Shadow of a Doubt

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Chapter Seven
Manipulation

Professor McGonagall had immediately begun herding the students back into the castle the moment that Professor Snape had begun to suffocate. Several of the Slytherins hung back and cheered loudly when Professor Grimalkin collapsed.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were horrified by the turn of events they had just witnessed. Professor Grimalkin's temper had driven him to do an unspeakable thing - which had ended in him taking one step towards the thing he feared the most, returning to Azkaban.

"Professor McGonagall?" whispered Hermione, running to catch up with her Head of House. "Is Professor Snape going to be alright?"

"Yes, Hermione," said McGonagall, a tight, thin-lipped expression on her face. "He will be fine. The Headmaster will intervene, he has to. It would seem that Professor Grimalkin cast Desino Munimentum - a cease protection spell on Professor Snape. As the Protection Charm was part of the conditions of the Duel, Professor Dumbledore is no longer prohibited from interrupting."

"Dueling is complicated, isn't it?" Harry whispered to Ron, who nodded mutely. Ron's face was almost as pale as Professor Grimalkin's had been just before he had cast that suffocation spell.

The students were sent to their various classes, except for those who were due to take Defence Against the Dark Arts or Potions, and life ostensibly returned to normal. Those seated nearest the windows that faced out onto the lawns, however, strained to see what was happening.

"We must get him to the Hospital Wing," said Dumbledore, looking at the prone figure lying on the ground. Conjuring a stretcher, he magically raised Anders from the grass and dropped him gently on the hovering stretcher, which sped away towards the Hospital Wing. "Come, Severus."

"With respect, Headmaster," said Snape, "I must once again ask you to reconsider the logic of employing Grimalkin at this school. What just happened there..."

"You know the plan, Severus," snapped Dumbledore, uncharacteristically shaken. "Just go with it. If we are ever going to prove his innocence, then we expected this sort of thing."

"Headmaster..." Snape looked at the angry expression on Dumbledore's face and let it go. It was not worth discussing at this stage. Leave it for a while and then broach the subject of Grimalkin's unsuitability. Snape accompanied Dumbledore as far as the Entrance Hall, where the Headmaster peeled off towards the Hospital Wing.

The stretcher bearing Anders had already arrived in the Hospital Wing, much to Madam Pomfrey's surprise. She had immediately got into action, transferring him gently from the stretcher to a bed. As Dumbledore walked through the doors, she questioned him immediately.

"What happened? Is it his pneumonia?" She had been expecting to see the young Professor in the Hospital Wing at some time - she had pored over his medical records with extreme unease. The boy had come close to death whilst he had been in Azkaban, defying, at overwhelming odds the illness that had threatened to claim him.

"No, Poppy. He and Severus had a Duel."

"A Duel? Headmaster, what were you thinking, allowing something like that to go ahead?" She checked Anders over, noticing the burn at his throat. "What happened here?"

"His pendant," said Dumbledore, solemnly. Madam Pomfrey started and stared at him. She knew the nature of the monitor charm and the hands that were deftly checking the young teacher immediately drew back. "You mean he cast a Dark Arts spell?"

"Treat him, Poppy. There will be an explanation for this."

"Headmaster, I really don't think I..."

"TREAT him, Poppy."

His tone invited no argument. Madam Pomfrey froze in her complaining and, wordlessly, turned back to her patient. "He does not seem to be deeply unconscious," she reported. "His breathing is regular, his temperature is fine...his colour is bad, though."

Even as she spoke, the young man began to stir on the bed, and once again, she drew back. Dumbledore put a restraining hand on her. "He will not hurt you, Poppy. You have my word on that."

"Headmaster?" Anders' voice was a croak, and Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey turned to look at him. The nurse glanced at Dumbledore and immediately went to his side.

"Professor, how do you feel?"

"I'm thirsty," he said, miserably. "So thirsty..."

"He was drinking a lot of alcohol at the Feast last night," said Dumbledore, also moving forward to look carefully at the boy. "He is probably dehydrated. I should have considered that possibility. Anders, you are a fool. A careless fool!"

"Headmaster!" Madam Pomfrey was shocked at Professor Dumbledore's callous tone, conveniently forgetting that she herself had just been about to refuse to treat him. "Please show a little consideration!" But Anders had dropped his head.

