Harry Potter and the Headsman's Hostage

Chapter 6
Consultation

Said a wise man to one in deep sorrow, "I did not come to comfort you; God only can do that; but I did come to say how deeply and tenderly I feel for you in your affliction."
-----Tryon Edwards

Back in the common room, Harry found Ron, Hermione, Sirius, and Dumbledore seated around one of the tables, with a pot of tea in the center. Fawkes perched on the headmaster's shoulder with his head tucked under one wing, apparently sleeping; Lupin and the captured Death Eater were nowhere to be seen.

"How is she, Harry?" Sirius asked as Harry approached their table.

"She's seems to be dealing with it all right," Harry replied, pulling up a chair between Ron and Hermione. "Probably better than I did last month, to tell the truth."

"Indeed, Miss Chang seems remarkably resilient," said Dumbledore. "You should not disparage your own strength of spirit, though, Harry. If Miss Chang appears less affected by her misadventure than you were by yours, I think that it is due in part to your support."

Harry felt his face heat. "Oh, I didn't do that much," he said quickly. "Really, I think Fawkes helped more than I did. Thanks for bringing him, Professor - and Dobby. I think that green tea of his cheered her up a bit, too."

"It is good, isn't it?" said Hermione, setting down her teacup.

"Very. So, what did you do with our other guest?"

"Tied him to a chair in the wine cellar," said Sirius. "I thought an hour or so in total darkness with only Moony for company might make him more inclined to cooperate."

"That was not necessary," said Dumbledore. "Though it might be considered poetic justice, in view of the ways in which he and his cohorts abused Miss Chang. In any case, as soon as I learned that you had taken a prisoner, I contacted Severus Snape and asked him to bring a dose of Veritaserum. He should be here shortly."

"Ah," said Sirius, rising from his seat. "I believe I'll go tend to Buckbeak. Let me know when he's gone, will you?"

"As you wish, Sirius," said Dumbledore dryly.

"I think I'll join you," said Ron. "Coming, you two?"

Hermione shot Harry a questioning glance. "Go ahead," he told her. "I have to talk with Professor Dumbledore anyway, and I want to hear what that thug has to say, but there's no reason you should have to put up with Snape's idea of friendly conversation."

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected.

"Fine. Professor Snape's idea of friendly conversation. Sir."

Dumbledore sighed. "Given the nature of your relationship with Professor Snape, I suppose that is as much respect as I can ask for, outside his presence. I must insist that you at least attempt to be civil while he is here, though, Harry."

"I will if he will, sir."

The headmaster frowned, but didn't press the point. Sirius, Ron, and Hermione decamped through the kitchen, and Dumbledore rose to his feet. The phoenix, awakened by the movement, pulled his head out from under his wing and cooed reproachfully. Dumbledore reached up and stroked his feathers. "You may go home, now, Fawkes," he said. "I will return there later this evening." Fawkes spread his wings and glided across the room to the fireplace, where he vanished in a flash of the same golden fire that had heralded his arrival.

Dumbledore gestured Harry over to one of the armchairs facing the large window. Harry sat, and Dumbledore took the other chair of the pair, turning it to face out the window. Harry followed suit. In the distance, he could see the white beam of the Flamborough Head lighthouse turning endlessly in the night.

"First, Harry," said Dumbledore, "you should know that you deserve the highest of commendations for your courage today. Had you not acted as you did, it is virtually certain that Miss Chang would now be dead, and Sirius and Remus would be either dead or prisoners of Lord Voldemort. For that, you have my deepest gratitude. Once again, you have shouldered the burden of an adult wizard, and shown yourself equal to it. That it was necessary for you to do so today, though, represents a serious failure of planning and preparation on my part. For that, you have my sincere apologies."

"Sir?" Harry asked, confused.

"I had not failed to notice your attraction to Miss Chang, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "I was also aware that you had asked her to the ball before you asked Miss Patil."

"How, sir? I didn't think anyone overheard us...."

"No students or teachers were present," Dumbledore agreed. "However, you were standing by the portrait of Laverne de Montmorency. Laverne is prone to gossip, and the portrait of one of her closest friends, headmistress Griselda Morrison, hangs in my office."

"I see," said Harry.

"In any case, I should have anticipated that Miss Chang was a potential target for Voldemort. I have members of the Order checking up regularly on all of the Gryffindors in your year, and I have prepared the necessary materials to cast a Location Charm on any one of them who should turn up missing. I should have done the same for Miss Chang."

"I see," Harry said again. "Well... I suppose no one can possibly think of everything, sir."

"No," the headmaster agreed heavily. "That does not relieve those of us in positions of responsibility of the obligation to try, however."

Harry was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "What I don't understand is how Macnair knew that I fancied Cho. I mean, he couldn't have heard it from one of the Hogwarts portraits...."

