Here Be Monsters

Wednesday 3 July 1996

2104 GMT

The Raven Hotel stands on a small rise overlooking the River Bann to the north of Aghadowey proper. Two semicircles of trees screen the largish building on the north and south sides. On the west, a winding road stretches toward the Causeway Coast some eight miles distant. It is a tranquil and beautiful setting; not at all the place one would normally pick for an emergency meeting during a desperate war.

Nevertheless, that is what I have done, and I emerge from a hearth in an upstairs dining room to find most of the Order already awaiting me. Minerva is looking out one of the windows, evidently taking in the glory of the evening, while Molly and Arthur are at the table looking unusually glum. Evangeline Price and Kingsley Shacklebolt are deep in conversation. Mundungus Fletcher and Nymphadora Tonks are playing chess - the muggle version - down the table from the Weasleys. Bill Weasley is pacing up and down near his parents, looking mad enough to bite someone, while Arabella Figg sits in a large armchair knitting something that looks very much like a sweater for a cat. I momentarily miss Severus, but then see him lurking shadowlike near the hearth. Remus Lupin won't be coming. He is so concerned about Harry at the moment that I don't think I could get him away from Privet Drive with the Imperious Curse.

As I emerge, the proprietor of the hotel, a cheerful looking man named Richard O'Dell, comes forward and offers me a drink. I take it without hesitation. Something tells me that we will all need fortification before the night is over. "Welcome, Professor," O'Dell says smiling, his accent soft, "I have passed your message on to the other parties. They should be arriving shortly."

"Thank you, Richard."

"Will you be needing food? Or drink?" O'Dell is nothing if not the consummate businessman.

"Plenty of drink, Richard."

He beams his approval and bustles out. Bill Weasley pauses in his pacing to come over and remark on our host. "Is he a squib Professor? He certainly doesn't seem to be a wizard."

"No, Richard is not a wizard," I agree. "But he is not a squib either. He is, well, something else." I leave Bill with a puzzled look on his face. All his questions will be answered soon enough.

Crossing to the elder Weasley's, I take a seat next to Arthur. "Hello, Albus," he says calmly, although I can see the lines of stress and worry etched deep into his face. "The twins wanted to join us tonight, but Molly and I forbade it."

"I wish I could forbid a lot of other things!" Molly is redfaced and huffing, but her eyes show that she has been crying recently. "I love those boys dearly, but they are the most thickheaded prats I've ever seen! Honestly, I sometimes think they don't have any idea of reality! You would think they were playing some sort of game! Thumb your nose at the Dark Lord!"

"I take it there is no chance of persuading them from desisting, then?"

"None," Arthur says flatly. "They keep saying that if they let the fear of Voldemort dictate their actions, he will have already won."

"There is something to be said for that position," I allow, "but I wish they would not be so flamboyant. Tom never did have a tolerance for disrespect."

"We are going to provide protection, aren't we, Albus?" Molly says, half stern and half pleading.

"Of course we will. The Order will be there in force. We will also have help from the Aurors' Office. I have been in communication with them this afternoon."

"Thank you, Albus," Molly says softly. "But don't think I'm about to let you off the hook about that letter I sent you! You and I still have some issues to discuss!"

"I would not dream of thinking any such think, Molly," I chuckle.

The door opens to admit O'Dell followed by and elderly man in a long black coat. The newcomer is white haired and has a face carved with lines so deep they look like they have been made with a dagger. But his brown eyes are warm and shine with recognition as he hurries up to me.

"Father Brennan," I say softly, rising.

"Professor Dumbledore," he responds. "It has been far too long."

"Yes. And we always seem to meet in the most dismal of circumstances."

"That does indeed seem to be our fate!" He shakes my hand firmly and settles into the seat next to me.

"The last may come at any time, or not," Richard O'Dell explains with a tone of apology. "She is not to be bound by anyone else's schedule."

"I understand, Mr. O'Dell. Please show her in when she arrives."

"Oh, she won't need me to show her in," he laughs, "but she might want to be announced." With a nod to Father Brennan he leaves, but not before supervising a group of staff who quickly load the table with a variety of beverages.

I rise, signaling that the meeting is about to begin. Silence falls rapidly over the room.

"I think we had better proceed. May I introduce Father Thomas Brennan, the Director of St. Brigid's Priory."

