Coming Of Age

Coming of Age

Chapter Four - The Potions Master

When Harry awoke, the sun was desperately trying to rise through the fog bank that shrouded the English Channel in a thick grey murk.

He lay very still; trying to convince himself he was actually in his nice, warm, comfortable bed back in the lighthouse. However, his mattress didn't usually have huge great rocks in it and the covers were neither damp nor cold. And, he reminded himself; Emily did not snore like a loud foghorn.

Eventually he sat up, stiff from the damp, and found a thin layer of mist teasing its way over both him and the cliff top. With a look of distaste, he pulled at his tee shirt, which clung uncomfortably to his damp skin. The mist clung to everything, his clothes, his hair, and his skin. It even dripped from the frames of his glasses. "Now, that must have been one hell of a party," he mused softly.

For a while, he didn't move, not sure he had either the energy or the inclination needed to force his legs to work. He watched tendrils of mist snake over the cliff edge and come toward him. Against the backdrop of the regular sound of at least two foghorns, the whole scene was very eerie.

He shivered, rubbing warmth into his arms, and scrambled to his feet. Something fluttered from his lap and he glanced down into the mist. A large white wing feather lay at his feet. Picking it up, Harry stroked it between his fingers, but didn't connect it with anything from the night before.

The idea of a hot drink and dry clothes spurred him across the otherwise deserted landscape towards the lighthouse. He let himself quietly into the kitchen and pulled the curtains back. A weak sun illuminated the clock - 5:10am it ticked loudly in the silence. Yawning, he picked up the electric kettle and put it on to boil. For a moment he stood still, eyes closed and drifted towards sleep again. Then, with a jolt, he came too and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Yawning again, he took off his glasses, then his shirt and reached for a towel. He vigorously rubbed at his hair and dried the dampness from his body before staring at his reflection in a small mirror.

"What a mess!" He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make some order out of the dark locks. It stuck up all over the place and refused to lay flat. In fact, Harry blinked at the reflection, it refused to even look like the same hair he had combed the previous evening. The shock of finding his hair was no longer short and tidy was so complete that Harry didn't even feel shocked. He just stared blankly at the untidy, nearly collar-length hair, which now looked just as it had three years before.

He remembered Aunt Petunia chopping all his hair off one evening. The following day, it had grown back to almost the same style. "Magic," he mumbled. "Bloody magic!" This was not a reflection of his pleasure, but an indication of his annoyance. He raked at the dark strands and wondered how on earth he would ever be able to explain it.

Then it all came flooding back. Events in the car, collapsing at the party, the strange dream-like vision, a lion, sitting out on the cliff in the middle of the night, Hedwig.

Hedwig!

Harry spun round and grabbed at the feather. Had his owl really been there? Was this one of her feathers? Was she still his owl after three years? Stupid question! And ... There had been someone out there with him on the cliff. Someone who had held him while he cried.

The click of the kettle as it turned off was very loud in the silent kitchen. Harry didn't notice as he slumped onto the chair and stared at the feather, his green eyes wide with disbelief.

He didn't hear the door open or the soft foot falls on the wooden floor. In fact, he was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that even the touch on his shoulder didn't make him jump; he merely looked up and into Emily's face.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the temple, near the outer corner of his eye. "Where did you get too? I thought you might have decided to walk out on me." Her arms snaked around Harry's bare shoulders, fingers linking lightly together across his chest.

Harry placed the feather carefully on the table and reached for Emily's fingers. "I just needed some air and I fell asleep outside." He leaned back into her, drawing warmth into his body and remembered the warmth of the person out on the cliff top, the feeling of complete security the embrace had left him with. Now he felt lost and confused. Unsure of anything. "Did you miss me?"

"What do you think? It worries me that you go wandering off on that cliff in the dark. One day you'll forget where the edge is." She leaned her face against his hair, which felt different, softened by the mist. Lazily, she pulled a hand free and ran it through the dark strands. A frown creased her forehead. It seemed different, just a little more curly at the ends, fuller, silkier than she remembered. Maybe it was the gel he'd been using, but there was something about Harry's hair that she she'd never noticed before.

