The Last Sanguimagus

Severus Snape was intrigued despite himself.

The Headmaster had waved him off from the staff meeting, telling him to inventory the potions in the infirmary for the new school year, something Poppy could have done quite easily herself. Privately he was relieved; staff meetings were an extended bore at best. His steps rang out on the polished marble of the staircase that led to the first floor. Why would Dumbledore not want him to attend? He could not at first imagine any policy discussion or scheduling argument that would not require his presence.

Then he remembered that it was early August. The new professors would be arriving.

He scowled. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Did the Headmaster really think he was so fragile that he would snap at the mere sight of the new teacher? Did he imagine that Severus would leap across the table and throttle him with his bare hands after suppressing years of pent-up fury? No, it was preposterous. He had even kept his temper in check three years ago upon learning that the werewolf would take the coveted position.

He frowned. Perhaps this was the rumor Pomona and Minerva had been whispering about disapprovingly last week--the return of a former student. His frown deepened. A former student who would now be teaching the class that he had always wanted to teach.

He had reached the third floor, and impatiently lengthened his strides to the infirmary. Who could be returning to teach? His brain worked furiously, trying to recall Hogwarts graduates. Who would be a likely candidate? He thought of several Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students who had performed well in the past ten years in their Dark Arts classes. Slytherins he dismissed out of hand--he knew the Headmaster too well. Or perhaps...no. He refused to think that Dumbledore would let one of the red-haired menaces back--

He froze in horror. No. No, Dumbledore could not possible have given a Weasley the position he had dreamt of for so long. He could not have. Better the werewolf than one of those--those--

He realised that he was standing completely still in front of the double doors that led into the infirmary. With a scowl he shoved them open.

***

Days were sliding away from him into oblivion. Sometimes Harry remembered to eat, to wash, to breathe in fresh air from the window; more often than not he simply existed, letting the hours drip past him slowly.

There was a sudden pain in his wrist. "Ouch!" he yelped, turning to see Hedwig nipping him sharply, a letter on the bed next to him. "Fine, fine, I'll read it, I know it's been here awhile," he muttered, noting Hermione's handwriting on the envelope.

Dear Harry,

Are you ill? You haven't owled in so long! The Weasleys are quite concerned as well. I do hope you're all right.

We're planning to visit Diagon Alley on August 30^th. I hope that your aunt and uncle will let you come.

I've been in contact with everyone we know, and Dumbledore has enrolled all our sixth and seventh year friends in the new Talismans class. Can you believe our luck, to be attending Hogwarts during such an opportunity? Talismans hasn't been taught there since Professor McGonagall was a student! I've already read the--

Harry frowned and read the bit about Dumbledore again. "Everyone we know" could only mean the Defence Association. Why had he enrolled them all in this class? What could he possibly--ouch!

"All right, all right, I will write her right now!" he said aloud. Hedwig blinked her eyes, and he could have sworn she looked satisfied.

***

Harry came downstairs the next morning, feeling better after a good scrub and a nice bit of birthday cake that hadn't gotten quite stale yet. It was sunny and light outside, and somehow he just felt better. He turned the corner into the kitchen, hoping for some milk, and nearly ran headlong into Dudley, who shrieked.

Uncle Vernon jumped up from the kitchen table, upsetting his plate, and Aunt Petunia sloshed her grapefruit juice all over the tablecloth. All three stared at him for a very long moment before resuming their complete Harry aversion. Petunia began sopping up the juice with her napkin.

Harry picked up the Muggle newspaper and scanned for the date. His heart leapt. It was August 29^th! Tomorrow he would be in Diagon Alley--

He ran back up the stairs two at a time, bursting open the door to his room. He needed his wand, of course, and--

Suddenly it dawned on him with crushing force. How was he going to get there? He knew that the Dursleys would only drive him to King's Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express so as to be rid of him for another school year. There was no way that they would ever voluntarily drive him to Wizarding London to shop. He would have to threaten them somehow.

Hedwig hooted, and one of the letters caught his eye. He remembered that he had never opened Lupin's. He picked it up and tore it open.

Dear Harry,

I hope that you are enjoying your summer. Everything is very quiet here. We were all hoping you could visit, but the timing has not been good so far. I would, however, like to extend the invitation for you to spend your Christmas holidays with me.

I have inherited a house that is too big for me and has some rather disagreeable tenants, but it is a place that I can call home for the first time in many years. I very much hope that you can visit me here, and that it won't seem too unpleasant.

I believe that someone will be picking you up for your annual visit to Diagon Alley, but I can't say much more than that. Please let me--

He scanned the rest of the letter and felt sad for Lupin. Yet again the werewolf was alone, his last Marauder friend torn away, and now trapped in that dreadful house...Harry's heart constricted with grief anew. Sirius had left Grimmauld Place to Lupin. And Lupin was concerned that Harry would be unable to visit. He was right. Harry didn't know if he could face it again. The thought of seeing Kreacher, alive, muttering nasty things, while Sirius was--

He half-sobbed, and suddenly his scar gave a slight twinge. He sat up, surprised. There had been nothing since the confrontation at the Ministry of Magic, just occasional flashes of stillness. No pain, no strange visions...just a deep and worrying sense of stillness. Lupin's letter mentioned that everything was very quiet as well for the Order.

He took a deep breath. I must tell Dumbledore.

He reread the beginning, and wondered who would be picking him up. The Weasleys? Moody? He put the letter down on the bed and looked around. A lovely summer breeze was blowing through the open window and he looked askance at how messy everything was. He began to clean the room. Soon he would be going home, and he wanted to be ready.