Realizations

Chapter 25 - Did I Just See What I Thought I Saw?

Sunday, July 23, 1995

Stephen Wright startled awake and lay still for a second, unable to immediately identify where he was or what had awakened him.

Frowning, he propped himself up on one elbow, glancing around the unfamiliar room, and relaxing almost immediately when he recognized his bedroom furniture and spotted his sleeping wife. That's right. I'm in London, he thought, as events caught up with him. Hmm. Definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto...

Chuckling softly, he shook his head. It was always the same after a move. He was more accustomed to it than most because to his years in the military, but relocation was jarring and disorienting at best. It always took a while to meet people, learn the area and establish new routines. Depending on how things went it could take days, weeks, or even months before the initial strangeness subsided and a new house felt like home.

Although, Steve thought, laying back again and admiring the bedroom, it shouldn't take long this time. Janet had been too tired to give him the nickel tour last night, but from what he had seen, the place could almost be declared "done." Glancing at his wife he shook his head again, this time in wonder. They'd pared down their belongings dramatically in preparation for the move, but even so he'd never dreamed his little Jannie would be able to get so much done before he arrived.

Carefully, to avoid waking her, Steve slid an arm under his wife and pulled her close. They'd had their ups and downs over the years, of course, but he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather have on his team. Pressing a soft kiss into her hair, he recalled how she'd gotten all teary-eyed last night, telling him about the day she met Sparky.

It was awful, Steve, I took my eyes off of them for just a second, and when I looked up again they were gone! Luckily they wandered into Tom's place. He kept them safe inside and sent Sparky out to look for me. I kept it together until he took me inside, and then I bawled all over myself...

The thing was, he could almost picture it. That was classic Janet. Standard Operating Procedure. She could cope remarkably well with almost any situation, but as soon as it was over she'd dissolve into tears--almost guaranteed.

It was a reaction he'd always found baffling. Why fall to pieces after the fact? The crisis was over. Problem solved. Smiling a little ruefully now, Steve recalled one occasion when he'd pulled her to the side, and asked just that. He'd thought it was a reasonable question, and had actually been trying to cheer her up, but instead of looking up at him and saying "Why you're right dear, how could I have been so silly?" Janet had only cried harder, and taken twice as long to calm down. Since then, he'd learned to simply accept it. His job was to offer support and comfort and wait for the storm to pass.

Still unsure what had awakened him, he listened hard for a few seconds, hoping whatever it was would repeat itself. The house stayed quiet, though, so he shrugged and closed his eyes again, enjoying the peace and closeness while he could before the Wright Family Circus opened for business. He almost never woke before Jannie did, so this was a rare treat. She and Becky were the morning people. Kitty, bless her, was more of a night owl like himself. Curious, he spared a glance at his watch, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was almost ten! Jan and the girls must have really exhausted themselves yesterday, especially if Becky was still sleeping.

Ah, well, it won't last, Steve mused, deciding he must have been awakened by some unfamiliar noise. If they aren't up by ten I'll get them up. Probably won't be necessary, though, he thought sleepily. Unless he was sadly mistaken, it wouldn't be long before Kitty and Becky came barging in. He grinned again, deciding that the intrusion might be okay...just this once.

Actually, it was hard to believe they were actually in England--or anywhere besides the States. He'd never been given an overseas rotation as a soldier, and had thought he wouldn't get a chance once they re-entered civilian life. Fortunately, he'd been wrong.

He'd earned his Bachelor's Degree in History before enlisting, but Janet had still been in college when they'd married. It had taken a while, with the frequent moving and Kitty coming along, but she'd finally managed to earn her degree in Computer Science. When she graduated and entered the workforce, she soon discovered that overseas opportunities were available there as well. They'd discussed it as a future possibility, but it had been a moot point while he was still in the service.

Once he'd gotten out they'd taken it a bit more seriously. Janet began keeping a close eye on the jobs coming open, and they began saving both money and vacation time, but somehow it never worked out. Sometimes the jobs available weren't in her skill set. On other occasions the timing stunk. Becky was the most recent monkey-wrench that had been thrown into the works. Janet had actually been considering a couple of openings about the time she discovered she was pregnant. Not surprisingly, that little detail effectively squashed her enthusiasm for packing up and journeying to parts unknown.

The delays had been frustrating at the time, but in the end Steve found he hadn't minded much. It had actually worked in their favor. They'd had a little more time to save, and in the meantime he'd finished his Master's Degree and been hired by one of the local universities as a professor of History.

This time, when an overseas position had presented itself, the timing and location couldn't have been better. He had some teaching time under his belt, and was getting to the point where he really needed to research and publish a paper. England was the perfect place to do just that.

He'd submitted his paperwork announcing his sabbatical when they found out they'd be moving, and everything seemed to be going well. All he had to do was teach a couple of classes during the first summer session. They'd planned to make the trip together when he finished grading exams and clearing the department.

That was about the time events had gotten away from them. Janet's report date had been unexpectedly moved up, and it had been too late for him to back out of the classes. His wife hadn't been thrilled about going ahead without him, but she'd coped before. She'd also been determined to allow plenty of time to unpack and settle in before starting her new job. A couple of moves ago she'd begun working immediately upon arriving, and it had taken forever to get the house in order. Janet, especially, had been traumatized by that ordeal, hence her insistence on getting things squared away immediately.

Chuckling again, he gave Janet another kiss, settled more comfortably on his pillows, waiting for his family to wake. He must have drifted off at one point, because he soon found himself surfacing from a light doze. This time there was no question as to what had awakened him, however. It was faint, but he was definitely hearing the murmur of voices downstairs. There were little clinks and rattles, too, and a pleasant aroma of cinnamon in the air.

