The horror. The elation.
It felt so very wrong to be celebrating in the wake of such tragedy, but in truth I cannot blame anyone. So many had been killed this way for so long now that no wonder most witches and wizards were in jubilant mood.
The first part of the prophecy had been fulfilled, the Potters' infant son had vanquished Tom by some freak miracle and the dark one was gone, for the moment at least. I did not doubt he would return to finish what he started.
It was with a heavy heart that I left the new orphan with his muggle relatives that evening; though I pushed aside Minerva's reservations, I fully understood what she was trying to tell me. Yet how could we have acted otherwise? I have been on this earth for more than a century, and even I have occasional difficulty with people's reactions to my so-called 'fame'.
It would be so much worse for young Harry. Left to grow within our world, his would be an intolerably distorted childhood, undoubtedly leaving him ill-prepared for the struggles which lay ahead of him. Tom will return, for certain. I could only hope that he would wait until the boy had grown enough to put up a real fight.
However grim my thoughts had become, I owed it to my wonderful Order and colleagues to join in a little celebrating. They had worked so hard and suffered so deeply that the very least I could do was raise a drink with them in toast. I had barely pressed the glass to my lips when news came through which chilled me to the marrow. Riddle was gone, yet the killing continued apace. Thirteen muggles and Peter Pettigrew, all blasted to smithereens by Sirius.
Inconceivable. That lovable, affable boy a treacherous murderer? I barely recognised the madman standing manacled before me in the justice department, roaring and laughing at us. His own friends. Their baby son – his godson, no less. The sight of him made me sick to the stomach. Certain formalities had to be undertaken, but in the face of such overwhelming proof I stood by and let Crouch refuse him a trial before sentencing. Azkaban was clearly too good for such a creature. I left the Ministry and apparated outside the school gates, staggering behind a bush to vomit so hard I thought I should turn inside out.
Minerva had clearly been watching for my return and was by my side before I had managed to even cast a cleansing charm on my beard. Her deathly pale face, surrounded by wisps of hair escaping from her normally rigid bun grimly reminded me of the Grey Lady. I believe we all aged a decade that night.
"Are you all right?" she asked, distraught at the terrible fate of her favourite Gryffindors.
"Not at the moment. But I daresay it will pass," I tried a smile but it died on my lips. She nodded stiffly, shakily helping me to my feet. A painful thought struck me. "Oh, Merlin. Someone needs to tell Remus Lupin."
"He knows," she murmured, swallowing hard.
"How did he take it?" I asked, though I could guess the answer. She was struggling with her self-control now.
"As you would expect. But he wants the baby," she turned appealing eyes to me.
"No, Minerva," I hated having to do this, but it was the only way.
"Albus! He would make a fine guardian. We could take Harry at full moons…" tears shone in her eyes as we made our way slowly back to the castle.
"I'm sorry. No. Barty wanted to make him a ward of the Ministry. Can you imagine? The only way I could sidestep them was by citing the ties of blood with Lily's sister. They hated the fact but could not argue with blood," I sighed, feeling painfully sorry for Remus and everyone else concerned. "There is no way they would allow a single male werewolf to raise the greatest hero of our time."
Minerva dropped her eyes, conceding the point.
"The Boy-who-lived," she murmured. "That's what they're calling him. They want to declare a national holiday in his honour."
I stopped in the middle of the path and turned to face her in the flickering wandlight.
"This is why he must be kept away from our kind. You understand, Minerva?" I begged.
"Yes," she said.
The sound of bellowing rang out across the grounds, and we both looked up to see Hagrid gesticulating wildy at someone on the front doorstep. Even from this distance I could see the terrible heritage of the giants at work inside my usually affable young gamekeeper. His hair and beard were sticking out as his arms thrashed around with terrifying strength, and it had been a long time since I had heard even Mundungus use such language.
"Please, Hagrid," Filius' voice squeaked through the chill October air. "The children!"
I looked up to see dozens of small faces pressed against the windows, staring wide-eyed at their big friend, no doubt wondering what on earth had happened to transform him into the ferocious monster now cursing on the steps. Minerva scuttled over to help Filius calm him down, no doubt glad of having something to do.
