Hidden Truth

8. As It Resurfaces

Severus Snape swept through the rows of hospital beds towards the secluded section, where the more severe injured lay. For once, his stride hadn't an aura of foreboding around. Though the grim mien remained, it was the malice that lacked completely - at least for the trained eye. Catching sight of Neville Longbottom, Snape almost slowed down. Who would have thought that this klutz Neville had such courage in himself? Snape definitely not, but then again, there must have been a reason why the Sorting Hat had put Neville in Gryffindor - other than it could have been considered a joke. Snape's long-time suspicion that the insufferable Weasley twins had somehow managed to manipulate the Sorting Hat's decision, had been blown into the wind by now. After only a moment's hesitation, the Potions Master averted his eyes from the prone figure of the boy he had considered the clumsiest since Nymphadora Tonks herself.

Whereas Longbottom was merely sleeping due to exhaustion, there were a lot of students who were put into a comatose state, for they weren't capable of coping with their severe injuries in their weakened state in any other form. They would have to transfer a considerably amount of magic to keep them at an acceptable level - where acceptable was merely considered 'medically alive'.

A cool gust from behind ruffled Severus' hair. A faint clicking sound a few moments later indicated that the door had swung closed again. He didn't even need to turn around to be sure that it was the Dream Team who had just entered the Hospital Wing. The air of importance that seemed attached to Potter and his two faithful sidekicks wherever they went, caused Snape's skin to bristle dangerously. But he didn't slow down in the least, finally arriving at his destination. Pulling the curtain, which parted the infirmary aside, he was greeted by a very weary-eyed Filius Flitwick. It appeared - and it was true - that the tiny professor had made the night through, casting spell after spell, exhausting himself thoroughly. Dark rings under his glazed eyes indicated even better the lack of sleep.

"Ah, Severus," Flitwick said so softly that not even his squeaking voice was heard properly. "Finally reinforcement."

"Rather substitute," Snape growled. "You are of no help in this state-"

"Severus!" Minerva McGonagall snapped. The Transfigurations Teacher had been tending to Colin Creevy, who had tried to get a good shot of Voldemort for his parents. Scowling through a layer of dishevelled hair, she tried in vain to intimidate the Potions Master. "This is not the place nor the time for your sarcasm. We need every help we can get, so you'll just have to get over your petty antipathies, for Merlin's sake!"

Flitwick flinched and emitted a weak squeak. He didn't like to be the centre of attention. Though it was true that he and Snape weren't really what one considered best friends, not even plain friends at that, but he knew that this time Severus' intention was nothing but a good one - for once.

Snape opted to ignore McGonagall and continued to frown at Flitwick. "I'd recommend a Pepper-Up potion but as we haven't got any left ... you'll need to eat something and rest at least four hours. We can't have you collapsing out of exhaustion, now can we? There aren't any beds left. Go!" Severus watched out of the corner of his eyes as Filius smiled weakly and left the Medical Wing. As he was the head of Ravenclaw, he knew that he wasn't of any significant use in his current drained state. Taking a break to refresh him was the best option. Snape then locked eyes with McGonagall whose lips were pressed together into a firm line, raising one eyebrow. He knew that this Gryffindor would have acted differently. And not only this Gryffindor. 'Ugh. Too stubborn for their own good.'

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Though he was smiling, there wasn't even the tiniest twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he greeted Hermione, Harry and Ron in the ward of the Hospital Wing.

"Headmaster," Hermione nodded and told him what the reason of their visit was. "You said we could give parts of our magic for the infirmary if we wouldn't want or haven't got the time to help ourselves ..."

Dumbledore cocked his head and studied his three students sadly. "Indeed."

"I've been thinking about the wards Voldemort has installed and if we could use the library for research, then maybe we could find a way to speed things a bit up with the extinguishing."

Dumbledore's face lightened up immediately. "An intriguing idea." He knew that if someone could manage it, it would be Hermione Granger.

The girl beamed at the small compliment and went on to explain. "The sooner we are able to put out the wards, the sooner we'd get professional help from St. Mungos. The confined state we are currently under would be over. I am aware that we're running out of time."

"We'd be more helpful in the library than here, Headmaster," Harry added and even Ron had been convinced by Hermione on their way to the infirmary.

"Very well. You may use the library for your research," Dumbledore said, reaching for his wand.

"Wouldn't we need to get into the secluded area, too?" Ron asked. "I mean, if You-Know-Who set up the wards, they are probably related to the darker magic ..."