Damn! he thought irritably. Jannie must have gotten up and gone downstair-- He broke off abruptly when he realized that Janet was, in fact, still sleeping contentedly in his arms. That meant...

The kids!

Wanting to avert a disaster, he carefully tried to ease Janet's head off his chest without disturbing her, but she stirred at the shift, and began to show signs of waking.

"Hey, you," he said, with a teasing smile as she opened her eyes. "I thought you might be planning to sleep all day."

"Hmm. Not much chance of that with Becky around," Janet yawned, stretching. She sniffed the air curiously and asked, "What's that?"

"I'm not sure, but I think Kitty and Becky might be trying to make us breakfast in bed again," he replied.

Janet's eyes widened in horror, imagining evil things being done to her kitchen. In a remarkably smooth motion for someone who had just awakened, she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Come on!" she urged, hurrying out the door and padding barefoot down the stairs, giving her husband little choice but to follow.

As they rushed downstairs, Steve noted that his earlier conclusion about the house had been correct. It was more obvious now that the sun was up, but he had little time to admire it as he hurried along. Catching up with Janet, he was surprised to find her standing to the side of a doorway that he presumed led into the kitchen.

Confused by her behavior, he walked over and stood behind her. "Aren't we going in?" he asked.

"Yes, in just a second," she whispered in response, nodding toward the activity in the kitchen.

Steve looked in the direction she indicated, and saw the boy from last night standing in front of the stove. Becky was tugging on the leg of his sweatpants, and Kitty was setting the table looking disappointed.

"I still think we should have brought them breakfast in bed," Katrina was saying while Rebecca looked beseechingly up at--John...no Jim--and said "Becky wanna help too, 'Parky!"

"I think they'll be more comfortable at the table," the boy responded, tossing a grin over his shoulder. When she continued to sulk, he said, "Look, you ask when they come downstairs. If they say okay, we'll serve them breakfast in bed another day. Fair?" He waited for her less-than-gracious nod then turned his attention to the dark-haired toddler beside him.

After checking whatever it was he was frying--bacon by the smell of it--and taking it off the heat, Jim leaned down and picked up Becky. "Poor thing," he commiserated. "Everything in the world is sharp or hot or breakable, isn't it?" He paused a moment, regarding her seriously, then snapped his fingers. "I know what you can do. Come on. Let's wash your hands."

Steve and Janet exchanged a curious glance as Sparky carried Becky to the sink. "Those two are buds from way back," Janet explained softly, while he pulled a chair over so the baby could reach the tap. "We all like Sparky, but Becky's claimed him for her own."

"So I see," Steve responded, watching as Sparky carefully washed and dried Becky's hands then fetched four plastic cups from the cupboard, and the container of ice from the freezer. He placed these items on the counter, then shoved Becky's chair over so she was positioned in front of them.

"There now," he said when he finished. "Do you know how many three is?"

Becky nodded enthusiastically and held up three fingers, making the boy chuckle softly.

"Well done," he said, smiling. "Now, if you'll put three pieces of ice in each cup, that would really help a lot."

Kitty, who had finished setting the table, wandered over to observe, and frowned a little when she saw the cups. "We need another one, Sparky," she said, taking another out of the cupboard. "Me and Becky and Mom and Dad and you makes five," she said, indicating the table where she had set five places.

Sparky, Steve noted, looked surprised at her announcement, but recovered quickly. Taking the proffered cup, with a quiet 'thanks', he set it with the others without further comment. Odd, he thought with a slight frown. Did he forget about me, or was he not expecting to stay?

"What else can I do?" Kitty asked, bouncing eagerly while her sister carefully counted out ice cubes.

Jim looked around for a second then shrugged. "Nothing really--oh, wait! You can put this on the table if you'd like," he said, holding out the sugar bowl. "Otherwise I believe we're all set. We just have to put the kettle on, let the buns finish baking, and wait for your Mum and Dad to wake up."

"If they're not up soon, I'll wake them up," Kitty stated confidently, holding one hand in a "thumbs up" position and jabbing herself in the chest, while reaching out with the other.

Two hands! Steve almost shouted, but it was too late. Kitty hadn't been paying attention, and fumbled with the sugar bowl when Sparky set it in her hand. Beside him, Janet made a little sound of distress, clearly expecting the china container to shatter on the kitchen floor as it slipped from her daughter's fingers...

CLACK!

Wow. Good hands! Stephen thought admiringly. Almost faster than he could follow, the boy had reached out and snatched the bowl and its lid out of mid-air. Janet opened her eyes after involuntarily wincing, and grinned happily when she realized the china on china sound she heard was not breakage. "Maybe both hands would be better," the boy suggested simply, further impressing the elder Wrights as he replaced the lid on the sugar bowl and offered it to Kitty again.

The girl bit her lip and nodded glumly. "Sorry," she said, looking apologetically at the sugar that had spilled.

Jim waved it off. "Don't fret. We'll have this sorted out in no time. You put some more sugar in the bowl, and I'll sweep the floor. Where does Janet keep the broom again?"

"I know!" Rebecca exclaimed before her sister could answer. She had finished her task and was eager to help some more. "Becky get!" she said, climbing off the chair, running over to the basement door, and plucking the broom from its hook on the wall. Unfortunately, when she came running back, she severely misjudged where the end of the long wooden handle was. She scurried up to Sparky intending to hand him the broom, but somehow wound up rapping him rather solidly on the nose instead.

