"La primavera, L'estate

L'autunno, L'inverno

So the twenty-four sing,

by Vivaldi's command."

"Le Quattro Stagioni.

"Can you hear me?"

The girl slowly opened her eyes. A man was standing in the middle of the white field. He was pale; she had been sure he belonged to the whiteness. He stepped forward slowly; she stood and watched.

"Can you see me?" He repeated. She nodded. "Good. Now tell me…

Show me your secrets."

The girl stared at him for ten long seconds. She giggled; she pirouetted around the man, grabbed his hand and dragged him to one side.

It was once white as the rest of the world, but when they approached grass began growing under their feet and the sun began shining over them. Most astounding of all, however, was the appearance of a pool in the middle of the setting. The girl laughed, launching herself into the water. The man watched, astounded, as the girl suddenly broke through the water, spluttering but giggling all the same. She turned to him and made a motion for him to join her. When he didn't move, she swam closer to him.

"Come on, mister. It's hot, don't you want to swim?"

The man gave a feeble sneer, though he quickly schooled his features and replaced the sneer with a faint, if forced, smile. "I'm afraid I don't like the water very much."

She cocked her head to one side, her arms occasionally moving to keep her afloat. "But why? It's fun."

"I asked you your secret," he drawled, impatience ebbing into his voice, "you deepest, most important secret. Show me."

She pouted, diving into the pool once more. The man swore loudly, but then she appeared again, frowning at him. "But it's here. It's under this water. Why don't you see?"

He looked at the sky, back to the pool, and then back to the ground. Finally he relented and he began taking off his clothes. He paused after undoing the ties of his robe; glancing back at the girl, she was swimming happily in circles. He rolled his eyes and stripped himself until only his boxer remained. He tested the water with his toes, but apparently that tested the girl's patience.

"It's cool, mister, totally better than the heat of summer!"

Looking at the sky once more, he slowly shoved himself into the water. It was, as she had said, refreshing. He let go of half the body weight his hands supported.

He plunged, deeper, and deeper, and deeper…

And he never hit the bottom. He opened his eyes, and they nearly bulged out of their sockets. Vast water of unknown bounds, water as dark as night, stretched before him. He gasped and paddled to get some air.

The girl was floating beside him, her grin so wide it could split her face apart. Gasping, he snarled at her, "You tricked me! What is the meaning of this?"

The girl flinched. Her eyes watered; for some reasons he felt a tinge of guilt. "But it's really there!"

He glared at her. An irritating bang had fallen over his eye and stuck there. "I only see the ocean."

Her eyes widened; her mouth formed a tiny 'oh'. "But we're in a pool."

He grabbed her shoulders, wanting to shake her only to find that without sure footing he would only drown them both. So he let go of the frightened girl who was close to crying once again. "There's too much water for it to be a pool, don't you think?"

She bit her lip. The areas under her eyes were wet, from tears or residue of when she had dived before he couldn't tell. She looked away, diving once again. When she came above water, she had a small smile.

"It's a Mermish proverb," she said in low voice.

He sniffed. "What Mermish proverb?"

She bit her lip again, looking around. "I'm not supposed to tell you this," she murmured, "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

She began drifting, but he caught her, this time gently. He spun her so that their eyes met. Her eyes were brown, large, and perpetually watery. "You can tell me. I won't tell anyone."

She wriggled; he realised that she was struggling to keep herself afloat by her feet only. He let her go. The little girl turned away from him. It felt like an eternity before she replied in voice so soft he thought he was imagining it, "A pool is but the ocean given walls. A goldfish would not know the depths of Mariana."

He clenched his fists – his patience truly was waning. "And what does that mean?" He asked as calmly as he could.

She hesitated again. Just when he thought he'd need to resort to more persuasion she answered, "Unless you know what exactly you're looking for, you will never get a clear picture of it. He who is ignorant; he who thinks that such things are beneath him; he will forever remain in dark."

The man sneered. "Oh, really? The Dark Lord will win, Mudblood."

The girl's eyes widened. "Mudblood?"

He swore loudly, realising a bit too late what he had just said. "Yes. That's what you are," he said smoothly.

She looked thoughtful. "Oh...that's...Are you the Ferret then?"

"W-What? You —"

She giggled. "Yes, you're the amazing, bouncing Ferret! Hi, Mr. Ferret!"

