The Brethren of Tyr

Chapter Fifteen: Tales of Durmstrang

"Well, it sounds like it was to do with her memory loss," Hermione considered, after Harry related his first Occlumency lesson with Beauchamp to her and Ron in the deserted common room late that night.

"Sounds mad," Ron added, "You saw a whole scene from her memory, and she didn't even notice? You must be getting good!"

Hermione frowned.

"I don't think that's it," she mused. "Not to judge your efforts, Harry," she hastily added, "but it sounds like you possibly tapped into a memory she can no longer remember- Viktor said she has no memory of anything before she turned six years old."

"The bark shavings in that vial she took with her might have been Rowan," Harry thought aloud. "Augustine did say they would work with the Jobberknoll feathers."

"Perhaps she's working on that restorative potion Ginny mentioned?" Ron suggested.

"Perhaps," Hermione agreed.

"Blimey," Ron sighed, "so she knew a Death Eater, but doesn't remember... You don't suppose she's one too, do you?"

"Honestly, Ron, do you think Dumbledore would hire a Death Eater?" Hermione chastised. Ron looked straight at her.

"Two words- Severus Snape," he retorted. Hermione flushed.

"Oh yes, of course... but Dumbledore knows he's on our side," she replied, at which Ron snorted, but said nothing.

"Anyway." Harry fought to bring the conversation away from Snape and towards the issue at hand. "The point is, she was really unnerved by it."

"Wouldn't you be?" Ron replied, and Harry was forced to concede to him.

"We can come to one conclusion," Hermione commented.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Having memories of someone with a Dark Mark that you don't remember can't be good," she replied. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, 'duh'!" he responded, causing Hermione to throw one of the nearby cushions at his head, which bounced off and fell to the floor.

"Fine, why don't you go and look up memory loss in the library, then?" Ron half asked, half ordered. Hermione turned an odd shade of pink.

"I'm going with Ginny tomorrow," she replied, quietly. Harry narrowed his eyes a little at her.

"Why won't you go by yourself anymore, anyway?" he asked. Hermione's facial expression made clear the subject was off limits.

"I've told you all I'm going to tell you," she replied, curtly. Harry shrugged.

"It's all a bit odd, isn't it, Ron?" he teased. Ron grinned.

"She probably folded over a page as a book mark and feels too guilty to go alone into the library again," he replied. Hermione scowled, and stood up, grabbing her bag.

"Oh, don't sulk, you know we're only teasing!" Ron complained. Hermione sat back down.

"Just drop it, okay?" she warned. Ron held his palms aloft in surrender.

"Okay, okay, consider it dropped," he soothed.

"What are you doing over Christmas?" Harry asked, in an attempt to change the subject. Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know. I expect I'll be seeing Mum and Dad on Christmas Day, but they haven't told me of any other specific plans," she replied.

"Come to ours!" Ron practically commanded. "It'll be weird without you two, anyway."

Harry looked at the floor.

"I don't know if I'll be able to- I might have to stay with the Dursleys," he replied, simply. Ron looked up at him.

"Don't be daft," he said, shrugging aside the notion. "It's for a fortnight. I reckon Dumbledore would want you to stay either here, or with us. That's what he did last year, remember?"

Harry nodded, hoping Ron was right.

"True," he replied, trying not to think about spending Christmas with Sirius last year. This coming Christmas was going to be hard, knowing that he wouldn't be around, not even to write to. Christmas was all about family, and the last link to his was gone forever.

"...Anyway, Harry," Ron continued, and Harry fought to work out what Ron might have been talking to him about before he zoned out. "We'll smuggle you out from the Dursleys' if push comes to shove. What do you think, Hermione? Should I ask my mum?"

"I don't know," the girl in question replied slowly, chewing on her lip. "Having me to stay over is one thing, but my parents too? Won't it be a bother?"

"My dad would be well happy, so as long as they don't mind explaining plugs and batteries to him, it'll be fine, I'd wager," Ron cajoled, until Hermione relented, and gave Ron permission to ask his parents if her parents could visit them during Christmas too. Harry sighed. He liked the Grangers, but somehow the though of Ron and Hermione's families being around him at Christmas served only to heighten Harry's sense of loss, though he hid his feelings well.

"Here," Ron suddenly asked into the silence, "what's going on with this DA reunion?"

"It's going to have to be during the Hogsmeade weekend next term," Hermione replied. "Terry and Anthony can't make it this term, Cho said she was busy, but whether that was an excuse or not..." she trailed off. Harry looked at her.

"It's okay. I know she hates me," he replied, in a voice far cheerier than he felt. Hermione patted him on the arm.

"She doesn't hate you, she's just a little hurt, that's all," she soothed. Ron looked askance at him.

"You don't fancy her again, do you?" he asked, as though dreading the answer. Harry shook his head and waved his hand as though pushing the idea away.

"No," he replied truthfully, "I just don't want her to hate me."

"And she doesn't!" Hermione enunciated. Harry couldn't help it, and smiled at her.

"What would I do without you, huh?"

"All sorts of silly things," she replied blithely. Ron glanced at them both.

"Have you told Susan, Zack and Hannah?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"I'll let them know tomorrow in Charms. Shall we tell them to keep the next Hogsmeade weekend free?"