I would have to talk to Hagrid later, once he had vented some of his frustration over Black's evil betrayal. For the moment, though, I was dead tired and in desperate need of some sleep. It took a long time to climb all the stairs to my office tower.
When I reached the entrance, my spy was leaning against the gargoyle with his hands behind his back. He, at least, looked the same as always. Stoic, dark and poisonous. The fact was oddly comforting.
"Severus," I greeted him.
"Headmaster," he returned, standing up straight. His sharp eyes narrowed at me. "You are exhausted. I will not waste your time. I came to thank you and say goodbye."
"You are leaving?" I asked, pointlessly, for there was no reason for him to linger. "Where will you go?"
He shrugged and walked away without answering.
"Come inside," I called after him, not quite knowing why. Perhaps because after all he had risked at my request it didn't seem right to let him slither away into the night, or perhaps because I needed company. He stopped and glared at me with suspicion.
"I don't want a lemon drop," he warned.
"Of course not. But I would like to ask one final favour before you go, if I may trespass on your patience," he had seen my hard side too many times to be taken in by the lovable granddad routine, but I gave him the dippy smile anyway. He continued to glare, but retraced his steps.
"What?" he asked.
"Have a cup of tea with an old man who isn't quite ready to be alone?" I hadn't intended for it to come out as such a plea.
I have always found it difficult to read Severus' emotions, even as a boy he guarded himself too well. Whatever his thoughts at that point were, he stepped up to the gargoyle anyway and we ascended together.
I had barely closed the door behind us when a dreadful metallic noise echoed somewhere in the grounds below. It came again, then again. We both drew our wands and hurried to the window. The door to Hagrid's hut was open, spilling warm light on the chilling sight of the half-giant taking a hatchet to Sirius' motorbike, which was twisting and leaping like a dying animal as each blow fell. Pieces of engine lay like entrails across the lawn.
I moved away and sank into my favourite chair while Severus continued to watch the scene with an impassive face, the sounds of the butchery outside falling into a frightful rhythm.
"I had no idea," he said quietly at last, still staring into the night. "About Black, I mean. I never saw him or heard his name mentioned. I would never have imagined it possible."
"I don't think anyone could," I buried my face in my hands. "Acts of recklessness, yes, you understand that better than anyone, but such a twisted, premeditated crime…"
"Most unlike Black to actually think before he acted," I was not looking at his face but I could hear the sneer. "And yet, he did. I suppose it is not so surprising if one considers the rest of his family. 'Blood will tell', the Dark Lord s…used to say."
He flashed me a smirk, acknowledging his use of the past tense. I smiled wearily back, recovering my wits enough for a jibe.
"Ah, yes. But never forget that Voldemort was a filthy half-blood, my boy," I reminded him airily. The comment earned me a genuine smile. I am allowed to tease him thus in private. He knows my little blood-secret, too.
I never guessed whether Tom knew about Severus' muggle father. Lucius figured it out - being an insufferably snobbish child, he always looked up every new acquaintance in the Tome of The Old Families and had drawn his own conclusion about the lack of Snapes. Lucius was a Slytherin first and foremost, however, and decided to make an exception to his 'no mudbloods' rule for such a brilliant and cunning ally. There are plenty of Dumbledores of course, my muggle blood coming from my mother. Had Severus grown up with the official name of 'Prince' I think his life could have turned out very differently.
In a sudden moment of clarity, I decided that Lucius had been right to keep the boy close to him in spite of an unsavoury past. The struggles had not ended, Tom would be back, and I would need my valiant chess pieces around me once more. I could not let this cunning little snake vanish into the undergrowth. I might never find him again.
"Severus, have you somewhere to go?" I asked. He shrugged. I thought so. No home, no job and a list of contacts rapidly vanishing through the gates of Azkaban. "I can offer you a place here, if you'll take it. Three meals a day and six weeks' holiday in the summer. Can I tempt you?"
He stared. Hagrid continued his noisy destruction of the bike outside with an insistent, mechanical pounding.
"Doing what?" he asked at last.