She let go and moved round to face him, sitting on the edge of the table. She reached up and buried her fingers into his hair, pushing it back from his face. From the front it didn't seem so different, but she was sure it didn't normally curl around his neck like that. Jade eyes met her own and there was a far-away look in them, one that she recognised with some concern. Harry could become very melancholy when the mood grabbed him. As though he was a million miles away or, as Ron sometimes put it, in a different galaxy. It would go as quickly as it came, and she knew that by tomorrow he would be back to his old self. But when he got like this, he was a different person, caught up in something she knew nothing about.

"Did you have a good day yesterday?"

"Umm." He leaned forward, his head in her lap.

Emily felt his hands ball up into her dressing gown, holding onto the fabric. She'd gotten used to these strange moments of darkness from him. He would become quiet, introspective and go wandering off into the night. So far, he had never answered her questions about what troubled him so deeply, but one day, she would find out. But not now, not until he was ready to confide in her. Instead, she just sat there, cradling him and gently stroking his hair.

******************

Draco Malfoy woke feeling like he had spent the night in the Sleazy Weasel drinking copious Mai Tais and other intoxicating beverages. His mouth felt like the inside of something unmentionable and just the merest hint of a headache crashed like a brick against the inside of his skull. For a while he debated whether dying might be a good option, but in the end decided against that strategy - at least for the time being anyway.

Instead he carefully hauled himself onto an elbow and reached for the glass on his bedside cabinet. The glass, bewitched to refill and keep the water fresh, was emptied and he dropped back down to the pillows.

Even with the thundering headache, Draco had a completely clear recollection of the previous day's events. So clear, it was as if someone had chiselled it onto the surface of his brain: events in his father's vault where Lucius usually held his Death Eater meetings, the burst of energy which had passed through him, Potter in the car, the scar on his own neck. Even the Imperius Curse Voldemort had cast at the party. He wondered whether the after-effects of the curse were the basis of the hangover-like symptoms and decided it was probably the case. After all, he'd hardly drunk anything at the party. Then he wondered whether he might still be under the curse, but decided he wasn't because if he were, he wouldn't realise and therefore wouldn't be having this conversation with himself.

Without even touching it, he was aware of the scar near his throat. It seemed to itch, but not in an irritating way, as if reminding him of its existence. He wondered why Voldemort had bothered using Imperius. It was highly unlikely he would have answered the Dark Lord's questions with "Bugger off you old fraud, get someone else to do your dirty work". Of course, Draco knew Voldemort had been throwing his weight around to show just who was in control of events. He'd wanted to make sure Draco understood just how easy it was for someone to control him.

It was strange how alike Lucius and Voldemort were, Draco pondered. Both men took great delight in being in control and neither had any qualms about using violence to prove a point or to make others toe the line. If he hadn't known different, Draco might have assumed they had always been one and the same person.

He paused, the thought causing the brick to slam even harder into the sides of his skull. No ... that wasn't possible. Draco had been told all the stories of what had happened to the Dark Lord after he attacked Potter as a baby. He knew how Voldemort had been reduced to a being without form, but able to inhabit other peoples' bodies, as he had done with Professor Quirrell during Draco's first year at Hogwarts. Lucius had even told Draco how the Dark Lord had risen again into human form after the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year.

But what if Voldemort had taken over his father's body years before the Final Battle? What if the two had been one since the Triwizard rebirth? What if ...

No! That wasn't possible. Surely Draco would have known. Would have realised this man was not the father of his boyhood. But he hadn't realised for the last three years, had he?

Draco closed his eyes and let his body go limp, sinking into the feather mattress. It was a nightmare. Perhaps he was actually asleep and would wake up and find it was the morning of his 21st birthday and none of this had actually happened. Some hope of that. It was more likely to snow in hell first!

