Pandora's Box

Narcissa and Draco sat together in the family drawing room, casually doing their own thing in the presence of the other. They often did it during the summer. It was often too uncomfortable to make conversation together, so they stayed in the same room and did something that could relatively termed as togetherness or, at least, silent companionship. Draco doodling on a pad of paper as he sat cross-legged in a pink overstuffed easy chair. Narcissa sat beside him in an identical chair, reading The Daily Prophet.

“WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON SNAPE HE’S GOING TO WISH HE NEVER HAD AN AFTERLIFE--”

Narcissa and Draco jumped at the explosion of sound, and then exchanged a quick, panicked look. “Professor Snape said if there was screaming from your bedroom we were to ignore it,” Draco nervously said to his mother.

“--I’LL BRING HIM BACK TO LIFE SO I CAN KILL HIM WITH MY BARE HANDS--”

Narcissa’s eyes were wide behind her reading glasses. “Grandmother has expressed a desire to see you,” she replied.

“--I’LL FORCE-FEED HIM MULTIPLE HOUSE ELF UNMENTIONABLES--”

“Do you suppose she would mind if we dropped in for morning brunch?”

“--I’LL MAKE NAGINI CHEW ON HIS BONES AFTER I DISCOVER WHERE VOLDEMORT DUMPED HIS BODY--”

“Not at all.” Narcissa and Draco jumped to their feet, hurried over to the small fireplace, and grabbed the small pot of Floo Powder. “I’m very sure my mother will welcome us.” They tossed handfuls of Floo into the fireplace and disappeared.

“--SOMEONE GET ME AND THE FURNITURE OFF THE CEILING RIGHT! NOW! . . . NARCISSA? DRACO! . . . WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYBODY?!”

==============

“Baby?” A familiar woman’s voice. “Are you all right? I’m sure Grandfather did not mean to hit you so hard.”

Harry opened his eyes. Persons and things were nondescript blobs in his blurry vision. A particularly large one, dark and fuzzy around the edges, loomed directly in the middle of his sight. One slim peach line extended downward and a hand brushed across his forehead.

One part of Harry’s brain decided that he needed glasses. The other part of his brain was still trying to recall the make of the broom that just mowed him over.

The hand moved back. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Harry squinted at the blob before him.

“Fingers?” His voice emerged from his throat in a croak.

There was a long pause. “Where do you hurt the most?” the woman asked.

“My head.”

“Ah! No damage done then!” A hand plucked at his sleeve before wrapping firmly around his bicep. A mighty heave, and Harry was swaying slightly off-balanced from side to side on his feet. He leaned against the small body pressed against his own.

“Can’t see,” he grumbled as he squinted again.

“That’s because you aren’t wearing your glasses, sweetie. Grandfather, would you hand me the--thank you.” Something cool and round was pressed into his hands. Harry paused a moment to think of how his glasses were larger than these, but he put them on anyway. The world came into sharp focus. Harry twisted his head to look at the person supporting him.

It was the little girl from one of his dreams. Small and dark, he recognized her as his “Mom.”

Sort of.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, peering closely at her. She looked startled at what he said. After a moment, her lower lip trembled and she burst into tears.

“My baby has amnesia!” she wailed. One arm flung wide and a single finger pointed accusingly at the brawny dark-haired young standing beside her. “And it’s all your fault!”

The youth’s face scrunched up thoughtfully. “My fault? But I didn’t hit him that hard!”

Harry sighed and patted the girl’s shoulder. “It’s not that I’ve forgotten you,” he said. “I’m just wondering who you really are. I mean, my mother had red hair, didn’t she?”

Now what is Mom’s problem . . . ?! Hey! What are you--oh, never mind. Just stay out of my head, would you?

WHAM!

“ACH!” Harry bolted upright in bed, hand clutching at his pounding chest.

“So nice of you to finally join the world of the living,” said a sarcastic voice to his right. Harry squinted at the direction and saw the blur that was his uncle. “Next time, do be sure to visit every twenty-four hours. It’s only polite, after all.”

“What?” Harry felt around for his glasses. Severus pressed them into his hand and he put them on.

“Today is Thursday. You went to bed late Saturday evening.”