Jim's exclamation of surprise and pain covered Janet's soft gasp. She immediately started to hurry into the kitchen, but Steve put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. "Wait," he requested, when she turned and looked questioningly at him. "I want to see how he handles this."

Janet's eyes narrowed, and she speared him with her best I-Can't-Believe-You're-Being-So-Mean glare. "Let go, Steve! He's hurt!" she hissed, but he stood by his decision. They were right there, and could step in instantly if needed. Besides, Jannie had been bragging about this kid almost nonstop since she met him, and Steve was curious to know what he was made of.

"Just another couple of minutes, Jannie. Please." Actually, given what he'd just seen of the boy's reflexes, Stephen was impressed as hell that Jim hadn't instinctively taken a swing at Becky. He knew from painful personal experience that getting hit in the nose, even just a little bit, hurt like it was nobody's business. Lashing out was a fairly common reaction, as was hollering, jumping around and turning the air blue with a few well chosen curse words.

So far Jim hadn't done any of that. He'd actually controlled himself remarkably well. The real test would come when he got his breath back enough to speak, however.

Turning his attention back to the kitchen, Steve winced in sympathy. Jim was covering the lower half of his face with one hand and gripping the counter with the other. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, and he was breathing rather heavily through the mouth.

Kitty recovered first and tentatively approached. "Sparky? Are you okay?" she asked gingerly, receiving a nod in reply. Reassured, she smiled a little, then pushed the chair Becky had been standing on over to him. "Here, sit down a minute," she suggested, remembering how her mom had told her dad to sit once when he'd smashed his thumb with the hammer. "Do you want some ice?"

"M'fine, just give me a second," Jim mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by his hand. He did take advantage of the offered chair, though, dropping down on it without preamble and propping his elbows on his knees.

When he looked up and removed his hand a few seconds later, Steve wasn't surprised to see that the boy's eyes were watering. Ouch, Becky really nailed him, he grimaced, noting the red mark that looked like it might discolor. "We'll have to give him a little extra for hazardous working conditions," he murmured to his wife.

Calmer now, Janet gave him a mildly reproving look. "And breakfast," she added, starting to smile.

Steve nodded. "And talking Kitty out of serving it to us in bed..." he grinned, rolling his eyes and making his wife choke on suppressed laughter.

They were just about to announce their presence, when a horrified shriek made them both jump. Unnerved by Sparky's tears, Becky had broken out of her shocked stupor at last. When he reached up and wiped his face with both hands, she dropped the broom with a loud clatter and began crying inconsolably.

Jim looked a little stunned at first, then began to shake his head as though denying a statement. Reaching out, he set her in his lap, gathered her into a loose hug and began speaking quiet reassurances into her hair. "Shush, love, that’s not true," he soothed, closing his eyes as if remembering something unpleasant. "I'm not angry and I still like you. I know it was an accident, and I don't believe you hit me just to be mean."

Becky's cries soon lost their hysterical edge and tapered off into sniffles and hitches, but Steve found himself frowning in confusion. How had Sparky zeroed in on the root of her distress so quickly and accurately? He sounded like he was addressing specific worries, but as far as Steve could tell, Becky had just been crying. She hadn't said anything. Was it instinct? Lucky guess? Telepathic powers? He rolled his eyes as the last possibility drifted through his head. Jeez, Wright, you obviously need to lay off the science fiction novels...

It took a few more minutes of Sparky's and Kitty's combined efforts, before Becky was mollified. As he observed, Steve glanced at the boy's wound again, and was gratified to see that the redness was already beginning to fade. Good. Maybe it won't bruise after all, he thought, smiling a bit as Kitty fetched a tissue and wiped her sister's face.

Calmer now, but still worried, Rebecca sat up and ran questioning fingers over the mark on Sparky's face. "Hurts?" she asked, a very serious look on her baby face.

"Nah," he assured with a shrug and a smile. "It'll be fine, you'll see, but this is why your mum always tells you not to run in the house."

It was a good point, but probably not the best thing to say under the circumstances, Steve decided candidly. Jim winced at his blunder, and glanced helplessly at Katrina when Becky nodded miserably, looking like she might just cry all over again. Hmm. It was probably time to stop lurking and lend a hand. He'd seen enough.

"Let's back up and give them a little warning before we go in," he murmured to Janet, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. She nodded quickly, but Kitty's voice made them both pause, and returned their attention to the kitchen. "Here, Becky," she said, obviously trying to distract the baby.

Steve frowned in confusion when his older daughter held out an empty hand. He was further baffled by the mischievous looks of anticipation the other two shared, but what completely floored him, was the little white ball that appeared out of nowhere. What the hell? he wondered, staring in complete disbelief.

"Oh!" Jim said suddenly, drawing the elder Wrights' attention, "I was thinking about this last night after you two went to sleep. I think I figured out a new trick!" he grinned, touching the ball with all five fingers. Kitty and Becky both smiled when different colored patches appeared on the softly glowing surface, then laughed delightedly when he poked his index finger into the ball and stirred, making the colors swirl together in a crazy tie-dye effect. Rebecca was especially impressed. "Becky ty! Becky ty!" she exclaimed, current trauma forgotten.

"We'll play later, I promise," Kitty said, snuffing the multi-colored sphere with an air of furtive nervousness. "Now smile before Mom and Dad get here," she said, ruffling her sister's curls and effectively snapping her parents out of their shock.

"What was that?" Steve croaked, turning to Janet for an explanation, but she just spread her hands helplessly, looking as bewildered as he felt.

Severus Snape hurried toward the Headmaster's office, a piece of parchment clasped tightly in his hand, and his robes billowing out behind him.