Hermione nodded.

"That's a good idea, and I've got Arithmancy with Terry and Padma tomorrow. I'll let them know," she replied, yawning as she did so. She stretched before getting to her feet.

"Right," she announced, "I'm off to bed. See you all at breakfast!"

"Night, Hermione," Ron and Harry replied. Hermione turned around to face Harry.

"Harry, make sure you practise what Professor Beauchamp told you to- clear your mind and all."

Harry gave her a mock salute.

"Yes, Sergeant Granger," he replied. She rolled her eyes, and set off up the stone steps to the girls' dormitory. Ron also got up.

"I think she's got a good point, I'm knackered," he added, with a yawn. Harry also got up and they headed for the boys' dormitory.

"Don't worry about Beauchamp," Ron offered by way of comfort, "she's nowhere near as nuts as Snape; you'll probably learn loads from her!"

Harry sighed inwardly. He was more concerned that he may have got through his second teacher in Occlumency before he'd even had his second lesson.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how much Harry valued his evenings, Beauchamp was not phased by the events of that Occlumency lesson. At least, she wasn't phased enough to refuse to give Harry anymore. So, Monday evenings spent sitting cross-legged on a blue mat in Beauchamp's office, inhaling incense and learning to block thoughts became routine. What also became routine was Beauchamp having a different potion brewing in a cauldron on her desk every time he had a lesson, complete with parchments littering the same desk containing her spidery scrawl, many of which had large, angry ink spotted crossings out etched into them with such ferocity, they had almost torn through the parchment.

The last Monday before the end of term, however, he was greeted to an entirely different sight. He had knocked on her office door as before, but got no response. However, the door was ajar, so Harry thought it prudent to enter, in case she hadn't heard him.

What he saw when he entered the room stunned him. Professor Beauchamp was sat at her desk and, to all intents and purposes, appeared to be conversing with a mug. More specifically, she appeared to be conversing with her bright yellow ceramic mug that bore the legend 'Professors do it whilst demonstrating to a class of twenty' and most likely ensured that it was never borrowed by any of the other teachers in the school. Its contents were glowing a strange shade of green, and Harry hoped she wasn't planning to drink them.

"...It's exactly like I told you, I still can't access them... The Rowan bark didn't help... It's important because if I can't access them, how can I tell if anyone else is? How can I keep our secrets?... Yeah, but.... Okay, I'm going to send you a vial, see what you make of it."

At this point, Beauchamp reached across her desk and scooped up a small eppindorf tube of the potion bubbling in her cauldron, sealed it and dropped it into her mug, where it promptly vanished with a small puff of steam.

"Got it? Good... how is she?... Oh, that is good news... Of course I'll be there at Christmas, tell her I've got her something really nice... Yep, speak to you soon."

She waved her left hand over the mug, and its contents no longer glowed green. Looking up at Harry, she nearly jumped out of her seat.

"Great Merlin, Harry, where did you come from?" she asked, on relaxing a little into her seat.

"The Gryffindor common-room. It's Occlumency time, remember?" he replied, with a mild sarcasm he knew Beauchamp would appreciate. She did, and chuckled a little.

"Of course- I hadn't forgotten, you know. My short-term memory isn't a problem. Now sit down on the mat and act like you're my student!" she quipped.

Harry smiled and did as he was told. He fished in his pocket for his wand, and began to pull that out as well, but Beauchamp raised her hand to stop him.

"No, Harry," she said, smoothly, "I think we're past that stage now. I want you to repel me with just your mind."

"But..." Harry's mind swam with panic. "I'm not ready, I haven't learned..."

Beauchamp put her finger to her lip to silence him.

"You're plenty ready," she replied, briskly. "Besides, if you try and use Occlumency to shut down your thoughts and you're waving a wand in your attacker's face, they're likely to notice something's up. Discretion is the key to this, Harry."

"Professor..."

"Call me Persephone," Beauchamp replied. "Only during these lessons, of course," she added, as an afterthought.

"Persephone," Harry continued, "what exactly did Professor Dumbledore tell you about why I needed to learn Occlumency?"

Beauchamp looked straight at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw her green eyes flash with vexation.

"He told me enough to be getting along with," she replied, though Harry now recognised her response as a mere tactic to evade pertinent questions. He was about to enquire further, but Beauchamp's expression warned him not to try.

"Right, are you ready? Now, just remember to concentrate, and you'll be fine," she soothed. Harry sat up a little straighter, as though the act would help him stave off such an attack from Beauchamp.

"Ready? One, two, three, Dextera; Legilmency!"

The familiar worming, pulsing mass of power slid through his brain and Harry felt powerless to stop it; memories flashed through his head as though they were individual slides on a spinning Zoetrope. He saw a glimpse of Cho sitting opposite him at Madame Puddlefoot's last Valentine's day, then a glimpse of Hermione in her blue dress robes flashing him a smile bereft of buck teeth, her arms around Viktor Krum, soon after that came a flash of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle falling out of a big black cloak as Harry's own Patronus hit them full-force during a year three Quidditch match, which was quickly followed by Harry walking around the Room of Requirement commenting and correcting a large group of students from different houses and year groups, who were all casting their own patronuses, amid varying shouts of 'expecto patronum!'...