“Oh.” Harry looked around at his surroundings. He was in the infirmary again. “Oh.” He groaned. “Why is it always me?” he muttered. He flopped onto his back and scrubbed his face with his hands. He froze. Harry sat upright and twisted around to peer at the wooden plaque just above his head.

Reserved for Harry Potter, it read.

Harry choked. He looked elsewhere not at the plaque. To his left was a very large stack of books. Francis Potter peered curiously over them at Harry. Like Harry, Francis wore glasses, but his were much thicker. An ancient pair of flight goggles were perched on top of his rumpled blonde hair. Looking at them, Harry suspected the goggles were a strong part of Francis’ image. Other than the goggles, the man only wore a pair of tie-down slacks and a very large bandage around his torso. “I had an odd dream,” Harry said as he studied Francis.

“It must have been odd,” Francis replied agreeably. He put down the book he had been reading and walked over to Harry’s bed. He sat down on the edge. “You woke up as if you’d been shot out of the barrel of a gun.”

“What happened?” Severus asked. “Was it Voldemort?”

“No. Well, sort of,” Harry hastened to amend. “The first part of it was sort about him. I didn’t wake up from that though. It was when I got booted out of my own head again.”

“By what?” Francis asked.

“Myself.”

Severus glared at him, but before he could say anything, Harry quickly added, “And no, I didn’t have pickles before I went to bed!”

Severus turned away with a pout on his face. Francis blinked. “Did I miss something?”

Harry leaned forward. “You’re my grandfather,” he said with a hint of awe. Francis looked immediately uncomfortable.

“Um, can we forego the grandfather part?” Francis asked anxiously. “After all, I’m only thirty-four years old. Being called grandfather makes me feel so old.” He smiled helpfully at Harry. “I wouldn’t mind if you called me Francis, though.”

Harry stared at Francis and then slowly sank against his pillows. “I dreamed,” he said slowly as he tried to gather confused thoughts together, “of Pandora and the Mirror of Rebounds. Pandora--I think it’s Pandora, or it might not have been, she said she was the Mirror, well, I think she did--she said a lot of things about the mirror, what it was capable, Cousin--um . . .” Harry shot a nervous look at Severus. He did not know if he should tell his uncle. While Harry was sure that the child pushed through was Severus, he was unsure of why Cousin Quigley would have pushed him through the Mirror of Rebounds. Not to mention Harry was very sure that he did not want to say anything while Severus was presently in a poor mood.

“How are the portraits?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject.

A cool calm descended suddenly over Severus and Francis. Harry blinked in confusion at the swift change from curiosity to subsided patience. Uh oh, he thought to himself.

“About the portraits,” Francis said with the same tone parents used when explaining to their disillusioned children that sorry Junior, but Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny do not, indeed, exist. “You see, Harry,” Francis hesitated as he searched for proper words, “portraits are dependent upon their frames. When the frames are obliterated, the portraits are destroyed.”

“In other words,” Severus cut in, “the relatives who bothered us from the time they appeared from the Mirror of Rebounds technically were not real. They haven’t even existed since Voldemort burned Dinsmore.”

“But--”

“Harry,” Francis leaned forward, “the moment I awoke, the portraits faded away. We have not seen a single one since then, and it is just as well, since they weren’t the real portraits, but instead someone’s very elaborate hoax.”

===============

Harry remained thoughtfully silent afterwards. He told neither Francis nor Severus of what he dreamed. He instead sorted through everything Pandora had told him in the dream, and tried to stick it together with what he remembered of the portraits. He did not like the idea of losing his family so soon after just meeting them. How cruel and unfair that, after so long, he should finally get a shadow of his family only to learn they did not exist.

On the other hand, they had appeared from the Mirror of Rebounds itself, so perhaps the Mirror of Rebounds was telling them something. Harry frowned at that thought. On the other hand, that did not seem to fit in with what the Mirror of Rebounds was supposed to do. Still and all, if the Mirror of Rebounds did produce his ancestors, the ancestors certainly would not tell them all that the mirror could do.

Harry sighed and flipped onto his side. Francis was curled up on his bed, his interest centered on the back issues of The Daily Prophet. “Where’s Uncle Severus?” he asked softly. Francis barely stirred from his reading.