It was time. He'd just received instructions from the Dark Lord himself, and he strongly suspected that something was going to happen in a matter of days. Severus wasn't idiotic enough to question his orders, of course, and Voldemort wasn't considerate enough to state what they would be used for, but he had been told to make several volatile potions. All of them would be useful in an attack, and all of them had to be used within a week of brewing for maximum potency.

Snape smiled grimly as he reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. With luck this whole fiasco would be over soon. Once the Death Eaters knew Potter's relatives had relocated, the need for total secrecy would be over and the Order would be able to conduct its search for the little reprobate more openly.

As he whispered the password and mounted the spiral staircase, the potion master's smile grew positively vicious. He hoped he would be allowed to deal with the boy. Any other Order member would be much too easy on him. Dumbledore himself would probably let the little urchin dance away unscathed, and that would never do. No, Severus decided as he knocked on the doorframe and let himself into Albus' office, he and Potter would definitely have words, and when he was through the boy would think long and hard before repeating this sort of behavior.

Glancing around, the potions professor soon spotted Dumbledore. He was standing in front of the fireplace engaged in a call. Not wanting to interrupt, Snape stood to the side, seeking the shadows out of habit, and observed as Professor Dumbledore conversed with Arthur Weasley.

"...I assumed he could be trusted and told him more than was prudent before making sure. I have no excuse but my own stupidity," Weasley was saying. The self-reproach evident in the red-haired wizard's voice caught Snape's attention immediately. He wondered what had happened. Had the entire plan come undone?

Dumbledore sighed tiredly, drawing his attention. His rather resigned body language did not inspire confidence, nor did his words. "We shall simply have to make the best of it, Arthur," he replied. "Perhaps since he considers the matter frivolous he will not choose to bring it to the Minister's attention," he added, clearly trying to bolster the other man's spirits.

Arthur, however, didn't appear to want his spirits bolstered, nor was he finished being upset. "Can we take that risk?" he pressed, sounding even more stressed than before. "I told him not to bother, but if he sends someone to check on Harry everything will be revealed!"

"That will happen regardless," Dumbledore pointed out. "I had hoped to keep the Guest of Honor in the dark until after the Surprise Party, but a good plan must be flexible and allow for the unexpected." He paused to mull things over for a moment before speaking again. "The procedures set in place when Harry was hidden should still be in effect," he said at length. "Any visiting witch or wizard will be required to check in with Arabella Figg. Perhaps that can be used to our advantage."

"Perhaps," Weasley agreed, nodding and sounding a little happier now. "Shall I contact her?" he offered.

"Yes, please do," Albus said gratefully. "I shall be on the lookout for an owl from Amos--when is Cedric's service scheduled again?"

"In late August. Right before the children return to Hogwarts."

"Hmm. Well, it's Harry's decision, of course, but I think I am safe in sending a tentative acceptance," the Headmaster speculated. "I would like to think that this matter will be sorted out before the new term begins," he added, a hint of his usual good humor returning.

"I'll second that," Arthur agreed wholeheartedly.

Dumbledore nodded then sighed, becoming somber again. "I am sorry for any friction I may have caused, Arthur," he apologized sincerely. "That was never my intent."

"Thank you, Albus, but I think this was just the catalyst. It's obvious that he's been keeping things bottled up inside for a long time. Things I never knew bothered him so much. Hopefully when we've both cooled off, we'll be able to sort it all out," the other wizard assured, then he said his goodbyes and vanished with a small pop.

Snape had all but forgotten he hadn't really announced himself until Dumbledore addressed him without turning. "I do wish you wouldn't lurk in the shadows, Severus," the Headmaster chided lightly, making his potions professor jump guiltily.

I hate it when he does that! Snape growled, cursing his own carelessness. He'd gotten so intrigued with who had been told what and possible ripple effects from such action that he'd allowed himself to become distracted. Something he couldn't afford to do under any circumstances at a Death Eater meeting. Stifling an annoyed sigh, he glided forward to where Dumbledore stood. "My apologies, Headmaster."

Albus acknowledged him with a nod. "You heard, I presume?"

"Part of it," Snape admitted. "Who was he foolish enough to trust?"

"His middle son, Percy. Arthur believed the boy might help us gain access to Harry's folder, but unfortunately he was incorrect. Percy is inclined to believe the Minister's version of events," Dumbledore summarized, looking worried and disappointed.

Snape made a little noise of condescension. "Obliviate him," he recommended. "We cannot risk him being able to keep his mouth shut."

"I am not certain preserving the plan is worth Minister Fudge knowing young Mr. Weasley has been tampered with," Albus returned easily. "Obliviating him might lend undue credence to his words. I am certain, however, that you did not come to discuss Mr. Percy Weasley. What can I do for you, Severus?"

"I was summoned this morning and thought you'd want to know the details straightaway," Snape reported, after pausing to gather his thoughts. He felt both annoyed and inexplicably warmed when Dumbledore frowned lightly and swept him with an assessing look as soon as he made his announcement.

Shaking his head impatiently, he waved off the older wizard's concern. "Don't trouble yourself, Albus. It was a short, informal meeting for the express purpose of issuing orders. It isn't in his best interest to have my hands shaking or my wits addled when I'm working, so he almost never curses me when he wants potions brewed." Getting back on track, he indicated the parchment he still had in his hand. "We have had hints that the Dark Lord is planning an attack for a while now. Everyone, myself included, assumed he was going to immediately go after Potter, but now I'm not so sure."

Dumbledore nodded seriously, taking a seat in one of the comfortable chairs by the fireplace and gesturing for Severus to do the same. "Has he taken you into his confidence, then?" he inquired.