"Horace wants to retire at the end of the school year. It will take little persuasion to get him to leave at Christmas instead," I answered, remembering how excited my old friend had been about his retirement. "I think teaching potions and Head of Slytherin house should keep you busy."
"Me? Teach? I'm barely older than the students!" I had sparked a reaction at last. "Do not be ridiculous, Albus! I am wholly unsuited to the profession. It is more the domain of confident joiners like Evans! Ask her!"
"Lily is dead, Severus," I reminded him sadly, still not really able to take it in. He calmed down instantly.
"I forgot," he grimaced, and for the first time, sat down. With the air of one making a confession, he whispered, "I did not want them dead, sir."
"I know, Severus," I absolved him.
"Potter made to suffer a little, perhaps. But not dead. Not like that. Not Lily."
"I know."
"She was the cleverest witch I ever knew."
"I know."
Hagrid had either run out of anger or of bits of motorbike, for the night was suddenly silent once again but for the occasional burst of fireworks in the distance above Hogsmeade.
He sat lost in thought as I conjured a tea tray and busied myself with the therapeutic ritual of making tea. Overseas visitors fail to understand why the British reach for the teapot in the face of adversity and I explain thus. The repetition of a familiar act which serves a small but significant purpose will either focus the brain or distract it, as required. And if one's concentration fails and the tea is ruined, it is hardly the end of the world. My little theory makes sense to me, if not always to my audience. Like several of my little theories, in fact.
"Why?" he asked me suddenly, black eyes narrow and suspicious. I know lying to him would be pointless, that the bald truth would earn me his respect more than any flowery praises.
"Because you need a job, a home. And I need my clever spy close at hand," I looked right at him while he digested this.
"You don't believe this is over?" he whispered at last, aborting a reflex motion to touch the Dark Mark on his left arm.
"This phase has ended, but he will return. Besides, your skills are not limited to wartime activity," I told him, keeping my face impassive so that he saw facts and not compliments. "Dealing with the Ministry, pushy parents and hundreds of adolescents on a daily basis requires a tremendous amount of intelligence. I rely on the support of quality staff."
He remained unconvinced by my arguments and reassurances, but nevertheless arrived in the Great Hall the day after the end of the Christmas term for the Head of House changeover ceremony. I suppose he had little choice.
On hearing the news, Minerva, Pomona and Horace had all voiced their objections about their newest colleague and had required serious persuasion on my part that the young man was up to the job. Filius, keen to see the good in every situation, appeared delighted from the outset and spoke warmly about the wisdom of having a member of staff so close to the students' age.
"I think the Slytherins will find him very approachable. That house has suffered during the war in different ways from the other three, don't you agree? He is in a position to understand, without condemning them." Realising that he had inadvertently criticised Horace's harsh attitude towards some of his charges from the Death Eaters' families, Filius blushed fuchsia pink and looked at the floor. Horace took a long swig from his goblet and stared down coldly at the little Head of Ravenclaw.
"Once again, I must question the ability of a twenty-two year-old to cope with the very serious problems which plague my house," his voice was loud and echoed through the staffroom so that everyone ceased their conversations and looked at him. Some people nodded. "And I doubt a twenty-two year-old could project the necessary authority for such a senior position. It will be chaos."
"Because it's not chaos now?" asked Minerva dryly. Only that week, a full-scale riot had broken out inside the serpents' common room between the faction supporting the late Voldemort's ideals and the faction who did not. It had taken the entire staff as well as the Bloody Baron to break it up. Calpurnia Wilkes was still in St Mungo's. Having one of his spells of temporary deafness, Horace ignored her.
"I understand your concerns," I assured them for perhaps the fiftieth time, glad that the young man in question was not privy to this debate. "But I beg you to bear in mind – though we old fogeys see Severus as little more than a slip of a boy, a thirteen year-old would consider him to be almost past-it at the ripe old age of twenty-two."
I knew that they would get used to the idea, in time. The young Snape was equal to the task, I did not doubt it for a second.
On the seventeenth of December, the six of us stood in the hall, tempers sweetened by a generous measure of spicy mulled wine, except for Severus, who looked absolutely terrified and younger than ever. Minerva seemed to be fighting an urge to put him in detention.