The man made to dive at her, to shake her perhaps —

He was no longer in the white room.

"Severus has specifically requested of your assistance. Have you any idea why?"

"No, my Lord."

A high-pitched, yet very cold, laughter filled the silence. "Obviously not, with your capacity. Go see him now."

"Yes, my Lord." He didn't move. "My Lord, has it anything to do with the Mudblood?"


"Oh, it does. See if you can break her and be useful for once. Unless you would like to see your parents sooner than later?"

"I will not fail you, my Lord."

When the man returned, the space was still mostly white, but the summer niche from his earlier visit was still there. There was another non-white space: It was a group of trees with red or yellow or no leaves; under the trees were those leaves forming a surface half the man's calf. He scowled at the litter, muttering, "Fitting for a Mudblood." He kicked the leaves around, looking for the girl. He didn't have to look far. She was sitting in the pile. She waved at him.

"Hello, mister."

He nodded. "Autumn, now?"

She grinned. "Yup. It's right after summer, see?" She pointed at the pool and the grass patch. She returned to her activity of throwing a handful of leaves around.

"Uh huh. Will you tell me now what is so great about this season?" He drawled, crossing his arms. A smirk graced his pale features. "I wonder — Centaur folklores?"

She stood, kicking the pile of leaves in front of her. "No, not Centaur, though they do have something about falling leaves and the fate of the world." She giggled. "Stubborn and foolish mules, they are. 'The stars foretold —"

He waved her off. "Yes, yes, I've had my fair share of those half-breeds. Your story?"

She pouted. "You're no fun." The girl sat down, picking out a leaf. "See this?"

He scowled. "It's a leaf."

She nodded. He sighed irritably; she was truly tempting his patience.

"It's a brown leaf that used to be green. It naturally happens when the weather gets too cold."

She beamed at him. "Right. But why?"

"I don't know," he sniped, "why should I care?"

She grinned, raising the leaf above her head and released it. He watched as she tried in vain to blow it back to its height. "Plants have chlorophyll – green pigment, mister, that's what makes plants green – that generally produces food." She picked another leaf and released it, this time blowing it forward. The leaf slowly gravitated towards the ground. "But when it's too cold, the chlorophyll denaturalises – breaking down because its molecular structure is only sustainable within certain limits of temperature – and only carotene or other pigments remain. So it's not green again." She looked at him poignantly, as if he should understand something by now.

He didn't, and he was not too happy about her. "What about it, Mudblood?"

"Would there be green algae on the bottommost of the lake?"

"What the —" He hissed, "What are you prattling about, you stupid Mudblood?"

"There's no reason why there shouldn't be," he snapped, jutting out his sharp chin.

She clucked her tongue, wagging a finger at him. "Mr. Ferret needs to study Muggle biology," she giggled, "Of course not; the bottom of the lake is too cold for chlorophyll."

His hand had moved to his pocket, only to realise that he didn't have his wand with him. He palmed his face; he needed more clues, but how?

"What if...What if the lake is not deep enough?" It was a wild guess, but if he looked imposing enough... "If the lake is shallow, the bottom would not be cold."

The little girl gave him a pitying look. "For what it counts the lake is most certainly not befitting 'shallow', it is in fact..." She trailed of, her eyes unfocused. He was about to prod her to continue when her eyes went wide. "Oh, it has been three years, hasn't it?"

He grimaced inwardly. Yes, it had been three years since Dumbledore's death, and since then the Order's headquarters was still eluding their best efforts.

"Mental block? I've never heard of anything like that."

"You could not have, for you would never reach that level of Occlumency."

"Neither would the Mudblood."


"True, this is the handwork of an unknown factor. Regardless, the information we seek is encrypted such that attempting to extract it with Legilimency would destroy the desired information instead. There is, however, a little leeway. Whosoever constructed this mental block has designed it so that, with the correct prompt, an intruder is allowed a controlled entry."

"Controlled?"

"We can only see what they wanted us to see, idiotic boy."

"Don't call me that!"

"I have found the keyword, but I still need someone to actually go inside her mind and retrieve the information. Since the mental block is constructed by an outsider, her being unconscious would not guarantee there would not be another trap set for the unsuspecting fools who thought they have gained victory by entering this labyrinth."

"Yes, yes, I've gathered as much. The keyword?"