He didn't move for a while, aware of a strand of hair tickling his cheek. He concentrated on the sensation, grateful for something so normal and ordinary to occupy his mind.

Well, whatever Voldemort was planning, Draco decided he wasn't just going to lie around and wait. He had a life to lead - things to do - places to go - and he wasn't going to bow down and let him take everything.

Unless, of course, Voldemort used Imperius again, then what choice did he have?

Feeling just a little ambivalent towards his 'master', Draco sat up, his teeth clenched. There had to be an answer to this. One that didn't involve him getting killed. Normally he managed to find answers, so why should this be any different?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and noticed for the first time he was still dressed in his clothes from the previous evening. "Oh, no!" he scowled, wondering just what state he'd been in and who had dumped him on the bed.

Cross at everyone, he stripped off the clothes and stomped, naked, to the bathroom.

********************

Thursday 16th August 2001

Severus Snape hadn't changed much over the years. He still had black shoulder-length hair and the same black beetle-like eyes. He still had the same sour look, which said 'everyone is against me'. And he still dressed in the same black robes he had always worn even though he was no longer a teacher.

He also felt very out of place in Hermione's lounge. It was too ... Muggle for his liking and for some reason it made him uneasy to be sitting in the big squashy armchair while trying to have a serious conversation. Or perhaps it was the fact Crookshanks; Hermione's big ginger cat, was sitting on the floor in front of him, staring at him with his big lamp-like eyes. Snape had surreptitiously tried to shoo the animal away with a quick flick of his foot, but that had only served to make the cat more intent on remaining.

Of course, he might also be feeling uncharitable because taking up the remaining pieces of furniture were a gaggle of ex-Gryffindor students, all of whom he had picked on, given detention to, or subsequently punished in someway over the years they had been at Hogwarts. But he had promised Dumbledore he would keep an eye on them and whether he liked it or not, they had saved his life. Yet another reason to hate them. Ron and Hermione were on the settee, while Fred and George were sitting in the two remaining armchairs. He was grateful the twins now had different hairstyles - at least he could tell them apart.

He cleared his throat and cast his black eyes around the four people watching him, pleased to see they all looked suitably subdued and contrite. He held up the piece of paper the twins had found in Harry's car and finally spoke. "I have..."

The sound of the rear door crashing open made everyone jump and the youngsters turned as one towards the door leading to the kitchen, four wands pointing in the general direction. Snape's lips became a thin line at the interruption.

"Sorry I'm late." A voice yelled from the kitchen. "I got caught in a storm over the New Forest." There was a crash of bells and a tinkle of broken glass. "Sorry," the voice shouted again. "I've got my broom caught."

Hermione scrambled to her feet and rushed to the door. "Excuse me," she said politely.

The door flew open, catching Hermione and she stumbled back a couple of paces, straight into Snape's chair. Snape's hands caught her, but not before she ended up almost in his lap.

Neville Longbottom tried to pull her back to her feet. "Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry. I didn't..." He suddenly realised who was sitting in the chair and despite being nearly 22 years old, his face flushed red to the tips of his ears. "Professor, I..." he gulped.

"Longbottom." That single word reduced Neville back into a quivering 11-year-old. Back then, as a first year, he had been a slightly over-weight, round-faced boy with a forgetful memory. Now he was almost as tall as Ron and had lost much of the puppy fat. He still had a round face, however, which had a habit of betraying his true feelings.

Neville pushed his long hair from his face and worked hard at convincing himself he was no longer one of Snape's students. He was training to be an Auror, as his parents had been, and despite Snape's lack of faith in him as a boy, Neville was now usually top of his class. "Professor," he nodded at the older man and reached out a hand to help Hermione back to her feet. "I'm sorry," he said again, this time directing his words to the woman. "I caught my broomstick in your wind chimes and pulled them down. They broke one of your vases."

"It's okay." She pulled away from him, as his robes were wet with rain, no doubt from the storm over the New Forest.

"Shall I go and fix it?"

"No, don't worry. I'll do it later. Do you need a towel?"