"Thank you for coming, dear friends," I began, winking at Severus to try and boost his confidence. He scowled at me. "This is an important ceremony, but a quick one, so we can all get on with our Christmas shopping when we are done. Minerva Catriona McGonagall, do you wear the lion pendant, symbol of Godric Gryffindor and the noble Hogwarts House of Gryffindor?"
"I do," she said, fishing the necklace from under her robes and laying it on the outside where it was clearly visible.
"Pomona Daisy Titchmarsh Sprout, do you wear the badger pendant, symbol of Helga Hufflepuff and the noble Hogwarts House of Hufflepuff?"
"Yes, I do," she smiled, holding it up. Horace made a small grimace as she did so, disdaining the fact that the Hufflepuff badge was comparatively new – Helga's original decoration having been lost by a scatterbrained head of house during a snidget hunt in 1504. It made no difference to this, or indeed any other ritual, but Horace had opinions on such things.
"Filius Hercules Flitwick, do you wear the raven pendant, symbol of Rowena Ravenclaw and the noble Hogwarts House of Ravenclaw?"
"I do indeed!" He swung it from his short fingers, beaming with pride. One of the Raven's eyes was missing but it was otherwise in good condition.
"Lancelot Horatio Montgomery St Bernard Slughorn," I paused for breath, the man had even more ridiculous names than me. I had revised them especially for the occasion, not ready to risk his wrath again after Pomona's investiture when I'd mistakenly called him 'St Catchpole'. "Do you wear the snake pendant, symbol of Salazar Slytherin and the noble Hogwarts House of Slytherin?"
He drew himself up to his full height and answered for the last time;
"I am proud to say that I do." Unlike the others, Horace kept his circular pendant in view at all times. It sometimes dangled in his dinner.
"Today, in view of your peers, you hand over the pendant of Slytherin to Severus Snape," they all turned to look at the boy, who seemed skinnier and more nervous than ever. "Are you ready to do so?"
He heaved a melodramatic sigh and wiped a tear from his eye with an enormous yellow handkerchief.
"I am ready, Albus," he breathed.
"Step forward then please, Severus," I patted him on one bony shoulder, muttering the spell to pass on the authority over Slytherin House.
He reached out a hand. So did Horace. Their fingertips met for a split second.
It happened so quickly no one realised what was going on. Severus was blasted across the room in a blinding flash of light and upended an oak dining table with a painful bang. Horace nursed his fingers against his chest and swore – the pendant lay on the floor at his feet, hissing malevolently.
"Severus! Are you all right?" Filius and Pomona rushed over to where he was sprawled untidily on the floor, shaking in shock and clutching his hand. Apparently unable to answer, he just stared at me with wide black eyes. I rounded on Horace.
"What in Merlin's name did you do?" I demanded.
He shook his head, genuinely bewildered.
"Nothing," he prodded the pendant gingerly with his toe, but it made no further movement. He looked up at Snape. "I would not hurt you like that deliberately, my boy. Was it something you did? Have you been handling potions ingredients? Erumpent hide? Any werewolf products? The pendant is pure silver, you see."
Still trembling, Severus shook his head dumbly, allowing Pomona and Filius to help him into a seat.
Minerva quietly cleared her throat.
"This is not a question I would usually ask, but I believe it may hold some relevance," everyone turned to stare at her. She looked away in embarrassment. "Mr Snape, are you a pure-blooded wizard?"
My hand flew up to smack my forehead of its own volition. No one else moved.
"N-no," he answered, somehow managing to look more terrified than before. I could imagine what was going through his mind. Having lived in fear of his Death Eater colleagues finding out his heritage, he now had to justify it in the last place he expected.
"What!" Slughorn exploded. "Well, no wonder the pendant was outraged! A mud…er, muggle-born Head of Slytherin House? Have you ever heard such nonsense!"
"Not a mudblood," sniffed Snape dejectedly. "My mother was a Prince. I'm half-and-half."
Horace opened his mouth scornfully but I dived in before he could make matters any worse.
