Dusk and Flame

Chapter 4: Oblique Detours

There's a snake hidden in the grass.

--Virgil, Eclogues

Whoever has not felt the danger of our times palpitating under his hand has not really penetrated to the vitals of destiny, he has merely pricked its surface.

--José Ortega y Gasset, The Revolt of the Masses

5 August 1996

When the doorbell rang that evening, Harry could not quite believe it.

He had read the letter from Dumbledore over and over, again and again, but no matter what, there was still a nagging feeling that the professor might forget, or bring an escort, or console him about Sirius, when he most certainly did not need consolation (in fact, he preferred simply to not think about his dead godfather)...

"Hello, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said jovially, as he stood in the doorway. He was wearing dark blue robes, with twinkling, bright silver stars in the embroidering. His beard was as white as ever (and as long); his eyes were smiling bright blue, and a wizard's pointed hat sat, sagging, on his hoary hair. The exact picture of a wizard that would make the Dursleys scream for dear mercy.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry. Not sure of what to do, he shifted his feet awkwardly. He still remembered the last time in Dumbledore's office, when an enraged Harry had smashed some of his belongings.

Harry had said to himself many, many times afterwards: what a silly little fool you were.

Dumbledore chose not to notice Harry's uneasiness. "Well, Harry," he said in tones of amazing cheerfulness, "I'll just have a little chat with your relatives, and then I'll take you to the Burrow."

"Er--all right," Harry said. "They're in the living room, watching the telly."

Dumbledore swept into the living room. As the sofa was facing the telly, neither Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, nor Dudley noticed Dumbledore--at least, not until Dumbledore had suddenly turned off the television, conjured up a chair, and was sitting down in front of him.

Uncle Vernon's face turned purple, Aunt Petunia gasped, and Dudley's eyes went wide with fright.

"Hello, Mr Dursley, Mrs Dursley," Dumbledore said, smiling at them--which only seemed to make them even more nervous than before--"I would like to have a word with you about Harry."

Uncle Vernon was the first to regain his ability of speech in the form of uttered exclamations and indignant questions. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

Dumbledore looked surprised. "Why, didn't Harry tell you I was coming?" He looked at Harry.

Harry went red. "Er, no, not really. I didn't expect you, you see..." his voice trailed off.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Well, no matter. I am Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and I am just here to inform you that I will be taking Harry with me to visit his friends for the rest of the summer." He paused. "I suppose," he remarked pointedly, "that it is generally good manners to have some drinks." Dumbledore flicked his wand. In moments, five glasses floated from the kitchen. One floated into Dumbledore's hand, and for a second, Harry frowned. Dumbledore's hand was black and looked withered. How did Dumbledore's hand get that way? he thought as he sipped at the drink.

Dumbledore continued, "He will be leaving tonight. Harry will not return here until next summer, where he will only have to stay for a few days to retain the blood protection of his family."

The Dursleys seemed unable to speak. Besides Aunt Petunia, who was actually looking at Dumbledore, the others, Uncle Vernon and Dudley, seemed too petrified by the glasses nudging at the sides of their heads to even listen to Dumbledore.

"You mean..." Aunt Petunia said slowly, "because of that dark... person?" Even in the worst of times, Aunt Petunia refuses to say 'wizard,' thought Harry.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "The Dark Lord Voldemort," he said. "The recent murders, the supposed hurricanes... those are all his doing."

Aunt Petunia seemed to shrink back against the sofa. "And what about us?" she said, in barely a whisper.

"You will be protected by the same blood protection that has kept Harry safe all these years," said Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, it will end on Harry's seventeenth birthday, when he comes of age."

At that, Dudley looked up. "It's eighteen!" he said.

"In the wizarding world," said Dumbledore smoothly, "children come of age at seventeen, Dudley."

With the mention of his name, Dudley paled again and said nothing.

"After his seventeenth birthday," Dumbledore said, "the protection will end. Harry will be moved to a safely guarded place. On the other hand, I suggest that when he leaves, the three of you prepare for a long sabbatical--Vernon, you work with drills, do you not?" he asked the heavy man.

Uncle Vernon looked very scared. "Y--yes," he stuttered. Harry could have fancied that the tips of his moustache were drooping.

"Ask for a sabbatical shortly before Harry's birthday," Dumbledore said briskly. "I do not know whether or not Voldemort may try to attack you, but it is best that you are out of the country by his birthday."

"All right," said Aunt Petunia. Harry's eyebrows shot up. He most certainly hadn't expected Aunt Petunia to agree so quickly and so readily to a wizard's suggestion. But then perhaps the threat of an attack had made them meek before Dumbledore's gaze. Inadvertently, a phrase popped into Harry's mind. The meek shall inherit the earth. Shuddering, Harry revised his opinions of the Dursleys, and changed it from "meek" to "extremely frightened out of their wits." That sounded better. He hated to think that Muggle religion actually allowed the Dursleys to have the right of it.

"That is all I have to say," Dumbledore was saying. "Harry, will you get your trunk?"

Harry blushed again. "I haven't packed," he said guiltily.

Dumbledore looked nonchalant. "That's all right," he said cheerfully. "Go get packed. In the meantime, I'll just have some conversation with the Dursleys, all right?"

As Harry started up the stairs, he looked back at Dumbledore, who looked very amused at the situation. Yeah, Dumbledore's all right. He saw Dumbledore wave his wand and make the Dursleys' unattended three drinks vanish, saying, "Of course, it would have been better manners to drink it..."

He went up the stairs and into his room. He opened his empty trunk. "Let's see," he said aloud to himself. "Clothes..."

All his Muggle clothes and his school robes were stuffed into the bottom of the trunk.

"Homework..."

Harry carefully tucked his essays--including the History of Magic one, which he had finally finished--into a long flat envelope, so it wouldn't be wrinkled. He slid the envelope into the top pocket of the trunk.

"Invisibility cloak..."

Harry picked up the silvery-grey cloth. Folding it, he hid it below all his clothes. The same treatment occurred to the Marauder's Map and his Firebolt.

He decided to leave his books behind. They were all from previous years, and he would get sixth-year textbooks at Diagon Alley with the Weasleys on their next visit.

As he surveyed the room for one last time, Harry thought of Tyrthian, who was napping by the window. "Tyrthian!" Harry hissed in agitation.

Tyrthian raised his head groggily. "What, Harry?"

"I'm leaving to go to my friend's house," said Harry. "Do you want to come?"

Tyrthian stretched out. "What do you think?" he said in a lazy tone. "Stay behind, and that means foraging. Go along, and I get mice. Besides, I don't know how to get back home. Of course I'm coming with you!"

Harry wondered if he ought to mention that death and the Grim Reaper often came along with him. But he tried not to think about that.

"All right," he said. "Er... is it okay if you get into my trunk?"

"As long as you do not mind," said Tyrthian.

Harry nearly laughed. "Sure. In you go."