"Director?" Minerva asks, sounding strangely shy, "do priories usually have directors?"

"No, they do not." Thomas laughs warmly. "St. Brigid's, however, has not been a real, functioning priory for some years. When the last of the monks were relocated it was turned into a meeting and study facility - as well as hosting a few retired priests who, like myself, have seen too many winters and have no close family on whom to rely."

"And this study facility was the repository of whatever the deatheaters stole?" Arthur Weasley asks in a concerned tone.

"Yes, it was. The most secret part of our collection."

"Not terribly secret, it seems, or very well guarded," Severus drawls.

Thomas is not the least bit put out. He just cocks his head and answers "You must be Severus Snape."

"Yes." Severus emerges from the shadows, his arms folded and a look of utter disdain on his face.

"You are just as unpleasant as I had been led to believe. Pity." Thomas turns away from Severus and smiles at the rest of the room. "Unfortunately, Professor Snape is correct. The testament wasn't as secret or as well guarded as it should have been. I have tried for years to get it moved someplace more secure, but no luck."

"I thought you were the director?" Molly is obviously confused by the politics and titles of the muggle world.

"I am. But the testament, although in my keeping, was under the authority of the Holy Office."

"Holy Office?" Minerva frowns in a confused way.

"You would probably know them best as the Inquisition, my dear."

"Oh."

"Actually, the descendants of the Inquisition." Thomas sighs. "They don't burn people anymore, but I'm afraid their temper hasn't improved much. Besides, if you think dealing with your Ministry is difficult, try to get a decision out of Rome!"

"You know a great deal about our world." Severus draws even closer.

"Sir," Thomas says flatly.

"Pardon me?" Snape blinks in surprise.

"The proper mode of address when speaking to me is sir or Father Brennan." Thomas looks at Severus sternly. "I am surprised to find such lack of manners in a teacher. Then again, you are very young." He waves his hand as if dismissing the matter. "As for the other, there are many strange things in this life, and when you are a priest you hear about a surprising variety of them."

"Do you know what the Dark Lord is seeking?" Kingsley asks patiently.

"Yes. Voldemort is seeking to find the resting place of Cromm Cruach."

"Who was that, uh, Father?" Bill Weasley inquires awkwardly, blushing at the unfamiliar honorific.

"Cromm? A god."

Severus snorts. He's never been one to respect religious beliefs, muggle or wizardly.

"You should take care of yourself Professor Snape, you'll get pneumonia," Thomas says placidly. "Ireland tends to do that to Englishmen. Weak lungs I suppose. Too bad."

"How can he be a god?" Molly is clearly puzzled. "How can you capture a god?"

"Very easily, if the god is also a statue."

Severus snorts again.

"Yes, definitely weak lungs. I know a specialist in Belfast you should see, Professor Snape. Nice man. Collects china."

"This Cromm is a statue?" Bill interjects. Over his shoulder I see the door open and Richard O'Dell enter quietly.

"I had better start from the beginning," Thomas says, slipping happily into storyteller mode. "The heathen Irish knew many beings and races. They held court with spirits of water and forest. Their heroes rode with the Tuatha De Danaan. But they preferred their gods to be concrete and unmoving. Sacred sites covered Ireland. Some were stones or trees or wells. But many were idols of various kinds. The old Irish sacrificed before these idols - crops, animals, prisoners, and children."

"What did they ask for?" Molly's voice is stricken.

"Oh, the usual. Bountiful harvests, good weather, victory in battle, many sons, and the like."

"Cromm Cruach likely began as just one idol among many. He stood in County Cavan, to the south of here in the Republic. The name Cromm is a word that means simply "crooked" or "twisted." It was a common Celtic name, often given to people born with withered or bent limbs. Cruach was a word for "mound." So his name literally meant "the crooked one on the mound."

"But over time, for whatever reason, Cromm began to grow more and more powerful. The clans who lived around his mound began to sacrifice to him lavishly. Eventually they sacrificed one third of all their children before Cromm. Cromm himself was plated in gold, and the twelve lesser idols erected as his companions were covered in brass. The area around his mound became known as Magh Slecht, the Plain of Adoration."