Neville shook his head and, giving Snape a sideways glance, drew out his wand. It might have been his imagination, but he thought for a moment everyone shied away from him. With a silent tut, he waved the wand up his body and intoned a drying spell. Much to everyone's surprise, it worked like a dream and he took off the now dry cloak and sat down on the arm of the settee.

No one spoke. "Did I say I was sorry for being late?" Everyone except Snape smiled.

"As I was about to say," Snape finally spoke. "I have been trying to unravel what has been used in the potion impregnated in this paper and..."

"May I?" Neville held out his hand for the paper Snape was holding.

"Very well!" He said sharply and passed it to the young man. "The potion is a form of Speculumous, a very strong mirroring spell used to link two distant subjects together. One person will feel an echo of any spell cast on the other. The spell is normally one way - trigger to target, but it can also be cast to work in either direction. This potion has additional ingredients I have so far been unable to identify. It is possible they will make the potion work differently."

"So, what you are saying," Ron stretched his legs out in front of him and studied the toes of his shoes, "is that someone is linked to Harry now?"

Snape nodded. "In a manner of speaking. Usually the link is only through the spells. Not day-to-day living. If the standard potion were used and, for instance, you and Longbottom were linked by it, it would not affect either of you in the normal course of events. But, if I put a Body Bind curse on Longbottom, you would experience an echo of that curse - anything from a mild paralysis to the full thing depending on the distance involved and the power of the curse."

"But why?" George was fiddling with his ponytail as he thought things through. "Why not just put the Body Bind curse onto Ron?"

"Simple, Weasley, I don't have your brother in my immediate vicinity. He is miles, perhaps hundreds of miles away. What I do have is Longbottom who I can curse to my heart's content because he is trapped in my evil clutches."

"That's horrible," Hermione responded, shocked.

"Dark Magic is not supposed to be nice. It would defect the object if it were. I have seen this used several times in the past when I was..." Snape paused, not wanting to remind them of the fact he had once been a Death Eater and a supporter of Voldemort. "When the Dark Lord was at the height of power he used the curse to destroy the will of those who were against him. There would be a trigger person, who could be anyone, who he would link through the Mirror spell with his target, the person he wished to destroy. Once the spell was cast, he could use, for example, the Cruciatus on the trigger and the echo of that curse would be felt by the target. He would curse the trigger as often as he wanted, sometimes for a few seconds or maybe for hours. Of course, it eventually destroyed the trigger, but the effect on the target was that of a dripping tap. It slowly drained away their power and resolve. It would almost be as though they were wasting away."

"What would happen," Hermione asked, "if something like Avada Kedavra was used?"

"The trigger would die immediately, of course, and the target would also die." Snape paused, "Not necessary immediately, but within hours depending on how far he was from the trigger and the strength of the original potion. It turned Avada Kedavra into a slow torture for the victim."

Neville looked up from the paper. "This is a very strong potion. I'm picking up some very strong ingredients. There's Asphodel. And..." His eyes suddenly widened. "There's unicorn blood in it."

Snape raised an eyebrow as though he was impressed. "Taken from a live animal I believe."

Neville seemed shaken, but he took a calming breath. Then, raising his wand over the paper, he closed his eyes. "I think the residue on this paper isn't the actual potion. It's just been handled as an afterthought. The caster used an intermediary - a woman - to give the potion. As for the caster, I'm not getting any information on them." His eyes opened, the pupils appearing very large as he stared off into the distance. "The potion was given skin-to-skin which makes it much more powerful then if Harry had just handled it on the paper. If it got into a wound or an old scar..." His eyes locked with Snape's and for the first time he saw respect in them. "If it's got into his blood, we won't be able to stop it. It might also explain why Harry is using magic again after shutting it down so completely. Unlike the other hexes they've used on him, this is powerful enough to kick-start him back into action."

"Well done, Longbottom. Fifty points to Gryffindor." Even when being congratulatory, Snape's voice was tinged with sarcasm. "Miss Granger, what did you feel when you were tracking Potter?"