With a colossal effort, Harry tried not to think about the memories and forget they were even his. The effort lessened slightly as he felt the pulsing mass back away from those memories, as Harry pushed it to concentrate upon his Charms lesson, where Draco accidentally conjured a tree from beneath the stone floor of Professor Flitwick's classroom. When he saw the image of Hermione picking the flower from the floor below her, and the sudden rumble in the classroom as a tree pushed its way through the floor, his mind leapt in triumph.

Suddenly, he felt his own mind push through the pulsing mass currently concentrating on that Charms memory, and he was once again faced with what appeared to be one of Beauchamp's memories. A tall, gangly, dark-haired girl was standing in an office, which appeared to be a teacher's owing to the awards and academic photographs littering the walls and desks. A painting near to her said something in what sounded like a Slavic language, which Harry didn't understand, but it caused the girl's eyebrows to rise. She was staring at a copy of 'The Daily Prophet' with an expression of half-interest, half-horror. The door swung open and Karkaroff swept into the room, staring with equal horror when he saw what she was reading. She glared back at him, defiantly.

"I should have known," she said, silkily. "It all seemed a bit too much."

Karkaroff's eyes narrowed, and he fixed a smouldering glare upon her, and balled his fists up. The girl was scared, but she didn't show it; she merely folded her arms and looked back at him sullenly.

Before Harry knew it, the girl was struck hard cross the jaw, and her expression registered shock. Karkaroff stood glued to the spot, shaking slightly with anger and fear.

"Get out," he hissed, his breathing ragged, "You didn't see... you don't know..."

The girl sensed his fear, and this returned her sense of power.

"But, Professor Karkaroff," she said, flashing a lop-sided smile at him. "What about my detention?"

"Get... out..."

The girl turned to leave, then twirled on her heel, her blood-red robes swinging with the force.

"Sir, is it still there, or did it vanish with him?" she asked, causing Karkaroff's face to flush red with anger, resulting in his white hair appearing to glow.

"Go!" he bellowed, and the girl did as she was told, slamming the door behind her...

Harry's mind pounded with pain, the thrusting power he had fought slammed into his brain with such ferocity, he thought his brain might explode. A struggle took place, where a few more of his memories flashed past him; Petunia boiling Dudley's old clothes, and dyeing them grey to form his Stonewalls uniform, his Aunt Marge suddenly ballooning up whilst Harry felt a seething anger at her having insulted his mother so...

Then, there was another strong push from his own brain, and he was suddenly reliving another of Beauchamp's memories. It was the same office he had seen previously, though he could only see the scene through a crack in the door, as the gangly girl that Harry now recognised as a teenage Beauchamp was spying though it. Karkaroff was stood behind his desk, his hand resting on the back of his chair, whilst a tall, middle-aged woman with dark hair pulled tightly back into a chignon was shouting at him, pointing her finger at him aggressively, her sapphire robes swishing with her agitated movement.

"Karkaroff, I don't care if she broke apart your desk with an axe and cursed your prized rose bushes, you never, ever lay a finger on my daughter, do you hear me!" she bellowed, towering over the now slightly cowering Karkaroff, his cheeks pink with fury.

"Perhaps you ought to teach your precious daughter not to go meddling in affairs that don't concern her!" he spat back, at which the woman laughed richly, showing up an array of creases around her lips.

"It's hardly a secret, Karkaroff, one of your students was bound to find out sooner or later! I hardly think your choices are in anyway the fault of Persephone," she snapped back. Karkaroff turned almost as pale as his hair for a moment, and the woman folded her arms in triumph. Karkaroff sneered.

"Well, Porphyria, I hardly think you are one to judge me. I know tales of your brother that would make your hair curl..."

Porphyria flicked her hand at the air, her expression derisive.

"Don't try to change the subject, Igor. This has got nothing to do with my brother, and everything to do with you threatening one of your students because you're scared of your past!"

Karkaroff scoffed at this.

"I hardly think Persephone is easily threatened, Mrs. Beauchamp. She's a trouble-making little shrew who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut!" he said, in tones of pure hatred. Porphyria smiled.

"Then I've taught her well," she replied, airily. "If there's one thing I can't stand, Karkaroff, it's a coward," she said, pointedly. "For you never know where you stand with a coward. They are only ever on one side- their own."

Karkaroff glared at her.

"You do realise," he said, slowly, "that I could make things rather difficult for Miss. Beauchamp, if you aren't careful. You might find it hard to get her into another school if she doesn't, for example, receive her O.W.L. results..."

His tone was threatening, and it caused Porphyria to stand back for a moment. Clearly regaining her sense of power, she stood up straight again, and began to inspect a small statue on his mantelpiece.

"You do realise," she mocked, "that I could make things rather difficult for you, Professor Karkaroff, if you aren't careful. You might find it hard to get a job in another school if I let slip to enough parents about that report in a certain British newspaper that had a rather extensive coverage of your trial, if I recall."

Karkaroff fought to appear composed.

"You, forget, my dear," and here he made the epithet sound like an insult. "I have had dealings with those who are far more deadly than an overly concerned housewife."

Porphyria sneered, and she leant over threateningly, almost touching her nose against Karkaroff's, her swarthy complexion contrasting quite amusingly with his that was now pallid in fear.

