The Next Great Adventure

"I'm breaking clubs," Ron announced. They were playing Hearts with magical playing cards, which shouted out at cheating. "I can't believe you're playing with us - Hermione." He meant that he couldn't believe she seemed to have forgiven him so quickly, not just that she wasn't studying.

"Well, I finished my Transfigurations homework, and I did my Potions in class. Madame Pince wouldn't let me borrow any more books from the library - she says I've too many out already - but I need all the ones I've got for studying for the O.W.L.s, so I can't turn any back."

"He didn't ask for an essay," Harry replied, grinning at her. "Hey - about Potions. Do you think Snape has always been this way?"

Ron screwed up his face. "A greasy git? Of course. Mum was a couple years ahead of him in school, and she said he knew more curses than anyone else in Slytherin. Wasn't afraid to use them, either. Hermione, haven't you any clubs? Or are you going to have to break hearts?" ("She's got plenty of clubs, she can't break hearts!" the cards shouted. One of them jeered at her bad luck.)

"Because - my mum wrote about him a bit. She said he was really nice. I wonder why he turned out how he is, you know. I mean, you don't just go from being really nice to being the way he is in a moment."

"Something horrible probably happened to him," Hermione replied, as though it were obvious. "He was scarred, so he ran off and -" she stopped, remembering that the Common Room wasn't the safest place to discuss these things. "Ran off and became a greasy git, I mean. You can't deny he isn't intelligent -"

"Not intelligent enough to figure out that Neville can't function when he's terrorized," Ron replied. "I don't see why you need to defend him. Maybe he was nice once, but he's not nice now, and we have to take his class now."

Harry still looked troubled. "Well - that's the thing." He leaned forward, putting his cards down on the table. They grumbled in protest. "Today in Potions, there was a marble on Snape's desk."

"So, he likes marbles. It wouldn't be the strangest thing a person likes. Say, I heard that Draco Malfoy's dad likes doing it with corpses -" Ron's tone was suitably imbued with that odd, teenaged awe that comes from some really good gossip.

"Ron!"

"No, wait." Harry wasn't about to take offense, but he still wanted to be heard. "There were the marbles in my parents' things. When Draco Malfoy broke the trunk, they went flying everywhere. I almost think I recognize it. Anyone could have come along and picked it up."

"Blimey, Harry, you're right," Ron replied. "Between that and your mum - something's not right with the whole thing. I mean, Snape nice? Something strange is going on, sure as anything."

"Oh do be reasonable. If anything important happened, Harry would know about it - and it's not like Harry's mum could have killed Professor Snape or anything, he's still very much alive." Hermione sounded quite dry and dull to Harry's ears.

"We should know what the truth is. Haven't I the right to know what happened between Professor Snape and my own mother?" Harry asked aloud. "I'd just read her diary - but Professor McGonagall has it."

"If you're really so keen on the subject, why not ask for it back?" The voice of reason, again.

"Hermione, you don't think she'll really give it to him? Besides, she might need it to find out what the Founders' Curse is." The fire leaped behind Ron, casting dancing shadows on his face and hands. "Tomorrow - tomorrow our lesson's on Veritaserum."

"We can't!" Harry sounded nervous. "You didn't see that being given. It's horrible. You can't even decide what to say; you can't choose the wording -"

"You can choose the wording, if the dose isn't right," Hermione smugly replied. "It's all in Painstaking Potions for Perilous People. There is an art of Veritaserum - if you give too little, there's plenty of wiggle room, and if you give too much, they'll say anything that might be concieved to affect the question." She still looked distinctly uncomfortable with the idea. "So you see, it wouldn't do you any good anyway. I'm sure Professor Snape won't allow you to dose him with Veritaserum, and even if you did, he could easily get out of your questions - or you could give him an overdose, and probably drive him mad in the process!"

"All the same - we don't have to dose him then," Harry replied. "We could sneak - somewhere - with the invisibility cloak -"

"I don't have to hear this," Hermione announced. "I'm going back to my room - and I'm pretending I haven't heard anything about this horrible plan. And if you're wise, Harry, you will too." She melodramatically dropped her cards on the floor (they began cursing her quite loudly) and disappeared up the stairs to her dorm. Dean Thomas' head snapped up, his concentration broken, and he sighed.

"Do you want it, Ron?" Dean asked, turning the picture around. It was done in a realistic style with red comte, showing Hermione in profile. "It's not the best thing I've ever drawn, and it doesn't move, but -"

"It's super!" Ron seemed genuinely excited - he rarely was so animated over anything but the Chudley Cannons. "Harry - ah - mind if we go up to the dorm so I can put this away? Quieter up there, too." Although he was looking pointedly at Dean, he couldn't conceal the smile on his face.

"Thanks, Dean," Harry called over his shoulder, as they headed up the stairs.

"Yeah, thanks," Ron echoed, rather sheepishly.