"As am I," I reminded him brightly. He quickly closed his mouth again.
"No necklace ever threw you across a room," Minerva pointed out tartly, though her animosity towards Severus seemed to have lessened and she took his burned hand and healed it.
"I don't believe I've ever touched the Slytherin pendant," I told them. Severus was more miserable than ever, though he had sustained no serious injury. A sudden thought occurred to me how I could simultaneously fix the situation and cheer him up. "Let's see shall we?" Before any of the other teachers realised what I was about to do, I bent over and picked up the little disc.
It was inordinately painful, not to say undignified, but the look on everyone's faces made it one hundred per cent worth it. Blinking, I landed in a frazzled heap next to Severus, while Pomona, Filius, Minerva and Horace clucked and scolded around me. The boy muttered something, which may or may not have been 'barmy!' I patted down my hair, which had been sticking up in a fetching modern 'punk-rock' style and allowed my dear colleagues to haul me to my feet.
"Well, it would seem that Salazar left a little of his philosophy behind when he died," I declared breezily. All eyes turned to Horace, who was rummaging on the floor beneath the tables with his sizable rump in the air trying to summon the pendant.
"It's gone!" he hollered at last, dumbfounded. "Vanished completely! A millennium of Hogwarts history just disappeared in a second!"
"So it would appear," I murmured gravely.
"Whatever shall we do?" squeaked Filius, terribly distressed.
"We will just have to get a new one," sighed Pomona, distractedly fingering the replaced Hufflepuff symbol.
"I daresay the silversmith in Diagon Alley would be able to make a suitable replacement," suggested Minerva, holding young Snape's arm in a gesture of support.
"Sorry," whispered Snape, chin on his chest with mortification.
"Now, now, none of that Mr Sn…I mean, Severus! These things happen," Minerva had clearly taken her new colleague under her wing, as I had hoped.
"Indeed," Horace sounded resigned. He was leaving the school for ever in a few hours, after all. "Come along to my…your…office, lad. Let's draw up some designs for the new one."
I returned to my rooms alone. No one had noticed the opinionated heirloom tucked away up my sleeve under a strong accio-resist charm. I popped it onto the desk, careful not to let it touch my skin and wondered what on earth I should do with it.
Horace was right in calling it an important piece of Hogwarts' past – yet it held no part in the future. Too much evil had recently been committed under the banner of prejudice and hatred created by its first owner, and I was not prepared to tolerate a maliciously charmed object in the country's finest cradle of magical learning.
Yet I found the pendant impossible to destroy. Not physically, of course. A simple 'evanesco' would rid posterity of its troublesome influence, but somehow I could not bring myself to actively destroy such an important artefact.
Fawkes was showing his usual interest for shiny things and clicking inquisitively, so I called him over for a closer look. He trilled and poked at the silver disc with a claw before tilting his head at me.
"Do you want it?" I asked, not in the least concerned for his safety. Phoenixes are far more resilient creatures than human beings. He nodded. "Very well, take it, for now. But I may need it back." He agreed, picking the pendant up in his beak and taking it over to his perch, where he spent the next few hours flicking it up and down so the reflected sunlight made patterns on the office ceiling.
It was wonderfully relaxing. I chuckled to myself at the thought of Salazar Slytherin's probable objections to his pendant's new function as a bird toy.
…….
The second changeover ceremony happened on Christmas morning, this time going off without a hitch. The heads of houses stayed for a swift eggnog before returning to their family celebrations, leaving me alone with the brand new head of Slytherin.
The new pendant was hanging around Severus' neck. He saw me looking and handed it over for inspection with pride shining in his dark eyes. A three-inch long silver snake hung by the tip of its tail from the chain, curving slightly to form the subtlest suggestion of an 'S'. Each individual scale had been painstakingly rendered to make a realistic serpentine body, with two tiny fragments of emerald to make calculating slitted eyes.
"Severus, it really is beautiful," I told him. He gave a barest twitch of a smile, but I could tell he was delighted. "This is a wonderful work of art to leave to future generations."
"Professor Sl…Horace wanted an exact copy of the old one. I argued that we should look to the future instead of the past, and create something entirely new," he looked smug at having won what, I was certain, had been a fierce fight between two very stubborn wizards.