"Oh, believe me," she whispered menacingly, "dealing with the Dark Lord will be a picnic compared to dealing with me." Her voice then returned to its original volume, and was laced with dignity. "Well, you know where to send Persephone's O.W.L. results. I've already been making enquiries as to getting her a place in another school to take her N.E.W.T.s, and if anyone asks me why she's left, I'll be only too happy to answer!"

She swept out of the room, grabbing Persephone's arm as she did so, leaving an utterly bewildered and fearful looking Karkaroff in her wake...

Harry looked up at Beauchamp, the link broken. They were both sat calmly on the mat, until Beauchamp got up with a start.

"Cup of tea, Harry?" she offered, which startled Harry.

"Thanks," he replied, watching her carefully as she took a box off her shelf. She prised off the silver lid and let Harry smell it.

"Chinese green tea," she added, and Harry recognised the smell.

"That would be lovely," he replied, and she tapped her small kettle with her left hand, at which it filled with water and began to heat up. She scooped up some of the dried leaves out of the silver box and lay then carefully at the bottom of two ceramic mugs. After a few moments, she poured the hot water over a portion of the dried leaves, and left them to brew for a second.

"You can have milk if you want," Beauchamp offered, "but you really shouldn't drink green tea with milk. Lemon is okay though," she added, reaching for a ripe yellow lemon from a small basket of them nestled against her tea caddy on the shelf behind her desk.

Harry nodded in the affirmative, and watched her grab a dangerous looking dagger from the display on the back wall and deftly chop a lemon in half with it, squeezing some of the contents into each cup.

"I say," she called out to him, "that memory of yours- the one of you teaching all those students the Patronus charm? That's cleared up the mystery of why a handful of my year six students have got such sterling O.W.L. marks!"

"Yeah well, our last Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was rubbish. Hermione suggested I teach some stuff."

Beauchamp laughed.

"Well, you did a good job," she replied, and handed a cup of steaming tea to Harry. He held it in both hands, and was surprised to find the cup had no handle.

"They're from Indonesia," she replied, by way of an explanation. "They don't have handles. You just hold them like a bowl and sip from them."

Harry nodded, and did as he was told, and found it had a sharp, pungent taste. However, it was pleasant, so he drank more, feeling it warm up his stomach and hands.

"Persephone, who was that woman in your memory?" he asked. Beauchamp giggled.

"Oh, that's my Aunt. She's a great old lady- she nutted the headmaster when I came bottom in Divination," she replied.

"Karkaroff," Harry said, absently. Beauchamp's eyes narrowed.

"How did you?... Oh, of course," she laughed, and slapped her hand to her forehead. "The Triwizard Tournament. Viktor told me all about it by sending me letters throughout the tournament; I wish I'd have been young enough to enter... Oh, sorry," she suddenly said, looking suitably embarrassed. "Your friend Cedric. I didn't mean to be so insensitive."

"It's okay," Harry replied, knowing from the look of mortification on her face that she knew she had put her foot in it and was genuinely sorry.

Suddenly, Harry felt himself smile.

"Did Viktor mention Hermione during that time?" he asked. Beauchamp giggled.

"Mention her? He never bloody shut up about her! Every two days I was getting letters saying stuff like, 'I saw this really nice English girl in the Hogwarts library today, but of course I didn't just talk to her, I was scared!' 'Should I ask her to the Ball, then?', 'She doesn't even know I exist!', 'But you can't just go up to a girl and ask her!'. Honestly, when I first taught your year six class, I felt as though I'd known Hermione for years," she replied. Harry grinned.

"Oh, and he was jealous of you, of course," Beauchamp continued. Harry looked up at her.

"Yeah, he asked me if anything was going on between me and Hermione. We're just friends," he added, defensively, "but those articles by Rita Skeeter didn't help."

Beauchamp laughed again.

"Ah, it's such a bind when the tabloids get involved in young love," she declared. "One of the many irritating side effects of that, I suppose," she commented, touching Harry's lightening-bolt scar gently with her fingers. Harry flinched, and Beauchamp quickly moved her hand away.

"You don't know the half of it," he muttered. If Beauchamp heard his words, she didn't respond to them.

"Well, since having come to teach here, I've seen that Viktor, like most boys when it comes to girls, was worried about the wrong boy being his rival," she added, cryptically. After he finished his tea and left Beauchamp's office that evening, he felt she had been more perceptive of that whole Yule Ball event than he or Viktor had ever been, and she wasn't even there to witness it first hand. He made a note to himself to never, ever to share his thoughts about the situation with Ron.

Chapter Sixteen: The Boy Who Lived; The Girl Who Died

Before he even knew it, term had come to an end, and Harry was at the Burrow with Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys', eating mince pies and sitting in front of a well-stoked fire.

"These are really good, Mrs. Weasley," he piped up, through a mouthful of pastry. Mrs. Weasley smiled at him.

"Well, you just help yourself, young Harry," she replied.

"When are your parents coming over, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Oh, they said they would drive over tomorrow morning," Hermione replied, helping herself to another mince pie. "They told me to tell you that it was awfully nice of you to invite them."

Molly beamed.