Tyrthian slithered across Harry's bed into his trunk. Hedwig perched at the top, warily watching the reptile. However, they had spent enough weeks together so that they weren't too antagonistic towards each other.

"All right," said Harry. "I think we're ready to go." He walked toward the door--and stopped.

He had seen the glitters of glass shards on the table. They were the remains of the gift Sirius had given to him--the two-way mirror that Harry had never used.

He hesitated, then turned around and ran to the table. He picked up all of the glass shards, swept them into a small bag, and tied it to his belt. Perhaps he could ask Professor Dumbledore to fix it with a simple "Reparo!"

As Harry pulled his trunk downstairs, Hedwig's cage balanced precariously on it, Dumbledore spoke again. "All right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "It is quite shocking to me, you know," he remarked suddenly to Uncle Vernon. "That you should have treated Harry so badly, and yet he has turned out so well. On the other hand, the unfortunate boy standing between us has suffered."

"What?" Uncle Vernon shouted. Uncle Vernon must really be angry to yell at a wizard, Harry thought. "Dudley?"

But Dumbledore had already closed the door, and now Harry and Dumbledore were standing in the cool night air. "And now," said Dumbledore, evidently in a poetic mood, "let us pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

However poetic it seemed, poetic lines do not make for a good conversation--and, in any case, Harry was not at all comfortable with adventure, as recent adventures had ended unfortunately with Cedric and Sirius--so the two of them walked in silence for a few moments until they got to the end of Privet Drive.

"Where are we going, Professor?" Harry finally asked.

"The ultimate destination is to the Burrow," Dumbledore answered, pulling out his wand. "However, there is one stop that I would like to make, if you don't mind."

"It's fine," Harry said.

Dumbledore tapped Harry's luggage with his wand. His trunk, along with Hedwig's cage, vanished.

"I sent it straight to the Burrow," said Dumbledore in answer to Harry's unspoken question. "Molly will know what to do with it."

Harry mentally thanked Merlin that he had drummed into Tyrthian's head not to bite anyone, no matter what.

"Now, Harry," said Dumbledore, "have you ever Apparated?"

"No," said Harry.

"Hmm," said Dumbledore intelligently. "I'll Apparate, Harry. Just hold on to me, and relax."

There was a curious, odd sensation--Harry wasn't exactly sure how to describe it--as though he was being stretched and wrung apart--a sort of blank blackness--

They appeared on a deserted street in Hogsmeade. Harry wavered on his feet for a few moments; the Apparation had been disorienting.

"Careful, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Come now." They began walking down the street. "We're going to visit a friend of mine. His name is Horace Slughorn--"

"Slughorn?" Harry asked incredulously.

"--and I want you to help and persuade him to come to Hogwarts to teach."

Harry stared. "Why me?"

"Because he was once a professor at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, "and he was extremely fond of your mother. She was one of his star students."

"Er... okay," said Harry hesitantly.

They had come to a home that looked to be uninhabited. Dumbledore gently pushed open the door and they stepped inside.

Harry gasped out loud. The interior of the house was a mess. Chairs were thrown haphazardly against the walls, themselves riddled with scorch marks. The face of the clock in the hallway was smashed; bits of glass tinkled on the floor as they stepped over them. As they turned and came into the sitting room, Harry stared at the carpet, which literally seemed to have been ripped apart and torn to shreds--bits of it still drifted around. The armchair stuffing had been partly pulled apart, and the table legs had been removed and smashed against the bookcases.

"Death Eaters?" Harry managed to ask in a whisper.

Dumbledore looked around. "Perhaps," he said neutrally, pulling out his wand.

Harry was looking at a painting of a ship in the Liverpool harbour, which had been slashed through by an evidently wickedly sharp knife, when he heard a sudden sharp cry: "Ah! Albus!"

He spun around, his wand held out. Albus was helping up one of the fattest men Harry had ever seen--which said something, considering Uncle Vernon and Dudley. Dumbledore said, "Really, Horace, there was no need to put up such a charade."

Harry suddenly looked again at his surroundings. The table was back in place, as was the carpet and armchairs. When he looked at the painting, it was no longer slashed into strips of canvas. And he realised it had all been an illusion, if a very realistic one.

"Well," puffed the man as he sat down into an armchair, "there was no need for you to poke me in the eye..."

Dumbledore only smiled.

"What did you want to see me for, Albus?" Horace asked. "I've told you, I won't accept the job."

"And I am asking you to reconsider it," said Dumbledore. "By the way, Horace, this is Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter?" As usual, Slughorn's eyes flickered to the scar on Harry's forehead before settling on his face. "Oh," he said, almost happily, "you have Lily Evans's eyes. She was one of my best students."

"Oh," said Harry. He wasn't sure how to respond.

"Horace," said Dumbledore, "you really should come back to Hogwarts."

"I'm perfectly fine where I am," said Slughorn hastily.

"Oh?" Dumbledore said gently. "Hiding in other people's houses is not my idea of fine, Horace."

"Wait a moment," Harry suddenly said. "You're living in someone else's house?"

"Just for right now," Slughorn said rather guiltily. "You see, I haven't got an actual residence anymore. The Death Eaters keep trying to contact me--"

"Contact you?" Harry said suspiciously.

"Yes," said Slughorn, oblivious to Harry's suspicions. "I was Head of Slytherin House when I was at Hogwarts."

"And you can go there again," said Dumbledore in a long-suffering voice. "I have been telling you that, Horace, for so long, and yet you still insist on clinging to this nomadic way of life--none of your former students know where you are."

At that, Slughorn's face seemed to truly look sad. "I know," he said miserably.

Harry was wondering why the issue of a few former students not knowing where Slughorn was would make Slughorn so unhappy.

"And Hogwarts has plenty of wards," Dumbledore went on. "You'll be safe from Death Eaters there--"

"What about Severus Snape?" Slughorn asked suddenly.

Dumbledore sighed, as if he had had this conversation countless times. "I," he began, "trust Severus with my life. Besides, Horace, he was one of your best Potions students at Hogwarts too."

"True, true," said Slughorn. "But he never had the right attitude, if you know what I mean. And then he just had to join You-Know-Who and throw away everything--"

"It's Voldemort, Horace," said Dumbledore.

Slughorn only shuddered. "I don't know how you can say that, Albus," he said.

"It's not hard," said Harry. "You just--say it."

Slughorn turned a jaundiced eye to Harry. "And you brought Harry here to try and persuade me to go back to Hogwarts because of nostalgic thoughts of the blissfully happy past?"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore rather merrily.

Slughorn was still shaking his head. "Really, no," he said. "I'd really rather stay here."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because," said Slughorn uneasily, "at Hogwarts--well, then I'd have a very high profile, you know--"

Harry realised what Slughorn meant. At Hogwarts, with Dumbledore as Headmaster, Slughorn would be publicly declaring his allegiances and his opposition to Voldemort, putting him in a much more dangerous position than his present one of hiding and dodging Voldemort's queries. But he was just speculating.