"That," said Dumbledore, "is one of the things I hope to learn from the prisoner."

"Well," said Harry, "I guess that will have to wait until Sn-- Professor Snape arrives."

"Indeed. In the meantime, Harry, I would like to hear your version of today's events."

"All right," said Harry. Over the next ten minutes, he related all that had happened that afternoon and evening, beginning with the raven delivering Macnair's chilling message. Dumbledore remained silent beside him, listening. Harry shuddered in remembered terror as he told of Sirius's fall to the reflected Stunning Spell, and the axe stroke that had come within inches of killing Cho. When he reached his brief exchange of words with Macnair, however, he hesitated. How would Dumbledore react if Harry told him? On the other hand, he thought, the headmaster was not an easy man to deceive.

"I... sort of dared Macnair to go for his wand, and if he had I would have tried to cast Avada Kedavra. I really think I could have done it. I've never been that angry before in my life, and I could feel the power of it in my wand arm."

Harry was looking down at his shoes as he spoke, but he could sense Dumbledore's gaze on him. "I thank you for your honesty, Harry," the headmaster said. "That cannot have been an easy admission to make."

"I feel as though... as though this makes me like them. Like Voldemort."

"No, Harry. Every person has a breaking point - some circumstance under which, no matter how kind or peaceful they might be ordinarily, they will find it in themselves to kill. It speaks well of your character that you felt you could not slay Macnair while he faced you unarmed - and more, that finding that rage within yourself disturbs you. Voldemort revels in his power to kill, and delights in using it; you feel ashamed of it, and refrained from using it in the face of a provocation that would have driven many good wizards to murder."

"I didn't kill Macnair, but I didn't stun him, either. I let him get away."

"Ah. We can never truly know whether a choice is 'right' or not until we have seen and judged all of its consequences, Harry. It is possible that, eventually, you will have good cause to regret that you did not stun Macnair - or even that you did not take his life. On the other hand, hard as it may be to believe, it is also possible that you will someday have cause to feel thankful that he escaped today."

"I can't imagine how, sir."

"Consider this, Harry: Macnair's plot failed today. That failure cost Lord Voldemort two followers, a base that he might have used in other plots, and a means of striking at you - for you can be assured that Miss Chang will not be left unprotected again. Who knows what Macnair's next failure may cost?"

Harry smiled grimly. "Knowing Voldemort, it'll cost Macnair his life," he said.

"That is a strong possibility," Dumbledore agreed. "Now, what happened after Macnair Disapparated?"

Harry described the encounter with the dementors, and the way his Patronus had touched Cho and nodded at him before vanishing. Finally, Harry told how the last Death Eater had nearly struck him down, before being struck down himself by Buckbeak. "I still can't believe I let him get that close," he concluded. "I should have checked that all the ones outside were down as soon as Macnair was gone. Instead I tried to help Cho, and nearly got us both killed."

"Your concern for Miss Chang was admirable," Dumbledore told him, "and as you said earlier, nobody can think of everything."

"And you said... what was it? Those in positions of responsibility still have to try."

"That is true, Harry. I regret that circumstances - including my own mistakes - have placed you in such a position at so young an age; given that, I cannot fault the way you have risen to the challenges before you."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said.

"You are welcome. Is there anything more?"

"I don't think... no, wait, there was one other thing. Just after the fight, when we were outside the cabin waiting for Sirius, my scar hurt. I think... I had the feeling Voldemort was using the Cruciatus Curse on Macnair."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "That brings us to the other reason I needed to talk to you, Harry. Has your scar been troubling you often since Voldemort returned?"

"Yes, professor. Every two or three days. Today was the strongest one yet, though... and as I said, there was something more to it. It was like I could feel what he was feeling... I don't know how else to describe it."

"I believe that by using your blood in the potion that restored him, Voldemort may have unwittingly strengthened your connection to him - and therein lies both a danger and an opportunity."

"Opportunity, sir? The danger I can understand, but what's the opportunity?"

"I don't believe that you do understand it completely. You have no doubt been wondering why I told you not to look me in the eye tonight?"

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.

"It is because Voldemort is exceptionally skilled in the art of Legilimency. For you to meet the gaze of another powerful Legilimens, particularly one who he hates and fears, might catch his attention and make him aware of the link between you. Should that occur, he may attempt to possess you as he did Professor Quirrell and Ginny Weasley, and use you to strike at me - not in the hope of harming me, but in the hope that, in defending myself, I might be forced to harm you."

Harry was quiet a moment, digesting this unwelcome revelation. Finally he said, "Sir? Why is Voldemort so obsessed with me? I mean, he got what he wanted from me, didn't he? He's alive again, and I don't have that protection that drove him out of Quirrell's body anymore, so why should he put so much time and effort into attacking me?"