"Oh, it's no trouble," she said. "Your parents are lovely!"

Arthur, however, was beaming in a different way.

"Driving over, you say? In a Muggle car?" he asked, excitedly. Molly slapped him hard on the shoulder.

"Don't you dare keep asking them questions about Muggle things, it's so embarrassing when you do that!" she warned, and Arthur looked suitably chastised. Once Molly had gone, however, he turned back to Hermione and whispered, "They won't mind, will they?"

"I doubt it, seeing as they'll be asking you lots of questions about how your wizard stuff works," Hermione replied. Arthur looked puzzled.

"Why would they be so interested in something so mundane?" he asked. Hermione looked up at him.

"One man's meat is another man's poison, I suppose," she replied.

Molly had now taken to pacing nervously around the room.

"What's up, Mum?" Ron asked, whilst taking Ginny's bishop during a game of chess.

"Oh, they should be back soon. What's taking so long?" she muttered, not really paying attention to Ron. Ginny silently 'ahhed' in response.

"She's waiting for Bill and Charlie. They went with Lupin on 'official business' earlier."

"What kind of official business?" Harry asked, in a whisper.

"Snape apparently tipped them off as to a Death Eater attack somewhere in Somerset," she replied. Ron snorted.

"No wonder Mum's worried, then," he added. Hermione slapped him on the shoulder.

"Honestly, Ron; Snape knows what he's doing!"

"Yeah," Ron retorted, "that's what worries me."

He and Ginny continued to play their game of chess, which Ron unsurprisingly won, whilst Hermione sat next to the fire, absorbed in a book. Ron glanced across at her now and then, and eventually caught her eye.

"Honestly, Hermione," he moaned, "it's Christmas! Surely you can put a book down for the holidays!"

"I happen to like reading," Hermione retorted, before settling back down.

"What are you reading, anyway?" Ginny asked. Hermione looked up at her from her book.

"Well, it's all about the various gypsy tribes in the British Isles," she replied, enthusiastically. "Apparently, the Muggle and wizarding tribes are all interlinked, and it is suggested that this is where muggle-borns are originated from! I'm going to ask my parents if they know of any Romany tribes in our family," she continued. Ron groaned.

"Bet you wish you hadn't asked now," he quipped, at which Hermione scowled at him.

"I'm just interested as to where I might have come from," she replied, defensively, and Harry fleetingly understood how she felt. To his credit, Ron looked suitably embarrassed.

"Sorry, Hermione," he replied, "I didn't think..."

"It's okay," she said, clearly not offended, as she continued to read her book.

Harry watched Mrs. Weasley continue to pace up and down, looking agitatedly at the family clock, on which Charlie and Bill's handles were still comfortably pointed at the 'At Work' symbol on the clock face. He understood her concern, for although the Second War was rarely mentioned by people in day-to-day discussions, its effects were becoming noticeable. Little things, such as wizards and witches being less gregarious in public, in case someone was around ready to spread the news to Voldemort that pure-bloods were talking to muggle-borns, threatening both in the process. Was that person you bumped into on the street a Death Eater? Could they be spying on you, waiting for the right moment to attack, and send that feared green Dark Mark into the sky? November the Fifth was an absolute nightmare, according to Hermione's copy of 'The Daily Prophet'. It reported widespread panic in witches and wizards across the country, due solely to the letting off of green sparkly fireworks by Muggles in the area.

Suddenly, Harry heard a 'tick' sound, and saw that the two clock hands belonging to Charlie and Bill had jumped to 'At Home'. A small 'pop' indicated they had returned. Harry swivelled round to see Charlie and Bill standing in the hallway, looking thunderstruck. Another small popping sound later, and Lupin was stood alongside them, looking perturbed.

"Well, how did it go?" Molly asked. They all looked at each other.

"It didn't," Charlie replied. Bill looked across at his mother.

"There was nobody there," he added. "We almost got caught by Muggles on top of it!"

He stormed into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of something amber coloured out of a thin bottle that Harry was sure he'd seen hidden in Professor Beauchamp's office desk. He downed it in one, grimaced, and put the glass down near the sink before walking back in.

"I don't know what happened," Lupin said, frowning. "Severus definitely said there was going to be an attack right at that very spot... Oh, hello, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny," he said, suddenly, having seen the four kids sat around the fire. They waved back.

Bill returned to the living room and faced Lupin.

"I think I can hazard a guess as to what happened," he replied, angrily. Lupin looked perplexed, as did Harry and Hermione, though Ron and Ginny did not.

"Well, think about it, Remus," Bill said. "Snape told us there would be a Death Eater attack in North Somerset on the Johnson family. We get there, and there is no such thing, just a host of Muggle policemen who we really had to sweet-talk and memory charm in order to get out of the place without causing any havoc or attracting Voldemort's attention. Something tells me we're being double-crossed," he finished, thrusting his hands into his pocket. Arthur looked at him with concern.

"Now Bill, don't jump to any conclusions..."

"I didn't jump to any conclusions! I didn't need to! I just took the smallest of steps, and, oh look- I found conclusions!"

He slumped down in a chair next to Hermione with such force, she jumped with fright.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said, by way of an apology.

