Banshee

Harry Potter strode into the Ministry ballroom with easy grace, his dress robes swirling elegantly around his feet. He smiled brightly at his friends as he approached the small, round banquet table hiding in the furthermost corner, his date trailing almost hesitantly in his wake. At long last, Harry was attending an event that was not in his honour, one where he wasn't the centre of attention; where he was one of many instead the one they all stared at as though he was an exhibit in a museum.

"It looks like half the department is here tonight," he said to Ron as he pulled out a chair for Justin. "I hope Mundungus and his lot didn't get the memo." As soon as Justin was settled, Harry walked around the table to brush a kiss hello on Hermione's cheek and leaned over to give Ginny a one-armed hug.

Ron shot Justin a cursory glance before grinning at Harry. "That's why we've gave the rookies tonight's duty. There's nothing quite like a bunch of green Aurors petrified of making a mistake to keep Diagon Alley quiet on a Saturday night. They'd bring them in for littering if they could."

Harry laughed as he sat down with his boyfriend, his left hand stealing into the hair at the nape of Justin's neck, his fingers toying with the wavy strands. Justin gave him a wintry smile but didn't pull away. "Not even the crooks want to be out in the middle of February, which makes it a perfect time for the promotions banquet." He turned in his seat and looked out over the ballroom. "Even Kingsley made it."

"Well, you know," said Ron, "once an Auror, always an Auror."

"I suspect he misses it," said Hermione. "Being the head of the department during the war still must have been an easier job than being Minister of Magic."

"Especially when he has someone like you sending him legislation to pass," replied Harry with a grin. "But he's supported a lot of changes and he's made it possible to enact some real reforms. We could have had it a lot worse."

"I don't reckon you'd have lasted long with Pius Thicknesse in charge," interjected Ginny with a bright laugh while beside her Roger Davies choked on his sip of water.

"At the very least he'd have made us sit our NEWTs," said Ron.

"Like he'd have hired Undesirables #1 and #2 in the first place," scoffed Harry. "I reckon we wouldn't have done well with the background investigation either." He cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow as he affected a pompous attitude. "It says here, Mr Potter, that you've robbed a bank, broke into secure Ministry departments, used Unforgivable curses, caused the destruction of Hogwarts and murdered a Dark Lord. You do realise that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement discourages that sort of behaviour, correct? Not condones it?" Harry spoke in the slow, dark tones of Rufus Scrimgeour, which brought laughter spilling from Ron and Hermione's lips.

All through their meal of rubberised chicken buried beneath a forgettable herb sauce, Justin sat quietly as the conversation bounced between Harry and the others. His eyes moved from face to face as rest of the table shared anecdotes and he smiled at all the right times, but the smile never touched his eyes. Only when Harry's promotion from patrol to detective was announced did Justin come alive. His blue eyes shone and his smile was brilliant.

From up on the dais, Harry met Justin's eyes and glowed, basking in his partner's approval. Williamson, his watch commander, presented Harry with his new credentials and shook his hand as Roger took his official photo for the next edition of the Daily Prophet.

Justin blushed and squirmed when Harry dropped a kiss on his lips and refused to look up from his half-eaten lemon tartlet. "Hey, we agreed we'd act like everyone else," murmured Harry. "If Ron had been promoted tonight, don't you think he'd have given Hermione a kiss when he showed off his new shield?"

"We're not them though, Harry," whispered Justin. "We're...different." Harry knew Justin still struggled with his sexuality, but Harry told him back in the earliest days of their relationship that he had no intention of setting foot back in the closet, not that it was even possible for someone like him.

"We're magical, just like they are. We're human," Harry whispered back while the rest of the promotions were announced. "There's going to be dancing in a bit. Are you going to dance with me? Or should I just ask Ginny and Hermione?"

"Why not ask Ron if it doesn't matter?" asked Justin, his tone edged with mild venom.

"If it would help you enjoy tonight, I'd ask him," replied Harry, his brow furrowed. He glanced across the table and through the annoying centrepiece at Ron, who was lifting a bottle of ale to his lips and listening to Harper whinge on about the duty rota for the upcoming month. "He might even say yes if it means he can stop being a sergeant for a few minutes."

Harry's eyes drifted around to gaze at their dining companions. He and Justin were one of five couples seated at the spacious round table and he wished that Justin was able to focus on their similarities rather than on the one thing that set them apart.

The musical quartet in the corner played 'Jerusalem' and a number of Muggleborns began to sing, something that still surprised Harry no matter how often he'd seen it happen. With no further ado, the small band broke into a lively tune from the Big Band era and couples began to fill the dance floor.

It was nothing like dancing to the Weird Sisters; it was much closer to the ballroom style McGonagall struggled to teach them way back in Harry's fourth year. It had taken a few lessons on the QT before Harry and Ron got the hang of it, but as long as nothing too complicated was asked of them, they could dance their way through a modified box step without mangling too many toes. Hermione had something approximating natural grace, so Ron usually managed to appear somewhat proficient.

Harry wasn't so lucky. When it came to dancing, he was not the natural-born leader everyone thought him to be and he needed a partner who knew where to put his or her feet so that he wouldn't cause a collision on the dance floor. Flying through the air at a hundred miles per hour in search of the Snitch was much less terrifying than dancing.

