headmaster handed the small cauldron to Snape. This time, Snape was able to hold it himself as he drank. Harry realized that, if his dream was accurate, Snape had taken the Myrmidon Potion only a little over an hour ago - much different than the first time, when he had gone nearly twenty-four hours before taking the antidote. He must have had the antidote potion standing ready...

"Professor Snape keeps this potion prepared at all times now," said Dumbledore, apparently reading Harry´s thoughts.

Harry nodded. Of course, Snape had no way of knowing when Voldemort would summon him. It must be... difficult, knowing that the call could come at any time.

Harry looked at Snape thoughtfully. The professor´s eyes were closed, and he sagged back against the wooden headboard, obviously feeling very unwell. Did his reaction to the potion really prove that Snape was loyal to Dumbledore? Or was Snape manipulating both sides? Surely Voldemort didn´t believe that Snape was loyal to him only because he passed the "test" of the Myrmidon Potion? Wouldn´t he suspect that a Potions expert might have an antidote? In Harry´s experience, Voldemort was uncannily good at knowing when someone was lying. And he could use Veritaserum - or just plain torture - if he suspected Snape of bad faith. Or simply keep him in view for the full twenty-four hour period...

There must be some reason why Voldemort trusts Snape. For that matter, Harry had never known why Dumbledore trusted Snape. What was there about the nasty, greasy-haired man, that he could induce two such brilliant wizards to believe in him? Harry grinned to himself. Not charm of manner, that´s for sure!

Harry hastily smothered the grin as Snape´s eyes popped open, looking directly into his. He almost shivered at the bleakness in their depths.

"I am in your debt, Mr. Potter," rasped Snape.

Mr. Potter? That was a new one. Snape always called him just `Potter.´

"You´re welcome, Professor," Harry managed to say. Not as clumsy as the last time Snape had thanked him, but not exactly graceful, either. It was bloody awkward, trying to be polite to a man he couldn´t stand, with Professor Dumbledore beaming delightedly at the two of them. Snape seemed to feel the same - he closed his eyes again, thus ending the conversation.

"We must get you back to bed, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Severus, rest for a moment while I see Harry on his way. You´ll be all right alone?" Snape nodded without opening his eyes. "Excellent."

Dumbledore led Harry through Professor Snape´s office and out into the classroom. "If you will just put on your cloak once more... very good." He smiled at Harry approvingly, as though he could see him just as well with the cloak as without it. Harry wondered about that, and not for the first time. Then he remembered that there was something he needed to tell the headmaster.

"I saw the meeting," said Harry abruptly, "in a dream. Voldemort was torturing a man named Nott for not... not negotiating well enough, and he asked Lucius Malfoy to collect a great deal of money for him." As he spoke, it occurred to Harry that Dumbledore could use his version of events as a crosscheck on Snape´s. He repeated everything he had told Ron.

Dumbledore listened silently, his blue eyes sparkling with interest.

"But you didn´t dream anything more? How does your scar feel now?"

Harry put his hand to it. It wasn´t hurting at all now. "Fine."

"Good. Thank you for your help, Harry. I must go back to Professor Snape." Dumbledore opened the classroom door for Harry and closed it behind him.

Harry walked silently back to the common room, hoping that Hermione would still be downstairs and Ron would still be awake. He wanted to talk.

He had to take off his cloak to wake up the Fat Lady, but she finally let him in. He climbed through the hole, his cloak draped over his arm. There was a low murmur of voices - Ron had come downstairs and was talking to Hermione by the fire.

"I don´t know why you´re worrying about that," Hermione was saying briskly. "You´ll probably have Harry for a partner and he´s not going to ask you anything embarrassing. You don´t have any secrets from him, anyway, do you?" Hermione had closed her book, and was curled up comfortably in her chair.

"Everyone has secrets, Hermione," said Ron irritably. He was sitting in the other wingback chair; the Marauder´s Map was open in his lap, but he was staring into the fire instead of looking at it. "There are lots of things I don´t tell Harry."

Harry felt a stir of interest. Like what?

"Like what?" said Hermione sceptically. "Name one thing you haven´t told Harry."

"Well, like... here´s one thing I´ve never told him - but you´ll think it´s sick."

"What?" said Hermione. She was leaning forward, interested. Harry crept a couple of steps closer.

"Do you promise not to laugh?" said Ron. Hermione nodded. Ron took a breath and went on. "I really miss Scabbers."

Hermione didn´t laugh - she gasped. "But Ron - he was Peter Pettigrew! How can you...?"

"I know!" said Ron. "But I didn´t know that when I had him, did I? I used to think he was wicked smart - like he could understand everything I said. Well, I suppose he could." He looked away. "He brought me treats a couple of times when I was upset." He snorted. "I reckon he must have stolen them from someone, but - I thought it was a nice thing to do. For a rat." He stared into the fire again, his voice thoughtful. "It always seemed like he really liked me, right from the time I got him from Percy. When he wasn´t asleep, I mean."

Hermione stared at Ron, as if unsure what to say. Ron gave a short laugh.

"See, I told you it was sick. Not really a thing to tell Harry, eh? `Oi Harry, I still miss your parents´ murderer.´"

"No," said Hermione softly, "I can see how you wouldn´t want to." She straightened up and spoke more practically. "But I hardly think Harry will ask you anything like that in Potions class."

"No, I reckon not," said Ron. They fell silent.

Harry decided to make his presence known. He backed up a few steps and spoke.

"What happened to constant vigilance, you two?"

Hermione gasped and spun around. Ron jumped and looked from Harry to the Map.

"Oh, you´re back! I... you went in Snape´s office, and then you disappeared from the Map. Did you go in his private quarters?"

"Yes," said Harry, "and then I walked all the way back here, opened the portrait door and came right in, not invisible or anything. Remind me never to hire you two to guard anything."

"We were talking," said Hermione with dignity. "Well? What happened?"

Harry sat down and told them.

* * *