"It's quite alright," she replied, turning back to her book and avoiding making eye contact with any of the Order members currently congregated in the Weasleys' living room.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I've never liked him, and I certainly don't trust him. And I think today just proved my point," Bill finished. Lupin and Arthur looked at Charlie, who shrugged.

"I don't know," he said, "but it does seem suspicious. Couldn't we at least tell Dumbledore? He'll probably be able to figure it out. At any rate, something went wrong, and we need to figure out what."

"He was a Death Eater!" Bill cried, in exasperation. Molly glared at him.

"Bill! The children..."

"Oh, come on- hey, guys, did you know that your Potions Master was a Death Eater?" he demanded. They nodded.

"Well, yeah."

"Yep."

"For about eighteen months now."

"We were in the hospital ward when he showed Fudge the Mark, remember?"

Molly sighed.

"Can we talk about this another time? It's Christmas, for Heaven's sake- and I don't want any of you to breathe a word about this tomorrow when the Grangers are here!" she warned.

"Don't worry Mum, we won't," Bill conceded, at which Charlie nodded.

"I do think we should let Dumbledore know what happened tonight, though," he added.

"You're right," Lupin agreed. Bill got up out of his seat.

"Right, let's go," he said. Charlie and Lupin exchanged glances.

"Perhaps Remus ought to go alone," Charlie suggested, "he'll be impartial about the whole thing and I think Mum would like us to help sort the tables out for tomorrow, isn't that right, Mum?"

He looked at Molly carefully, until understanding spread across her features, and she smiled.

"Yes, Charlie, you're quite right! I need my two eldest strapping boys to help shift the furniture around!" she agreed. Bill eyed Charlie with suspicion, but made no comment on it.

"You're probably right," he managed to say. Lupin smiled.

"I'll be back soon," he said, looking at Harry. He then disapparated with a small 'pop'.

Christmas dinner the following day was a pleasant affair. Hermione's parents did indeed come over to the Burrow, and Molly's warning about not mentioning their parts in the Order were obeyed too.

"Oh, what an absolutely charming place you have here, Molly!" Mrs. Granger had exclaimed, causing Molly to flush a little with pride.

"It's nothing special..." she began, but was cut off by Mrs. Granger.

"Nonsense!" she replied, "It's lovely, isn't that right, Tom?"

"Oh yes," Mr. Granger replied, looking at the house with mild interest.

"How does it all stay up?" he asked Arthur, who smiled.

"With magic," he replied, simply, before launching into a full-blown interrogation into the workings of the Grangers' Ford Focus parked outside, much to Molly's chagrin.

"Oh, we brought a Christmas pudding for you," Mrs. Granger said, handing Molly a large, moist Christmas pudding certainly large enough to feed fourteen.

"Thank you, Kate," Molly replied.

"So, how many are there going to be here?" Mrs. Granger asked. Molly began counting on her fingers,

"Well, there's you and Tom, myself and Arthur, Harry and your Hermione, a gentleman called Remus Lupin- he taught the children Defence Against the Dark Arts a few years ago, charming man, lost a good friend of his in June, poor fellow..."

"Was that Harry's godfather?" Mrs. Granger asked in a low voice, to which Molly nodded, and the two looked across sympathetically at Harry, who pretended not to notice and continued his chess game with Ron.

"Oh yes, where was I? A young woman called Nymphadora Tonks- dislikes her first name, so goes by the name of Tonks. She's an Auror, which is like... Arthur!" Molly bellowed. "What's the Muggle equivalent of an Auror?"

"Erm, a pleaseman, I think, or perhaps a leggie official," Arthur replied.

"She's the wizarding equivalent of a policeman or perhaps an Army officer," Hermione offered, to which Mrs. Granger nodded in understanding.

"And then there's our children, Bill, who works as a curse-breaker. He travels to ancient tombs, and breaks the spells used to protect the treasure kept there and transfers it to Gringotts, for their benefit alone. So, he's the wizarding equivalent of an investment banker. Charlie, he works with dragons in Romania, so he's the wizarding equivalent of a lunatic," Molly joked, at which Kate laughed. Molly continued.

"There's Per..."

Suddenly, Molly went very quiet. She looked up at the ceiling, and sniffed loudly, wringing her hands against her apron. It was clear to Harry that she was trying to hide welling tears. It seemed clear to Mrs. Granger as well, who looked bewildered.

"Oh dear, what on Earth's the matter?" she exclaimed, handing Molly a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted.

"Oh, I'm so dreadfully sorry. My third eldest, Percy, we've had a bit of a bust up and we haven't spoken for over a year now."

"Oh, I am sorry," Mrs. Granger replied, patting Molly on the back soothingly. She calmed down after a while, and after some more apologies and lengthy discussions of family feuds that didn't interest Harry in the slightest, Molly continued.

"There's also my twins, Fred and George, who run their own joke shop in Diagon Alley..."

"Oh yes, I saw that when we dropped Hermione off in September," Kate replied.

Ron sniggered.

"Yeah, she's only mentioning that because they're doing really well out of it," he whispered to Harry, who smiled.

"And there's Ron, of course, who you already know, because he's a prefect along with your daughter, and Ginny, who's the youngest."

"And as such has done nothing of merit to impress you with yet," Ginny shouted back. Molly glared at her.