"Will you dance with me?" Harry asked, unable to keep the hope from shining in his eyes. "Please?"

Justin gave him a despairing look and shook his head slightly. "We'll be the only men dancing with one another and they'll stare at us. I—I—I can't." He drew his arms close and stared down at the snowy white tablecloth. "I know you're tired of this, sweetie, but I can't bear to be the centre of attention. It's why I'm an accountant."

"Baby, you're hardly an accountant," scoffed Harry lightly. "You're only in charge of currency and stock exchanges for all of wizarding Britain. It's bloody important, the work you do. I'm just a constable: a wizard with a badge and some really nifty shield charms."

"I really do love you, Harry."

Harry's smile was as wide as the room. He turned sideways in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and took one of Justin's hands between his own. "I know you do, baby." He brought Justin's hand up to his lips and kissed it. "So, do you want to ask Hermione or Ginny to dance? If I can't dance with you, at least I can watch, right?"

"How about you dance and I watch?" replied Justin with a slow smile. He ran lustful eyes over Harry and drank in the view...until he caught Ron giving him an appraising glance. His eyes shuttered instantly and Harry heard the familiar click of Justin's closet swinging shut. Again.

He gave Ron an arch look and then gestured towards the dance floor with his head. He sat there for a moment and if there was a bit of blame in his expression, then he attributed the reason behind it to Ron. "Well?" he asked.

Ron's eyes cut towards Hermione and he scowled a bit when she pressed her lips in a thin line as she usually did whenever Ron managed to trample on Harry's feelings. Which was pretty damned often as far as she was concerned. "Right, then, only this time I lead. I swear you broke a toe last time. Hurt for a week, it did, and I could barely get my boots on."

Justin sat up straight and his jaw dropped a bit. "You'll dance with Harry? Here?"

It was no secret that Ron didn't care much for Justin. He thought little of him when they were students at Hogwarts and thought even less of him now, though for Harry's sake he did try to keep his distaste hidden. "He's my best mate and his boyfriend doesn't want to," Ron pointed out. "It won't be the first time I've danced with Harry at one of these things." Ron didn't have to add that he hoped it would be the last.

The two of them walked to the dance floor and fumbled around for a bit until they worked out where to put their hands before starting to dance. "It doesn't matter how often we do this," murmured Ron, "it will never not be weird."

"It's weird for me too," admitted Harry as he remembered to step backwards just in time to keep from trouncing on Ron's foot. "It's not that I don't like dancing with you, but I've never quite worked out why it's easier to dance with Hermione or Ginny than with you."

"Probably because you're not working out whether you're attracted to them or not."

Harry chuckled. "I'm not attracted to you, either. Never have been." His eyes sparkled as he met Ron's gaze. "And damned if we don't have this same conversation every single time."

"We wouldn't have it all if your boyfriend weren't—"

"Don't," said Harry sharply. "I know you don't much care for Justin and I know nothing's going to change that. But you know he's the first guy I've ever been with who loves me for me. Not for being famous or for what might be in my vaults." The Weasleys all knew it was far less than the Prophet made it to be. "He has more money than I ever will and his family are well-connected, but he needs me."

"He's just so..." Ron's hand tightened on Harry's and his eyebrows drew close together. "I know he had it rough during That Year." They never spoke of the war directly if they could help it. "But he's still afraid of his own shadow. And he lashes out. There's just something...off about him."

"He worries about me, Ron," said Harry as he twirled under Ron's arm. He cast his eyes over the people still sitting at the banquet tables and gave in to the urge to sigh. No one was paying him and Ron any attention at all. "He knows our job can be dangerous. He knows that criminals aren't all that keen on being caught."

"And he contacts you about a hundred times a day, always checking up on you. He's worse than Hermione."

"Hermione works in our building, you git. Justin's over at Gringotts or somewhere in the City with the Muggles. Plus, he has regular Monday to Friday hours so it might be days before we see each other."

"You live together."

"Yeah, same as you and Hermione," said Harry dryly. "Wasn't it you going on and on last week about how you were missing your wife?" Ron had the decency to colour. "And don't even start to say it's not the same."

"I wouldn't!" retorted Ron, stung. "It just...look, Harry, you and Justin just don't make sense. The blokes you've been with before—"

"All two of them?"

"Have been brilliant, I mean Hermione-brilliant, not, well, yeah. Anyway, they've all been older, clever, witty—"

"Pretentious, scheming, sarcastic money-grubbing twats," groused Harry.

"We just want to see you happy. That's it."

"Why can't you see that I am happy? Justin makes me happy. He loves me, Ron. He. Loves. Me. And I love him."

Ron muttered something about Devil's Snare and as much as Harry was thankful for the opportunity to dance with someone of the gender of his choice, he was very tired of having this same conversation with Ron over and over again. Yes, Justin worried more than was probably healthy. Yes, Justin had a horrible temper. Yes, Justin still felt like an enormous disappointment to his family, but when they were alone in the flat they shared in Canary Wharf Harry felt entirely at ease and happy with his life. And so did Justin.