"What happened?" asked the young Welshman, unhappily. "I don't remember anything after that last air spell." He accepted the large glass of water that Madam Pomfrey had conjured for him, and downed it gratefully.

"What happened was that you almost killed Professor Snape!" Dumbledore was full of relief that Anders was alright, and it made his tone abrupt and angry. Anders looked up at him in shock.

"I can't have done!"

"Asphyxio? Anders, you tried to suffocate him! Where were your brains, boy? In your ego?" Dumbledore reached across and pulled the pendant, dragging the bemused young Professor up with him. "You have used a life, Anders. What was going through your head?"

"I..." Anders looked down.

The smoky quartz pendant in Dumbledore's hand glinted in the light of the infirmary. Anders looked at first it, and then the Headmaster in abject horror.

"No, that's not right, I don't...I didn't...I would never..." His mouth opened and closed a few times, then, quite startlingly, his face crumpled and he began to sob. Dumbledore glanced at Madam Pomfrey and she nodded, moving away to give them some privacy. Dumbledore let go of Anders' pendant and sat down on the bed.

"I know you didn't, Anders," he said, and the harshness had gone from his tone. "I believe - I very sincerely believe - that something is making you act in ways that are alien to your nature." He put a comforting hand on the sobbing young man's shoulder. "After what happened out there this afternoon, I believe that even more."

* * * * *

It was, by now, late November and things had - more or less - returned to normal. Grimalkin had been released from the Hospital Wing within a few days and had returned, to many people's surprise, to teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts with renewed vigour.

"Headmaster, we must talk."

"Not now, Severus."

"Then WHEN, Headmaster? We must discuss what we are going to do about Grimalkin!" Snape seemed particularly irate about the situation, but Dumbledore brushed it off.

"I have told you, Severus. It is in hand." Dumbledore peered down his nose at the Potions Master and sighed heavily. "When will you ever learn to trust me?"

"I trust you, Headmaster," spat Snape. "It's HIM. I don't trust him further than I could comfortably throw him."

"He will not act again so soon. I think we have time to work on the next stage of the plan. Do you want to see this wrong put right, Severus, or do you not?"

There was a long, painful silence, during which Snape's black eyes glittered dangerously. He looked as though he wanted to storm out of the Headmaster's office, but his shoulders slumped, and he shook his head in defeat. "Yes, Headmaster."

* * * * *

The Quidditch season had started with a bang for the Gryffindor team. Their first match, versus Ravenclaw had resulted in Harry catching the Snitch in a record two minutes ten seconds, and a very dissatisfied crowd who had been expecting a much longer game. The Gryffindor team did not care, however, and had returned to their thrice-weekly training sessions with keen enthusiasm.

It was not a surprise to Harry to see the lone, robed figure standing mournfully at the side of the Quidditch pitch on a cold, dank evening, silhouetted against what was left of the daylight, a cigarette hanging from his fingers, a look of abject misery on his face. Professor Grimalkin.

Bringing the Firebolt in to land beside the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry dismounted. "Sir?"

"Sorry, Harry," he said, gazing almost reverentially at the Firebolt. "I...miss Quidditch, that's all. This is as close as I can get to playing now." In the chill of the night, his words formed a mist that hung in the air before him. He looked better than he had done for a while, Harry noticed. There was even a faint touch of colour in his cheeks. And there was an expression of...

Something in the young Professor's face touched Harry. It was the look of a man who had seen the one thing he could truly use as an escape ripped away from him. Harry thrust the Firebolt towards the Professor. "Here. Take it for a spin."

Horrified, Grimalkin shook his head violently. "I...can't."

"It's alright. I don't mind."

"No, you don't understand. I...I'm not allowed. I've been banned."

"Banned?" Harry was horror stricken. "Banned from flying?"

"Yes." Professor Grimalkin took another long pull on his cigarette and sighed. "For five years."

"That's...really harsh."

"I'd have preferred the Dementor's Kiss." Grimalkin flashed Harry one of his rare, shy smiles to show he was joking. Well. Semi-joking, at best. Harry shook his head.