The former professor gave a hint of a smirk. "The Muggle-loving codger, Dumbledore, loved a set of Muggle music called, 'the Four Seasons.' He had, in fact, written a poem in appreciation of the senile piece they call art."

"Poem?!"

"Let us start now. Incite the poem first, and then the answer I have written under it."

By the third time, he had known to immediately search for an area he had not seen before. It was by far the hardest to locate — the blasted Mudblood's new play-park was a square of snow as white as the rest of this world. He trotted to her, not quite understanding why he felt a sudden interest in finding out what other foolishness she had engaged. He stopped as soon as his legs were knee-deep in the snow, torn between amusement and annoyance.

The Mudblood was lying on the snow, waving her arms and legs around her. She was making a shape, he realised.

"What is it now, Mudblood?" He called, slightly exasperated.

She sat up, waving and beckoning him to come closer. He wondered if her joy knew no bounds. What a pathetic Mudblood.

"It's a snow angel," she said, once he was within her earshot. She fell back on the snow, flailing once again. "See, you make it like this." She sat back up. "Come on, try it."

He sneered. "I think not. I am not crazy enough to indulge in your Muggle drudgery."

"Oh." She looked dejected. He didn't like it. "Well, I suppose —"

"Another story, Mudblood?" He interrupted. She looked at him with shiny eyes — he groaned inwardly at the thought of having to calm her crying. "Oh, alright, I'll listen to your tales."

She bit her lips. "I suppose...I like making snow angels."

He counted to ten, and then nodded.

"Actually, the most I can remember about that (Gran-Gran died when I was four, see) is 'Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel' because after that she would burst out into a song and it's really beautiful."

She paused for a length of time, staring ahead. He cleared his throat. "Is there, er, another story related to the angel?"

She absently nodded, still not looking at him. "Gran-Gran would always repeat to me that the point is that the King of all Kings descended to Earth as a meagre human to ultimately die so that the humans are saved."

His eyebrows shot as his lips formed a sneer without his thinking of it. "And such is the stupidity of fairy tales. There is no point in dying just so that other people live."

She nodded again. "I used to think like that. But think about it, Mr. Ferret. It's one for the whole world."

He snorted. "I'm sure that's the dream of the 'Light' side: to die as quickly as you can with as much glory as you can get. Tell me, why are we the 'Dark' side, when all we want is the same thing except that we want to live?"

She cocked her head to one side, finally looking at him with wide eyes. Again, there was a strange stirring in his stomach when he saw her innocence. "Gran-Gran said that some people will look but not see. But..." She bit her lip. "Is it not an automatic response, mister? A product of emotion? It must be, because I can't quite explain it properly." Was it his imagination, or did her voice got deeper? "I thought...One for all, or as long as I get to keep my loved ones alive..."

He could not resist. "Is that why you fight?"

Their eyes met. "Why do you, mister?"

"Interesting. Based on your information, the base of the Order of the Phoenix is located at the bottommost of Hogwarts's lake, and it can be found near a forest of green algae. Not as ingenious as I have overestimated them to be, but it does seem that with the old bumblebee's passing the Order is ready to crumble."

"Fantastic. What are we waiting for? We should report this to the Dark Lord now."

"Not quite yet. There are four seasons in total. We have so far managed to uncover two of them."

"There is no need —!"

"Is it not your impatience that hindered your progress in your sixth year at Hogwarts? For all we know it could be what the Mudblood is counting on; you leading our force into our demise."

He blustered, though he said nothing in return.

"Twice more. You do seem to enjoy your visits. Is the Mudblood's mind entertaining?"

Thankfully it was dark.

"Imagine what your parents would have said; the last heir of the Malfoy and Black families and the one who will vanquish the pureness altogether."

Thankfully they were also pressed for time or he would have cursed his former teacher.

They were now in a forest of all things green and bright with trees tall, but not enough to block out the low sun. It was spring time. As he surveyed the scene the girl clapped and rushed to one side. He followed, feeling largely ticked off by the way she so carelessly bounce around. She was out of sight, but he really only needed to follow the sound of her laughter.

He wanted to scream at her in return.

She was surrounded by a myriad of animals, all of them glowing silver like ghosts, and yet they seemed corporeal enough (she was carrying a hare, for instance). He couldn't get too close; as soon as the animals were alerted of his presence a stag and a jack russell terrier blocked his way, the stag by brandishing its prongs and the terrier snapping at him. Their noise in turn alerted her of him and she giggled.