Hermione was too busy staring open-mouthed to reply. It was Ron who finally answered. "She kept saying Harry's scar was bleeding; that there was blood on his hands. Last night I did a card reading and some runic work and I kept coming up with lightning covered in blood."

"This is all very well. This doom and gloom stuff." Fred scrambled to his feet. "But can we have some positive vibes here as well. Enough of the evil forces stuff, let's get back to the cure."

"There is none." Snape was blunt

"There must be."

"No," Neville interjected. "The Professor's right. There isn't one apart from the death of the trigger or that of the target."

Hermione closed his mouth. "There has to be something else."

Snape sat back in his chair. "You find out who is the trigger and get them away from the caster of the spell."

"I can live with that." George wiggled a finger at Snape. "How do we find out who's been cursed?"

Snape shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. It could be anyone, even one of you. We have no way of knowing, short of the caster telling us."

"Neville, tell me he's wrong."

"Can't. He's right."

"Then are you saying there's nothing any of us can do?" Ron's voice had started to rise, as he got more and more frustrated with the inaction. "That we just sit back and let this happen?"

'We can protect him," Neville pointed out. "If he were here now and a curse was put on the trigger, we would be able to nullify the effect. We can't stop it, but we would be able to make it much less effective."

"And Potter needs to have his own protection. His wand and his own very powerful magical abilities," Snape added.

The room became very quiet and no one seemed to want to look at each other. Finally Hermione cleared her throat. "How are we going to do that?"

Snape looked skyward and mouthed an obscenity. "No wonder you were all in Gryffindor! Stop being stupid for just a moment and use the intelligence I know you all have." His gaze left the ceiling and raked over the five individuals who suddenly looked like they were all very young children. "TALK TO HIM! Tell Potter what is going on."

"But..."

"There is no 'but', Weasley. He has to be told even if he decides to do nothing about it. And if you don't talk to him, then I will."

Ron looked down the line of people who, as usual, looked back at him, expecting him to make a decision. "Okay, Professor, why don't you go and talk to him."

That was not the response Snape expected and the look he gave Ron would be the subject of hours of mirth in the Weasley household for months to come. "Very well," was the only thing Snape could think of saying.

********************

Friday 17th August 2001

Harry flicked idly through the magazine, occasionally stopping to read a few words or to study a photograph. He lay sprawled along the length of the settee, legs crossed at the ankles and back propped against several cushions. Rain splattered against the windowpanes, making the room feel like it was cut off from the rest of the world.

Emily was sat at the dining table, her laptop open in front of her. She was trying to write an article for one of Ron's magazines, but it was proving to be a taxing experience. She pressed a finger on the backspace key and wiped out the last sentence. "Bugger."

Harry glanced at her over the top of his rimless glasses. "Language."

"You can shut up too." She twisted round towards him, an arm resting on the back of her chair. "Haven't you got anything more constructive to do?"

"No."

"You could go out and take some photographs..."

"It's raining."

"... of the rain."

"I'm quite happy here, thanks." He flicked over another page.

"You're interfering with my concentration."

He gave a laugh. "How? I've hardly made a sound for at least 20 minutes."

"You're just..." Emily gestured with her hands, "here!"

"Well, pardon me for breathing."

She stood and sauntered over to the settee and sat down beside Harry's thigh. He shifted slightly to give her more room. "You're just very distracting. I'm trying to work and all the time I can hear you rustling."

"Rustling?"

Emily pulled the magazine from his hands, "Rustling," and dropped it on the floor. "It's very off putting."

"Sorry. I'll try and rustle more quietly next time." His hand wandered to her leg.

"Good." Reaching forward, Emily removed his glasses. The green eyes met her hazel ones with a playful sparkle. "So, how do you fancy doing some proof reading?" The glasses were placed carefully on the coffee table.

"In the middle of the afternoon?" Harry gave a good impression of being shocked.

"Go on..." she leaned forward and kissed him, "...live a little."