Dumbledore nodded affirmative. "Very good, Mr. Weasley." He smiled softly and wrote a quick note which allowed them into the restricted library area. "Well. Ms. Granger? Would you please extend your right index finger, so I shall extract your magical essence?"

Hermione hesitantly complied and watched as Dumbledore's wand touched the tip of her finger lightly. A tingling sensation rushed through her body towards the wand, as she felt a great part of her magic leaving. Not everything, as they'd both need it to survive themselves and to make their research easier. After he finished with Hermione, the headmaster turned to both Harry and Ron.

"And do not worry, your magic will have replaced itself within two days," Dumbledore explained.

Ron reached for his wand and cast a simple Lumos spell. The tip of his wand glowed, not as brightly as usually, but enough to see clearly. It was strange, though, as not the same amount of power as usual rushed through his arm. The redhead shrugged it off, as it was as the headmaster had said: No need to worry.

Dumbledore's sighing turned the attention of the three teenagers back. "I believe the three of you will do fine?" It was clear to what the headmaster was referring.

Ron frowned, being forcefully remembered of his deceased sister. "Oh yes." If it hadn't been the situation, nobody would have probably noticed the underlying sarcasm.

"Ron," Harry said, feeling slightly helpless. Hermione tried to put a comforting hand on the redhead's shoulder, but he just shrugged it off. He refused to say anything more on the topic, for he needed to cope with it in his own way, even if it seemed so out of character for him.

Dumbledore sighed once more, regarding the students in front of him with an unusual mixture of sorrow and pride. Every one of them had gone through so much already in their young lives and yet ... It was still not enough. Even after Voldemort was finally dead, the perpetuum mobile just went on and on. The true never ending story. "I shall now bring this," he lifted his hand still holding his wand, "to Professor McGonagall. I trust you will report if you found anything of importance?"

"Certainly," Hermione replied, nodding. Rising from their seats, she, Harry and Ron left the Hospital Wing. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

"It has to be pretty bad," Harry commented solemnly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, as the little group walked through the hallways. Was it just him or was it really getting steadily colder?

"That Dumbledore lets us unsupervised into the secluded area or that he took parts of our magical being to keep our school-mates alive?" Hermione asked, trying not to let the meaning of her own words get to her. It was of course still a soft spot for her. Could they have rescued Draco by transferring some magic into him?

"Neither," Harry answered. "He hasn't even offered us a lemon drop once."

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Albus Dumbledore quickly made his way through the infirmary, which was filled with more well people than injured ones. He schooled his features into confident seriousness lightened up with a bit kept-in-check merriness, as to not awake any more unease in his students. It wasn't as if they believed that everything would be all right. Even though nobody had yet said it out loud, every one knew that it had taken too many and that it wasn't over yet. Albus remembered the speech he'd held as You-Know-Who was definitely dead, vaporised. He recalled how the pupils had cried with joy and relief. It seemed not genuine, that it had finally ended so abruptly.

And the bucket of ice-cold water had splashed them with realization at once. Being trapped at Hogwarts with no way of getting help for the injured ones was something that made not only Albus feel utterly helpless. How could this be possibly the end?

The headmaster hadn't been the only one who had made up their mind. This wouldn't be the end. You-Know-You-Can-Call-Him-Now-Voldemort wouldn't also try to get the upper hand from wherever he may reside now. Dumbledore would see to it that his students wouldn't part from this world. With all his might.

The parting that Voldemort had tried to accomplish had at long last backfired. The different houses (regardless pure-, half-blood or Muggle-born) at Hogwarts had never been this close before, as they were now. It made Albus' heart swell with a melancholic pride that he was able to witness it with his own eyes, 'melancholic' for he knew how much it had taken to get to it. He had hoped, but never had thought it possible. Seeing Ravenclaws trying to cheer up Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors donating their magic to help Slytherins, Slytherins accepting this help from Gryffindors and even returning the favour. Albus was never so glad he had been mistaken.

Pulling the curtains silently to the side, the headmaster studied the people who worked there. Quite a few sixth and seventh years students, from all houses, professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and even Trelawney.

"I am positively surprised to see how well Gryffindor and Slytherin are able to work together, without so much as a fight - even verbal," Albus announced, as he stood beside where Severus and Minerva were currently tending to one second year Gryffindor girl, who'd come a cropper.

Without looking up, Severus replied softly: "That will die down, eventually."

Minerva shot a quick frown towards her colleague, before turning back to the headmaster. "And why is that?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"Well, the two heads of the houses are acting as the perfect shining examples," Albus said cheekily, eyes twinkling over the edge of his half-moon glasses.