"In time Cromm Cruach was known as the Crooked Dark One and the Crooked Bloody One. The Plain of Adoration was also called the Plain of Slaughter, particularly after a mad king killed himself and three quarters of his people in one horrible ritual. Cromm was the King Idol of All Ireland. Whether you believed him to be a god or not, even wizards who have researched this matter agree that Cromm had become the greatest focus of dark power in all these isles."

"That is true," I say, breaking my long silence. "I have seen many arguments to that effect."

"So the wizards of Ireland overthrew this Cromm?" Kingsley crosses his arms and frowns fiercely.

Thomas throws back his head and laughs. He has always had a wonderful laugh, and it has not dimmed with age. His entire body vibrates. "Wizards? Oh no! Cromm was much beyond the power of wizards. It took a far greater power than that to overthrow Cromm Cruach!"

"What power was that?" Arthur asks, obviously fascinated.

"The power of a Saint," Thomas says simply.

Arthur blinks. He had not been expecting that answer.

"Old tales say that Saint Patrick himself confronted Cromm and threw him down. Threw him down but for whatever reason did not destroy him. Rather Cromm was imprisoned deep within the earth, the mound that had been his throne now his prison."

"Some time after the time of Patrick, the powers of Ireland began to become fearful of Cromm. What if he was to be resurrected once again? Where was the power to oppose him? So they came together to create defenses - spells, mazes, and wards to hide the exact location of Cromm's mound."

"The powers of Ireland?" Arthur is engrossed. "Who would those be?"

"Who would you think? The Church. The wizards of Ireland. The most powerful kings and warlords."

"And they who come now," Richard's soft voice catches nearly everyone by surprise, save Thomas and me. "If I may?" The innkeeper walks over to one of the large windows and looks in my direction.

"Please." I say.

O'Dell opens the window and steps back swiftly, a mysterious smile one his amiable features. Almost immediately the room fills with a soft, barely perceptible sound, not noise but not quite music either. Rather it is like the wind through the limbs of a tree festooned with small bells. A pale radiance, roughly spherical in shape, sails through the window like a giant ball of St. Elmo's Fire. Floating to the floor it expands rapidly and a human form takes shape. A heartbeat later the radiance is gone, replaced by a stunningly beautiful middle-aged woman with long dark hair and eyes that seem to hold the dying embers of the strange light. Her robes are the color of a moonless night, and shimmer with an almost metallic consistency. A large raven perches on her shoulder.

"Welcome, Grandmother," O'Dell says with an inclination of his head.

"Thank you, Richard." Her voice is surprisingly harsh and dissonant. It seems to combine the screech of a raven with the jarring rhythm of fencing blades.

I rise and come forward. "Welcome indeed, Lady Morrigan."

"You must be Dumbledore." She eyes me with a cold stare. Then she turns her gaze on Thomas. "And this would be the one from the Priory."

"Yes, that would be me, Thomas Brennan." The priest is entirely unphased. He looks at Richard and smiles. "So that's the secret of your good luck Richard! Your grandmother?"

"Actually, there are several 'greats' left out of that title, but Richard is a direct descendant of mine, yes." Morrigan's fierce expression softens slightly, and I am reminded of Minerva in one of her unguarded moments.

O'Dell blushes mildly, but Thomas just laughs again. "Don't worry Richard. If you don't speak of me holding council with wizards I won't speak of you having Sidhe blood. Not that anyone would believe either of us in any case."

"No, no one would believe either of you," Morrigan observes sadly. "There was a time when such a person as Voldemort would not have dared set foot on our land. There was a time when the least of us could do battle with a half dozen of the foul things he has made his servants. But the days of our glory are long ago. Now they walk with impunity almost where they will."

"Before there was Voldemort there was Cromm and his like, Madam, and other enemies as well. You have never ruled unopposed." Thomas' voice is calm but stern.

Surprisingly, the great lady of the Sidhe simply shrugs. "We have never valued peace. Struggle and battle have always been one of the great joys of our existence, even in this diminished age."

"Be assured," I say, "that Voldemort will provide it."

"So your people were the fourth of these powers of Ireland?" Severus' voice is languid and thick with his usual sneer.

"You thought perhaps it was the Leprechauns?" Morrigan's raven punctuates its lady's speech with an eerily human chuckle.

We all take our seats again, with O'Dell taking his leave after making sure we still have plenty of beverages. Morrigan looks at the available chairs, then calmly materializes a black throne-like affair with a wave of the twisted rod she carries in one hand.