She was headed to Professor Snape's private rooms, deep in the dungeon; she could hear her own boots' clack, clack echo on the stone walls. Down here the decorations were more moody, not the cheerful oddities of the higher levels. She passed a vampire, a tapestry of the battle of Agincourt, a long stretch of passageway without any markings at all. Finally, she came to a dead end. "Unheimlich," she said, tapping the wall with her wand. Stone flowed into an archway. She stepped through.

The room was surprisingly light, all things considered. There was a picture window facing the door - undoubtedly charmed to reflect the view a few stories up, as they were underground. Although all she could see were a few torches and the night beyond the windows, there were plenty of lamps on. The heavy, dark furniture reflected light from innumerable glossy surfaces.

"Minerva," Snape said in a craggy voice, most unlike his usual one. "To what do I owe this honor?" He was sitting in an armchair, his back to the door, facing an odd little fireplace in the corner. There was only one armchair pulled up to it.

"This," she replied. Standing behind his chair, she dropped Lily Evans' diary into his lap. "Harry got ahold of it. It seems you were quite good friends with Lily for awhile, weren't you?" She hadn't been able to see his face before - he was turned away from her - but now he was clearly surprised and angry. His shoulders tightened, and she could almost feel the hostility radiating off him. "I know perfectly well what the nature of your relationship was. I just - I had to read it. Lily was the last Founders' Child, you know, and she had nothing but good to say about you. Harry's read it. He won't be so understanding."

"You mean he'll be curious about what his mother ever wanted to do with the greasy git," Snape replied curtly.

"Yes."

The Potions master stood, facing Minerva over the back of the armchair. "I have a lesson on Veritaserum tomorrow."

She frowned. "You don't think he would dare -"

"I wouldn't put it past him. But if he can get into my rooms, he may as well go on and dose me with it. He won't be finding out anything he doesn't have a right to know, after all."

"It's too dangerous. Who knows what he could ask you? Severus - you must cancel that lesson. And when he finds out certain things, even I won't be able to predict his behavior. Nobody will. You knew we planned to tell him after he graduated."

"Plans change." His expression was hard, steeling himself against his emotions. Minerva recognized it as what she privately called his 'Stoic mode,' where he retreated to deal with anything distasteful. "If the boy can't deal with it now, he won't ever be able to. And he might as well hear it straight from the horse's mouth, so to say." Her lips tightened, but she didn't rise to the bait. There was a long silence; Severus walked around her, off to make tea. It was a studio apartment.

"Have you been Summoned?" she asked, out of the blue. It was the only way she could think of to ask the question: anything else sounded quite daft. The Dark Mark was not day-to-day conversation.

Snape paused as he filled the kettle. "No." It overflowed; he poured a little water out and wiped it clean before setting it on the fire. His motions were practiced; Minerva vaguely remembered that he always made his own tea. The early days of his teaching came back to her - I would hardly be a Potions Master if I didn't know how to make decent tea! "But that worries me."

"How so?"

"I knew nothing of Dumbledore's death - that is, of any plans to kill him. Nothing has been sent to me since. Nothing has been passed between Lucius Malfoy and I. Either Lord Voldemort had nothing to do with the death, or I am suspected of being a spy."

The implications were staggering. Snape stood, stock-still, arms crossed over his black robes; Minerva sagged against the armchair, feeling herself pale. "Do you think you're in danger?"

His eyes were old, older than Fawkes, as he answered. "I am always in danger. The question is only the magnitude. But yes, sometimes I wonder - if this next summons will be my last. The good in the mix is that I knew I would not be called at least until a few days after the beginning of school; perhaps this is merely that delay."

She nodded. There seemed to be nothing more to say. As she left, he seemed more strung-out, even frail; but touching him, to let him know that it was all right, was not an option.

Lily and James Potter - it had to be them - sat by the edge of a pool. Draco was looking up at them, a pale reflection of himself, trapped in the ripples. Instead of throwing stones, they looked down on him, solemn and sad.

"Do you know Harry Potter?" Lily asked.

Draco smiled. As he smiled he stretched - the water was no longer flat, but giving him form. He felt like an elemental, made of nearly nothing at all. "Perhaps. What shall you give me in return for news?"

"He's a Slytherin," James told her. "Ignore him."

Draco knew that ignoring him would be easier said than done. He suspected they were bound to the pool - and as they didn't try to move, he knew he was right. "He's a Seeker," Draco began. "But more than that - you'll have to tell me something."

They glanced at each other. "We haven't anything to tell -" James began.

"Wait," Lily broke in. "I can tell you some things about Severus Snape. Just tell me."

"Not good enough," Draco replied. "Goodbye."

With a thought, they were gone. He woke up, heart irrationally pounding, staring at the dark canopy of his bed.

He could dream lucidly. He could ask questions.

How soon could he control James and Lily Potter?