"But Hogwarts is warded," said Harry. "And--well, Voldemort can't get on the grounds like that, can he?"

"Of course not, Harry," Dumbledore said, peering through his half-moon spectacles. "If that were to happen, I should seriously lose faith in the Founders' abilities to ward against Dark wizards."

"Still," said Slughorn, still looking rather hesitant, "with You-Know-Who, he could do anything--"

"No," said Harry suddenly. "He can't do everything. He hasn't managed to kill me yet, has he?" A sudden surge of rebelliousness spread throughout his body. "When I was a baby, he used the Killing Curse on me," he said. "In first year, he tried to kill me again. In second year, it was a basilisk. In fourth year, it was the Triwizard Tournament. In fifth year, it was the Department of Mysteries. But he hasn't killed me yet!" His voice was loud in the sudden silence, and Harry turned red.

Dumbledore and Slughorn were both looking at him. Dumbledore looked very proud, while Slughorn said, "Got Evans's temper, too, doesn't he, Albus?"

"I should say so," said Dumbledore. He was smiling at Harry. Harry felt a very warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Slughorn looked critically at Harry for a few moments. Dumbledore got up. "Well, as it seems I can't persuade you, Horace--"

"I'll do it," Slughorn suddenly said.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore sounded very, very surprised, but he was smiling. "You'll do it?"

"Yes," said Slughorn with a sigh. He sank deep into his armchair. "I'll do it. But mind, only as a favour to you, Albus."

"Very well, Horace," said Dumbledore. "I shall see you at Hogwarts at the start of the term?"

Slughorn sighed again. "Yes, yes, Albus. I'll be there."

"Good," Dumbledore said briskly. "Come along, Harry, I'll need to take you to the Weasleys."

Harry followed Dumbledore outside as they left the house Slughorn was occupying. "I'm going to Apparate again, Harry," he said.

Harry wordlessly grabbed Dumbledore's arm. Just in time, too, because there was the strange, flip-flopping stomach sensation, and then they were standing on hilly, firm ground. Harry looked down the slope. Ahead, he saw the lights of the Burrow glowing softly in the night.

"Harry," Dumbledore said suddenly, "I would like to talk with you." He pulled Harry into a nearby shed.

Harry sneezed as the dust-filled air entered his nostrils. Dumbledore looked rather apologetic.

He said, "Harry, I must inform you that you will continue to have private lessons this year--"

"Private lessons?" Harry stared at Dumbledore in horror. He could still remember Professor Snape growling at him, in an Occlumency session, "Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily--weak people, in other words--they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"

Yeah. He really did not want to have Snape teach again.

"--with me," Dumbledore finished, looking amused.

Harry stared. "With you?"

"With me," repeated Dumbledore.

"About what?" Harry asked out of curiosity.

"You will know when you see it," Dumbledore said cryptically.

"Oh," said Harry. He paused a moment, then said, "Er--Professor Dumbledore? May I ask you a question?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What happened to your hand?"

Dumbledore looked down at his blackened hand. "That, Harry, is something you will also find out in your private lessons." He led Harry out of the shed and down the path to the Burrow.

At the door, he pulled out his wand again and tapped on the door. Mrs Weasley's voice sounded. It was wary and tense. "Who's there?"

"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore said.

"Oh!" The door opened wide, and Harry was greeted with the image of a beaming Molly Weasley, who swept Harry up in a hug. "Professor! Harry! Ron and Hermione are upstairs in their rooms, you can go see them--"

"Molly," Dumbledore said rather reproachfully, "I believe I made it quite clear that you were to ask the identification questions."

"Oh, yes," Mrs Weasley said. She blushed.

Dumbledore turned to Harry and said, to Harry's amusement, "Now, if Mrs Weasley had asked me my favourite flavour of ice cream, my answer, of course, would have been raspberry. Good night, Harry." He smiled, stepped back, and Disapparated.

For not the first or the last time, Harry smiled at Dumbledore's odd whims and likings.

Mrs Weasley hurried Harry inside and closed the door. "Harry, go to the kitchen, will you? I'll whip up some hot chocolate for you."

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," Harry said.

The only other person in the kitchen was Tonks, looking very tired as she yawned over a cup of hot chocolate. She looked up when Harry came in. "Wotcher, Harry," she said, yawning again. "S--sorry about me, I've been on Auror duty throughout last night and today--didn't get much sleep."

As of the moment, Tonks had fiery red Weasley hair. She looked like an older version of Ginny Weasley, which amused Harry.

"It's fine," said Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"Just visiting. Did you hear that Bill and Fleur are getting married?" said Tonks. She began to yawn once more, but clapped a hand over her mouth to stop looking foolish when she did so. "Merlin, I've got a horrible headache."

"Catch cold?"

"Not that," Tonks said in frustration. "I don't know--I keep feeling uneasy, and I don't know why."

Tonks's simple statement summed it all up, Harry thought. It always turned out to be "why?" And, sometimes, when you found out, it was already too late.

Harry had already learned that lesson with the Department of Mysteries debacle and Sirius's death. He did not want to learn it all over again.

So it was with a heavy heart that Harry opened the door to Ron's room, and was immediately attacked from all sides by a chorus of "Harry!" and hugs in triplicate.

~

8 August 1996

Diagon Alley had changed, Harry thought to himself in bewilderment.

The first time he had come to Diagon Alley, at the age of eleven, he had been greeted in the Leaky Caldron with handshakes. He had greeted Diagon Alley with wonder. He still idly remembered the unknown woman mumbling about dragon liver's high prices, and the boys pressed up against Quality Quidditch Supplies, excitedly talking about the Nimbus Two Thousand. Then there was the library-type mustiness of Flourish and Blotts, the rustling robes and cloaks of Madam Malkin's, the horrible smell of the apothecary (he remembered that there were unicorn horns and beetle eyes), the darkness of Eeylops Owl Emporium, the delicious Fortescue ice cream, and the indescribable rush of pure magic in Ollivander's when he had held his wand in his hands and had known--that inner part of him that had known--that this wand was his.

First impressions were aptly named.

Except this year, it was different. They said Ollivander had, one day, mysteriously vanished from his shop, which had become a taboo topic for discussion--no-one liked to think if Ollivander had left, or been captured by Death Eaters. Florean Fortescue was missing, his ice cream parlour now without the cheery atmosphere that had once been there. As they passed a newspaper kiosk, Harry averted his green eyes from the sight of the screaming black headlines, "Potter--Chosen One?" which was what the newspapers were calling him now, to his great disgust and annoyance (No one mentioned it around him--he was extremely touchy about the issue). People now moved around in groups, wands hidden within the voluminous folds of their robes, wary and suspicious. Perhaps the only thing that could be considered funny--

"Please, Mum?" Ron asked pleadingly. "Can't we go to Fred and George's shop?"