“He said something about the Ancient Roman Empire having more than 150 holidays in their calendar and how he decided he wanted to follow it.”

“Good grief.” Harry flipped over onto his other side as he spared a moment of sympathetic pity for Sirius. He stared across the room at the Mirror of Rebounds. It no longer called to him as it once did. Harry had a sneaking suspicion the mirror had told him all that it wanted to tell him thus far, and did not need to call out to him anymore. “You know,” he said when a thought suddenly occurred to him, “I think we’ve been had.”

“Hmm?” Francis turned a page and Harry sat upright.

“Uncle Severus said you were brilliant.”

Francis peeked over The Daily Prophet at Harry. His eyes were huge behind his thick glasses and his face was slightly red with embarrassment.

“Maybe the mirror made me pull you through because we would need you, and maybe you died, but a new reality was created because you no longer existed, but the actual reality continued where you had died. Maybe I pulled you through so you could explain the concept of reality and the elements and how things could subsist but not exist.”

Francis blinked several times. “I’m afraid you just lost me.”

Harry scrubbed his face with one free hand, and then leaned forward. “I had a dream of Pandora telling me some things about the mirror, and how, in order to defeat Voldemort, we need to find Voldemort. Something about him being his own worst enemy. She told me why Voldemort was powerful. I couldn’t really understand what she meant, but what she told me must be what we need to do to make this work. I don’t understand it though, so I need a genius to explain.”

“Really.”

“Yes. Which is probably why you are here.”

Francis slowly set the newspaper he was reading down and stood up. “Let me grab some paper and a quill so I can write this down.” He stood up and walked over to the cupboard Madam Pomfrey stored her medical records in. He grabbed a few blank rolls of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. He carried these over to the bed and sat down before Harry. He unrolled one parchment and licked the end of his quill before dipping it in the inkwell. “I,” he explained as he scribbled something on the parchment, “am going to make a record of what you are telling me.” He glanced up from the work at Harry. “Go ahead and start; I’m ready.”

Harry started to explain, but everything took a great while to relate, as Francis had Harry repeat several things many times over. He asked of specific details of the surroundings and the events that led up to Pandora. Upon hearing Harry mention Cousin Quigley, Francis’ hand froze in mid-writing.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked.

“Harry.” Francis’ movement was precise and deliberate as he set the quill and parchment to the side. “Did Severus ever tell you that Cousin Quigley was never painted?”

Harry was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said finally, “though I did think it rather odd how Cousin Quigley was able to appear in my wristwatch.” Francis folded his arms before himself and thoughtfully regarded the infirmary’s floor. “Cousin Quigley is a family ghost,” Harry said resignedly. Francis nodded. “Uncle Severus said you were able to successfully perform the only anti-ghost charm in existence. Was it because of Cousin Quigley?”

Francis smiled at Harry. “Yes and no,” he said softly. Sorrow appeared momentarily within his turquoise eyes. Harry suddenly realized how out of place Francis must have felt, going from being a man with three teenaged children and a wife, to several decades into the future where he learned his family had been almost completely destroyed by the man he had known as Tom Riddle. Francis drew one knee up to his chest and wrapped an arm around it. “Did Severus ever tell you how Pandora and I got married?”

“He did mention something about her marrying you for your invisible cloak.”

“Did she now?” Francis snickered. “Not quite. You see, she and I were both in the same year, but she was a Slytherin and I was a Gryffindor. Even back then the two Houses never really got along together. She was not like the other Slytherins who attempted to humiliate and belittle Gryffindors every chance they had; for the most part, she ignored everyone. I thought her to be rather snobby for it, too superior to even bother us. That opinion changed our third year. It was the year we selected Divination for one of our new subjects. So few students signed up for it that all third years of all four of the Houses were taught together. I decided to take the class because I wanted to see exactly how it worked. Minerva McGonagall and I were the only two Gryffindors, there were three Hufflepuffs, three Ravenclaws, and two Slytherins with Pandora being one of them. We pretty much ignored one another even in class, but four weeks into the school year, Pandora, lugging along this large crystal ball and her social calendar booklet, marched right over to the Gryffindor table during breakfast, and sat down beside me.