"No, he's being very tight-lipped. He seems to trust Pettigrew to a certain extent, probably because that little worm has as much to lose if they're exposed, but even that has its limits. I don't even think he's told his inner circle any details," Snape continued, raising a speculative eyebrow. "Clues up to now seemed to point to an attack on Potter's residence on his birthday, but now I am not certain of the time or the target," he confessed, handing the list to Albus. "These potions seem to suggest a different type of plan."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted sharply as he perused the list: Veritaserum, ward weakeners, fire bombs, paralyzing gas... "Nasty," he commented, absently stroking his beard. "Very nasty indeed. It does beg one to question why he is using potions instead of spells, though. It seems to add an unnecessary level of complexity."

"I wondered myself," Severus admitted, leaning forward and indicating a particular item. "The choice of this ward weakener is odd as well. It is more suited to breaking out of warded structures, not into them. In fact," he added, sneering a little at the vernacular, "it's common name is 'Jailbreak Juice'."

"You think Azkaban might be his first target?" Albus asked, frowning at the notion.

"I don't know, although I do believe he will stage an assault there sooner or later. He wants to draw the Dementors over to his side, and several Death Eaters are still incarcerated there. It would serve a dual purpose," Snape speculated, hoping with everything in him that he would not be expected to participate. If he never had to see that godforsaken place again, it would be too soon.

Albus sighed and ran a weary hand over his eyes. "Voldemort has always been difficult to accurately predict," he remarked, frowning into the fireplace for a few minutes, then shaking his head in frustration. "I do not see the connection at this moment, but I'm afraid you aren't catching me at my best, either."

Snape frowned a bit, noticing for the first time that this was quite true. The Headmaster looked a little rough around the edges, as if he hadn't gotten sufficient sleep the night before. There was a certain fatigue in his manner, his robes were rumpled, and he had dark shadows under his normally twinkling blue eyes. "Albus, are you feeling well?" he asked uncertainly.

"What? Oh, yes. Of course," Dumbledore responded, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a small yawn. "I had trouble sleeping, so I reviewed the Pensieve contents Molly, Arabella, and young Ronald were kind enough to provide. Not too long after that, Dobby the House-Elf and Kingsley Shackelbolt returned from an errand I sent them on bringing even more evidence to review," he said, gesturing absently toward his desk.

Severus automatically followed the sweep of the other wizard's hand with his eyes, and noticed an odd assortment of containers on and beside his desk. Several small Pensieves, presumably from last night's meeting were there, along with another that looked slightly larger than standard. What captured Snape's attention the most, however, was a largish container on the floor beside the desk. It had a long wooden ladle laying across its mouth, and looked remarkably like a stone barrel.

"I'm afraid I got caught up in my perusing and never made it to bed," Dumbledore finished with a self-deprecating little grin.

Severus raised a scolding eyebrow, appalled that the Headmaster wasn't taking better care of himself, but didn't voice his disapproval. Anything he said about this particular issue would be hypocritical in the extreme, and would probably encourage Albus to scold him the next time he stayed up brewing a tricky potion or researching ingredients.

"Did the Pensieves reveal anything of use?" he asked instead, wanting to change the subject.

Dumbledore didn't reply immediately. Instead, he rose and walked to his desk, running a hand around the lip of the stone barrel. "I have been able to answer some questions, and verify some of Sirius', Arabella's, and Remus' conjectures," he said, when Snape followed, "but for every question I managed to answer, ten others came to take its place.

"I was able to verify Remus' chain of events. He pegged it more closely than he knew. Harry traveled to Surrey alone and discovered the property was vacant. That was what Arabella saw when her locator clock indicated he was back at Privet Drive and we erroneously assumed all was well. He tried to seek shelter or assistance at Arabella's soon after that, but she had already returned to Hogwarts. When he found her house empty, he caught the Knight Bus, intending to go to the Leaky Cauldron. It's maddening!" he complained with a frustrated shake of his head. "I'd wager they missed each other by half an hour, maybe less."

Snape couldn't believe what he'd just heard. It had been a possibility all along, of course, but he'd never really believed it. There just had to be another explanation. "Potter's relatives really abandoned him?" he asked incredulously. "He didn't just refuse to accompany them?"

Albus shook his head, looking impossibly weary and very, very sad. "No, Severus. He did not refuse. I think I might have preferred that, actually. Harry is young and could have been forgiven a bit of headstrong recklessness. As is turns out, he wasn't given a choice or even the luxury of a warning. His aunt and uncle panicked and ran when they received my letter advising them of Voldemort's rebirth, and the outcome of the TriWizard Tournament."

"You interrogated his relatives, then?" Snape asked in confusion. Dumbledore had specifically ordered that the Dursleys be left alone, for the time being anyway. He didn't usually contradict his own instructions.

"No, I got that information from an independent witness," Albus replied, nodding at two unlabeled Pensieves. They were sitting on his desk beside the ones marked "Molly Weasley", "Arabella Figg", and "Ronald Weasley". Snape frowned lightly when he noticed the last two containers didn't seem to hold the characteristic silver strands of human thought. Instead, they held a denser, weightier substance that strongly resembled liquid pewter.

"What is that, Albus?" he asked, after failing despite his best efforts to identify the Pensieves' contents.

"Memories...well, impressions, really," Albus said, correcting himself. "I shall have to ask Dobby to help me sort it out later once he's rested. This process is terribly inefficient for human magic, especially when there's so much of it," he said, waving absently at the stone barrel by his desk. With a start, Snape realized it was filled with the same matter. Merlin! Even if that came from more than one person, there must be years worth of memories in that thing! he thought, aghast.