"Ah. We will get to that in a moment, Harry; today's events have proven that it is past time you knew the truth about Voldemort's attack on you when you were a baby, and his continuing obsession with you - for an obsession it most certainly is. However, I regret to say that I can only give you a partial answer at this time, because of the other aspect of the danger your scar represents. It is possible that Voldemort could use the connection between you as a channel for his Legilimency, to learn any secrets with which I might entrust you. It is therefore imperative that you receive training in Occlumency, so that you may recognize and block any such attempt on his part."

"How could I do that? I mean, he's so powerful... you really think I could learn to block him?"

"Oh yes, Harry. Occlumency is inherently more powerful than Legilimency. As a few men guarding the walls of a strong castle may withstand the assault of a great army, so an Occlumens of even moderate skill, secure in the fortress of his own mind, may block the probe of the mightiest Legilimens. The difficult part of Occlumency is doing so in such a way that the Legilimens does not realize he is being blocked; the level of skill that would allow you to deceive Lord Voldemort would take years to acquire. But that should not be necessary. If you work at it, you should be able to block him from your mind within a matter of months."

"I see, sir. So... who's going to teach me?"

"I will instruct you in the theory myself, Harry. However, it would be unwise for you to practice blocking a Legilimentic probe against me. Instead, you will receive practical instruction from Professor Snape."

"Oh," Harry said, his voice conveying a profound lack of enthusiasm for this prospect.

Dumbledore sighed. "I know that you do not get along with Professor Snape, Harry, but he is the only other teacher at Hogwarts with sufficient skill at both Occlumency and Legilimency to supervise your practical training. And consider this: when you truly need to use Occlumency, it will not be against anyone you like or trust."

"I guess that makes sense," said Harry grudgingly. "So... you were going to tell me why Voldemort hates me - or at least part of it."

"Yes, Harry. I will tell you the part of which he is already aware; you will learn the rest when I am convinced that you are ready to keep him from learning it from you. Voldemort hates and fears you because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. One of his spies overheard the first part of that prophecy: that "the one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord" would be born at the end of July, to parents who had three times defied him.

"I see," said Harry. "So... am I the only person it could have meant?"

"Strangely enough, Harry, you are not; there were two young couples who met that description, and both of them had sons born at the end of July that year. However, there is a second part of the prophecy, which Voldemort did not know, but which I think poses little danger now, as it has already been fulfilled. It stated that 'the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal.' The night he gave you that scar, he proved beyond a doubt that the prophecy referred to you."

"Sir, if you don't mind my asking, who was the other boy it could have meant? I mean, if he was born at the same time I was, he should be in my year at Hogwarts, right?"

"Correct, Harry. It was Neville Longbottom."

Harry thought about that. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Neville - chubby, hapless Neville, with his terrible memory and clumsy spell casting - Neville, the worst student in Harry's year in almost every subject - as the one person with the power to defeat Lord Voldemort. On the other hand, he was having a hard time imagining himself in that role, too.

Finally, he set the matter aside and asked, "What's the opportunity you mentioned? I can understand why this link with Voldemort is dangerous, but I can't see what's good about it."

"As long as Voldemort is not aware of the connection, you may be able to pick up hints of what he is feeling and doing, as you did this afternoon. I would ask particularly that you tell me the details of any unusually vivid dreams you may have over the next few months; when you are asleep and Voldemort is awake, your mind will be more receptive to his thoughts."

"But... won't learning Occlumency keep that from happening, sir?"

"Not necessarily, Harry. It should, however, enable you to distinguish between a true vision given to you inadvertently, and a false one planted deliberately. Only in the latter case would Voldemort be using Legilimency against you; a true vision would come from you using a rudimentary, uncontrolled form of Legilimency against him."

"All right. In that case--" Harry broke off as the front door swung open. The man who stepped inside looked over at Harry, and his brows drew down into a scowl of deep hostility.

"Ah, Severus," said Dumbledore, rising from his chair to greet the newcomer. "I'm glad you could make it. Do you have the Veritaserum?"

"As you requested, headmaster," the Potions Master replied. "Where is the prisoner?"

"In the wine cellar. Remus Lupin is keeping an eye on him." Snape's scowl deepened, but he made no comment. Pointedly ignoring Harry, he followed Dumbledore toward the cellar door.

"Come along, Harry," said Dumbledore, glancing over his shoulder. "I think you've earned the right to be present for this interrogation."

Harry followed Dumbledore and Snape down the steep wooden stairs to the wine cellar. The air smelled cool and moist, quite unlike the room they'd just left. Sirius had left the cellar in complete darkness, but the enchanted candles set in sconces on the wall lit as they passed, just as they had elsewhere in the inn.