Harry bent his knees; the movement bringing Emily closer, and his hand ran up her side, pulled at her shirt. "Well, I guess I can spare you a few minutes in my otherwise exhaustive schedule." His other hand moved to her shoulder and he pulled her towards him. "Got any correction fluid?" Emily giggled into the kiss.

The doorbell rang.

The sound was sudden and unexpected. They sprang apart as though caught doing something very wrong. "Bugger." It was Harry's turn to swear. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No." She shook her head. "Perhaps if we keep quiet they will go away. It's probably just tourists wanting to look round."

"In this weather?"

The bell rang again, this time sounding angry, if it was possible for a bell to have an emotion. Emily shifted, pulling her shirt back down, and stood. "Don't go away. I'll get rid of whoever it is." She squared her shoulders and headed into the hall.

Harry didn't move. If there was one thing Emily was good at, it was getting rid of unwanted visitors. He lay back against the pillows, closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Maybe, if he started undoing some buttons now, it would save time when she got back. A wicked grin slowly spilled across his face. Maybe he could take everything off and...

"Harry." Emily's voice did not sound like someone waiting to play.

He heard her close the door and he looked backwards over his shoulder just enough to make eye contact. "Have they gone?"

"Umm, no. There's someone calling himself Professor Snape wanting to see you. He..." She watched as Harry almost fell off the settee in his struggle to sit up. "...says you know him."

Harry struggled to his feet, shirt hanging out untidily from one side of his trousers, and grabbed for his glasses. "Snape?" he hissed. "Here?"

"He's in the hall."

"Here? What does he want?"

"How should I know? I'm not a mind reader. He's a bit, well, strange."

"That's an understatement."

"And I don't know how he got here. There's no sign of a car or anything. We'll probably have to call him a taxi if we want to get rid of him."

"Well," Harry tucked his shirt back into place. "I've called him worse than that in my time. I guess I'd better talk to him." He ran his fingers through his hair, still the same length as he'd found it the day after his birthday. He had considered shortening it with a spell, but decided against it. Magic without a wand wasn't an exact science and he was worried something serious might go wrong. He certainly didn't want to end up blond, or. So far, no one had commented on it, not even Emily. Maybe it was a wizarding thing. Maybe Muggles didn't notice the fact his hair had grown.

Emily opened the door. "Professor, please come in. May I take you ... umm ... cloak?" She gave an exaggerated smile at the strange outer garment; especially considering it was still the middle of summer.

Snape stepped into the room and stared across at Harry as he released the silver clasp. "Thank you." He folded the cloak and handed it to Emily. "Potter," he finally nodded at Harry.

And Harry tried not to laugh. He had never seen Snape dressed in anything but black wizarding robes. His ex-potions teacher dressed rather bizarrely in beige corduroy Quidditch trousers and what was clearly an old Slytherin sweater - dark green with a silver stripe across the chest. It wasn't so much the clothes he found amusing, but the fact Snape actually did wear something under his robes. He wondered whether his bet with Seamus Finnigan was still valid after all these years. Seamus had always claimed Snape wore nothing! Harry finally spoke. "Afternoon, Professor." He held a hand out towards Emily. "This is Emily Shaw. Emily, this is one of my teachers from college. He taught ... chemistry."

The three stood watching at each other, and then Emily broke the silence. "I'll just hang this up." She indicated the cloak. "Would you like tea or coffee?"

"No, thank you. I need to talk with ... Harry ... alone."

She looked shocked at his bluntness and Harry was worried she might argue. Instead she gave Snape a very hard stare and in a clipped voice she responded. "I'll be in the study if you need anything." The door slammed behind her.

"I see you've been taking lessons in diplomacy since we last met." Harry folded his arms across his chest and didn't ask Snape to sit down.

Snape ignored the boy's sarcasm. "I could hardly have this conversation with a Muggle in the room. Or have you told her the truth?"

"No, she doesn't know anything about ... my past."

"Then it's a good thing I sent her away."