"Ginny, for Merlin's sake!" she hissed. Kate merely smiled.

"I don't know, what about your wit?" she asked, at which Ginny grinned, and Molly looked relieved.

Soon enough, everyone was sat around the dinner table, and Harry found himself sitting between Ron and Fred, with Tonks and Lupin sitting opposite. Hermione and Ginny were sat together next to them, and the Grangers, plus Arthur and Molly Weasley, were sat at the other end of the table, with the rest of the Weasley clan sat between them. The meal was fairly uneventful, save for a few choice moments where Molly grabbed Fred and George literally by their ears and warned them, in graphic detail, what would happen to them if they so much as dared to try one of their practical jokes out on or near the Grangers, and the communication breakdown that occurred when Kate Granger offered to help peel the potatoes, but was flummoxed when she couldn't find a peeler, which started Arthur off on a hunt in his garage, until he proudly pulled out a large machine that he claimed printed dots onto paper, though he couldn't figure out why that would help with potatoes. Hermione soon sorted the mess out by pointing out that Arthur had, in fact, got a brailler, which was used to print raised dots on paper so that blind people could read it, and would serve no purpose in the kitchen. The Granger and the Weasley parents had laughed about it, though their children didn't think it half as amusing.

"Sorry our dad's nuts," Fred whispered.

"S'okay," Hermione replied, "sorry my mum's interfering."

"I always wondered where you got that from," Ron commented.

They had all laughed at that exchange, however.

Harry was busy eating his Christmas pudding, although it was becoming a challenge after having consumed such a huge meal of turkey with all the trimmings, two different preparations of potato and a vast array of vegetables, when there was a knock at the door. Molly and Arthur exchanged glances.

"We weren't expecting anyone else," Molly murmured.

"I'll get it," Arthur replied, cheerily, getting up. Harry noticed he had a firm grip on his wand. He walked towards the door and opened it.

"Ah, Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, and Harry saw Molly breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good afternoon, Arthur," Dumbledore replied, "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt you at Christmas..."

"Oh, it's no trouble," he countered. "Would you like something to eat? We've plenty left."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Perhaps later," he replied, "I've actually come to have a word with young Bill, if I may."

Bill looked accusingly at Charlie and Lupin. Dumbledore laughed.

"It's quite alright, I just want to put your mind at ease," he replied, "and I thought the sooner, the better..."

He glanced across the table and let his gaze rest on the Grangers.

"Oh, hello," he beamed.

"Erm, hi," Mr. Granger replied, before Hermione jumped up out of her chair.

"Mum, Dad, this is our headmaster, Professor Dumbledore," she announced, as she hastily introduced them.

"Ah, delighted to meet you," Dumbledore replied, shaking Kate and Tom's hands warmly, and making brief conversation about how clever their daughter is before he and Bill went 'somewhere private' to 'discuss matters'.

"Nice to meet you both," he said, before he and Bill went up the stairs.

Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Oh no you don't," Molly ordered, before Ron had even opened his mouth.

"But Mum..."

"But nothing! Eat your pudding."

"Maybe Bill will tell us what happened later," Ginny soothed, but Hermione had other plans. She suddenly came over all woozy.

"Oh," she moaned, "I'm so sorry, I feel all light headed!"

She suddenly put her hand to her head, and her breathing got a little ragged. Molly jumped up.

"Oh, Harry! Be a love and take her upstairs to the bathroom- it's cool in there, and she'll be able to splash her face," she said, wringing her hands. Harry nodded.

"Will do- I'll sit with her until she's okay," he replied.

"Oh yes, good idea," Molly agreed, with Kate nodding.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll be okay with Harry, Mum," Hermione replied, as she gingerly got to her feet and leant on Harry's arm, before he escorted her upstairs.

They had reached the first floor before Harry prodded Hermione sharply in the ribs.

"You sly little minx!" he whispered. "If you weren't my friend, I'd kiss you!"

"Just be quiet and let's find out where Bill and Dumbledore have gone," she whispered back, having miraculously recovered.

As luck would have it, the locked door behind which Harry could tell Bill and Dumbledore were having their conversation was right next to the bathroom, so they surreptitiously slid one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears under the door, and sat on the edge of the bath in anticipation.

"I think Fred and George managed to put a spell on these to let them break through Imperturbable charms," Hermione explained. "They were saying something about a prototype..."

Suddenly, they were able to hear the conversation as clear as thought they were in the room themselves.

"...cup of tea, Bill?"

"Look, Albus, please don't change the subject. I'm not disputing that you trust Severus. I'm disputing why."

"I've told you before, and I'll tell you again; I trust Severus Snape in his defection from Voldemort," he replied, calmly.

"How can you be so sure? Lucius Malfoy didn't really leave Voldemort; neither did Macnair. How do you know Snape has?" Bill replied, with incredulity. Dumbledore kept his voice in the same warm tone he had used since offering Bill a cup of tea.

"He will never rejoin the man who killed his daughter. Ever."

Harry and Hermione exchanged shocked glances. From the silence coming from their end of the Extendable Ears, they correctly assumed Bill was just as shocked by the news. Snape had a daughter?

"Snape has a daughter?" Bill croaked. Harry heard Dumbledore sigh.