The Death Eater sat in the center of the room, several turns of rope binding each wrist and ankle to his chair, with more wrapped around his torso. He was conscious now, but looked far from recovered - his face was deathly pale, and his dark hair was matted with sweat despite the chill of the wine cellar. Lupin sat behind him like an alert guard dog. As Dumbledore reached the bottom of the stairs, the werewolf rose and padded across the cellar to stand before him. "Thank you, Remus," Dumbledore said. "You may remain if you wish, or join Sirius in the stable yard."

Lupin looked past Dumbledore at Snape; his pointed ears flattened against his skull, and the fur on his back rippled ominously. His lip curled into a hint of a snarl, exposing just the tips of his sharp white fangs. Snape looked down at him with an expression of great distaste.

Harry had only seen Lupin as a werewolf once before, in his third year. Then he was like a cornered beast, clawing and snarling even at the people he knew and loved. It was the pain of the transformation, Lupin had told him, which caused his violent attacks. This wolf, with its unsettling intelligence and aura of controlled menace, was what Lupin became when he took Snape's potion, and in a way it was more frightening than his earlier berserk frenzy.

Finally, the werewolf looked up at Dumbledore and gave a quick shake of his head; then he stalked past Snape and up the stairs.

Dumbledore, Harry, and Snape approached the bound man, who stared up at them. Emotions chased each other across his youthful features: defiance, terror, a flash of hope quickly suppressed, and finally a kind of sullen wariness that Harry felt certain was as much a mask as the skull face he'd worn back at the cottage. Dumbledore stopped and conjured his high-backed chair again, sitting down face-to-face with the Death Eater. "May I get you a chair, Severus?" he asked.

"No, thank you, Headmaster; I prefer to stand."

"As you will. What about you, Harry?"

"I'll stand, too," said Harry tightly. Facing one of the men who had so terrorized Cho, he felt tense as a coiled spring; he admired Dumbledore's ability to relax in the Death Eater's presence, but he couldn't imagine doing it himself. Instead he stood at a sort of parade rest, his hands clasped behind him and his back straight as a wand.

The Death Eater glared at him for a moment, but shifted his attention to Dumbledore as the headmaster cleared his throat. "Good evening, Rupert," he said.

The man looked startled for a moment at being addressed so cordially, but quickly recovered. "Evening, Professor," he said. His voice was rather nasal, quite different from the Malfoys' characteristic drawl, but Harry thought he detected something of the same superciliousness. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you that very question," Dumbledore replied.

"Why, do you think I tied myself to this chair? Why don't you ask him?" He jerked his chin at Harry. "I'm not the one keeping company with werewolves and wanted criminals. Did you know that Sirius Black was here?"

"Naturally," said Dumbledore. "I spoke with him at length just a little while ago. Perhaps I should rephrase the question. What were you doing at that cottage in Argyllshire, and with whom were you doing it? I know that Walden Macnair was there, but who were your other companions?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man muttered, lowering his eyes to avoid Dumbledore's penetrating stare.

"Oh, come now, Steggles," Snape said softly, "You can do better than that. When you were in my House you were a far more creative liar."

The man snorted and glanced up at the Potions Master. "Never did me any good, though, did it?"

"No," Snape agreed.

"I suppose you're here to dose with me with Veritaserum. Go ahead, I could use a drink just now."

"Thank you for your cooperation," said Snape. "That's more sense than I would have expected from you."

The man shrugged, as well as he could while tied up. "If I didn't cooperate, you'd just stun me and pour it down my throat, right? My head hurts enough as it is."

"Indeed. Here you are, Steggles." Snape drew a small, stoppered glass bottle from his pocket.

"In water, if you don't mind," said Rupert Steggles. "I told you, I need a drink."

"Very well," said Dumbledore. He drew his wand and conjured a glass of water. Snape carefully tipped three drops of clear liquid from his bottle into the glass, then took it and held it to the prisoner's lips. The man drank greedily, without hesitation. As Snape took back the empty glass, the Death Eater's eyes lost focus and his features began to go slack. "Funny," he muttered, "he said it wouldn't work...."

"What wouldn't work, Rupert?" Dumbledore asked.

"Veritaserum. Said the potion he gave us would make us immune. Guess he was wrong."

"A potion to make one immune to Veritaserum? Severus?"

"I know of no such potion," said Snape. "But it is possible the Dark Lord might have invented one... or attempted to."

"We shall have to take that into consideration," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Veritaserum may not be entirely reliable any more. Tell me, Rupert, whose idea was it to abduct Miss Chang?"

"Terry's," the Death Eater replied. "Terry's little sister told him that Harry Potter's in love with - uh!" The man's voice choked off suddenly, and he gave a strangled gasp.