"Not until you've gotten your robes," Mrs Weasley said firmly as she marched the four of them--Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny--down the street. "You've gotten all your school supplies, am I correct, Hermione?"

Hermione assented with a nod and a murmured, "Yes, Mrs Weasley." She was paying more attention to Miranda Goshawk's Standard Book of Spells (Grade 6).

Ron sighed. They walked on, past a man arguing fiercely with another man outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. A young girl that inexplicably reminded Harry of Luna Lovegood entered Flourish and Blotts, drifting rather than walking.

They came to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The four teenagers were quickly hustled over to stools to sit on. They all sat straight as the witches began to pin up their black school robes.

"How are Fred and George doing, by the way?" Harry asked Ron, who was seated next to him, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Absolutely smashing business," said Ron. "If only Mum weren't so uptight about things--"

On Harry's other side, Hermione said, "Ron! If you used your brain, you'd realise that it's best to go to the necessary shops first! Then you can spend as much time as you like at Fred and George's!"

Ron scowled at Hermione. "I know that, Hermione. I was just complaining."

"Which is ever so sensible, Ron," came Ginny's dry voice from Ron's other side. "Who do you think is going to be Head Boy and Head Girl this year, Hermione?"

It was a sure way to keep Ron and Hermione from squabbling, and Hermione promptly replied, "I hear it's Joshua Sanders--he's a Hufflepuff--and Cho Chang. Joshua is all right, I suppose, and so is Cho. At least we don't have a Junior Death Eater in the position."

"I hate to think what might happen then," said Ron darkly. Harry suddenly felt a little cold. And, not for the first time, he thought wistfully of what could happen if Voldemort had never appeared.

He would be sitting here right now, with Ron and Hermione, discussing Quidditch and grades and gossip and the current fad, while Malfoy would be nothing more than a school rival. James and Lily Potter would be nearby, chatting with Mrs Weasley. Sirius--Harry's heart twisted ever so painfully and briefly--would run in as a dog, scaring everyone out of their wits as he looked so much like a Grim; Remus Lupin would smile vaguely at Harry and talk about his schooldays.

Not like that's ever going to happen.

Instead, he sat here right now, with Ron and Hermione, discussing Death Eaters and death and Voldemort, while Malfoy was a potential threat to their lives. Harry's parents were dead; Sirius was dead; Remus was off on a mission for the Order. The magical world was collapsing around their heads, and they--the Hogwarts students, the children--had become the ones holding it up on their shoulders, because the Ministry--of several generations ago--was growing weak and unable to take the burden.

It was as though the entire generation was going to be ruined: some by joining Voldemort, some by dying against Voldemort, some by fighting Voldemort and being damaged in the process. It was like the previous generation, the one of the Marauders. Pettigrew had joined, James, Lily, and Sirius had died, and Remus was struggling. The wizarding world had lost so many brilliant lives. Harry's parents, Transfiguration-talented James and Lily, whose strengths had lain in Charms and Potions, and Sirius, the one who had figured out the Animagus transformation (Remus had told Harry that); Remus himself was wise beyond his years and would have done a great deal better as Minister of Magic than Fudge--if only it weren't for the fact he was a werewolf. Good Merlin, even Snape--who, although Harry hated to admit it, was extremely smart and wily--was angry and embittered by the Dark Mark. All of us, thought Harry, all together--we're the lost generations. Lost to death and darkness and hate.

Had there ever been a truly happy time in Harry's life? An innocent time? No, Harry thought, there hasn't. Voldemort had stolen everyone's chance at a normal life away. Make that another reason to kill him.

Harry's thoughts were turning steadily darker and darker. His mood was going with it too, and so after they had hopped down from their stools, Harry was glowering when they met Draco Malfoy, his mother, and a dark-haired, agile-looking boy Harry remembered to be Theodore Nott coming into Madam Malkin's as they were about to leave it. His father was an escaped Death Eater.

Great. Another Junior Death Eater. Two, to be exact.

Ginny let out a short hiss and whispered in Harry's ear, "We spotted Malfoy and Nott in Muggle London a few weeks ago. They're up to something."

Harry nodded to show he had heard.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. As the sunlight filtered through the window and struck his hair, his face looked even paler than ever. "Potter." He spoke Harry's surname slowly, enunciating every syllable clearly.

Harry gave a curt nod. "Malfoy," he said casually, his stiff posture belying his nonchalant tone.

"Think you're so important, don't you?" Malfoy whispered in a low hiss that was all at once threatening and angry. "You put my father in prison--"

"--and he escaped," Harry finished. "No worries, Malfoy--I'll catch him again."

Narcissa Malfoy was looking at them coldly. "Dumbledore can't protect you all the time, Mr Potter," she said, putting a twist to the 'Mr Potter' that sent shivers up Harry's spine, although he would never admit to it.

"Well," Harry said theatrically, cocking his head to one side and making a show of looking around, "I don't think he's protecting me now, is he? Suppose we could have a go at it?"

"I wish, Potter," Malfoy sneered.

"And what about you, Nott? How's your father?" Harry said scathingly to the dark-haired boy. His dark thoughts and his dark mood had contributed to a wish to irritate them as much as he could while he was at it.

Oddly enough, Nott did not seem to mind it. He smiled humourlessly and said, "Why ask me? You can ask my father himself. Just send an owl courtesy of Hogwarts to him. Although I must admit, you're wasting your time. I do believe that all that will return is a note telling you to go to hell--along with your wonderful followers." There was a slight emphasis on 'followers' that made Hermione stiffen next to Harry and Ron glare at him. Nott paused. "My, Weasley, what are you glaring at? Our robes? Admittedly, they are of better quality. I am so sorry you can't afford it, Weasley," he said almost off-handedly to Ron, except he was acting so unconscious of his actions as to be entirely conscious of his actions. "If you're ever in need, drop by the house. I've got some old ones you can use."

Ron's face went red with rage, and he stepped forward. But by the time he had done that, Hermione and Ginny had seized him by both arms and were pulling him toward the exit. Harry followed after them, but before he left, he turned to the three Slytherins. "You wait, Malfoy," he said coldly. "You just wait."

Malfoy only sneered back, as did his mother, but Nott had an sardonically amused smile on his face. Harry went out and thought nothing more about it.

The other three were waiting outside for him. "Let's go to Fred and George's," said Harry tightly. "I think we all need a good laugh after the Death Eaters." He jerked his head toward the robes shop.

"No, let's go to Fortescue's first," said Hermione. "We've got something to tell you. I suppose all of us must have forgotten--it slipped my mind entirely."

Several minutes later, the four of them had slipped into chairs around a small circular table. Harry was diving into a simple vanilla sundae, with chocolate syrup, nuts and whipped cream. Ron had ordered a banana split, with soft marshmallow topping. Ginny was making her way through a fizzy cream soda, and Hermione sipped at her large root beer float before beginning.