Realizing that they had indeed worked together without any incident for more than twenty minutes, Snape tried to come up with a nasty comment, but failed miserably. Sighing, he blamed it on his headache. He'd get himself some water, maybe that would help.

After Albus had shared the magic of Ron, Hermione, Harry and the few other students who weren't going to help personally at the infirmary, Severus excused himself.

He pushed the door to one of the small bathrooms open and entered. Letting the cold water pour from the tap, Snape cupped his palms and gathered some, gulping the refreshing moisture down, hastily. The effect wasn't the one he had been looking forward to, as the Potions Master's vision suddenly began to blur. The world around him seemed to spin violently, and hadn't it been for the sink, which Snape had seized with a secure grip, he would have lost his balance for sure. Slumping forward slightly, he relived one memory from the depths of his mind.

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'Lucius Malfoy,' the soft voice whispered gently into Severus' ear, causing his fingers to tighten around the wooden spoon, spasmodically. Snape focused his mind solemnly on the topic at hand, the brewing of Veritaserum, not willing to be sidetracked by the scheming bastard he had to call friend to his face. Pushing the thoughts violently aside - he would have plenty of time afterwards - Snape gave the next ingredient into the cauldron. He wasn't to muff a potion for the Dark Lord, especially Veritaserum. Voldemort's punishment for him would be 'crucial'.

But it wasn't really reassuring that while he brewed this difficult potion, Malfoy tried to blacken his name. Not that Severus expected anything less from him, but sometimes it was more tiring than anything else. How should he watch his back and brew this bloody potion at the same time?

The hours went by too slowly, now that Severus knew that Malfoy had talked about him. Had he been really talking to You-Know-Who? Most likely. Had he already stopped? Hopefully. He wasn't sure how much more of Malfoy's talking Voldemort would take before he finally yielded and investigated if the Potions Master really was not to trust. After all, he was only that, a Potions Master, well, THE Potions Master, but still replaceable. Though, Snape doubted that there was a second expert of the field of his calibre out there, willing to help the dark side.

Adding the finishing touches to his potion and putting the fire down to let it simmer for an additional half hour, Severus put away the ingredients that were left superfluous. Quickly, he surveyed his store and made a mental list as to what he'd need in the next future. Malfoy's calculating figure lurking in the back of his mind, Severus thought about the different ways to sabotage the potion he would have to brew the next time.

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Severus drew in a couple of steadying breaths, while trying to find his balance back. He rubbed his temples roughly, willing the pounding in his head to subside, but it wouldn't work.

"Damn," he cursed silently. "The first potion I managed to muff ... not on purpose." The memory potion he'd invented should have only brought back the memory of this particular day, but this 'vision' he'd just had, was definitely another memory brought back. Caused by the potion or not, Snape was not sure, but he was quite certain that it was indeed his memory, though, he had put it back, deeper into his mind. It wasn't that Malfoy hadn't been suspicious of him non-stop, even justified, Snape would give him credit where it was due. But this specific memory wasn't one he recalled too often. Gritting his teeth, he headed back to the secluded area. He'd have to speak to the headmaster again.

9. Death Reeks Sour

Severus Snape drew in a deep breath and smoothed out the white blanket over the vacant bed. His lips curled slightly, as the penetrating smell of disinfectant rose into his nostrils. Ever since he could recall, he had avoided hospitals at all costs. All the bright white hurt his sensitive eyes, which were used to the dark. The pungent stench of antiseptics and other medical concoctions hurt his nose. Even after all those years of brewing potions, Snape hadn't come over his dislike of the medical ones. Those he'd brewed for Pomfrey had their own unbearable sour scent. Not that there weren't any other potions that smelled horrible sour, but these medical ones just threatened to awake memories. Long buried ones. Severus closed his eyes briefly, and then proceeded to pull open the curtain from the single now empty bed. There were only a few rays of light shining through the windows, indicating that the Potions Master had already been too long in the infirmary.

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The extensive dimensions of Snape Shire lay in relative silence. The building was very old, and this was plain to see. The fresh and green landscape surrounding the Snape home, which reminded strongly of a medieval castle, was a picturesque contrast to the crumbling shire. It looked as though it was a piece of fairy-tale history. History it was, indeed, but far from the fairy-tale.