"The four powers, of course, did not trust each other," Thomas continues with his story.

"Nor did they have much reason to do so." Morrigan interjects.

"Perhaps not. In any case, they decided to divide the keys to Cromm's prison among themselves. They inscribed the necessary passwords, formulas, and maps for getting past the defenses into four books. Each of the groups then took on of the tomes. That way it would take the cooperation of all four for anyone to find Cromm's mound again."

"And it was the Church's copy that was stolen from St. Brigid's?" Molly asks.

"More than that, I'm afraid. The book taken by wizards had a long and complicated history, which I won't bore you with. Suffice to say that in 1851 the last member of the family guarding the book died without heirs. She thought the wizarding society of her time was becoming corrupt, and feared to leave the knowledge of Cromm's prison in the hands of wizards. Therefore she gave the wizards' book into the hands of the Church as well."

"And now Voldemort has half of what he needs?" Bill runs a hand over his eyes and looks pained.

"I'm afraid so," I say with a deep sigh. "The Lady Morrigan's people still have their book, however. And the book given to muggles disappeared from history almost immediately."

"The holders of it felt safest concealing themselves for obvious reasons," Thomas admits.

"We do not have our book."

For a few seconds I believe I have heard incorrectly. Unfortunately, age has done nothing at all to my hearing. Careful to keep my jaw from sagging open, I look over to Morrigan. I note that Thomas is doing the same, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Our book was stolen at about the same time your wizards gave their tome over to the Church. A Dark Wizard broke into one of our enclaves and escaped with it. We killed most of his followers. One lived long enough to give us a name - Brightstar. But we were never able to track down any such wizard."

"It might have helped had you told someone before now," Thomas says softly, his voice tight and carefully controlled.

"As you observed, none of us have ever trusted one another."

For the first time, Thomas' eyes grow dull. He rubs his palms wearily over his face.

"So," Bill observes, "Voldemort has half of the information, and half is lost to us. For all we know it may already be in his hands."

"I don't think things are quite that bad," I say, making sure to smile slightly.

"Why not, Albus?" Molly sounds half hopeful and half exasperated.

"As Thomas observed, it would have been helpful had the Sidhe sought help when this occurred, although their reticence is understandable. Brightstar was not a Dark Lord, but rather an aspirant to the title. He was a Dark Wizard who was killed in the 1860s, probably very shortly after his raid on the Sidhe."

"I don't remember hearing about him before," Minerva interjects, breaking her long silence.

"He isn't much talked about around Hogwarts. It would be embarassing, since his son became Headmaster."

"You can't mean who I think!" Severus suddenly looks extraordinarily pale.

"If you are thinking Phineus Nigellus, then I do indeed. The Dark Wizard Brightstar's real name was Tyrrhenius Black."

Thursday 4 July, 1996

0105 GMT

The meeting doesn't go very far after that announcement. Or I should say that nothing much gets done. Instead there is a great deal of general babbling and milling about. I take the opportunity to quietly have Richard bring up some of his excellent food. I find it enjoyable to sample something other than house elf cooking every now and again, although I am careful not to let Iris know.

Finally shortly after midnight I manage to return to my office and gratefully prepare myself for bed. Just as I am ready to crawl in, however, one of those infernal chimes in my office goes off. I crawl back out, stretch my aching shoulders and throw on a robe. Both shoulders are throbbing and I wonder if I managed to strain them during the battle at Beauxbatons. Odd, I would have expected more trouble with my knees.

That particular chime means that Severus is on his way up. He would not ask to talk at this time of night unless he has some news - unlikely or he would have indicated the fact earlier in the evening - or he was exceptionally worried.

I find Iris waiting for me in my office, her arms folded and one foot tapping the floor. "Why is Master Albus being out of bed?"

"Professor Snape is coming up, Iris." To my amusement but not real surprise, my voice sounds faintly apologetic.

"And why is smelly Snape coming to be keeping Master Albus up when Master Albus is needing to sleep like everybody else?"

"You never seem to, Iris."

"Iris is being different. Iris is being house elf. Iris is not being able to help it that wizards are not being strong like house elves." She glares at me and sniffs.

"Please just bring some of that wine that Professor Snape likes. And some hot chocolate for me."