"Well," she said, "a few weeks ago, we all went to the British Museum on our day out. It was so amazing--I've never really been to the museum before, and the Elgin Marbles were simply smashing--"

Ron cleared his throat--somehow--through a mouthful of banana and marshmallow. Ginny looked up, frowning.

Hermione had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry. I ramble at times. Well, we had just left the museum and were going to go back to you-know-where--" Harry nodded--You-know-where was their name for 12 Grimmauld Place, Order headquarters (according to Dumbledore, who had dropped by for a brief visit after Harry had come to the Burrow, Sirius had left Grimmauld Place and everything in it to Harry, so it could continue to be used). "And we saw Malfoy and Nott, walking in broad daylight, in Muggle London."

"Muggle London," said Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"Muggle London," said Harry now, disbelieving, as he realised Hermione was telling the truth and not just having a joke on him.

"Yes," said Hermione in exasperation. "It was on the west end of London, near the Royal Opera House. Of course we thought something fishy was up, so we followed them."

"What a good idea, Ginny," Ron said sarcastically to Ginny, who glared back.

"And?" Harry prodded.

"And they went into a Muggle pub," said Hermione.

Harry stared. "Muggle pub?"

"Yes," said Hermione, sighing.

"Muggle pub?"

"You're repeating yourself there, mate," said Ron. "It's Muggle London--of course it's going to be a Muggle pub."

Harry said, "A Muggle pub."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry," she said pointedly.

"Unbelievable."

"You'll just have to believe it then," Ginny said tartly. "Because we saw it."

"Still--Malfoy and Muggles?"

"Harry," Hermione said in annoyance, "if that's all you're going to say, we might as well give up all hope of you ever killing Voldemort if you're only going to spout the word 'Muggle' at him over and over. It may make him angry for a moment, but he'll take the time to get rid of you."

Harry sputtered for a moment. "Hey!"

Hermione merely raised an eyebrow. Next to her, Ron could not help but release at least one snicker from his mouth.

Harry sighed. "Oh, fine. Go on, Hermione. Sorry."

Hermione smiled brilliantly. "Glad to see you have manners, Harry," she said sarcastically. "They went into the pub. Well, naturally, we went in too."

"Of course," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "Would we do anything different?"

"No," said Harry.

Ginny gave him an exasperated glance. "That was a rhetorical question, Harry."

"I know it was. I just answered it anyway."

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry contritely.

"They sat down and ordered some food. I must say, I was surprised that they were as nice to the Muggle waitress as they were--"

"I suppose it's because she was pretty," Ron said complacently, then turned red. Harry laughed.

"As I was saying," Hermione went on, "they were talking. It seems that Nott's actually pretty used to the Muggle world--didn't he say that he usually comes into Muggle London for leisure?"

"Yeah," said Ron in confirmation. "And they were talking about something they had to do this year, but they never said what."

Harry frowned. This was worrying. "Did you tell the Order?" he said in a quiet voice.

"Yes," was the answer. "But only to Dumbledore. And he nodded and smiled and that was about it. He didn't say anything else, except something about thanking us for informing him about the situation."

"So," asked Harry, "what else did they talk about?"

Hermione sighed. "Did you know," she said in a long-suffering voice, "that Theodore Nott got ten OWLs too?"

"Ten? Good for him," said Harry sarcastically. When he saw Hermione's look, he said, "What?"

"Ten OWLs!" said Hermione. "I got ten OWLs!"

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so all he said was, "Oh."

"And Draco Malfoy got nine!" Hermione said worriedly. "I've got to start studying for my NEWTs!"

Ron and Harry exchanged glances that said, Hermione's mad in the head to study for NEWTs now.

Ginny was much more sympathetic. "It's fine, Hermione," she said soothingly. "Besides, you'll be learning NEWT material this year anyway. Relax."

Hermione gave Ginny a smile. "What classes are you taking this year, Ginny..."

"And what else?" asked Harry somewhat impatiently.

Ron replied in lieu of Hermione, who was currently in conversation with Ginny over the best classes at Hogwarts. "Then they talked about Thestrals--looks like Nott can see them--and Quidditch, too."

"That's it?" Harry said in disappointment. He had honestly been expecting something more like, "We hate Potter and Dumbledore."

"That's it," Ron said.

But Harry wasn't paying any more attention to Ron. His eyes were fixed on two boys, one blond, one dark, that had just entered Knockturn Alley.

It seemed as if he knew where Malfoy and Nott were going.

Harry jumped to his feet in one fluid moment. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he felt for his Invisibility Cloak, and thanked Merlin when he found that it was there. A slow hiss escaped his mouth.

"Harry!" Ron jumped to his feet as well.

"I just saw Malfoy and Nott go into Knockturn Alley," Harry said. "I'm following them."

"I'm coming too," said Hermione, standing up.

"Me too," said Ginny.

Harry sighed. "Ginny, you go back to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and head your mum off, all right?"

Ginny was about to open her mouth to argue, but they looked pleadingly at her. With a very mutinous look on her face, she walked off to the Weasley joke shop.

The three of them ducked into a side alley. Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over themselves, and they came out into the street, walking carefully so as not to disturb others in Diagon Alley and give their own position away. As they entered Knockturn Alley, Harry caught a thread of conversation. Malfoy and Nott weren't going anywhere yet. Instead, they were simply standing at the entrance to Knockturn Alley, chatting.

"I'm sure you'll do well in it," said Nott lazily. "Trust me, Draco."

"Considering your record, I have plenty of doubts," said Malfoy with vague annoyance. "If I were to make a fool of myself at the first Quidditch match, you would go to hell."

Nott laughed. "Aren't we already?"

"Funny, Theo, funny." Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the two boys finally began walking down Knockturn Alley, Harry, Ron, and Hermione following behind them under the Invisibility Cloak.

"You going to Borgin and Burkes?" Malfoy asked Nott.

"Yep," said Nott. "I want to look at his book collection."

"Come off it," said Malfoy. "Their books are ancient. They fall apart the minute you touch them."

"Not if you put preservation charms on them," said Nott pointedly.

"Still..." Malfoy didn't answer. He pushed open the door of Borgin and Burkes and walked in, Nott right behind him. Harry and the others managed to sneak into the shop before the door closed in front of them.

The man at the desk, Borgin, looked up in surprise. When he saw the two boys, Malfoy and Nott, he gave them a thin smile. "Mr Malfoy. Theo. What can I do for you?"

"I'm just here to look around in your books," said Nott. "If you don't mind?"

"Not at all, Theo," said Borgin. "Just be careful with them." He sounded almost nice, but his expression changed to that of resentment and fear when Malfoy stepped up to the desk. "And Mr Malfoy?"

"Do you have it?" Malfoy asked in a low voice.