“The entire table fell silent and everyone stared in shock. Minerva, who sat across the table from me, looked like she wanted to kick Pandora under the table. I mean, no one had ever before known a Slytherin to sit at the Gryffindor table, and we immediately concluded that she was up to no good. Pandora did not seem to be worried in the least of what others thought of her. She set her things on the table before her, looked at me, and said, ‘I had the most interesting vision.’

“I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure how to react. Pandora pointed at the crystal ball and said, ‘According to the crystal ball, you and I are to fall madly in love and get married.’ I thought this was just another cruel Slytherin joke, but before I could say anything, Pandora turned to Minerva and said, ‘And you are the person who plays matchmaker, setting me up with Francis.’ Of course, you can imagine how Minerva must have felt!”

Harry could. He grinned at the thought of McGonagall’s outraged suspicion. “So what happened?”

“Minerva and I were exchanging this look of mutual distrust when Pandora opened her social calendar and flipped through it. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I am free the next Hogsmeade weekend trip.’ She looked at Minerva. ‘You are going to set up a blind date between Francis and me where we shall meet up at the Three Broomsticks and have dinner together. I’ll pay, of course, since I suspect Francis is dirt-poor.’ That little comment didn’t really help matters along too well.”

“Did you go?”

“No! We thought it was a joke! After we got back from the trip and were walking to the entrance of the Gryffindor Tower, Pandora snuck up behind me and smacked me over the head with a rolled up newspaper. ‘You,’ she said, the very picture of a scorned lover, ‘never appeared!’ Oh, she was upset! She chewed me up and spit me out for rejecting her, and then she got after Minerva for neglecting her matchmaking duty. During the entire time she ranted, it seemed the whole of Gryffindor Tower came out to see what was going on, and then a group of fifth and sixth year Slytherins drifted in to see what Pandora Snape was up to. And when Pandora said she expected me to take her to the Halloween Ball, Minerva exploded.

“ ‘Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you can tell others what to do!’ Minerva exclaimed. Seeing at how it was now between two girls notorious not only for their stubbornness, but also for vicious revenge, everyone scrambled to get out of their throwing range.

“ ‘Who,’ said Pandora as she looked at Minerva with a very cold expression, ‘are we to argue with destiny?’ With that, she spun about on her heel and marched away, the very air of wounded dignity! And that was how I met Cousin Quigley. Pandora knew one of the reasons why we didn’t trust her was because she was a Slytherin, so she sent over the one Snape who was never in Slytherin or Ravenclaw to convince us that the Snape family was not awful. Poor Cousin Quigley, Hufflepuff that he was, wailed of how cruel Pandora was for making him bother us; he didn’t help with convince us that the Snape family was not terrible, per say, though we did come to the conclusion that the Snape family was awful. Every evening for three weeks, he moped around in the third years’ dormitories and the common room. He was drunk most of the time, utterly depressing to be around, and during the day he would cry of how life was so terrible, even if he was dead, and he did so in the line of my vision.” Francis pointed at his glasses and Harry nodded knowingly.

“Was that when you cast the anti-ghost charm?”

Francis’s merriment turned slightly somber. “No. I felt sorry for Cousin Quigley, and I disliked his drunken self in the line of my vision, but I did not hate him. What I did do was go to Pandora the day before the Halloween Ball and say, ‘What do I have to do to get rid of your dead ancestor?’ I asked her in the library while she did a research paper on some sort of Dark Arts thing, and she looked at me a long time before she actually said anything.

“ ‘You don’t like my relative?’ she asked. ‘That does not bode well with our future relationship as you will be marrying me. Well, I imagine you’ll get used to him. Cousin Quigley would not have to bother you if you willingly followed the path destiny has created for you and I, and take me to the Halloween Ball.’

“ ‘What if I don’t?’ I asked in return. ‘Will Cousin Quigley still bother me?’