"Do you recall the conversation we had on the fifteenth, when Arabella discovered Harry's relatives had relocated?" Severus blinked as Albus' question broke into his thoughts.

"Yes, of course," he replied. "How could I forget? That was the day I discovered Memory Potions and Calming Potions should not be mixed.**"

Albus chuckled, then sobered again. "You have a talent for picking up subtle clues, Severus," he said, retrieving his wand and holding it over Molly Weasley's memories. "Since I received my first letter from Harry, I had some rather unpleasant suspicions, and our meeting that day did little to dispel them," he said, bringing up a memory from the bowl. "Tell me what you think of this."

Snape did as he was told, and soon found himself viewing Molly Weasley, her youngest four children, and Harry Potter. "All right dears, let's go then," Molly Weasley directed, over the muted din of King's Cross Station. He watched idly as she turned and headed for what he presumed was the exit, turning every now and then to make sure everyone was accounted for, and stopping when she noticed Harry was lagging behind. He jogged up to her when she called to him, and informed her that his uncle had just arrived.

"Stop," Dumbledore commanded, freezing the memory. "Watch Harry carefully here," he instructed when Snape looked at him questioningly. "Note his facial expression and listen to what he says. It's very subtle."

Severus wondered what Albus was on about, but did as he was asked and focused on the Brat-Who-Lived as the memory continued. He noted Potter's obvious reluctance to part company with the red-headed family, and smirked a bit when Molly finally put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder and asked if he wanted her to walk over with him.

“No, thanks all the same," Potter refused, shaking his head. "Uncle Vernon will likely be angr-uh, in a hurry to leave...”

Severus scowled at the image. "Again," he ordered, bending closer to the memory floating above the small Pensieve and watching intently when Albus obligingly played it again.

"Quickly now, what was Harry going to say before he changed his mind?" Dumbledore asked, carefully gauging his reaction.

"Angry," Severus said, blurting out his first impression. He'd bet two measures of Unicorn horn that Potter had been about to say 'Uncle Vernon will be angry' before he'd stopped himself. The boy also appeared to be horrified at the very notion of Mrs. Weasley walking over with him.

Snape was honest enough with himself to admit he probably would have dismissed that bit as the typical 'how dare you treat me like a child' mentality of adolescence if Albus hadn't focused his attention. Molly evidently thought so as well, because after a brief flash of annoyance crossed her face, she simply embraced the boy, telling him she'd see him soon, and instructing him to keep in touch.

Snape rubbed his chin as he watched the interaction. Potter clearly didn't want to be treated like a child, so that was undeniably part of it, but something in the boy's tone and body language suggested there might be something more. Odd. It was almost as if he was trying to shield her . But why? And what from?

Dumbledore nodded in response to his opinion on Potter's halted sentence. "That was my reaction as well," he said, watching as the Weasley children said goodbye and Harry stood waving before fading from sight. "I just wanted a second opinion," he went on, looking like he would not have minded being proven wrong. "That was the last time Harry was seen--by a human, I should say. This stubborn bird knows Mr. Potter's location but will not divulge it," he said, directing the last bit at Fawkes who had swooped over and settled on his perch. "I have threatened to pluck him, but as you can see, he is far from concerned."

"You can speak to him?" Snape asked curiously, looking between Albus and Fawkes. It was something he had wondered in the past, but somehow never got around to asking. The firebird noticed the attention and paused in the act of grooming his feathers. Albus smiled fondly and shook his head in gentle exasperation when Fawkes favored the two wizards with a glance then carried on with what he was doing, obviously dismissing them.

"I have learned to interpret his sounds and read his expressions and body language," Dumbledore replied, indicating the phoenix. "The communication is sufficient, but not nearly as comprehensive as a Parseltongue with a snake or Basilisk."

"Ah," Snape responded, Dumbledore's example bringing to mind the bottles of Basilisk venom he had in his private stores. That had been a job well done, even if he said so himself. Since Gilderoy Lockhart had proven himself incompetent even before he had been hit with his own memory charm, it had fallen to the resident Potions Master to harvest any usable ingredients, and dispose of the Basilisk's carcass. The thing had been enormous, so getting rid of it was no small feat. All in all, it was a bloody miracle no one had gotten killed.

"Speaking of Basilisks, Potter and Miss Weasley were lucky to escape unscathed from the Chamber of Secrets," he commented at length, straying a little off topic. "That was a magnificent specimen. It was easily the longest one I've ever seen, and its venom was so potent I had to put reinforcing charms on the storage containers."

"Oh, I wouldn't say unscathed, Severus. Tom Riddle's memory very nearly drained the life out of Miss Weasley and Harry--" Dumbledore blinked and broke off sharply, with an arrested expression on his face. As Snape watched in amazement, all traces of fatigue fell away. The Headmaster had started to look like a man in danger of nodding off, but something had evidently clicked just now, because his eyes lost their sleepy look and sharpened considerably behind his half-moon glasses. "Severus," Albus asked slowly, with the attitude of a man reaching toward the answer to a problem, "given the strength of the poison, how long would you estimate it would take to kill a person?"

Snape was a little taken aback by the question, but considered it carefully all the same. "If a sufficient amount was injected into the skin with a needle or by the Basilisk's tooth, I'd wager the poison could kill a grown man in five minutes or less," he theorized.

"What about a child? A first or second year?" Albus pressed, watching him intently.

"A child?" Severus echoed incredulously. "A child would likely be dead instantaneously or in a matter of seconds. They would have a minute, maybe two if they were particularly robust. Why?"