Borgin jerked his head in assent. Then, as a verbal indication: "I do," replied Borgin. He turned around and pulled out an old, rusty key from his pocket. Inserting the key into the keyhole of a cabinet, he twisted it roughly, and Harry heard the familiar 'click' of a lock being unlocked. Borgin reached far back within the cabinet and brought out a small box. Malfoy inhaled sharply.

Borgin opened the box. Harry gestured for them to move closer so he could see the object. It was a necklace made of silver and pearl, looking quite stunningly beautiful. Harry wondered what the necklace was. Ron and Hermione both saw it too. Ron looked puzzled; so did Hermione. Of course, puzzlement on Hermione's face was usually unheard of. Which made the day all the more surprising.

"How much?" Malfoy said roughly.

"Six hundred and twenty galleons," said Borgin.

Malfoy's face darkened. "Make it five hundred and fifty."

"Mr Malfoy, I've spent much of my time in procuring this item, I cannot give customers discounts so easily--"

Malfoy glared. "Borgin," he said, "I'm thinking of a family friend of mine. His name's Fenrir Greyback, and he would so like to pay a visit here to you." Malfoy's voice was menacing, and there was a dangerous undertone to his words.

Harry saw undeniable fright in Borgin's face now. "Yes, Mr Malfoy, sir," he said quickly.

A satisfied expression appeared on Malfoy's face. "Close the box," he said emotionlessly. He reached into a moneybag in his robes. "Five hundred and fifty galleons," he said aloud, and proceeded to dump out a pile of gold coins.

"How does that work?" Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione.

"A magical moneybag," Ron whispered back.

Hermione added, "You say the amount of money you want, and it appears in the money bag."

"I see," said Harry. That might be useful sometime in the future.

Borgin gathered up the galleons quickly and put them away. "Is that all, Mr Malfoy?" he said deferentially.

"That's all," said Malfoy. He turned round and said, "Theo! Are you done yet?"

"Yes," said Nott. He was holding two books to his chest. He looked dusty and somewhat tired, not at all like the sneering boy at Madam Malkin's. Nott sneezed rather ignominiously.

He walked up to Borgin--Harry, Ron, and Hermione hastily retreated a few steps to make room for him--and handed the two books to Borgin. "Mr Borgin, if you could ring up these purchases..."

"Certainly, Theo," said Borgin. He sounded much more kinder to Nott than to Malfoy--but then again, Harry supposed that even Nott was more respectful than Malfoy. Borgin probably preferred Nott, anyway. Nott didn't threaten him with anything.

"Odd choice of books, that," commented Malfoy, sharp blue-grey eyes looking at the titles. "Let's see... Things Your Ministry Doesn't Want You to Know and Warding Enchantments: How to Make and Break Them. Theo, do you usually read this stuff?"

Harry thought for a moment that he had seen a flicker of nervousness pass across Nott's face, but then it was gone as soon as he had seen it.

"Well," said Nott, "recent events call for more knowledge."

Malfoy seemed satisfied with the answer and didn't pry.

Harry had a very good idea of what those recent events might be.

"Things Your Ministry Doesn't Want You to Know?" Borgin said in surprise. "I don't remember having that book. But Warding Enchantments is a good book, that one. Theo, I believe the cost is around fourteen galleons.

"Sure things, Mr Borgin," said Nott. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of galleons.

"We'd better get going," said Malfoy. He started for the door, and Harry hurried out of the way, followed by Ron and Hermione.

"Bye, Mr Borgin," called Nott as he went out the door after Malfoy. The three Gryffindors darted through the opening.

Outside, Malfoy was saying to Nott, "Are you coming home with us, Theo?"

Nott shook his head. "Nah, I'm meeting a couple of friends at a nearby bar. Tell your mother I'll drop by for dinner, though. I'm by myself in the house, unless you count the house elves, and--good grief, really, I need someone to talk to."

"All right," said Malfoy, smiling. "See you tonight, Theo." He turned back toward Diagon Alley.

"Later, Draco," Nott called. He seemed to be headed deeper into Knockturn Alley.

"Well?" hissed Ron under the cloak. "Which way do we go?"

"I want to go after Nott," Harry began, but Hermione cut him off.

"No," she said. "We've got to get back to Diagon Alley. We've been gone a while, and if we're away longer, Mrs Weasley's going to get angry. We'll have to leave Nott for another day, Harry."

Harry sighed. "All right, Hermione."

But even as they crept out of Knockturn Alley and took off the Invisibility Cloak in the shadows of Diagon Alley, Harry's mind was alive with the possibilities of what had happened--and what they had witnessed. What was the necklace and what did it do? Who was Fenrir Greyback? And why would Nott go meet acquaintances at Knockturn Alley bars? Harry could not help but think: Death Eaters.

~

Theo made sure, for the fourth time in a row, that the books he had purchased were tucked securely under his arm. He had managed to buy Things Your Ministry Doesn't Want You to Know in a typical fashion, below the notice of Draco and Mr Borgin. It was the book containing the spell to get around the underage monitoring of magic, and, although Theo had Obliviated Draco, Theo took no chances into letting the book fall into the hands of Death Eaters.

Of course, the special irony about his meeting was that one of his friends was a Death Eater...

Whatever.

He muttered a quick long-lasting Glamour Charm under his breath. He couldn't see the transformation, but he knew that his light brown hair was being changed to a dark auburn red, cropped close to his scalp. He didn't like the appearance--but, hey, it didn't look like Theodore Nott, which was precisely what he was aiming for.

Theo stopped in front of a seedy looking pub. Above the door, painted in red letters, was the name: The Unicorn's Blood. Appropriate in colour, thought Theo, and not much else. Merlin knows it's not pure at all.

He walked into the bar casually, acknowledging the bartender, Monty, with a nod. Monty nodded back. Theo had become a regular of the bar over the past few weeks, along with his acquaintances, and Monty never complained or asked questions. They made for better business. And knowing no names meant no chance at giving away any of his customers.

At a far corner table, two men were already seated. One had a nondescript, plain face and brown hair. The other wore horn-rimmed glasses, and his hair was blond. He had no freckles.

Theo knew exactly who they were. Of course, he had to go through the annoying routine of identification by codenames, because the brown-haired man was so paranoid and just had to insist on it. "Viridescere."

"Nightshade," the brown-haired man said.

"Flame Guardian," the man with glasses said.

They nodded to each other.

"All quiet on the western front?" Theo asked smoothly as he sat down.

The man with horn-rimmed glasses laughed. It was a dry laugh. "There's no need to allude to Muggle books, Theo," he said, sounding amused. "We always have a Silencing Charm up. And notice-me-not charms. You think we wouldn't?"

"I think you might forget, Percy," said Theo.

"Touché," said the man with glasses.

The other man was not one for idle chitchat. "Cut the talking, Weasley," he said. His voice was clipped, curt, and brusque. "Did you get the book, Theo?"