"What's wrong?" Dumbledore asked sharply, but Steggles could not answer. His face darkened and he strained against the ropes, his eyes bulging out of his head. Dumbledore whipped out his wand and released the ropes with a single wordless gesture. Steggles tumbled forward out of the chair, and Snape caught him and laid him on his back on the floor. Flecks of foam had appeared at the corners of his mouth, and he writhed in agony, trying in vain to breathe. Dumbledore spoke low and fast, a complex incantation that Harry couldn't follow. Light flared from his wand, but whatever the spell was, it didn't work. The Death Eater's eyes rolled back in his head, and his convulsing body went abruptly limp.

Snape touched two fingers to the man's throat, as Harry had done with Cho outside the cottage earlier that evening. After a moment, he rose, shaking his head. "Dead," he said.

"How?" Dumbledore asked. Harry shivered; he had heard that tone of cold rage from the headmaster only once before, when Dumbledore had unmasked the Death Eater who had spent the previous year impersonating his old friend Alastor Moody.

"I'll have to examine his body to find out for sure," said Snape, "But I would guess that the potion he was given, which he thought would make him immune to Veritaserum, in fact combined with it to form a deadly poison."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds like Voldemort's style. A potion of immunity might be counteracted by another potion, or circumvented by using Legilimency instead of Veritaserum. The dead answer no questions. Well. Perhaps we can discover an antidote, but until we do, we dare not use Veritaserum to interrogate captive Death Eaters."

"Most unfortunate," said Snape. "Still, I don't think we need shed any tears over Steggles."

Dumbledore sighed. "I grieve that he joined Voldemort's side in the first place. His actions could only have led to his death or life imprisonment in Azkaban."

"Some would call that a fate worse than death," said Harry. "Though I suspect Azkaban isn't as escape-proof as it used to be."

"True, with at least some dementors having gone over to Voldemort, it can only be a matter of time before the Death Eaters imprisoned there are freed to rejoin their master. I fear that once that happens, the Ministry may resort to the same extreme measures Crouch authorized during the last war."

"No quarter," muttered Snape.

"Indeed, and some who might have been redeemed will instead be slain by Aurors. Thus do we become that which we most fear."

"Do we, sir?" asked Harry. "I mean, if we can't keep them locked up, how are we supposed to stop them? It's not as if our side goes around kidnapping and torturing innocent girls. The difference between Cho and Steggles is that Steggles had it coming."

"That may be true, Harry," said Dumbledore, "but we must not be too quick to judge who deserves death. I myself helped send an innocent man to Azkaban, once; had our laws been different, I might have helped send Sirius to his death, and we might never have learned of his innocence."

"Maybe so, sir," Harry said. "But there's no doubt this time. After hearing what they did to Cho, and what they were planning to do, I can't help thinking that he just got what all four of them deserved."

Before Dumbledore could reply, Snape sneered, "Careful, Saint Potter. We wouldn't want to tarnish that squeaky-clean hero image of yours, now, would we?"

"You really think I care?" Harry retorted, matching Snape sneer for sneer. "Ron and Hermione know who I am, and so do Sirius and Professor Dumbledore, and so does Cho. That's enough for me. The rest of the wizarding world can say whatever they like about me. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go tell Sirius what happened here."

Harry turned and stalked up the stairs. Back in the common room, he paused, breathing hard. Why does Snape always have to do that? He thought. We're not even at school, and still he has to yank my chain every chance he gets.

Even as he thought it, the cellar door creaked open behind him. "So, Potter," said Snape, in the deceptively soft voice he always used when he had something especially venomous to say, "I see you have as little regard for rules outside of school as you do at Hogwarts."

Harry spun around, his temper rising. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Snape smiled nastily. "Tut, Potter. A little more respect for your elders."

"What for? As you just pointed out, Professor, we're not at school right now. You can't put me in detention or take points from Gryffindor, and there's no Malfoy here to enjoy the show, so how about giving it a rest? I only did what I had to do."

"It was not up to you to rescue Miss Chang, boy."

"Actually, as things turned out, it was. If I'd followed the 'rules,' as you put it, Sirius and Lupin and Cho would all be dead now. And where were you, anyway, when the Death Eaters were plotting to use Cho to lure me out of Privet Drive? I thought you were the one keeping an eye on them."

Snape's face darkened with rage, and he ground out, "My work for the Order of the Phoenix is none of your business, boy!"

"Not even when your failures can get me or my friends killed? Maybe you don't care about me or Lupin or Sirius, but what the hell has Cho ever done to deserve...?"

Snape appeared to bite back another furious retort. Instead, his lips curled in a sneer. "You, of all people, should know better than that, Potter. But then, gratitude was never your greatest virtue, was it?"

As he stared at Snape, Harry's anger drained away, leaving him feeling empty and immensely weary. "Can we just give it a rest, please?" he asked tiredly.

"Give what a rest, Potter?"