"OK, Master Albus. Oh, Master Albus is remembering to remind Dobby not to forget about Harry Potter?"

It takes me a moment to untangle that one. "About Harry's what?"

"About good Harry Potter's food and milk and naps."

Actually I didn't remind him but I did not need to. "Dobby remembered Iris. He packed four blankets for Harry's naps." Well, actually he packed three. I put in the one decorated with koala bears.

"Is being good. If Dobby is forgetting, Iris is whomping him one!" She emphasizes her point by swishes her feather duster through the air like a sword.

The chimes sound again to indicate that someone, presumably Severus, is at the gargoyle. When I turn around Iris is already gone in good house elf fashion.

Severus stalks in, looking just as he did at the meeting, or almost any other time for that matter. He is another one who seems not to sleep. I know he has nightmares of his past. I wonder often which is worse for him, the horror that has been or the horror that is now unfolding.

"Severus, please come in! What brings you to my office tonight?"

"This morning you mean, Headmaster. I am extremely concerned about the developments that have just occurred, and I thought I had better talk now. I don't know when I might be summoned."

"Of course," I say softly. Severus always speaks so calmly of going before the Dark Lord. It is unsettling.

//More of your handiwork.//

I suppose Tom is right. The ache in my joints reminds me of just how old I am suddenly.

"Please come in to the sitting room." I lead the way and am not surprised to find the chocolate and wine already waiting. Severus eyes the wine with a raised brow, but takes up the glass without comment.

"So, Severus," I say sitting across from him and sipping my hot chocolate, "I am extremely concerned as well. But I think you have something more specific in mind."

"Yes, I do. That wizard Brightstar, did they find the book when he died?"

"If they had I would have said so right away, Severus. I had not heard the story about him stealing it from the Sidhe until tonight."

"So we aren't sure if he even had it in his possession when he died." Snape takes an inelegant gulp of his wine.

"Not certain, no. But I think the odds are very high. Like most dark wizards, Tyrrhenius kept many caches. Whatever was in them has probably been aggregated with the rest of the Black family paraphernalia over the years."

"Would Phineus know?" He gulps again.

"Not likely." I had thought of that myself, but Phineus' frame is empty. He has taken to spending a lot of his time at 12 Grimmauld Place, lost in memory and mourning. "Knowledge that specific almost never gets transferred to portraits. Besides, Phineus loathed the memory of his father. He would have had little curiosity as to his effects."

"So, it's probably at Black's House?" Severus screws his face up as if he has tasted something particularly sour.

"I doubt that. We have searched that house thoroughly over the last year. I don't think there are likely to be any troves there we have not yet found."

"Where then?"

"My guess is in a vault at Gringott's. Barring that there are other possibilities. I believe the Black family had some storage areas in Egypt, and I know they maintained a mansion in Spain at one time. It burned down before Sirius was born but it had crypts and cellars beneath it. I would not be surprised to find they had other stashes."

"Could it be that the book found it's way into the hands of Narcissa Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Ah, the crux of the matter. Now I understand why Severus is so worried. That would be an absolute disaster. "I fervently hope not. But I think the probability is low. As you know pureblood families - especially very powerful ones like the Blacks - like to keep their treasures in the direct line."

Severus relaxes, ever so slightly. It would not be noticeable to anyone else, but I see his arms and legs relax a minute fraction and his sneer broaden just a tiny bit.

//Ah, the Snape smile.//

You take what you can get, sometimes.

"How do you plan to find this book, Headmaster? With Black gone, there is no one to guide us." Severus has a small spark of glee out of his eyes at the idea of Sirius' death, although he is careful to keep his face and voice under control.

I grind my teeth in annoyance. As much as I admire and trust Severus, as much as I lean on him, I often have a strong urge to slap him silly. Still, I keep my smile in place and say evenly, "I suspect the will is going to help us there."

"Black's will?" Snape looks like he's tasted something sour again.

"Yes, Sirius had a new will drawn up very recently. I was going to wait and have it read in conjunction with his memorial next weekend. However, I think we had better move things along as quickly as possible."

"So you think he will reveal the location of any treasure troves to us?"

"Well, not to us Severus. To his heir or heirs." I smile calmly as Severus sniffs and chews on that thought.

"And we know who that heir is." He says it a flat statement weighted with disdain.