“ ‘Oh no. I will consider Cousin Quigley to be a lost cause, and will instead sic my uncle Hector Snape on you.’ She looked at me, waiting to see what I would say to that. I decided anything had to be better than Cousin Quigley. Upon hearing what Pandora had said, Cousin Quigley begged me to take Pandora to the Halloween Ball. He said that Uncle Hector Snape was a horrid person and not someone I wanted to haunt me. Upon seeing how frightened Cousin Quigley was, I thought it would do no harm to take Pandora to the Halloween Ball. After that, Cousin Quigley left, Pandora insisted I help her with her Divination homework, and the rest, as one would say, is history. Pandora wasn’t the snob I had thought her to be--though she was a tad arrogant; I figured that in with her upbringing though--and when her mother died in our fifth year, Minerva and Pandora began to spend time together. Though they didn’t become best friends, they did get along. And that was where the Bloody Baron comes into the matter.”

Harry grimaced. “Uh oh.”

“Exactly. He cared little for the idea of Pandora setting her heart and sights upon a Muggle-born Gryffindor, and he tormented me all during my sixth and seventh school years. When I first met Severus Snape--Pandora’s father--I learned that Pandora had been engaged to marry her distant cousin, Tacitus Malfoy, since he was born. She informed her father she would find her own husband, thank-you-very-much. After I graduated and Pandora told me she wanted us to marry, the Bloody Baron stopped haunting Hogwarts and started to haunt me instead. Needless to say, I was more desperate than anything else when I preformed the anti-ghost spell.” Francis stopped speaking and cautiously looked around. “And it sort of frightens me that the Bloody Baron hasn’t done anything to me since I’ve appeared.”

Harry shrugged. “He’s probably forgotten about you. It’s been fifty years, hasn’t it?”

Francis waved his hand as he picked up his quill and parchment. “Are you kidding?” he asked scornfully. “Snapes never forget.”

“Snape? You mean the Bloody Baron--”

“Is Uncle Hector Snape.” Francis looked at Harry. “He is responsible for a greater part of the family fortune through swindling, heavy-handed dealing, lying, stealing, and quite often brutally forceful in attaining the money; mostly on the high seas, or so it’s been said. I understand he was very unpopular with most people. Because of this, he died a rather violent death. His younger brother, Ignatius Snape, inherited his fortune.” Francis sighed. “Even though the portraits were destroyed when Dinsmore burnt, Cousin Quigley, as a family ghost, was not.”

“Cousin Quigley acted as if the other portraits did exist though.”

“I know. That’s what has me worried. Anyway, continue. It does me no good to contemplate the matter if I don’t have all the information. It’s not wise to wonder and theorize when the answer may exist in something you haven’t told me as of yet."

================

“Wait, back up a minute there.” Francis looked up from his writing and studied Harry closely. “Is that exactly what Pandora said about Cousin Quigley?”

“Yes.” Harry cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

“Isn’t odd how Pandora should speak of Cousin Quigley in present-tense?”

Harry shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. The entire dream was odd.”

Francis sighed. He reread what he wrote and then looked at Harry again. “You also earlier he appeared old and unhealthy.”

“He was underfed and looked sick.”

“And yet the Cousin Quigley you have seen in your pocket watch and in your glasses looked young?”

“And healthy.” Harry thought about that. “Except when he’s drunk. Then he looks, well, drunk.”

“That’s odd.” Francis absently scratched his cheek with his quill. He did not notice the ink that got on his skin. “I remember him being the same thing too, but ghosts retain the appearance they died with. Unless, of course, he used some sort of youth potion before he died.”

“Maybe there’s an exception to the rule with the Snapes,” Harry said as he stared at the ink on Francis’ face.

“I don’t believe so. Otherwise Hector Snape wouldn’t look so ghastly, and I understand that he was a very vain man while still alive.”

“Maybe he likes being gruesome. Adds to the image and all that.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“I could go and ask him,” Harry said teasingly. The disapproving look Francis gave him in reply made him wince. “Just kidding! Just kidding!”

Francis pursed his lips together. “Severus told me Voldemort killed him. Do you know how?”

“I think it was with the Avada Kedavra curse. It’s how Voldemort killed a lot of people.” Harry remembered Cedric, and tried to squash the wave of depression that filled him.

================

“Do you understand what Pandora meant when she explained the concept of reality and how it needed all these elements in order to exist? I sure don’t.” Harry tried to crane his neck and look at Francis’ writing.

“I do. Finish telling me all of this and I’ll explain the concept with colored inks."

================

“Pandora was the mirror?”