"This. Always having a go at each other. You don't like me. Fine. I don't much like you either. But this isn't Hogwarts, and we've both got better things to do right now than stand here trading insults."

"Why, Mr. Potter, I do believe you might be starting to grow up," Snape said sarcastically. "In another few years you might even manage to act your age."

"Maybe so," Harry muttered, turning away.

"Very well. I do, as you say, have better things to do than bandy words with you." He brushed past Harry, headed for the door.

"Professor?"

Snape spun around and glared at Harry. "What, Potter?"

"I don't think I've ever thanked you for saving my life, back during my first Quidditch match."

"No, I don't believe you have," Snape replied, his voice oozing scorn. "That was what, nearly four years ago?"

"Yeah. Well... thanks, Professor."

Snape glared even harder, his nostrils flaring. "I would have done the same for any of my students, however incompetent or irritating they might be."

"I know that. All the same, thanks. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you're on our side."

Snape glared at Harry for a moment more, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he shook his head irritably and swept out the front door. Harry heard him Disapparate as it shut behind him.

"That was very mature of you, Harry," said Dumbledore, emerging from the stairwell.

"Yeah, well," said Harry, "It's easier to put up with his needling when that's all he can do. Anyway, my being polite to him seemed to get under his skin even more than being rude."

"Indeed, Harry. Remember, the single worst thing your father ever did to Severus, from his point of view, was saving his life."

"Yeah. I'll have to remember that; he can't very well put me in detention for excessively good manners, can he?"

"Such a detention could be appealed to Professor McGonagall or myself," Dumbledore agreed.

"And maybe if I keep at it long enough, he'll give up trying to get my goat," Harry concluded.

"That would be salutary, especially since you and Professor Snape will have extra lessons together this year so that he may train you in the use of Occlumency."

"Yeah. Um, Professor, I was wondering how I should explain why I'm having extra lessons with Professor Snape? We don't want the whole school to know that I'm learning Occlumency, do we?"

"No, Harry. If anyone asks, tell them you're taking extra instruction in Potions to prepare for your O.W.L.s."

"No offense, sir, but I'm not sure anyone who knows how I feel about Potions class would believe that."

"Ordinarily, that might be true, Harry. However, I understand that you have expressed some interest in applying for Auror training after you graduate from Hogwarts. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement requires all Auror candidates to have a N.E.W.T. in Potions, and as Professor Snape only accepts students in his N.E.W.T.-level class who earn the highest possible mark on their O.W.L.s, taking extra Potions lessons would be a wise choice for a student wishing to pursue that career."

Harry grimaced wryly. "In other words, if I ever want to be an Auror I'd better work hard in Potions this year - and finish learning Occlumency as fast as I can so that I really can start taking extra lessons."

"As I said, that would be a wise choice. Now, Harry, I must take Steggles' body back to Hogwarts so that Professor Snape can attempt to learn the nature of the poison that killed him. Is there anything else you wish to ask before I leave?"

"No, I don't think... no, wait a minute, there is something. Two things, actually. First, Cho wanted me to ask you to let her sister know that she's all right, before she sends the Aurors out looking for her."

"I am aware of that necessity," Dumbledore said. "Some of the younger members of the Order attended Hogwarts at the same time as the elder Miss Chang; one of them will contact her this evening. Now, what was your second question?"

"How much can I tell Cho about what's going on? She's going to have questions when she wakes up tomorrow, and I'd like to be able to give her straight answers. After what she's been through, I think she deserves that."

"I quite agree, Harry. Having examined her mind in considerable detail this evening, I am confident that Miss Chang is as worthy of our trust as Mister Weasley and Miss Granger. You may feel free to share with her any information with which I have entrusted the three of you."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry.

"You are welcome, Harry. Good night." Dumbledore turned and disappeared back into the wine cellar, closing the door behind him; a moment later, Harry heard the familiar, explosive sound of his Disapparition.

Harry went into the kitchen and found Dobby stocking it with bags, bottles and jars of various foods, levitating them out of several crates that stood open in the middle of the room and floating them up to the shelves that lined the walls. "Hello, Harry Potter!" said the house elf cheerfully.

"Hello, Dobby. Are my friends out this way?" He gestured to a door in the back of the kitchen.

"Yes, indeed, Harry Potter." The elf flicked one hand at the door, and it swung open.

The inn's stable yard was well-lit by lanterns hung from hooks set in the stone walls that surrounded it. In one corner, Ron, Hermione, and Sirius sat on bales of hay arranged in a circle, using a crate in the center as a table on which to play cards.

"Ah, Harry," said Sirius, looking up from the fan of cards in his hand. "Is Snape gone?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Dumbledore, too."

"Good, we can move this back inside. Care to join us? Maybe you can win some of my family fortune back from Hermione; at this point she's won just about everything but the robes on our backs."