"Because Harry was bitten by the Basilisk. One of its fangs pierced his upper arm when he drove Godric Gryffindor's sword through its skull."

Severus frowned, running calculations. "How deep was the puncture? If it was shallow or he was merely scratched, he would have had more time."

"I'm not sure, I didn't see the actual wound. Fawkes got to him in time and healed him in the Chamber," Dumbledore responded, still sounding very preoccupied. "He had the fang with him, when he came back, however. If memory serves, Harry appeared to have been bitten very deeply indeed. Judging from the visible bloodstains, the fang probably struck his humerus."

Not sure he'd heard correctly, Severus blinked comically and sought confirmation to Dumbledore's ludicrous assertion. "Potter was bitten to the bone by a Basilisk as a second year and he's still alive?" he demanded, incredulous disbelief coloring every syllable.

"Yes. It does seem unlikely, doesn't it?" Dumbledore speculated, frowning deeply and steepling his fingers in front of him. "I suppose I didn't dwell on it at the time because I found out very much after the fact, and Harry was obviously all right. I may have presumed this particular Basilisk's venom was weaker than the norm, but given the vehemence of your reaction that is not the case."

Severus snorted in spite of himself. "Quite, but when has Potter ever followed the rules?"

Albus gave him a mildly reproving look, then frowned thoughtfully again. "So how is it possible for a second year to survive a Basilisk bite, Severus?"

"How is it possible for an infant to survive the Killing Curse?" Snape shot back, throwing both hands into the air. "Perhaps the boy is immortal," he suggested, only half joking. "If he can shrug off Basilisk poison, perhaps he can't be killed."

"No, according to Miss Weasley, Harry looked very weak and sick before Fawkes got to him. She was understandably concerned for his welfare," Albus countered. Abruptly he stood and headed for the fireplace. "Give me a moment please, Severus," he requested, disappearing into the fireplace with an order of "Hogwarts Hospital Wing," and reappearing a couple of minutes later with a folder.

"Potter's, I presume?" Snape asked, when Dumbledore returned to his desk and flipped the file open.

"Yes," Albus said absently, running a finger down the entries. "Hmm. Except for his encounters with the Dementors, all the rest of these entries are for injuries only...although, I suppose the Dementors' effect could be considered an injury of sorts. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

It took Snape a second to grasp the significance of that. When he did, he eyes narrowed. "No illnesses?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "None. Madam Pomphrey has also made several notes about how quickly he recovers from physical injury."

"So...Potter doesn't get sick?"

"No, he does..." Albus said thoughtfully. He turned to the two Pensieves filled with the strange pewter-colored liquid, and tapped the smaller one with his wand. "Hold on, this gets a little rough."

Before Snape could ask what, he was plunged into a memory with shocking force. The Headmaster's office vanished, and he found himself standing on the front step of a house.

A dark, empty, and very Muggle house.

In the middle of a blistering storm, no less.

Lovely.

What's Potter gotten me into now? he snarled inwardly, automatically flinching back from the weather before remembering that this was a memory, and the phantom rain fell without touching him.

The hoot of an owl, barely audible over the noise of the wind and rain drew his attention. Turning toward the sound, he saw a very bedraggled-looking Harry Potter and an equally wet snowy owl. Taken aback, Snape considered the boy before him and decided the 'pathetic half-drowned kitten look' didn't suit Potter at all. The owl hooted again, more insistently this time, and held out a leg as though demanding to deliver a message. Well at least his bird has a little sense, he thought snippily, watching the boy purse his lips thoughtfully in response to her request.

"Thanks, Hedwig, but I really don't want to send you out in this storm unless I have to," Potter said, obviously responding to the owl's suggestion. He didn't speak again for several minutes, but it was easy enough to read the play of emotions flitting across his face. Snape fancied he could hear unused gears begin to squeak and grind as the boy frowned in concentration. He appeared to consider and dismiss several options before letting loose a gigantic sneeze, and grumbling, "Hang it all!"

"This was the night of July first when Harry made his way back to Surrey. He doesn't appear to be very well at all, does he?" Dumbledore remarked, speaking for the first time. Snape frowned consideringly as Potter finally seemed to make a decision, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. That particular pose made him look more like the stubborn, arrogant Gryffindor he was accustomed to dealing with, but Albus was right. There was no doubt the boy was showing signs of illness. Pale, flushed, soaked and sneezing, he'd wager the boy had a bad cold at the very least.

"I believe this is when he gets the idea to try to contact Arabella," Dumbledore remarked, when Potter raised a speculative eyebrow and looked intently in the direction of Wisteria Walk.

The two elder wizards watched Potter wrap his owl collect his trunk, and pelt off into the storm. "Wait," Severus blinked, suddenly hauled up short. "This memory takes place well after Molly Weasley saw Potter at King's Cross, does it not?"

"It does," Albus verified.

"And this memory is from an independent witness?"

"Correct."

"Then Molly was not the last person to see Potter the night of July first! Why did this witness not come forward before?" Severus demanded, his dark eyes flashing angrily at the thought of all the time and unneccessary effort they'd expended.

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped a bit as if the weight of the entire world was upon them. "Because, Severus, until last night, this witness had no voice. Can you not see? We are immersed fully in the memory and there is no point of view. There is no extra person in the scene." Snape continued to look uncomprehendingly at him, so Dumbledore tried again. "We are viewing the impressions of the property known as 4 Privet Drive."

Whaaaaat?? Snape shook his head in disbelief before meeting Dumbledore's gaze. "Albus, I have every respect for you as a scholar and a wizard, but I don't believe even you can read a house's mind. Particularly since there is no mind to read!"