"You'd better sit down." Harry indicated a chair, but remained standing himself.

Snape didn't move. "Potter, I need you to listen carefully to what I am about to say. Someone has put a very powerful curse on you."

"Excuse me?"

"Shut up and listen." Snape stepped towards the young man, his voice low. "You have been effectively poisoned by a potion called a Speculumus." He saw Harry look down at his right hand. "How it works isn't important, but you are in great danger from it." Harry finally sat, unable to speak. "I see no reason to beat about the bush."

Standing over Harry, Snape quickly went on to explain to him what had happened and the consequences. As he spoke, Harry, who had been sitting on the edge of his chair, slipped further and further backwards, his face surprisingly calm, but his emerald eyes wide in horror.

When he finished, Snape finally sat, feeling a sense of satisfaction at Harry's distress. It wasn't nice, but it did make up for all the insults the boy had traded over the years. "Now, tell me what has happened to you since your birthday."

Harry took a breath and began, explaining what had happened to him since the car journey from London. Surprisingly, by the time he had finished, Harry had calmed down a little and no longer felt the need to run around like a headless chicken. Snape, however, looked genuinely concerned, especially when Harry recounted his encounter with the cliff edge. " I did wonder if it might be Imperius," Harry offered. "But it felt different."

Snape knew it was different from a simple Imperius curse. He had experienced something similar through his own link with the Dark Lord and it was only through Dumbledore's faith in him that Snape had overcome that Darkness himself. "There is very powerful dark magic around you at the moment, Potter. Dark magic is almost a life force, capable of its own actions if given the right incantations. It can force you to do its bidding. Captivate you into thinking an action is your own free will. That is what tried to send you over the edge of the cliff. You were fortunate to have been distracted."

"And when I collapsed. Was that the same?"

"No, I think that was the echo of an Imperius curse on the trigger. It will feel very different from the curse actually being used directly on you. Now, you mentioned a photograph."

Harry nodded. "Just a minute." He left the room and returned with a printout of Isabel's photo, clearly showing the over-laid image. "The others are just normal prints. I saw the dual-image through the viewfinder as well."

Snape took the print, studying it.

"Do you know who they are?"

The professor's face had become set, betraying nothing. Of course he knew. The older woman was Narcissa Malfoy. He had attended Hogwarts with the woman. Had been a guest at her wedding. Had been a Death Eater with her husband. Had been betrayed by her.

Should he tell Potter? Lucius Malfoy did have the knowledge to use Speculumus, even Snape, himself, could make the potion. But was Malfoy really powerful enough to actually cast the curse, especially with the added element of using an intermediary? If he did have that power, then Malfoy was even more dangerous than most people thought.

He decided not to say more until he had confirmed his own fears. "I'm not sure. I will check it out." Snape got to his feet. "I think we should leave."

"We?"

"Yes. Haven't you been listening? It's not safe for you to remain here. You need to be where there is strong magic to protect you." Snape waved a hand absently around the room. "There is nothing here."

Harry's mouth set in a hard determined line. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Have you have been listening to what I have just told you?"

"I made my decision and I'm not leaving."

Harry had expected Snape to get angry or something along those lines. Instead he just stared hard at him until Harry looked away. "Just as Black said you would."

Harry's head snapped back. "You've spoken to Sirius?"

"Unfortunately."

"Is he okay?"

"What do you think?" Snape's voice was even harder than usual and he did nothing to hide his contempt for the man. "Since you left, he has been trying to deal with the fallout of the Dark Lord's death. Things are very different now, Potter. You may have killed the Master, but his servants are now running the show."

"I assumed everything would settle down."

"Oh, it has settled. But not in the way you might expect. Lucius Malfoy is now in charge, which is very similar to giving a fox the run of the chicken coup."

"Malfoy is Minister of Magic? That's ridiculous. He was one of Voldemort's key people."

Snape tried not to wince at the use of the name of the man he once served. "Mr Malfoy purports to be a 'changed man'. People see him as some great philanthropist now - throwing his largess for all the down-trodden masses." He paused. "But that is getting off topic. Your godfather is Deputy Minister so at least he can keep an eye on things."