"You think I wouldn't, Professor?" replied Theo lazily, smirking at Severus Snape. Then he grew sober. "Yes, I did." He handed over the book. Snape nodded silently and slipped the book into a bag at his side, one that Theo knew magically expanded and contracted according to the wearer's needs.

"How's the Ministry?" Theo asked Percy.

Percy Weasley smiled and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. "As slow as always to catch on to the fact that your father's at the family manor and they haven't noticed, Theo. No worries." When he saw Snape's glare, Percy sighed. "Professor. Don't look at me like that, or I shall be forced to hex you on the spot."

"You can try," said Snape, "but it'll be hard."

A challenge.

Percy's response was another thin-lipped smile.

Challenge accepted.

Theo sighed patiently as he watched his two friends--odd for them, a Hogwarts professor and a Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, to be his friends, yet they were his friends in a way no one else was at all--and shook his head in exasperation at their silent and furious, although not overtly hostile, battle of minds

"Ahem," said Theo. "Now that the book is out of others' hands..."

"I can't help but think this is quite exciting," said Percy. He was smiling.

"Typical Gryffindor," said Theo deprecatingly. They all laughed, even Snape--although his laugh was more of a single chuckle. Over the past few weeks, a sense of camaraderie had developed among them. They were all in the same game of espionage, after all.

"But we do really need Regulus Black's help," said Percy thoughtfully. "He knows about the horcruxes--he's been thinking over them for nearly sixteen years."

After some argument between Dumbledore and Snape, Snape had finally deigned to inform both Percy and Theo of the existence of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Their Occlumency shields were well-made by now; Snape and Dumbledore had both tested the shields' integrity, and been satisfied. Then they had tested the two young men's integrity, and had also been satisfied. Dumbledore's final piece of advice to them: Don't meet Voldemort.

Theo looked at Percy. He was in somewhat of a quandary about that...

"And his family vault has a lot of information on Dark magic," Snape said. "Possibly something on horcruxes. We need him to get in, but I've always said that it's best for his safety if he doesn't step foot into a very public place."

"Quite," said Theo. "Family vaults don't accept anyone other than family members."

Percy frowned. "But doesn't that mean that the Lestranges or Malfoys could possibly have--"

"Don't be idiotic," Snape cut in curtly. Seeing Percy's somewhat astonished expression, he relented and said, "Well, I wouldn't expect you to know anyway, but he told me that he hid the papers in the back of the portrait of his great-uncle Alphard."

"And..." Percy raised an eyebrow.

"His Uncle Alphard is considered a blood traitor of the Black family," said Snape. "So, naturally, they're not going to take his portrait and hang it on the wall."

"Regulus is one smart person," Percy said appreciatively.

"We all are," said Theo. "But we have to figure out how to get Regulus out into the wizarding world first without risking him being recognised. That idiotic portrait of his won't help matters. Then we can get the Horcruxes."

"Very true," said Snape.

Percy made a 'hmph' sound. But when he spoke, his voice had grown more serious. "Professor? Has Voldemort recently mentioned contacting me? You haven't said anything about it since July."

Snape shook his head. "He hasn't asked about you," he said. "The Dark Lord probably still has you on his agenda though. Why?"

Percy fiddled with a quill. "I'm not so sure about it anymore."

Snape and Theo both stared at him. Snape raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well," Percy said, "... I really don't want to have the Dark Mark..."

"Would you rather be under Imperius?" Theo said sharply. "Think about your boss, Crouch."

Silence settled upon the table, shrouding them in gloom.

"The thing is," said Percy, "I think I was a little rash when I gave you the signal to go ahead and inform Voldemort of my status."

Theo shot Percy a vaguely sympathetic look.

"By the way," Percy said suddenly, his voice trying to be more light, "could either of you dig something up on Dolores Umbridge? She was just released from St. Mungo's yesterday. She's coming back to the Minister's office, and I really don't want to have to see her pink cardigan again."

"I sympathise with you," Snape said patronisingly. "I had to work with the infuriating woman too. I'll work whatever she did out of Potter--I hear she had a Blood-Quill, and tried to use Veritaserum."

The smile on Percy's face was not the nicest of smiles; it was the channeling of his nervousness into ruthlessness. "Good," he said softly. "Except..." He sighed. "Never mind, that's only more bad publicity for the Ministry. And as much as the Ministry deserves it, we can't afford to take that chance. Public opinion's already low as it is. Fudge is only staying in office because of Dumbledore's supposed pity, which is good for a laugh--"

"--when he's really using Fudge to push through Order policies," added Theo.

"Right on one, Theo," said Percy. "I suppose I could always suggest to him that dear Dolores be absent on leave so she can recuperate from her traumatic experience with the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest."

Snape made a derisive sound. "There is a reason why it is called the Forbidden Forest," he remarked acridly.

"And it seems Umbridge did not pick up on that reason," said Percy placidly. "Evidently, she seemed to think it was forbidden because of some other reasons besides centaurs, the silly woman." He paused. "We could just asphyxiate her with varnish fumes, or the sanitary smell of the Hogwarts infirmary, or centaur manure ..." he said longingly.

Snape snorted. Theo laughed.

"Enlist Phineas Nigellus in your cause," said Snape. "He didn't like that vile woman Umbridge much either."

Percy sighed. "That won't work, although I wish it could. Let me see--a place near Dubrovnik, how about that?"

"Safely out of the way for the duration of the fight," said Theo. "Thank Merlin for Dubrovnik and insane asylums. I hope she gets caught in one of those Muggle bombs. The Ministry is saved."

Percy shook his head, once again all business. "Not until I root out all the moles there, it isn't. I know for certain there's at least one in the MLE, I just can't figure out who it is. I've claimed the right as secretary to review all memos in the MLE, all papers, all files, and the rest of that, but I still haven't gotten to it."

"Poor you," said Snape without any sympathy or pity whatsoever.

"Thank you," Percy drawled right back. "So very encouraging of you."

"You're welcome," said Snape, and smirked.

Snape turned to Theo. "How is Draco?"

Theo paused. "He bought a necklace in Borgin and Burkes today, when we went there. Evidently, he commissioned Borgin to get it for him."

Snape was frowning. "What does the necklace look like?"

"It's absolutely gorgeous. Silver and pearls all over. Draco paid five hundred and fifty galleons for it. Mr Borgin would have asked for more, but Draco threatened him with Fenrir Greyback if he didn't accept Draco's price."

"What a wonderfully polite little snot Draco Malfoy is," said Percy dryly.

Theo ignored him.

Snape looked thoughtful. "I do believe I've seen that thing somewhere..."

"Think about it," said Theo. "I haven't seen it before, at any rate. Oh, and by the way, I'm invited to the Malfoys for dinner. Draco may be a 'wonderfully polite little snot,'" he said, using Percy's expression, "but he's not yet a wonderfully stupid little snot. He knows Crabbe and Goyle are dumb as doornails, and Pansy Parkinson is nearly as idiotic. The whole Zabini family are sociopaths, and I'm the only intelligent one."