"I think it is certain that he left nearly everything to Harry, yes." I fold my hands and give Severus my kindly-but-slightly-befuddled grandfather smile. "I also suspect he left bequests to Remus Lupin and a few other people. But in terms of what we seek, I strongly suspect it will be somewhere amidst Harry's inheritance."

He relaxes just a little more. That is a bad sign. He only relaxes this much when he is relishing the idea of something vicious and vindictive. "Then we have only to bring Mr. Potter out of Privet Drive and have him open up the vaults for us."

"Oh, it won't be that simple, Severus." I let my own smile broaden a bit. He immediately leans back, his face clouded with wariness. "We may have several places to search, and the book won't be very big. It also might be disguised. That is of course," I reach for another cup of hot chocolate that has appeared on the table, "if Harry agrees to let us search his belongings."

"If he WHAT?" Severus almost spews his wine.

"Well, it is his property Severus, or will be once the will is read. But I am sure he will give us permission to search thoroughly."

"I would think," Severus hisses through his teeth, "that you would order him to cooperate with us."

"Order him?" I chuckle softly. "Oh Severus, I'm afraid you exaggerate the extent of my influence over Harry." That is only partly true. I do not dare push very hard after recent events. "Besides, I am not Harry's wizarding guardian."

"And who would that be?"

"I don't know." The question of Harry's guardianship has always been legally hazy. Under the terms of James and Lily's wills, that honor fell to Sirius as godfather. However, when Sirius was taken to Azkaban and Harry to the Dursley's, the whole situation became hopelessly muddled. I, as Hogwarts' Headmaster, was able to gain permission for Harry to access the Potter family vaults for "educational expense," but my position with regard to him has been largely unofficial.

"Who would decide?" Snape's eyes are narrowed in interest.

Why does he have such a sudden interest in Harry's affairs? "Under legal precedent, a wizard who cannot exercise guardianship of a minor has the right to reassign that authority. My guess is that Sirius named a new guardian in his will."

"Let me guess, the werewolf!" Severus makes a sound that has elements of both snarl and chuckle.

"Yes, Remus would be the logical candidate." There truthfully aren't many other candidates. I doubt Sirius felt close enough to the Weasley's to name them as Harry's Wizarding guardians, and hurtful as it is to admit, he did not trust me enough to give me the honor.

//Wise man, that dog.//

Please do shut up, Tom.

"Would the Ministry allow a werewolf to be a guardian?" Snape asks almost sweetly. So that is it! He sees another chance to meddle, perhaps as revenge for his defeat with regard to the Cruciatus Curse.

"The legal precedents are mixed," I answer calmly, "but the Ministry could not act without a complaint from someone with standing - meaning myself, the Dursleys, possibly the Weasleys, or Harry himself. I don't think any of those parties would object to Remus."

"Oh." Severus looks like a child whose balloon has been popped. "At least the werewolf will make the brat open the vaults."

"Severus," I say, not bothering to suppress a heavy sigh, "I don't think you should presume what Remus will or will not do." I don't see Remus ordering Harry to do any such thing.

Severus reaches for another glass of wine, which has appeared to replace the empty one he set down a moment ago. Some poor house-elf is working late in the kitchens. He sips it quietly, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Why didn't you take the guardianship yourself?" Severus asks suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"During those ten years when Potter was at his relatives and Black was in Azkaban, you could have easily assumed full guardian status. No one would have been inclined to stop you."

"I did not feel it necessary."

//Rather you were afraid that to do so would mean you would have to listen to those uncomfortable feelings you were having in your heart.//

The monster in my chest stirs and flexes its limbs. When did I first start to love Harry? When he was first in my arms that Halloween night? When I watched from afar while he suffered at the hands of his relatives? When he came to Hogwarts and I had to actually look on him with my own eyes?

What does it matter, anyway?

Suddenly I put down my cup and lean forward to look more forcefully into Severus' eyes. That is an uncomfortable experience. He has learned to close himself completely, and to look into his eyes is to see only blank darkness.

"Severus, what do you want to ask?"

"What do you mean, Headmaster?"

I lean back and smile. "I have a game I play with students sometimes. It has several variants, but the key is that they can ask me whatever questions they want for a limited period and I promise to answer with absolute honesty. It often has interesting results."

"Do you think me a student, Professor?" Snape's voice is soft but prideful.