Every room had its own purpose, and so it didn't come as a surprise, that there also existed a medical chamber. This chamber was currently occupied by Danae Snape, Severus' mother. Her prone figure was nearly invisible under the covers, as she lay, unmoving. The light, falling through the near window, made her brown hair glimmer brightly, reminding of raining gold. 'Raining gold' brought back memories of one of the few happy times in her life, and she smiled sadly. Her life had been a roller-coaster, and as she had thought that it would finally start to get better, she was again proven wrong. 'I miss so you much, Diktys.'

"Does it still hurt, Mother?" Severus rubbed his nose discreetly, as the smell of the medical chamber was nearly too sour to endure. Too many potions stood in their various vials, spreading unbearable scent. Even though, he had visited the chamber way too often, he still couldn't get used to medical potions.

Danae turned her head and smiled at her son, her gift of the gods. Severus was only seven years old, but she pictured him to just look like his father, when he was grown up. His black hair was smooth and nearly reached his shoulders, it was perfectly in order, indicating that the boy hadn't been running around the house. Severus wasn't the kind of child making trouble, but also not the kind of child having fun; at least it appeared that way to her. "No, dear," she said softly, opening her arms. "Come to me, Verus."

Severus stood rooted to the place, rubbing his nose with his robe sleeve. His eyes began to water, trying as he might, he couldn't hold the tears back. "I want back," he sobbed quietly. "I want to go back ... then you don't have ... to be hurt anymore ... and we can be happy again ..."

Danae's heart clenched. "Oh, my boy, come to me." But Severus didn't follow her coaxing, he couldn't even stand his mother's touch, anymore. "We can't go back again, never. I already told you, didn't I?"

"But Fa- ... Fa- ... he is mean to you ... and to me," he added, sobbing more loudly.

"Listen to me, Severus. Soon you will be old enough, and you will attend Hogwarts and then ... then you will be able to leave, alright?"

"But I don't want to leave without you!" the boy screeched, stamping with his feet. "I don't want to leave you! I want to go back! Why can't we?! I don't understand!"

"Verus, please ..." Danae objected weakly.

"Why can't we go back like it was earlier?! Father would've NEVER-"

"Severus!" she snapped, then. "Stop it!" Danae tried to regain her composure back. She didn't like to raise her voice, but it wasn't easy to control her son, who had developed quite a temper in the last time. Sighing, she shot Severus an apologetic look. "You know, we can't go back, don't you? Father is gone ... We have no other place, where we could go."

"Why don't we go to your father, then?" Severus insisted.

Danae's expression changed drastically at the mention of her sire. She didn't like to be reminded of him. The man who had turned his back on her. The man who had dared to embed his only daughter in a tower, just like Rapunzel, and that only because of one stupid prediction. As it was mentioned before, Danae's life was everything but a fairy-tale. Her voice trembled only slightly, as she answered the question. "That would be too dangerous."

"Dangerous? Dangerous! ... And why don't we go simply somewhere else? We could live alone! We could search a place where it is nice the whole year, maybe where other people are or something! We could go everywhere! Why do we stay here?!"

Danae sighed sadly at the innocent comment of to boy in front of her. "Life isn't that easy, son. You'll have to learn it, sooner or later."

Severus huffed angrily and stalked out of the room, making sure to bang the door especially loud to make his point in that subject clear.

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Ron coughed as he pulled a rather dusty tome from the shelves. They had actually found books in the restricted area which weren't frequently used. It seemed just odd. Hermione glanced up, temporarily stopping sifting through the book before her. They hadn't found anything useful yet. Harry worked in relative silence, but Ron was near frustrating. He hadn't got Hermione's stamina when it got to going through tomes.

'Some kind of recognition spell would be useful,' Hermione thought regretfully. 'Then we'd know what this wards are ...' But of course, she knew that this wouldn't be possible. It would take even more time to search after a spell to determine which wards Voldemort had used. And who said that after they knew what wards there were, that they could figure out a way to vaporise them immediately? No-one, to put it shortly. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, and went back to work.

"I miss-"

"What ...?" Hermione asked distracted, reading the rest of the sentence and then marking her place.

"I said, I think I may have found something," Harry said, causing Ron to look up, too. The tome Harry had been sifting through, was so tattled that its title wasn't recognizable anymore. He had been very careful for he feared that the century-old book may just crumble to ashes in his very hands if he turned one page too quickly. From its intents it was clear that the book was about Dark Arts, though. "Here," he pointed towards a charcoal drawing in the middle of the page. It showed a rather small cottage in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by a old looking forest. There were dark-clothed, hooded figures, who climbed out of the windows and one even came out of the chimney. The entrance to the cottage was wide open and two children and one adult wizard were obviously trying to get out. It seemed as though there was an invisible barrier, preventing them to escape from their own home. Tracing a finger along one side of the cottage, Harry let a cheese-cover-like web of magic appear. The two children seemed to shriek and jumped back, hiding behind what was obviously their father. "Did you see that?"