"Yeah, Hermione," Ron smiled, "have a little mercy. Besides, you know the saying: lucky at cards..."

"Be a dear, Ron," Hermione said with a grim sort of smile, "and don't finish that sentence."

"What are you playing?" Harry quickly interrupted.

"Double Fanucci. I brought the deck back with me from Argyllshire; that's what the three Death Eaters out in the yard there were playing. Speaking of which, what did the one we caught have to say for himself?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Harry replied. "He's dead."

"Dead? How?" asked Hermione, aghast.

"We're not completely sure, but it seems Voldemort's invented a potion that mixes with Veritaserum in the blood to form a poison."

"Ouch. Bad news, if it's true," said Sirius. "Well, Snape and Dumbledore will solve it if anyone can; magical poisons almost always have antidotes."

"You know," observed Ron, "I think that's the first nice thing I've ever heard you say about Snape. Are you feeling all right?"

Sirius laughed. "Don't get me wrong, Ron, Snape's a right bastard, and I'd trust him about as far as I could comfortably spit our old friend Wormtail, but he does know his alchemy. Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him to teach Potions if he didn't. Anyway, let's move this game back inside; it's getting chilly out here."

Sirius, Ron, and Hermione folded their hands, and Harry picked up the rest of the cards and the wooden betting tokens from their makeshift table. Back in the common room, they continued to play while Sirius explained the complicated rules to Harry, before dealing him in on the next hand. A few hands later, Harry reflected that it was a very good thing they weren't really playing for money - otherwise, Hermione would own not only Sirius's family fortune but the entire contents of Harry's Gringotts vault as well. The hand after that, however, Ron, who had been playing very conservatively all evening, pulled off a spectacular bluff that left him holding nearly all the tokens.

They broke off the game then because Dobby emerged from the kitchen to announce that dinner was ready. Harry, who'd been too keyed up before to think about food, discovered he was ravenously hungry. The house elf had prepared an excellent meal of roast chicken, boiled potatoes, and steamed asparagus, with a bread pudding for dessert. While they ate, Harry told the others about his conversations with Cho and Dumbledore, including the latter's supposition about the connection between Harry and Voldemort and the necessity that Harry learn Occlumency. However, he avoided any mention of his attempt to provoke Macnair into drawing his wand, or of the prophecy; he wanted more time to think about that before discussing it with anyone.

When they had all finished eating, Sirius pushed back from the table and said, "The Double Fanucci deck wasn't the only thing I brought back from the Death Eaters' cottage. Come and have a look at what I found in the cellar there."

He led them back out to the stable yard and lifted up a canvas cloth that was covering some of the hay bales at one side of the yard. Under it were four racing brooms, with streamlined tails and handles of a highly polished, pale gold hardwood. "Spoils of war," said Sirius proudly.

"Oh, wow," said Harry. "Are those what I think they are?"

"Yup," said Ron, grinning broadly. "Four brand-new Nimbus Hyperions - one for Sirius, one for Lupin, and one for me."

"What about the fourth?"

"Sirius offered it to me," said Hermione, "but I don't really fly that much, and when I have to I prefer something a bit slower and more stable. I told him to keep it for the Order."

"I see," said Harry. "Well, those should certainly make our next game of two-on-two Quidditch more interesting.

"I'll say," said Ron. "You might actually have to work for your goals next time, instead of simply flying rings around the rest of us with your Firebolt."

"Well," said Sirius, with a feral grin, "now that you've seen the brooms, I think I might go out for a run. Moony's out there somewhere; it'll be like old times...."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Hermione. "I mean, suppose you're seen?"

"All anyone will see is a couple of stray dogs," Sirius assured her. "After all, there haven't been any wolves in Yorkshire for centuries. Besides, we never got caught at school, and we were a lot more reckless then."

Harry smiled. "I wish I could go with you," he said. "But since I can't, give an extra howl for me, all right -- Padfoot?"

Sirius barked a laugh and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Some day you will," he said. "I bet you'll make a magnificent stag. Sleep well, Harry, and I'll see you in the morning." Stepping back, Sirius transformed, his body shifting and flowing downward until the massive black dog stood facing Harry. Then he turned, took a running start, and bounded out of the stable yard, clearing the eight-foot fieldstone wall with room to spare.

The others went back inside. Hermione had found a suite of rooms behind the inn's front desk, evidently intended as living quarters for the owner; the front sitting room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering most of three walls, which she began browsing avidly. Harry and Ron left her to it and went to sit in the two big armchairs where Harry had had his talk with Dumbledore, looking out the window at the lighthouse in the distance. "So," said Ron, "what about Macnair?"

"What about him?" Harry echoed, warily.

"Why didn't you Stun him? Come on, give."