"I could not agree more, my dear boy. Change is in the air all around us at this time," I beamed at him, running the little symbol through my fingers. "I particularly like the way it hasn't thrown either of us across the room."
I opened the chain and lifted it over the young man's head, and he bowed his head to accept it as though receiving some great honour, which I suppose he was. Patting his shoulder affectionately, I invited him up to my office to collect his Christmas present. His face fell instantly.
"Present?" he stared in bewilderment. "For me?"
"Certainly. It is Christmas, after all!" I reminded him. He swallowed some strong emotion building in his throat.
"Headmaster, I…I…have nothing for you," he looked ashamed and embarrassed.
"Nonsense," I rubbed my hands together, gleefully. "I was delighted when you accepted the job here. Finally, I have a worthy opponent on the chessboard. An hour or so of absorbing battle every weekend will provide a wonderful tonic to my life's many duties, and if I may say so, a truly perfect present."
He looked moved for a moment, then narrowed his eyes, exactly like the little silver snake.
"You are bored," he observed, dryly. "The war is over and you are bubbling with tactics and cunning ruses."
"Astute as ever," I observed. "Even Mr Fudge would notice if I did quite so much meddling in my peacetime life. Now, will you come to get your present?"
It was a bright morning, and a golden winter sun was reflecting brightly off the snow outside, floodlighting every stair and corridor as we strolled up to my office. I introduced Severus to some of the portraits on the way there. Most were pleasant and wished him a Merry Christmas, but one or two muttered darkly that they remembered him from his student days only too well.
He was scowling by the time we reached our destination, but thanked me politely enough for his bright green and silver striped bedsocks. Something gave me the impression that they were his first present in a very, very long time. I vowed to get him a much more spectacular gift for his birthday in the New Year. Perhaps something in pink.
Snape was so absorbed in enjoying his present that he leaped several inches in the air when Fawkes landed on his shoulder to get a better look at the shiny new pendant twinkling in a beam of sunlight.
"Gerroff!" he swatted ineffectually at the phoenix, who took umbrage at the assault and dug his claws in with an affronted squawk. "Argh! Albus!"
"Now, now. Play nicely, boys," I admonished. "Severus, do stop harassing my familiar, you'll only excite him. Fawkes, don't be greedy - that's Severus' pendant, you have your own!"
"He what?" asked Snape blankly.
The bird fluttered back to his perch and showed off his shiny toy.
"You gave him the old one?" he gaped.
"He took a fancy to it," I explained. "Why? Do you have a better idea?"
I could almost see the cogs whirring inside the young man's head, as plans formed and took shape.
"We cannot destroy it," he reasoned. I agreed. He put the socks down and began to pace as he thrashed things out. "Nor can we allow it to fall into the wrong hands. An object of such significance could become a powerful symbol for the Dark Lord's loyal supporters, yet its aversion to muggle blood means it could likewise be used against him, should he return. Yes, it must be hidden. It needs to be kept in a place where no one would ever look. Buried, as it were."
"Do you know of such a place?" I asked, intrigued by the glint in his eye.
"Albus," he said suddenly. "Do you trust me?"
"Implicitly," I assured him. Warmth flooded his face, either at the response, or the speed with which I delivered it. "Would you like Fawkes to go with you? I don't want you getting hurt again."
They left the office, heading who knew where. Some would criticise my trusting nature, perhaps cursing me for a silly old fool, yet I have always prized my ability to read others and I trusted this intelligent boy now. With the exception of Sirius Black, that perceptiveness has never let me down so far. Thinking of Black and his unspeakable crime made me weary again. Rubbing the tears of frustration from my eyes, I decided to take a nap before lunch.
…….
On the thirty-first of December, Minerva and I headed down to Edinburgh for Hogmanay, which was being celebrated with extra vigour this year. The Spotty Sporran was doing a roaring trade, bursting with witches and wizards looking forward to a New Year full of peace and safety.