"The dark wizards did get through the wards, but the family was trapped," Hermione mused, pulling the book closer to herself. 'I wonder if these wards have any negative effects on their own ... They are Dark Magic, aren't they?' The girl scanned the page for the information to the picture and read out loud what was written there. "The Tarantula Spell. It is considered a very powerful," Hermione snorted at that, there weren't any un-powerful spells they had to encounter, "and also exceptionally dark spell. Only the strongest wizards are capable of casting this spell, and even then there are certain repercussions to expect. The spell forms a web of wards to ensure that the inhabitants won't be able to escape from their home ... Mm. Nothing about a counter-spell. Only that it disintegrates automatically in approximately two weeks, but we already figured as much."

"What kind of repercussions?" Harry asked.

Hermione quickly re-read the article, but then shook her head. "It never says anything about that. Mm. It is often the case that Dark Magic has it disadvantages and that the caster has to pay a price, nothing unusual ..."

"But in the most cases this price is only of importance if the caster is a good wizard, isn't it?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded forlornly. "Yes. It wouldn't do for the dark wizards to punish their own ones if they used Dark Magic ... The intentions to use Dark Magic is primarily to do damage to the Light. So if the Light were to use Dark Magic, they would have to pay, but the Dark wouldn't have to, would they? ... This doesn't make any sense ..." Harry rubbed his forehead, as if the now not-existing scar was hurting.

"Unless," Ron interrupted, drawing the attention to himself. "Unless these 'repercussions' aren't meant to be a disadvantage but an advantage to the spell caster. What if-" The redhead looked as serious as in his best days. "What if the repercussions are indeed echoes, meant to come back to the victims of the spells?"

There was an eerie calmness hunting through the nearly vacant library, as the three of them contemplated the meaning of Ron's words. It didn't take long to sink in.

"Not a very reassuring prospect," Hermione stated solemnly. She rubbed her suddenly numb fingers. "We have to tell the headmaster about this. Better not losing any more time ..." her voice petered out as a sudden thought hit her unprepared, reminding her of their current state. "We haven't got any magic."

Ron blanched considerably. "Nothing to worry about, indeed!" He jumped up, ready to bolt, but not quite sure what his destination should be. "We are more vulnerable than ever and this is just because we thought we are safe! Bloody fantastic!" His mind was fast to draw the numerous possibilities of what could be happening in a two days time. Each and every potential outcome was quite bloody and deadly.

Hermione, too, rose from her seat. She shot a glare towards Harry, urging him to hurry. "Don't you come with us?" she asked incredulously.

Harry looked up from where he had been studying the page. "There is something more," he said, picking the book up and pointing to the picture in question.

"Oh, it is, isn't it?" Ron asked sarcastically. "As if these evil wards weren't already enough! Tarantula Spell, indeed," he said, shuddering as he recalled their adventure with one well-known gigantic spider. 'Tarantula' had such a feeling of foreboding attached to it. "I bloody hope this spell got his name from the way the wards are put into a web ..." Even though the prospect of being trapped in a huge spider-web wasn't one, one was particularly looking forward to, the possibility of ending as a tarantula snack was even more something, nobody was too keen on experiencing.

Hermione scanned the picture, but couldn't find anything noticeable. "I don't see anything. Let's get to Dumbledore, I don't have a good feeling." As if to make her point clearer, her skin was suddenly covered in goose-bumps.

"Wait a second, here!" Harry touched the dark wizards one after the other with his index finger. "These are minor wizards. Only the strongest wizards are able to cast this spell, but where is this powerful wizard? These here are only minions."

Hermione rubbed her head warily. "I have no idea what this could mean."

"Me neither."

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It was fairly late already, as Hermione, Harry and Ron made their way to Dumbledore's office, and hadn't it been for the fact that they had snuck food into the library, their stomachs would be protesting quite loudly. They hadn't thought of much aside their research, and they found themselves quite lucky to have such results the very first day.

The three friends nearly run the whole way, but came to an abrupt halt, as they reached the stone gargoyle. Harry hadn't thought about that they didn't know the password, so he began the guessing game. "Lemon drop, kudos, toffee, skittles, chocolate raisins, onion chips, soletti, snips, mars, bounty ..." When they all ran out of sweets, Harry tried to negotiate. "Listen, we need to speak with the headmaster."

