How I Spent My Spring Holidays, By Prof. Severus Snape

Chapter Nine: Scars Can Come In Useful

"I beg your pardon!" squeaked Miss Granger, tightly clutching the collar of her hot pink shirt around her neck.

"Harry will need access to your cleavage if we are to exorcise him of Lord Voldemort's soul," Dumbledore explained matter-of-factly.

"Exorcise me?" Potter sputtered. "Are you saying I'm - I'm a Horcrux?"

"Cleavage?" choked Weasley.

Dumbledore nodded. The three young people, normally so boorish and rude, stood in submissive silence. "There was always a strong possibility that you were the Gryffindor Horcrux, Harry," the old wizard continued. "Tom was far too keen to get his hands on Godric's sword. I doubted that he would have completely given up hope of using something of Gryffindor's for his monstrous purpose. And you, after all, are Gryffindor's sole surviving heir." Potter's eyebrows shot skywards at this news, which seemed to come as a surprise to everyone except Dumbledore. "Now that we know that Ravenclaw's wand has not been used as a Horcrux," Dumbledore concluded, "it logically follows that Harry has."

Miss Granger frowned. "No... that doesn't logically follow at all..." she muttered.

Not hearing her (or perhaps choosing not to) Dumbledore said, "Obviously, we will need to take much greater care in removing the dark taint from you than we did from the other Horcruxes." His long, thin hands waved over a puddle of molten gold, which had once been Hufflepuff's cup. "This is where we will need to work closely with you, Miss Granger." The girl was still frowning. Not seeing her (or perhaps choosing not to) Dumbledore stepped towards Potter and lifted the youth's fringe. "And where will make full use of Harry's extraordinary scar." He paused for what seemed an age, touching Potter's forehead lightly with his index finger, then continued softly, "Scars can come in useful. I myself have one on my left knee that was once a perfect map of the London Underground. Alas, the scar shows neither the Docklands light railway nor the Jubilee Line, and even the Heathrow extension is revealed as 'under construction.' It has been difficult to inflict injuries upon my left leg with enough precision to update my scar, although from time to time I have tried. So, my scar's usefulness has diminished over the years, but I dare say it is still more useful than having no map at all. Madam Pomfrey, tiring of my self-harm, once offered to buy me a London Underground souvenir tea towel instead.... Now, where was I?"

I hissed, "You were telling Potter that his scar was useful."

"So I was," Dumbledore said happily. "It is a most useful channel to dispel evil magic. You see, that scar has worked as a conduit before. When Voldemort first aimed a Killing Curse at you, Harry, your mother clutched you to her breast. Lily's sacrifice ensured that the evil magic, the concentrated vileness of the vilest of wizards, could do no more than form a scar on your forehead. This let Voldemort's curse ebb out of you - the curse flowed from you to Lily - all because of your lightning bolt shaped scar. And now," Dumbledore's hands dropped onto Harry's shoulders and he looked the youth squarely in the eyes, "we need to recreate those conditions as closely as we can, to protect you when the Horcrux is destroyed."

"Accordingly," Dumbledore said, gently steering Potter by the shoulders until he stood toe to toe with Miss Granger, "we should only attempt to destroy the Horcrux while Miss Granger clasps your forehead to her breast."

Miss Granger jumped backwards in alarm. "NO!" she cried. "I mean - er - I understand - the Expecto Sacrificum spell - well, it worked for Harry's mother. But there's no sensible reason why it should work for Harry and me!"

"Couldn't we use someone else's breast instead?" Potter asked, obviously appalled.

"Yeah!" Weasley agreed forcefully.

"No we cannot," Dumbledore sternly replied. "Miss Granger is the only Muggle-born witch here, so she shares Lily's heritage. Even though she is unable to invoke Lily's ancient blood magic, she has a close bond of amity with Harry which will have to suffice. Now, Miss Granger, since time is not our friend I will ask you once more to comply."

"And if I don't?" the girl asked, trying to edge backwards behind the bowling ball dispensing machine. He hand dipped into the soggy metal that was once Hufflepuff's treasure. She looked down, aghast, and whispered, "You must think I'm horrible, Harry...b-but, I've never wanted to do that to your scar."

"That was a pretty cup, wasn't it, lass?" Moody asked menacingly. "It'd be a shame if Harry's head ended up a puddle of slime as well."

Miss Granger tried to wipe the gold down the front of her blouse, all the while jibbering. "A shame? It'd be much worse than a shame! Much, much worse. Can't you see - it's a circularity - an insoluble paradox - Harry can't kill V-voldemort completely until we first destroy all the Horcruxes. And only Harry can defeat V-voldemort, according to the prophecy. But it seems we can't destroy the Horcruxes until we burn Harry's head to a crisp, so then - who'll defeat Voldemort? There's no sense to it at all!"

"Perhaps such a situation," Dumbledore said authoritatively, "calls for less reliance on logic and more on trust."

Potter snorted. "Trust? That's a bit rich, coming from somebody who's been hiding from us all for months."

The whole debate was becoming exceedingly tiresome. Wishing the quibbling to desist at once, I sidled up to Aberforth and deftly snatched the wand from his pocket. Then with feline grace I swung about, pointed the wand at both Potter and Miss Granger and shouted, "Imperio!"