"Are you monitored for that like you are for...uh..." He gestured vaguely at Grimalkin's pendant. The young Professor blushed furiously and tucked the crystal away down the front of his robes. He shook his head in the negative and Harry grinned wickedly.

"Meet me out here after midnight and you can take the Firebolt for a spin."

There is a saying that like attracts like - and in the case of Harry Potter and Anders Grimalkin, that saying was more than appropriate - it was deadly accurate. Both thrust into the public eye unwillingly, both filled with an almost insatiable need to fly, both excellent Seekers...and both with an underlying need to bend rules - although Anders Grimalkin was a lot more cautious.

The Professor stared lovingly at the Firebolt, then moved his gaze to Harry. It was clear that he was struggling with his conscience. Finally, his bright blue eyes filled with something akin to mischief.

"You got a date, Harry."

He spun on his heel and walked off into the night. Harry grinned after him. He LIKED the young Professor - there was something so inherently...innocent about him. He didn't believe for one moment that Anders Grimalkin had intended to hurt Snape that day on the lawns. It had been a flash of temper, nothing more, nothing less. Isn't that what Dumbledore had patiently explained to the breathlessly excited student body the following morning at breakfast?

It did explain something to Harry. Ever since meeting Grimalkin, he'd wondered how on earth someone so meek and mild could ever have been put into Slytherin House. It was the temper, no doubt. The Sorting Hat had been able to detect just how vicious Grimalkin could be and had Sorted him accordingly.

Harry watched him disappear into the fading light of the day and grinned to himself. It wasn't all generosity on his part - he'd like to learn from Grimalkin. Although Harry had never seen the young man play, he'd got a reputation as one of the most impressive fliers who'd ever graced a Quidditch field. He looked forward to seeing if it was true.

* * * * *

Hermione and Ron were in the Gryffindor common room when Harry returned, his Firebolt tucked under his arm and a faint, mischievous grin on his faint. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"What have you got planned now, Harry?"

"Nothing," replied Harry, plopping down into a squashy chair and grinning broadly at them. "Just a little private tuition with Professor Grimalkin, that's all."

"What, like when you studied the Patronus charm with Lupin?" said Hermione, interested in the idea of extra learning. Harry shook his head, but said nothing. "Well, what then? Come on Harry, do tell us."

Ron nodded and prodded Harry in the ribs with his foot. "Don't come over all mysterious on us, it's like talking to Professor Trelawney on a particularly bad day."

Harry leaned forward and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Grimalkin's coming out to take my Firebolt for a spin. I'm hoping I can convince him to give me one or two...pointers."

Hermione put a hand over her mouth. "Harry, you can't do that. He's been banned from flying! If you get caught, you'll both be in serious trouble!"

"We won't get caught," said Harry, confidently. "I'll be extra-careful. I was going to give him the Invisibility Cloak to fly with, then, if anyone DOES come out, I can just say I was testing the Quidditch field conditions for tomorrow's practise."

"When are you planning on doing this?" asked Hermione, a strange air of sternness about her. Harry reluctantly told her.

"Yes, Harry, that'll work well," she said, a little derisively. "Testing conditions at midnight. Everyone will think you've gone mad." She began to gather her books together. "You just be careful," she said, glaring at Ron and Harry. "Professor Grimalkin has been through enough already without you adding to his troubles."

As she walked away, Ron snorted. "She fancies him rotten. Don't know why she won't just admit it."

Harry watched her go. "I don't think it's that at all," he said, softly. "We know Hermione's like Dumbledore - she's a soft touch for charity cases and wounded animals - and I think Grimalkin neatly slots into one...if not both of those categories."

Ron's expression softened, and a look of fondness came over his face, the sort of expression that, if Harry had pressed him about it, Ron would most certainly have denied it had ever been there. Harry smiled to himself.

Sensing that Ron would become embarrassed if he talked about Hermione much more, Harry the conversation towards their discovery about Grimalkin and his shadow. Ron's initial reaction that Grimalkin must be a vampire had ebbed somewhat with the passage of time. In their spare time - which wasn't much, these days, with their mock O.W.L.s approaching - they had all visited the library and read many books on the Dark Arts. Hermione had managed to obtain Professor Flitwick's absent-minded signature on the Restricted Section permission form, and they had pored over many huge tomes.