"It is important," Hermione added.

"Oh, I don't have the nerve for it," Ron growled. "Headmaster! Dumbledore!!"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, pressing one hand flat right above her racing heart. "You can't go screaming around when you just feel like it. Besides, Dumbledore has most likely silencing charms around his office, so there's no point in ..." she trailed off, as the gargoyle suddenly moved aside to let them in.

"You were saying?" Ron asked, raising his brows mock-questioningly. He entered the small room leading to the headmaster's office first, leaving behind a growling Hermione and a faintly amused Harry.

A few moments later saw Ron knocking on Dumbledore's door. He opened the door, as he was bidden in, and stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the other occupant of the office besides Dumbledore. Grimacing inwardly, he took a cautiously step forward, greeting the headmaster politely and nodding somewhat reluctantly to Snape.

The Potions Master rose from his seat. "If this was all, I'm going to take my leave now." But he didn't escape.

"Would you please stay, Severus? I will have some more points to discuss with you and I believe this shall not take too long," Albus asked his friend, then turned towards the three teenagers. "Professor Snape and I had only a small dialogue," he shot a glance towards Harry, "With what may I help you?"

Harry stepped forward, tome clutched in his hands, flinching inwardly at the hostile glare he received from Snape, but he didn't let on. "We made a discovery in this book here," he held up the book in question, "and I think you should take a look at it."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, beckoning Harry closer and motioning for Ron and Hermione to take a seat. The headmaster shot a secret glance towards the Potions Master, who was still standing slightly uncertain. After Harry had given the book to Dumbledore, the headmaster read the article quickly out loud, to let Severus know too, what it was about. He studied the picture, and finally sighed.

"I suppose it is safe to presume that you already searched the spell register what kind of dark spell this Tarantula Spell is and how it is possible to put it out, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked smoothly, raising his left brow slightly. Harry felt his face getting hot, as he ground his teeth. Leave it to Snape to improve his mood.

"We wanted to inform the headmaster as soon as possible, we haven't thought-" Ron said indignantly, while Hermione, sitting beside him, flushed a deep crimson.

"Obviously, Mr. Weasley," Snape cut him off, silkily. "Or should I call you Mr. Potter, as you seem to response to that name, too?"

"That should be enough, Severus," Albus said gently. "I believe that Harry, Ron and Hermione have only acted upon their best intentions, am I right?"

Harry nodded curtly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Snape who smirked smugly. Obviously he was satisfied, Harry could see Ron practically bristling angrily, but surprisingly the redhead hadn't exploded. Yet, anyway. It was a true mystery to him, what kicks Snape got of the whole acting way-better-than-thou thing.

Severus listened intently to what the headmaster was saying, while one part of his mind was gloating over the usual Gryffindor behaviour the three teenagers had shown. How typical to first act and then think, they would have saved time if the Boy-Who-Lived and his two sidekicks had thought things through first and not just jumped to actions. Even though, Snape's mind somehow regretfully noted that it was a mature thing to inform elder wizards first of their discovery and not to take actions on their own accord - as they had done so many times before. But this was Harry Potter; there was always something for Snape to complain about. Even when it was mature behaviour. Old habits died hard.

"This information is very useful," Dumbledore said, folding his hands on the desk. "I shall assume that you will take up your research again tomorrow morning?"

"Sure," Harry replied, nonchalantly.

"You may come to my office, whenever you need to."

"Oh, 'bout that ... We don't know the password, so ..."

Albus chuckled quietly. "I'll leave the staircase open. So, if that was everything, I believe that the three of you need to head back. You'll need to be refreshed tomorrow to go on in your research in the library. Good night."

After the teenager had left, Albus sighed tiredly. "What do you think, Severus?" He watched his Potions Master, as he sorted his thoughts quickly. He would need to ask Harry the next day if he had any more visions or memories, as Severus had had. Hopefully not, that would be one problem less.

"I never heard of the Tarantula Spell before."

"Me neither, child."

Snape frowned. "As much as it pains me to admit, I suppose Potter may have found something important. This picture with the dark wizards ... Those were indeed minor ones, none of those should have been able to cast this powerful spell. But that leaves the question, who the caster was."

"Maybe it was someone outside of the house, outside the picture."

"Mm, maybe," Severus mumbled, then he rose from his seat, the second time. "I need to go now, Albus. Good night."

"Good night, Severus." Albus wisely refrained from wishing his friend sweet dreams.