Harry shrugged listlessly. “I don’t know. I don’t understand that bit at all. Actually, I don’t think that I understand anything that she said.”

“But if she was the mirror telling you all of this--wait.” Francis swiftly scanned his writing. “You mentioned earlier how you thought maybe the portraits were actually shadows of the past that the Mirror of Rebounds created. What they said completely contradicts with what Pandora and Cousin Quigley said . . .” He scratched his cheek with his quill and got ink on his face again. “Unless the Mirror of Rebounds was trying not to arouse suspicion in Severus.”

“Who has difficulty trusting anyone.”

“I know. He told me about his past while you were dreaming all of this.” Francis massaged his bent neck. “But that still doesn’t explain why Cousin Quigley acted as if the portraits were real.”

=======================

“He pushed the child through the Mirror of Rebounds?” Francis’ eyes were the widest Harry had ever seen, and the disbelieving look on his face looked comical with the smear of ink across the side of his face. Harry nodded.

“Do you suppose the child was Severus?” Harry asked.

Francis’ disbelief dissolved into fascination. “He may be. Do you wonder why Cousin Quigley would push him through?”

Harry shrugged. “To save the Snapes?” he suggested.

“I don’t know. Cousin Quigley is far too soft to put a child through what Severus’ life in the slums.” Francis frowned thoughtfully. “When you stop and think of what Pandora said earlier, of how Cousin Quigley tried to rectify the fate of the destruction of the Snape family, the concept makes sense. It does seem to be a rather desperate act.” He glanced quickly over his writing. “But what of the show of affection?”

“Maybe they really knew one another.”

Francis chewed the inside of his lip. “Maybe Cousin Quigley could see what Severus would go through.” He began to write. “As far as we can guess, the only reason why Cousin Quigley pushed the child through the Mirror of Rebounds was to save the Snapes; you and Severus both say that he saved your life more than once. However, why would be put him in the slums? That’s expecting a starving wolf to protect the lamb.”

“Slums?” Harry jumped in surprise and Francis spilled his ink as Severus floated through the infirmary’s floor. Severus glared at them suspiciously. “Are you two talking about me?” he demanded warily, black eyes shifting from Harry’s guilty expression to Francis, who hastened to mop up the ink before it stained through the bed sheets into the mattress itself.

“We were discussing a dream,” Harry said. He peered closely at Severus. “How did you die?” he asked suddenly.

Severus moved his hand to protectively cover the line of his throat. “Why?” he demanded.

“Was it with the Killing Curse?”

Severus remained silent for a long while. His eyes darted back and forth between Francis and Harry. “Voldemort cut my throat,” he said finally. “My blood helped him gain back his human appearance, and he would not have had it wasted by killing me with a curse.”

“Let me see your throat,” Francis directed Severus. Severus glared at his family before he reluctantly bared the underside of his neck to them.

“It’s not cut,” Harry whispered.

“So?” Severus glared at them.

“We were discussing the theory of dying and retaining the physical appearance of what you originally were at the time of death,” Francis said in explanation.

“So I’m an exception to the rule!” Bewilderment temporarily replaced suspicious anger as Harry and Francis exchanged knowing looks. Severus’ expression darkened. He suddenly loomed over Harry, once more the terrifying Potions Master of the Hogwarts Dungeons. Harry cringed and nearly dived under his bed to hide from the black expression on Severus’ face. “What is going on around here?”

Francis must have been effected by Severus’ menacing presence as well, since he hastily stood up and quickly edged away from Severus. “Here.” He thrust the roll of parchment he had written Harry’s recounting of memories and dreams into Severus’ hand. “I’m going to get some colored inks.”

Severus glared after him and Harry groaned inwardly as he watched his great-grandfather flee from the infirmary. Grumbling under his breath, Severus sat on the edge of Francis’ hospital bed and started to read. As Harry stood up to follow after Francis, Severus snapped, “Sit down, Harry!” Harry’s knees gave out on him and he collapsed on the bed. He gritted his teeth as Severus went back to his reading, and sullenly thought through what he and Francis had discussed.

“Hey,” Harry said suddenly. “I was thinking--”

“Impossible.” Severus did not look up from his reading. “You’re a Gryffindor.”

After that, Harry gritted his teeth and vowed silence.