Harry gave a wistful smile. "I bet that made the headlines of The Daily Prophet. Ex-Azkaban prisoner finally makes it to the big time. Do you know how everyone else is?" He met Snape's black gaze. "Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger..."

"What do you care about them?" Snape's voice became hurtful. "If you won't be sensible, then the least you can do is to try to protect yourself. Here." Snape produced a wand.

It happened so quickly Harry didn't see where it came from. He took it, knowing it was his own without even having to look. It sent a tingle through his hand and arm, which continued through the whole of his body. "Thank you," was all he could think to say.

"And that bracelet." Snape wiggled a finger at the twin cords from Harry's presents that he still had tied round his left wrist. "It's been imbibed with some very strong protection magic. You should change it to your right wrist - your wand hand."

"Oh," Harry twisted the cord. "Then you must know who sent it."

"Of course I do, Potter. Weasley, Granger, Longbottom and others are all there for you. What sort of life do you think your friends have had? Did you imagine they were sitting around enjoying themselves? Who do you think has been looking after your?"

"I don't understand."

"Think then! Did you really believe you could just leave after what you did to the Dark Lord? Didn't it occur to you that his followers would hunt you down? Death Eaters don't forgive, they get even. They want you dead." He came to his feet, and Harry rose as well. "Don't be afraid to ask for help, Potter." He held out his own wand, "Accio," and his cloak appeared. He pulled it around his shoulders. "Don't try to deal with this on your own. If you do you will get us all killed."

With that he disapparated, leaving nothing in the room but a faint trace of his magic.

Harry stared at the spot the wizard had occupied a few seconds before, unable to move. In his hand the wand felt like the only part of him still alive. He felt like he was on a roller coaster - one moment he was up in the air and everything was fine. Then the next he was plunging downwards into the depths, confused, lost, in darkness.

He had been telling himself for days that everything would work out in the end, but each time he thought he was dealing with this, something else got thrown into the pot and he was back at the beginning again.

Harry held up his wand and turned it over and over in his hands. This only made things worse. Trying the odd spell without a wand was one thing, but now he had his wand back, how could he NOT use magic? Before he could change his mind, he raised the wand and let it swish downwards. A cascade of gold and red sparks streamed from the wand, dancing around the room like a shower of fireflies on a summers evening. He reached up, feeling the sparks burst against his skin, the sensation like bubbles popping.

Then he plunged into darkness again. How could he have been so stupid after that final battle with Voldemort? What was it Snape had said to him. "Did you really believe you could just leave?" Actually, yes he had. He assumed he could just ride off into the sunset and everyone would forget about him. Had he been happily playing at Muggle, while all the time Ron, Hermione and others had been 'looking after him'?

He thought about Emily and wondered what he should tell her. The truth? Nothing? If Snape was telling the truth, then Emily was equally in danger and he needed to do something to protect her. A flicker of a smile ghosted on his face as he pictured her in the study no doubt sticking pins into an effigy of Snape. She would be even angrier at the fact the professor had left before she had the chance to get even.

Harry looked his wand again, wandering what he should do with it. He knew he should keep it with him, but Muggle clothes didn't contain the wonderful pockets of wizarding robes. The last of the stars finally disappeared as Harry felt the words Let go echo through his mind. After a brief hesitation, he released the wand. It didn't fall to the ground, but floated serenely close to his hand.

"Well, I'll be..." Harry raised his hand and the wand followed, mirroring the movement. It dodged around other objects, all the time remaining close to Harry's side. And when he silently 'asked' the wand to come to his hand, it was there in a heartbeat. He couldn't help but grin as the darkness lifted.

He released the wand again and intoned "Abstrudere." The wand faded away to nothing, but he could still sense it by his side. Now, if only he could placate Emily as easily. He headed for the door. "Come on."

The invisible wand let out a few sparks just to reassure Harry it was still there.

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