The pair stood transfixed. In a bored tone I instructed the girl to unbutton her blouse and the boy to place his forehead on the pallid triangle of flesh that was exposed. Miss Granger was completely docile in her compliance, despite blushing furiously. Potter flinched but obeyed, although I think he closed his eyes. Once the couple formed their unattractive tableau of acute embarrassment, I turned to face Dumbledore, and noted that he seemed less than pleased with my methods. Behind him stood Ron Weasley, whose face had flushed to the colour of an overripe tomato.

"I suppose we should begin," Dumbledore said crossly. "Mr Weasley, if you know how to perform a Flame-Freezing Charm then I suggest you stand next to me with your wand at the ready. Hagrid, you will need to assist Alastor with the Shield Charm - we must exercise every precaution."

I adopted a duelling stance, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dumbledore. Miss Granger's words haunted me. If we failed to leave Potter with his head intact, there was a good chance that we would destroy not only the Dark Lord's Horcrux but also the one wizard who could defeat him.

On Dumbledore's signal I started my incantation, and suffered the inevitable sickening plunge into the horrors of the Dark Lord's cruelty. This time I heard one victim's pleas more clearly than all the rest, telling me repeatedly to take her instead of her infant. But when Lily Evans' face loomed out of the darkness she was, to my amazement, not wide-eyed with terror but grinning triumphantly. I had seen that smile many times before: when she brewed a flawless Draught of Peace in second year, when she gloated over attaining a perfect "O" in her Potions O.W.L., and when she called me Snivellus and told me to wash my pants in fifth year. It shocked me to realise that, at the very moment of her death, Lily had known that, as always, she had won the day. She really had been a smug little Mudblood.

I tried to not let these annoying memories distract me from my task. Soon we began to make progress. Potter's scar started to smoulder and smoke issued from Miss Granger's chest. Weasley was so jittery that his Flame-Freezing Charm sent a flurry of ice crystals into the girl's face before he lowered his aim. By degrees we all appeared to be succeeding, although the smell of burning flesh was particularly pungent. Then Dumbledore drew a huge, rattling breath and flourished his wand. I felt the final, embittered shreds of the Dark Lord's presence rip through me as the Horcrux was destroyed. Emitting a high-pitched shriek that sounded remarkably like the whistle of the Hogwarts Express, I fell backwards into the chintz armchair. Dumbledore collapsed into Weasley's arms with an "Oof," while Potter and Miss Granger fell on the ground, where Hagrid's parasol sprayed an immense snow drift over the pair of them.

Shortly afterwards, Potter's face poked out of the snow, his spectacles askew. His forehead was almost entirely obscured by a purple scar, the exact shape and size of a Pygmy Puffskein. Miss Granger staggered to her feet, grasping at her blouse. However, she did not manage to do up its buttons before I noticed that she bore an identical lurid scar on her décolletage. It seemed they would both bear a permanent reminder of their undignified embrace.

"Hagrid - Alastor," Dumbledore said between ragged breaths, "Take the young people to Madam Pomfrey."

"You should come with us too, Albus," Moody said gruffly. "You look a mess." As expected, nobody bothered to enquire about my wellbeing.

"No, I have one more visit to pay," Dumbledore replied, releasing Weasley (whom he had been using for balance). The old wizard tottered like a dipsomaniac leprechaun. "I will need to take the present with me," he continued, trying vainly to find his feet. "I assume you still have it, Hagrid?" With that, Dumbledore stumbled over to the armchair and nearly landed on top of me.

"Yeah, got it right here," Hagrid answered, patting one of his many pockets. "But are yeh fit ter travel?"

"Never better, never better," Dumbledore said. His voice sounded positively cheerful, even though I could feel his hands quaking on the arm of the chair. "We are so close now, Hagrid, that I actually feel quite exultant. Wait for me at Poppy's place - it will all be accomplished by tea time, and then we shall toast our good fortune with tankards of mulled mead."

With a sceptical look, Moody and Hagrid ushered the young Gryffindors away, but not before Hagrid extracted a brightly coloured shoe box from his pocket and handed it to Dumbledore. "Excellent," Dumbledore whispered, caressing the box as though it contained some precious artefact, instead of the gaudy, Muggle sporting shoes depicted on the lid.

"We have a journey ahead of us," Dumbledore told me, "but it is my understanding that you are not at liberty to Apparate independently."

"It would attract a fair amount of unwelcome attention from the Ministry," I admitted.

"Then you would not mind if Side-Along-Apparition was used instead?"

I shrugged. "That is clearly a moot point, since you appear to scarcely have the strength to Apparate by yourself, let alone with me."

"Oh, Aberforth will be assisting me," Dumbledore said. I had almost forgotten that Dumbedore's grey haired brother was still with us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that he had not shifted from his lime green plastic chair.

"Then who will be taking me?" I asked.

The borzoi hound at Aberforth's feet stood up, arching its back and yawning wide. The dog's long pink tongue had barely rolled back between its narrow jaws before the beast stood on its hind legs and placed its front paws on its hips, in a wholly un-canine manner. Then, in a split-second, the animal transformed into a buxom young woman with bleached yellow hair.

"I can take you, Sev," the woman offered, breaking into a smile that revealed her teeth had been stained by a daily packet of low tar cigarettes. "It's on my way home, innit?"

"Thank you, Veronica," I said, bowing slightly before I stepped up to her and placed my arm around her slim waist.