After a long while, Francis nervously came back. He carefully carried a tray with four bottles of ink. Severus tossed the parchment to the side and scowled fiercely at the two Potters as Francis stopped beside Harry. “Well,” he said finally, “at least I know what’s going on now.”

“What do you think?” Harry asked, curious to know what Severus thought. Severus sighed and slumped forward. No longer did he appear as the intimidating fiend who had made Harry’s life miserable his first four years at Hogwarts.

“I,” he grumbled, “always did wonder where I came from. Now I know some things are better left unknown.” He glared at Harry. “Still doesn’t tell me anything about my bloodlines though, unless I truly am a Snape. Of course,” he muttered

“That,” Francis hastened to say, “is assuming you are the child who was pushed in to the slums.”

Severus scowled. “And how else could I, a wizard-child, be pushed onto the street? There was an instant attraction between myself and magic, and Pandora recognized it.” He added something else under his breath; it sounded like the words “curly black hair” was being blistered with multiple curse words.

Francis sat down on the infirmary floor and placed the inks in front of him. “We’ll just have to ask Cousin Quigley,” he said firmly as he grabbed a blank roll of parchment off his bed. “For now, I’m going to explain to Harry how reality works.” He removed the lids from the inkwells and dipped a brush into the one that contained gray ink. “Now, time, chance, power, and strength are what creates reality, but each one also stands for a certain element, such as fire and water, earth and air.” He waved his dripping brush about as he explained what he understood. “When you remove one element, there remains an odd number. This creates in imbalance as each element pairs with another to become stronger or they cancel each other out. Water and fire cancel each other out; earth and air balance one another out, et cetera. If there are only three elements, one element will dominate the others because of being that single rouge element that cannot be balanced or canceled by another.

“I wouldn’t exactly say this means things that follow the pattern of three or less elements do not exist. It only means that their existence is so shaky and so unreliable that they can hardly be considered real.” Francis bit his lip in concentration as he painted a gray lopsided box on the paper and topped it with a slanting triangle. After a moment of consideration, he added a crooked chimney with a looping trail of smoke, windows with cross paneling, and a door. “This is air,” he said as he pointed at it with his brush. “This is time, infinity, and space all at once.”

“It’s a house,” Severus corrected sardonically as he twisted about to peer closely at Francis’ painting. “And a very sloppy one at that.”

“Just play along. Tom Riddle’s primary element is time, or air. That is what he is made from.” No one said anything as Francis wiped the paint of the brush’s tip with his hand and then dipped it into the bottle containing red ink. He painted a sloppy platform beneath the house. “This is fire, or strength. Tom Riddle’s time has a foundation of strength. The primary element is supported by the foundation and is completely dependant upon it for stability, and strength is a great deal more stable than power. It is not likely that Tom Riddle could set up his own demise, as others in the past have. Therefore, Riddle’s time is going to be strong enough to do what he wants.” Francis wiped the paint off the brush again and dipped it into the dark green ink. He dabbed little dots all over the house. “These are nails,” he explained.

Severus snorted. “You can’t paint worth spit.”

“Be quiet. The primary element is tempered with another, and in Riddle’s case, his time or infinity is tempered by chance. Chance modifies time to suit what it is being fed by, and since it is being fed with power, chance modified time to suit the need of power. Tom Riddle will always hunger after power, but he has the ability to control this hunger. For the rest of his existence, this is power right here.” Francis wiped his brush clean again, dipped it into the blue ink, and drew blue rings around the entire image. “Power is the atmosphere or climate that twists him into the creature that he is, and what he bases his decisions upon. For instance, if you live in a snowy climate and you want to do something, swimming is definitely not an option; in the same manner, to not seek power is impossible for Tom Riddle. Understand?” He looked at his grandchildren expectedly.

Harry blinked in confusion. “Yes. No. Well, kind of.”

Severus scratched his head. “Where did you say you ‘learned’ how to paint?”

Francis sighed. “You made your point already, Severus. I know I can’t paint. Anything else you’d like to complain about me?”

“Yes.” Severus reached out and prodded Francis’ goggles. “Those things look silly.”

“Hey.” Francis shook his brush warningly at Severus. “No one but no one makes fun of my goggles. Hear?”