"He's my friend," she said, setting the hare down. The stag and the terrier reluctantly stepped aside as she walked to him, though he could have sworn those animals were giving him the evil eyes. She took his hand (what in Merlin's name was that tingling feeling?!) and led him to the centre of, he had just realised, a clearing. The animals surrounded them, making him feel foolish enough to fall into a trap just as Snape had said.

All thoughts were forgotten when he turned to the little girl dangling off his arm. She was smiling, showing off her oversized teeth. "What do you think, mister?"

"It's, uh," he mentally shook himself out of the daze, "bright and silver. Are those Patronuses?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, you know about that? I guess they are, then."

Her voice was not quite as grating as his previous visits. Unless he was mistaken, she had also grown taller, not quite as tall (or short) as he had remembered her sleeping form to be. Snape hadn't mentioned this at all.

"Aren't you going to ask me what they mean?" She asked softly, breaking him out of his stupor by standing even closer to him. The terrier growled while the stag's prongs jutted. He gulped.

"I, er —"

"They're Patronuses, and you can only conjure Patronus by thinking of happy thoughts."

The terrier barked. He stepped backwards. "I – I see."

"And this is spring." She let go of him to spread her arms out. He was again torn between relief and dejectedness. "The season that comes after winter; after the dreary, cold, and deadly season comes the season when everything starts to come to life." She looked at him, her eyes shining with delight. "There is hope, even after all the tragedy and the hardship."

"Absurd," he spat. The terrier leapt closer, snapping its jaws. There was a whinny from somewhere behind him (a horse?!).

The girl shook her head fiercely. "No, it isn't. Look, the sun, the earth, and everything else always go through their cycle regardless of what happens." It was a trick of the light, he decided, or the effect of being so close to these romp of silvery apparitions – she was no longer a little girl; she was in fact a walking and healthy form of the captive whose mind he was invading. "Dumbledore said that death is just another journey. That's why, if I have to die," She stumbled as she blinked several times. She gathered herself before speaking with uttermost conviction, "Even if I should die, I will not regret it."

He thought he imagined her saying, "Voldemort will be defeated," for it was barely above whisper.

"How arrogant," was all he could say in response.

She flashed him a wan smile. "Perhaps. But I have faith. I have hope. 'The power that the Dark Lord knows not' — Harry knows what love is." She looked at him intently. He had to force himself to keep the eye contact. She broke it first when she sat down, reaching out for the terrier.

"But the cost —" Finally remembering his purpose, he leapt to her, almost brushing his hand with the terrier's sharp fangs; he glared at the mutt and continued to hold her shoulders. "You — You stupid, glory-hound!" He spluttered.

She looked at him with confusion and hurt. "I thought you didn't care," she mumbled, looking back down.

"I—You—" She was right. Why did he care?

"It's happening," she said quietly, hugging the terrier as though it was her only source of comfort, "There is still time, mister."

He wanted to scream, to yell at her. "Time? For what?"

She looked at him, head cocked slightly. "Why, to do something, of course."

His fists clenched; he looked away, away from the bright silver beings, away from the noble fools—

"Not so brave now, twitchy little ferret?"

"You already lose!" He yelled with his back to her.

She chuckled sadly. "You haven't seen it until the end, mister."

"Anything worth mentioning to the Dark Lord."

Silence.

"Speak up, boy, lest you —"

"What is that thing in there? In Granger's mind?"

"The one that you have met? The sum of her remaining parts after I had stripped her of anything that might be dangerous to us; innocence and knowledge, for obvious reasons. I should think that a mind such as hers would not be difficult to decrypt, my efforts notwithstanding. Unless I am overestimating again, I daresay nothing she says should be able to fool you."

"I am not fooled by anyone. But...I don't think there's anything left."

"Surely you are not an idiot; it is the four seasons."

"I am not an idiot. She is just a blubbering fool of useless trivia now."

A pause. "Very well. I have another business I have to attend to."

With a swish of his cloak, Snape disappeared through the door. Draco slowly approached the bed where the Mudblood Granger was laid. She looked like she was in deep slumber, so serene and without a care for the world.

He knew better, now.

He averted his eyes, turned away, and slowly exited through the same door as Snape.