By quarter to midnight, the vast quantities of whisky being consumed meant the queue for the toilets had reached ridiculous proportions, so I sidled out into the alley behind the pub instead. There are laws against muggles doing that kind of thing, but a swift 'evanseco' can take care of a multitude of wizarding sins.
Stepping out into the darkened yard, I almost tripped over someone lying in a heap in the gutter. A lighting spell revealed the terrible sight of poor Remus Lupin, drunk almost to the point of insensibility, thin, ragged and despairing.
"My dear boy!" I exclaimed. It took his bloodshot eyes a few moments to recognise me and when they did, I almost wished they had not. He clung to my robes and began heaving lung-bursting sobs of total despair. "Remus, child, please calm yourself. Here, let me sober you up a little."
"No!" he pulled away, looking terrified at the thought. "No, please! I spent my last knut trying to drown the pain, please don't let it come back!"
"Remus," I chided gently. "You're still crying even now. The pain is still there, is it not?"
He buried his face in my robe again and I wrapped my arms around the despairing werewolf, reflecting, not for the first time, that this war had ruined far too many young lives.
"They returned it!" he wailed, incoherently. "It wasn't much, but they wouldn't let him have it! I used muggle stamps 'n' ev'thing!"
"What's that?" I asked.
"I sent little Harry a Christymas present and they sent it back. Lily told me about that Version, Verning, Vernon. Nastypiece of work!"
I bit my lower lip and forced myself to breathe deeply. I understood the Dursley's way of thinking. When Harry was a little older, he would want to know who sent him things and why. But he couldn't know. Not yet. If Harry's Aunt and Uncle allowed one magical present into the home, others may follow. I wondered idly how many grateful witches and wizards had tried to send their orphan saviour Christmas presents this year – probably rather many. The poor muggles had most likely been inundated.
Just then, Edinburgh exploded. Fireworks cascaded into the air, a cacophony of shouting and bagpipes caterwauled all around us as thousands of people greeted 1982, my hundred and thirty-fourth year on this earth. Back inside the pub, a chorus of Auld Lang Syne commenced with drunken enthusiasm and in spite of the situation I smiled at the thought of Minerva in the midst of them, one of the few who knew the words to every verse.
"It was funny, I went to their grave on Christmas Day," Lupin murmured, ostensibly to himself, as he now seemed oblivious to my presence.
"Lily and James'?" I asked. Little Peter did not have a grave, of course. Thanks to Black, there had been nothing left to bury. Remus nodded.
"An' it was funny, 'cause someone else was there," he hugged his arms around his knees and continued the story as though musing aloud. "Your phoenix was on his shoulder, an' he was kneeling next to the grave. Though I don' understand why. He always hated them." My stomach gave a small twinge of realisation. "He just nodded a' me and then disappa...rarat...atteded. It was weird. I've never seen him show emotion or show that he cared f'anyone or f'anything, but there he was, kneeling."
It occurred to me just then, in that freezing alley, comforting a sozzled werewolf and bursting to relieve myself, that Severus Snape was a supremely witty man.
"It needs to be kept in a place where no one would ever look. Buried, as it were."
He had taken an artefact which had been cursed with hatred and prejudice against non-pureblooded wizards and buried it in the grave of a muggleborn witch. A muggleborn witch who had been the most intelligent and one of the most powerful people in her year, outperforming every single pureblood. Who had died fighting the evil committed in the name of the ideal in which the pendant was created. Who had loved her infant son with such intensity that her ancient maternal magic had overcome death itself. And no Death Eater would think to search for the heirloom in her coffin.
Salazar Slytherin must be turning in his grave.
I realised then how right I had been to keep my cunning spy beside me. For the challenges which lay ahead, we needed devious and unusual thinking, like this. All the Gryffindor bravery, Hufflepuff loyalty and Ravenclaw intelligence in the world would not be enough to face down the forces of the Dark the next time they rose in revolt. Without the children of the serpent house, we would be lost.
Certain members of the Order thought I was insane when I admitted him, but none could deny the huge difference his hard-won information made to this war. It was all a matter of trust.
"Albus, do you trust me?"
"Oh yes," I said aloud to the memory replaying inside my head. "Severus Snape, I trust you with my life."
…….