"All right," said Harry. "You have to understand, when he reflected Sirius's Stunning Spell, I think I must have been in shock. Everything seemed to be moving too slowly - especially me. He was going to kill Cho, and I couldn't move fast enough, and I couldn't even be sure the spell would work - I might have Disarmed myself, just like Sirius Stunned himself, you see? God... when the spell hit him, that bloody great axe of his was that close...." he held up his thumb and forefinger, about three inches apart. "I'm going to have nightmares about that, I think."

"All right, but why didn't you Stun the git once you had the axe out of his hands?"

"Because... because I wanted him dead, you understand? I couldn't do it while he was unarmed, but if he'd reached for his wand I would have cast Avada Kedavra. I really think I could have done it; I was that angry."

Ron shivered. "You're not kidding?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not. And after hearing what he had in mind for Cho, I'm almost sorry I hesitated. If I ever get the chance to duel with Macnair, he's a dead man."

Ron stared at him. "You might want to ease up a bit, Harry; you're scaring me."

Harry looked at his friend a moment, then shook his head again. "You don't understand," he said. "You don't feel the way I do about Cho. Think about how you'd feel if it had been Ginny or Hermione that he kidnapped, tortured, tried to murder... what would you do?"

Ron thought about it. "I guess maybe you're right. I don't think I could cast Avada Kedavra, though. You, I'd believe; you did out-fight You-Know-Who, after all. I'm just not that powerful."

Harry shrugged. "You'd be amazed what you can do when you get angry enough," he said.

"Well," said Hermione from behind them, "If you're going to kill Macnair, I hope you'll do it discreetly. It wouldn't be any use to get yourself thrown in Azkaban, would it?"

Harry and Ron turned in their chairs to look at her. "You? You're the last person I'd have expected to encourage him."

She shrugged. "I don't like Macnair," she said. "Remember how disappointed he was that he didn't get to kill Buckbeak?"

Ron grimaced. "Yeah."

"And he tried to kill Cho out of spite. She was tied up, didn't have a wand, couldn't do a thing to threaten him, and he tried to cut off her head before dealing with Harry, who did have his wand. Don't you see? He wanted Harry to watch her die."

Ron shivered. "He's a bad one, all right - maybe almost as bad as You-Know-Who himself." He thought for a moment. "Not as clever, though. Attacking Cho before Harry wasn't very smart, you know?"

"No it wasn't," Harry said. "I guess being that vicious is a weakness."

"Fortunately," Hermione agreed.

"What've you been doing, anyway?" Ron asked her.

"Doing a bit of reading. For an inn, this place has a terrific library."

"Big surprise there," Ron muttered.

Harry shook his head and yawned. "I'm going upstairs; I promised Cho I'd be there when she woke up. Good night."

"Good night, Harry," said Ron.

"Good night," Hermione echoed. "We'll see you in the morning."

Harry started up the staircase, then suddenly turned and grinned at his friends. "This was certainly the most exciting birthday I've ever had. But I think next year it might be nice to have a more normal sort of party."

Ron grinned back at him. "We'll see what we can do, mate." Hermione nodded, smiling. Harry turned and continued up the stairs.

The fire had burned down to dull embers, and the sea breeze through the open window chilled the air. The covers on the big bed had slipped down a bit, leaving Cho's upper back uncovered, and she was shivering slightly in her sleep. Harry reached out to adjust them, then hesitated. His hand seemed to move of its own volition, fingertips brushing lightly over her shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of her skin through her thin black cotton t-shirt. God, she's beautiful, he thought. If only... He fought the impulse to lie down beside her, wrap her in his arms and hold her through the night. No knowing how she'd react when she woke up. What does she really think of me, anyway? Am I her knight in shining armor now? She certainly seemed to want me with her earlier, but maybe that's just because I was the only person around that she knows at all.

Cho stirred in her sleep, and Harry sighed. "I never asked for any of this, you know. I didn't want to be your knight; I just wanted to dance with you at the Ball, maybe share a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. I wouldn't have had you hurt like this for anything." His fists clenched painfully as the image of her bound to the chair, screaming in agony, flashed across his memory. "Damn Macnair," he whispered fiercely. "I should have killed him. And if any of Voldemort's lackeys ever tries to hurt you again, I swear I will."

After watching her sleep for another minute or so, he pulled the covers back up around her shoulders, then fetched an extra pillow and blanket from the wardrobe and settled himself into the recliner chair by the head of the bed. He tilted it back as far as it would go, so that he was lying almost horizontal. Then he put out the bedside lamp, leaving only a single candle burning on the dresser. Thinking back over the events of the last twelve hours, he could hardly believe that he'd woken up just that morning in his bedroom at number four, Privet Drive, with no inkling of what the day would bring. At length, the soft sounds of the distant surf and Cho's quiet breathing lulled him into sleep.