"Had a daughter. She was killed when she was just six years old."

"Hold on a moment- six? That doesn't make sense. The war was over when Harry was just one! James and Lily were in the same year at school as him..."

"He had her young. Much too young, in fact, but that is not the point."

"What was she like?" Bill asked, in an altogether softer tone.

"A cute little thing, actually. Jet black hair..."

"She didn't have his nose then?... Thank Merlin for that!"

Harry heard Dumbledore laugh softly.

"That's fairly similar to what he said, actually."

He appeared to muse for a moment.

"You wouldn't have met Hermione Granger when she was ten, would you?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, but I've heard the stories from Ron- bossy little brain box who read huge books for fun," Bill replied, with a laugh directed at his brother. Harry saw Hermione scowl a little.

"Well, she was like that. Bright as a button, as Minerva described her once. And she was bossy. She'd tell her father off for swearing."

"And he didn't lose his rag?" Bill seemed incredulous.

"That little girl saw a side of him the rest of us hardly, if ever, did. He loved her, Bill, like any parent loves their child. Minerva told me herself that I should have seen the look on Severus' face after his first Potions class with both Hermione and Harry. It couldn't have been pleasant for him, awakening all those memories with one class."

"So, what happened?"

"He came to me, a year or so after first receiving the mark- came right to my office and told me everything. He said he didn't much care what happened to him, but if I had any decency, I'd make sure his daughter was taken care of."

Bill laughed harshly.

"Typical of Snape; laying down conditions when he's hardly in a place to do so."

Dumbledore made no reply to this, and continued his story.

"We came up with the idea of him returning to Voldemort as a spy together. He seemed to think it would at least prove useful, but the proviso to him agreeing wholeheartedly was for me to put his daughter into safety. Safety from the Death Eaters, safety from himself. We both didn't want to think about what he might be forced to do to her if Voldemort ever found out of his defection."

"So, a Fidelus charm?" Bill asked. There was a pause, where Harry assumed Dumbledore made some movement with his head.

"That's correct, except we used it on the girl and her life. Once the charm was completed, none but her Secret Keeper could remember she even existed."

"Who was the Secret Keeper?"

"Lily Potter," Dumbledore replied, and Harry had to fight the impulse to gasp in shock.

"They were friends, of a fashion, during their younger years at school," Dumbledore continued. "Severus specifically asked me to inform Lily as to the plan, and she came to my office almost instantly. Within half an hour she became the sole living person on the planet that knew of the little girl's existence. She told James they had adopted her, and they raised her whilst Lily was pregnant with her own child."

"Harry?"

"Yes. After young Harry was born, of course, we got wind that Voldemort was after the Potters, so we put them under the Fidelus charm, hiding them in Godric's Hollow. If we had a memory of Severus' daughter at the time, we would have both thought she couldn't be any safer, being hidden under two Fidelus charms. We didn't, of course, expect Peter Pettigrew to defect."

"Oh, God!" Bill breathed slowly.

"She was the first to die at Voldemort's hands. James got to her too late. Then it was him, then Lily, and... well, you know the rest."

Harry and Hermione stared at each other, nothing but silence came from their Extendable Ears for quite a while. Eventually, they heard Bill ask.

"Okay, I understand," he sighed. Harry heard a bed creak as Dumbledore got up.

"Wait, before you go, there is one thing," Bill asked.

"Yes?"

"Why did Snape come to you in the first place? What drove him to..."

Bill was suddenly quiet.

"I have shared one story that was not mine to share already, I'm not about to repeat such an act," Dumbledore replied. "It goes without saying that this is strictly between you and me, I just need to make sure that none of us in the Order are worrying that others are not doing what they should. Times are getting more and more serious, Bill, we have no choice but to trust."

On hearing Dumbledore walk towards the door, Harry quickly pulled up his Extendable Ears and jammed them in his pocket. He was in the process of splashing Hermione's face with water and asking her if she felt better when Dumbledore and Bill exited the room. Bill walked down the stairs, but Dumbledore waited a moment, and poked his head around the bathroom door.

"That goes for you two as well," he confirmed, before following Bill downstairs.

"Well, it's hardly like we were expecting Dumbledore not to notice, not really," Hermione sighed. Harry's brain was working overtime. He had lived, when Snape's daughter had died. He suddenly felt sick.

"Oh, God, so that's why he hates me," he whispered, as though speaking any louder would somehow cause some mystical force to break through the walls and agree with him.

"I imagine it's a combination of things," Hermione replied, in equally hushed tones. "Your dad, Sirius and Lupin, his daughter..."

She suddenly burst into tears, and it took Harry a while to figure out why.

"It's not your fault," he soothed, rubbing her back gently.

"God, how must he have felt," she sobbed, rocking a little on the edge of the bath.

"Look," Harry said confidently, "you can't help the way you are. It isn't like you sat in that Potions classroom in that first lesson and consciously decided that you'd behave a bit like his daughter did when she was almost half your age."

Hermione wiped her eyes on a tissue Harry handed her.

"I know, I know... You're right, of course," she finished, calming down.

"C'mon," Harry said, once they had both processed the information they had received, "Let's go back downstairs."

They walked out of the bathroom, wondering how exactly they were going to tell Ron what he would be desperate to know.