"Not at all, Severus. I think you a man who has not asked me the questions that are really on your mind. You and I have had several discussions about Harry lately, more than we usually have in several months. Something is pressing you Severus, and my guess is that unanswered questions have a great deal to do with it. They have a way of building up in a most uncomfortable way. So please, ask whatever you wish."

He twirls his wine glass, suddenly fascinated with the way the liquid inside sloshes around. I have found that this kind of invitation generally brings forth surprising queries, so I wait patiently.

Actually what he first asks is not particularly shocking. Indeed, I am amazed he has waited this long. "Four years ago, when you gave Gryffindor 170 points at the Leavetaking Feast, why did you do it?"

"Well, I suspect that even you would not argue that the individuals in question did not deserve the points, Severus, so I suppose you mean why did I do it the way I did?"

"Yes. Why did you humiliate Slytherin House in that way? Was it just to make Potter," he clenches his hand around the glass spasmodically, "happy?"

"That was part of it, a large part."

He looks up at me. His eyes are sparkling, although whether with anger or hurt I cannot tell.

"I have made many mistakes, Severus. Harry seems to be at the heart of a lot of them. Yes, I should not have allowed my feelings to move me in such a manner. But the boy had ..." suddenly my voice stops as an enormous lump appears in my throat, "but Harry had not seen much happiness or victory in his life until then. Before he came to Hogwarts most of his public experiences had been of humiliation. The opportunity to make him smile, to send him back to his relatives with a joyous memory to treasure through the summer, was too much to resist. It was a mistake, I admit. It was the mistake of an old man who got carried away."

Snape sniffs in disdain and takes a sip of his wine. "So it was just to make Potter happy!"

"I did not say that, Severus. I said that was a large part of it. There were other reasons. For one thing I wanted to send a clear message to Minerva."

"To McGonagall?" Snape gives me a look of pure surprise.

"Yes. Recall that most of the reason that Gryffindor had fallen out of the running for the House Cup came from her overly harsh deduction of points when she caught Harry and his friends - and Draco Malfoy - out of bed after hours. Minerva is a wonderful woman, but her temper gets the better of her good judgment all too often. By deducting 150 points from Gryffindor for what is, after all, a very common offense she placed her own House in an undeservedly difficult position. You noticed, did you not, how the first awards I made were 50 points, 50 points, and 60 points?"

"Yes," Severus says slowly, "but I did not see any significance."

"Minerva did, I assure you. The fact that I had merely restored the points she subtracted, plus adding ten, was not lost on her. Sometimes the best lesson is a public one, even if the only people who know it is occurring are the teacher and the pupil."

Snape's eyes widen. I am sure the thought of Minerva as a pupil is extremely novel for him.

"I also felt that a message needed to be sent to certain families - particularly the Malfoys."

"What message was that?" Snape frowns but is paying close attention.

"The Dark Lord was making clear efforts to return. His reappearance would only be a matter of time. The Malfoys and the other Deatheater families, many of whom had children in Slytherin, needed to learn that there were those who were not afraid of them - even to the extent of brazenly humiliating them in public. Fudge and his kind had spent too long trying to deny the existence of evil for the sake of peace. The Malfoys and others had grown arrogant." I sigh heavily. "That was another of my mistakes. I never should have allowed them to get away with their claims about the Imperious Curse at the end of the last war. But at the time so many people were desperate to deny that anything of Voldemort survived, and Deatheater money swayed too many opinions. In the end I felt like it was best to bide my time and hope that memory and common sense would prevail. I forgot that they almost never do."

Snape huffs in agreement. For a moment we sit in silence. "Why didn't you let me fail Potter at the end of his third year?"

"Well, Severus," I say briskly, "first of all Harry's scores were well within the range most Hogwarts instructors would consider passing. I have often spoken to you about your tendency to set unrealistic standards."

Severus growls and sips his wine.

"Harry had also had an extremely stressful year - not that he ever seems to have any other kind. Given those two factors, I frankly felt, and feel, that I was well within my professional prerogatives as Headmaster to overrule your decision in that instance."