There was a lot of information about people and their shadows, and the one thing that had caught Harry's eye had been the chapter in 'How To Steal Friends and Manipulate People' where it discussed an ancient Dark Arts charm, now long forbidden, where a powerful wizard could 'capture' someone's shadow and use it in the same way other witches and wizards used familiars. The effect this would have on the person whose shadow was missing was long-term madness. The writer of that particular volume clearly sincerely subscribed to the school of thought that a shadow was part of a man's soul.

They talked for a while longer, and then both of them attempted, somewhat halfheartedly, to do some revision. By eleven o' clock, the common room was almost empty, apart from a few struggling fifth years like themselves, trying to cram as much information into their heads as was humanly possible.

Upstairs, in the girl's dormitory, Hermione was confiding in Lavender Brown.

"Why don't you talk to him about it, Hermione?"

"I couldn't," said Hermione, a furious blush reaching her cheeks. "I can't just go up to him and tell him I think he's nice and will he come to the Yule Ball with me."

"Ron's not THAT scary, is he? Besides, you've been friends since the first year."

"That's the point, isn't it? Friends. Maybe that's all he wants. I don't know how boy's minds work, Lavender. I'm new to this." She sighed. "Who are you going to the Yule Ball with?"

"Well," said Lavender, also reddening. "David Donnelly - the Hufflepuff boy with that lovely Irish accent? He has been dropping some fairly heavy hints."

Hermione smiled, a little sadly. "I wish Ron would drop some sort of hint that he likes me. How do I get him to open up, Lavender?"

Lavender shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "I wish I knew the answer to that one, Hermione. It's at times like this that I wish I had an older brother to confide in instead of three sisters." She got up and went back over to her own bed, leaving Hermione deep in thought.

* * * * *

Anders Grimalkin strolled nonchalantly out onto the Quidditch field and looked around. Harry was nowhere to be seen. He let out a little noise of disappointment and checked his watch. 12.05.

"Professor!"

Anders nearly jumped out of his skin as the voice came from the darkness. He stared around wildly, then stared in disbelief as Harry emerged from under the veil of the Invisibility Cloak.

"Harry? Where did you..."

"Don't ask about it, Sir. I thought you could use it, then you could fly on the broom without anyone seeing you." He was startled to see tears form in the young Professor's eyes, and carried on hurriedly lest the man start to cry. "Here."

He handed the Firebolt to Grimalkin, along with the Invisibility Cloak, but Anders was staring lovingly at the broom. "I had one of these," he said, wistfully. "Got snapped, of course, after the accident." He turned it every which way, looking at every inch of it.

"Here." Harry proffered the Cloak again, but Anders shook his head. "No. If I'm going to do this, and I get caught, I don't want YOU getting into trouble as well. You put the Cloak on, then, if anyone comes, you won't be seen." He put up a hand to stop Harry's protests. "Trust me. All the other Professors are preparing the mock O.W.L.s. They won't notice me gone."

Slowly, Anders mounted the broom. Almost immediately he closed his eyes. "This feels...so good," he whispered as the Firebolt bobbed gently beneath him. "I'd almost forgotten..." He opened his eyes wide and grinned at Harry, an expression that made his face look years younger. "Well, here goes nothing."

He kicked off into the air and flew Harry's broom around the Quidditch field with such an air of consummate ease and skill that Harry, for a moment, felt jealous of the Professor's talent. That envy soon turned to admiration, however, as Grimalkin swooped, and rolled and dived, a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

Finally, he glided back down to earth and hopped off the broom.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, a catch in his voice. "I have missed that."

"Sir...would you give me some pointers? Some of those dives you did...were so spectacular."

"Harry, you're skilled enough. I'm sure I couldn't teach you anything you don't already know." He was genuinely modest, but Harry shook his head.

"You could. Definitely. You could give me lessons - pointers, perhaps, you wouldn't have to get on the broom, so we could do it during the day...and maybe we can have a few more midnight sessions..." It was tantamount to bribery, but Harry hoped that Grimalkin would see it as a highly generous offer on his part.

He did. A date for their first practise was agreed, and a happy, jaunty bounce in his walk that had not been there before, Grimalkin walked away.