"The state of Slytherin these days," said Percy in a mockingly mournful voice, and shook his head in mock sorrow.

Theo made for a mock swipe at Percy's head, and missed.

"What about Lucius Malfoy?" Snape asked. "Has he mentioned his father?"

Theo shook his head. "He doesn't know where his father is," he said.

"Hmm," said Percy. His brow was furrowed, and Theo and Snape exchanged glances that said, I think he just had an idea. What he said next was a little surprising, though.

"What about those homing mechanisms?" Percy asked.

"What homing mechanisms?" Theo asked in reply.

Percy looked annoyed. "The ones where you use blood, Theo. Remember? You take the blood of the missing person, or a family member, and drip it over a crystal ball. Then there's an incantation, and you see where the person is."

"My, Weasley," said Snape. "And here I thought you would be the first to shy away from blood magic."

Percy gave him an innocent look, which Snape knew very well was not innocent in the least. "Professor Snape, you wound me with your unfound insinuations and accusations! I am hurt deeply!"

Theo sniggered. "You're a good actor, Percy. By the way, I met your brother Ron and your sister, with Granger and Potter, in Madam Malkin's, with Draco and his mother."

"You did?" Percy sounded interested.

"That combination," said Snape, adopting a lecturing tone, "is Neville Longbottom's caldron waiting to explode. And Potter most likely acted idiotic." His face darkened considerably, but betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

"Hmm," said Percy. "I'll bet. Not the part about Harry--you give him too little credit, Professor Snape. What happened?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "What do you expect? It was the usual." And he summarised the brief exchange of cold insults and anger.

At the finish, Percy's face was red--with laughter or anger, Theo couldn't tell. He soon did. Percy laughed and said, "Really, Theo, that last comment was just a little too hard, don't you think?"

"What?" Theo asked innocently.

"Never mind," said Percy. "And Professor Snape," he said suddenly, turning to Snape, "what's this I hear about a new teacher?"

"Horace Slughorn," Snape said. "He used to be the old Head of Slytherin House."

"Horace Slughorn," said Percy, frowning. "Wasn't he the one with his Slug Club rigmarole?"

"I would not exactly call it a rigmarole, Weasley. He still keeps in contact with his many influential former students. He is going to be the new Potions Professor."

"New Potions Professor?" Theo asked. "Then--you--"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Snape. "Of course, I should not tell students the syllabus for the course this year, but, as you are here not as a Hogwarts student but as a fellow colleague, I can exclusively tell you that this year I will be working everyone on non-verbal spells." He tapped his right temple with a slender forefinger and smiled dangerously.

"Non-verbal spells?" said Percy. "Well, I beg you to give me private lessons, Professor--I need them. You can't honestly expect me to learn anything with different DADA professors every year. Especially after Harry came to school. The ones before Quirrell were only so-so. Then Quirrell apparently turns out to be a tool of Voldemort, Lockhart's an absolute cad and idiot who tried to Memory Charm my little brother and leave Ginny to die--"

"I second that--the part about Lockhart," Snape said.

"Amen," Theo could not resist adding the religious touch. Snape gave him an odd look, but said nothing.

"--and Lupin, who wasn't actually so bad, turns out to be a werewolf--by Merlin, I swear it's a wonder I managed to do so well on the OWLs!"

"Quirrell was just a stuttering man possessed by the Dark Lord," said Snape. "Lupin--I despise from our old schooldays--and you have no right to go pry," he added. "Lockhart--" A mischievous look lit up Snape's face. As Theo and Percy were not at all used to a mischievous Severus Snape, it was, of course, more or less highly startling and astonishing to them. "You do remember the incident with the Cornish pixies in his class, do you?"

"Yes," said Theo and Percy in unison.

"Well, the next time Lockhart was in the bath, I let loose a pixie in the bathroom--"

"Oh, you didn't, Professor!" Theo said, but he was laughing.

Snape shrugged nonchalantly. "I was already in the hallway before he began screaming bloody murder."

"Now that," said Percy laughingly, "I would have liked to hear."

Snape smirked. "Undoubtedly."

~

A plain-looking man stood outside, on the pavement. The sun was bright, the birds were singing, and he was presently glaring at nothing in particular. Then again, he was so used to glaring that it didn't really disturb him, although it did to most passersby.

The sign on the freshly painted cream-coloured door said "Arbuthnot and Walker, est. 1946." With another faint scowl, the man pushed open the door and stepped inside. If nothing else, he thought as he moved towards the main desk, they could have chosen green for the main colour motif in the room, instead of white.

The bright secretary at the desk looked up and chirped merrily, "Hello, and welcome, Mr..." She darted a discreet glance at her papers. "Mr Phillips. Go right on in, Mr Grey's waiting for you."

He grunted in return, and turned away.

The man passed down a long, severe-looking corridor, which seemed as if it itself were drawn with severe angles. Signs blurred past him: Arbuthnot, Walker, Hubbard... at the end of the corridor, he came to a sign that said "Grey." He pushed open the door.

The man who was in the room was not looking at the door. Instead, he was standing, staring thoughtfully outside the window. But a slight twitch in his fingers showed that he had heard his visitor, and it was a while longer, before he turned and said, in a deceptionally casual voice, "Well, fancy seeing you here."

"Very funny, I'm sure."

The standing man smiled slightly. It transformed his face utterly; his face was once blank and without expression, but now it was brilliantly handsome, his dyed brown hair and grey eyes setting off the aristocratic tilt of the head. "Yes, it is." He swept a hand to a seat. "Chair, perhaps?"

His visitor inclined his head and duly sat. There was a momentary silence as the two men scrutinised each other. The sitting man spoke first. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"If I had my way," the other man replied dryly, "there would never be any need for you to see me ever again."

"Yes."

"What does he ask of me?"

"The same service you provided sixteen years ago."

"Who else knows?"

"Five, including you. Spies."

"Thought so." The handsome man held out a hand. The sitting man dropped a small card in it. "What, no Patronus?"

"Too blatantly obvious. How many of your clients would scream if they saw one?"

"All of them. It will provide date and time?"

"Of course."

"So it seems. Tell him I'll be there. And I'll make a secret trip to the family vault too. Doubtless there will be something there, and the Dark Lord has always craved things of significance."

"Like the cave."

"An utter desecration of the font. Disgusting. Especially all the Inferi in there..."

"Memories of being an errand boy?"

The handsome man's mouth twisted sideways in a half-grimace. "Perhaps." An ominous pause, as he looked outside again and then absent-mindedly shuffled papers on his desk. "And sometimes worse."

The dire overtones in his voice lingered in the air, ominously. The man looked away into the distance, as though staring at some long-ago image of horror that would never go away, and would only return time and time again.