I reach for my cup while regarding Severus carefully. Many people wonder why I allow him to remain on the faculty, with his bitter attitude and obvious biases. The answer is, of course, that I need him because of the valuable information he provides on Voldemort's followers and now Voldemort himself. However there is another reason. Ours is in some ways a cruel world, the world of wizards. The muggles give their children years of education beyond the age of eighteen. They have enormous institutions that serve as buffers between the realm of childhood and the full responsibilities of the adult. We have no such luxuries. Our world is small - absurdly tiny compared to the nations of the muggles - and we do not have the resources to provide such institutions. Instead we thrust our youth out of the doors of Hogwarts straight into their adult roles. They leave here to enter a world where prejudice, unfairness, and bitterness are all too common. Severus gives them the chance to learn how to deal with these things. I wish it did not have to be so, but better the children encounter them first here than elsewhere. So I allow him to continue in his injustice and nastiness, watching behind the scenes and quietly acting to counterbalance the worst of his excesses without appearing to do so.

For the same reasons I do not act openly to restrain the intense dislike of Slytherin House present in most of the faculty and all non-Slytherin students. Like it or not, the Slytherins will enter a Wizarding World in which their House and its values are viewed with deep distrust by most and reflexive hostility from many. Better they learn the truth here than elsewhere.

I am always hoping that the smarter students will discover the true lessons in all of this. That the House rivalries are pointless and petty, even if they are inevitable. That bitterness and gross injustice only invite retribution. That arrogance and pride in the end only make one ridiculous. Unfortunately, few students ever grasp the lessons. Then again, why should they when Severus has never been able to understand these truths himself?

"Why do you insist that I have patience with Potter?" Severus snaps.

"For the same reason I insist that I have patience with all your students, Severus."

"That isn't true. You are very particular about Potter. It's almost like you deliberately keep reminding me of his presence." Severus leans forward this time, his sharp features making him look like a dark eagle about to launch from its perch.

"You are right, Severus." I feel a frown forming on my lips and fight hard to keep my face passive. "You see, I had this odd idea - an old man's fantasy, I admit. I thought Harry could help you."

"Help me?" Snape is shocked once again.

"Yes," I say heavily. "Severus, you are a man of many demons. Most of them spring from your childhood and your time at Hogwarts. And James Potter figures very large in your pain."

"I do not deny it." Snape sits straight, his eyes gleaming again. "Why must you insist that I pretend that Potter does not bring back all that's terrible?"

"All that's terrible, Severus? Do not exaggerate. But I will acknowledge that I know his presence is painful for you."

"AND?" Severus' hands have clenched fiercely.

"And I thought that, given time, you could learn to like him."

"WHAT?" I think Snape is actually going to launch out of the chair.

"A feeble plan. But you see, he is a likable boy, and quite bright in a particular way. You really are very alike in many ways. Both high-tempered and stubborn, brave and brilliant in your audacity."

Snape just splutters in disbelief.

"Oh it's true, Severus. I thought that if I gave you enough time and patience you would grow to like Harry, at least grudgingly, at least a little bit. And if you could do that, you could put James Potter behind you at last. I thought Harry offered you a chance at healing."

He looks at me like he is assessing whether it is safe to leave me alone in order to fetch someone from the mental ward at St. Mungo's. I don't suppose I blame him.

"I will never forgive James Potter for..." Severus' face contorts as if he is in physical pain, "I will never forgive him."

"I know that now, Severus. Your experience giving Harry lessons in Occlumency made that obvious." I raise my hand to cut off his protest. "We have already discussed that, Severus. Let us not open that sore again."

Snape closes his eyes. For a moment he goes so pale I fear he is about to collapse. Then finally he lets out a breath and rises.

"Thank you, Headmaster. I think that is all I have to ask tonight."

"Good Night, Severus."

I sit for a long time after Snape leaves me. I recall what the Sorting Hat said about Severus, that his love is poisoned. Now I understand better what the Hat meant. It is as if Severus clings to a thorny vine, deliberately piercing his own flesh rather than letting go and finding peace.

But I know why he clings to that vine. He stays there because he is afraid to fall. He is afraid of where he might land. He is afraid there will not be anyone to catch him. And now he is so thoroughly impaled on the thorns of his pain and bitterness that it would tear him apart to prise him off. Perhaps long ago it could have been done. But now it is twenty years too late.

I finally rise and walk into my office. The portraits are asleep, except for Phineus who is still absent. Silently I walk over to the windows.

And for the next hour, I look at the night and try to think of nothing at all.