"True, very true," the Headmaster agreed readily, making the impression fall away with a wave of his wand. Snape had just enough time to irritably reflect on Dumbledore's unprecedented talent for confusing others before the older wizard let the other shoe drop. " I cannot, but Dobby the House-Elf can."

"House-Elf?" Snape asked weakly, still struggling with the concept. Albus noticed his confusion and elaborated.

"The method is very complex, and not commonly used," he explained patiently. "House-Elves usually guard their masters' secrets very jealously, but Dobby's 'freed' status and his devotion to Harry Potter make him a special case. He was able to successfully 'communicate' after a fashion with Harry's former residence, and gather the house's impressions of his life there. I requested it hoping to gain some insight into Harry's disappearance when he became untraceable."

"And Shackelbolt?"

"Was a credible, verifiable witness," Dumbledore said, shrugging. "His word that Dobby tapped the right houses will be good enough for many should this evidence be necessary in court. I had been planning to try and tap the house even before, when I was endeavoring to find sufficient evidence to have Harry removed from the Dursleys' care, but the more acute crisis guaranteed Kingsley's cooperation."

Warming to the subject, Snape indicated the larger Pensieve. "What is the other?"

"Arabella Figg's property on Wisteria Walk. As you can see, Harry spent considerably less time there," he explained. "The mechanics are beyond my comprehension, but from what I understand, this cannot always be done with guaranteed success. The structure must be forced to 'remember' a person who dwells, or has dwelled within it. The age of the structure and number of inhabitants it has had over its life complicates the process. It would be very nearly impossible to force Hogwarts to recall a specific student, for example."

"So did you find any...evidence of Potter being mistreated?" Snape asked reluctantly, not liking the cold ball of dread that was forming in his stomach.

"I have not attempted it as yet," Dumbledore admitted. "As I said, the process of searching through non-sentient memories is difficult. I had just managed to piece together Harry's activities the night of July first when Arthur Floo'd me."

Indicating the long-handled wooden ladle laying across the mouth of the stone barrel, Dumbledore continued. "Dobby said he would assist me later, but left me this tool to use on my own. He's a dear little fellow," the Headmaster said fondly. "Before he left he told me not to worry, and he knew Harry Potter was just fine." Getting back to the matter at hand, he picked up the ladle. "This is supposed to be able to find impressions that I specify," he explained, noting Snape's interest.

"You plan to look for signs mistreatment?"

"Yes," Albus said sadly, transfiguring several additional Pensieves on his desk. "Was Harry Potter ever beaten by Vernon or Petunia Dursley?" he asked, tapping the ladle with his wand and slipping it into the metallic liquid. He stirred a few times, then brought the device out, looking amazed when it was completely empty.

"Hmm. Try 'struck' instead, it's more general. And include the cousin in your queries," Snape advised. Dumbledore tried again, with 'Was Harry Potter ever struck by his muggle relatives?' and this time came up with a generous spoonful. Frowning, he poured it into one of the waiting Pensieves.

When he moved to spell the ladle again, Snape stopped him. "Wait Albus. Take a small look first. Make sure it isn't Potter and his cousin engaging in boyish foolishness."

"Very well," the old wizard said, setting the ladle aside and reaching for his wand with obvious reluctance. As he prodded the contents of the Pensieve, his office fell away again, and was replaced by the same Muggle home he'd seen just moments ago. As he and Albus stood curiously on the front steps, a Muggle transport device arrived carrying a much younger Harry Potter, a horse-faced woman and another boy who had to be Potter's cousin. Snape sneered disdainfully as he observed the obviously overweight boy. Another obnoxious brat, he noted sourly. It must run in the family.

Refocusing his attention, he noticed the woman was obviously angry about something. Her motions were jerky and irritable as she unlocked the front door and herded both boys into the house. As he and Albus followed the family inside the house and back to the kitchen, Snape was struck by the wealth of photographs on the mantel and walls. Everywhere he looked that blond-haired brat was grinning insipidly back at him. It wasn't until later that he would realize that there wasn't a picture of Potter in sight.

Potter's aunt, meanwhile, put her shopping bags on the kitchen table. Her expression softened for a second when she bade the other boy to "run along and play," then she rounded on her nephew, slapping him just as hard as she could. Snape and Dumbledore watched in shocked silence as young Harry was knocked off his feet by the force of the blow. When the boy tried to defend himself, his aunt proceeded to scold and belittle him to such a degree, even the jaded Potions Master found himself appalled.***

Of course if he was appalled, then Dumbledore was in a towering rage. Albus, Snape noted, was looking uncharacteristically bleak as the scene unfolded. Potter's aunt was probably very fortunate that she was well out of reach at that particular moment. She had raised an ugly red mark on the boy's face-- "Wait!" Reaching for his wand, he raised it instantly, blurting the command to freeze the memory.

"What is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, frowning, then he caught the younger man's body language. "What did you see?"

Without replying, Snape stalked over and knelt next to the frozen memory of Harry Potter. The boy was staring up at his aunt with wide green eyes, and was caught in the act of wiping away tears. "Look here, Albus," Snape said, indicating the swath of perfectly normal skin left in the wake of the boy's small fingers, and the angry red mark beyond.

"Merciful Heaven," Albus breathed. "No wonder no one ever noticed injuries. He has some sort of latent healing ability!"

"Mmm," Snape agreed. "But is it his touch or his tears?" he asked pragmatically.

"I don't know. Perhaps we can make a determination when we find him," Dumbledore sighed, letting the impression fall away. He sat heavily in his chair and for once looked to be at a loss. "How will I ever tell Sirius?"