Ron and Harry remained on the dance floor for the next song, a quick two-step thing that their lessons hadn't covered at that tempo. They gave it up as a lost cause after Ron spun Harry into another couple and they nearly tripped each other when they both tried to occupy the same spot at the same time. "I think I'll ask Ginny if she'd like a go," winced Harry as he limped back to their table. "She doesn't weigh nearly as much."

"And that's why you should dance with Hermione instead of me." Ron flopped into his chair as Harry slid gracefully back into his seat. He looked out at the couples dancing and shook his head. "Who would ever believe that the esteemed members of the Auror Corps can manage a proper foxtrot?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry snorted. "I've yet to see you manage a half-arsed one," she said with an evil glint in her eye. "Come on, then. Show me how it's done." She pulled Ron to his feet and flashed Ginny a saucy grin when Ginny dragged Roger along with them, leaving Harry and Justin alone.

"You see?" said Harry, his finger tracing idle patterns on Justin's thigh, "Ron danced with me and nothing happened. You're safe." Harry gestured with his hand. "They all know me here. They know we're together, and I know you're a bloody good dancer."

"Not that good," said Justin with a wry smile. "I know I'm being stupid about this, love. It's the way I was brought up, I'm afraid. Little boys danced with little girls and men dance with women, no matter how... What is it?" he asked. Harry's eyes began track Williamson as the watch commander moved with purpose through the room.

"I don't know yet." Harry's eyes swept along the head table and narrowed when he caught sight of two junior officers waiting impatiently, their red cloaks standing out against the polished wood walls like beacons signalling a warning. "But it doesn't look promising." He bit the inside of his cheek, praying that their night wasn't about to be ruined.

Harry's luck never was that good.

The senior Auror bent low and murmured quietly in Harry's ear. "Potter, I need you to notify your unit and meet us in the ready room in thirty minutes, less if you can manage it." Williamson shot Justin a sympathetic glance. "I do apologise for disrupting your night, Mr Finch-Fletchley. We have an emergency and Mr Potter is best suited for leading the investigation."

Harry's blood chilled at hearing that. He'd spent the last two years working in the Major Crimes unit and was called only when things went pear-shaped in a bad way. "Full team, I take it?"

Williamson nodded. "I'm afraid so. I'll brief you when we've assembled." He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze and moved on to the next table whilst Harry signalled Ron and beckoned him off the dance floor.

"Time to go, mate. We've thirty minutes to change and get back to the Ministry." Harry offered his hand to Justin. "I don't reckon you want to stay with Ginny and Hermione?"

Justin's eyes were icy and he shook his head slightly. Moments later, he, Harry, and Ron were at the Apparition Point and whirling away to their respective destinations.

centerssHPss/center

Tucked away at the end of the High Street in Hogsmeade, not very far from Scriveners, was a small lath and plaster building with a thatched roof that sagged in places. Rough hewn timbers that no longer cared if they stood upright served as corner posts for walls that tilted every which way. The oak door was the most solid thing about it; the few people who ever noticed the building believed that if it were to collapse, the door would be left standing.

It had a forlorn air to it, with retired post owls nesting in the eaves. No one was ever seen going in and even fewer people were seen coming out. It was just there, the same way a faded signpost might remain at a junction long after the letters have worn away. The only remarkable thing about the building, no larger than a hut, was the oversize chimney that serviced a monstrous fireplace. It could be said that the fireplace took up the entire dwelling, and they would be right.

The flames—there was always a fire going—flared bright emerald green and one by one people in dark uniforms with crimson cloaks stepped out onto the hearth, turned in one spot and disappeared with a sharp crack. Eight, nine, ten pairs of boots stepped through and vanished, leaving only another set of smudged footprints to show they'd been there at all.

Once Harry's team had gathered in front of the boar's head gates, he sent his Patronus up to the castle and waited to be let in. The brilliant white stag had barely left his wand before Hagrid was inserting a giant key into an enormous lock. "Th' headmaster is waitin' for ye in the Hospital Wing," he said, forgoing his usual bone-crushing hug. "It's a bad business, Harry. Ain't never seen nothin' like it b'fore." He mopped his eyes with his tablecloth sized handkerchief before blowing his nose.

"We'll get it sorted, Hagrid," replied Harry. "My team's the best there is." He glanced at Ron as he gave Hagrid's forearm a squeeze, marvelling yet again at the sheer size of the man. "I'll come round for a visit whilst I'm up here. It's about time I met Talon." Talon was Hagrid's boarhound puppy and already the size of a Shetland pony.

"Yer a good lad, Harry. The two of you've solved bigger problems than this, you and Ron have. Get along now. You'll not want to keep Himself waiting." Hagrid lifted his lantern and trudged towards his hut near the eaves of the Forbidden Forest without saying goodbye and Harry made a note to speak with the gamekeeper in a day or so. Hagrid almost always knew more about the goings on at Hogwarts than most people suspected.

"Meredith," said Harry as he paused in front of the enormous oak doors of the castle. "I want you to head up the morgue detail. Ron, I'd like you, Virgil, Maxine, and Abbie to conduct interviews. Remember, most of the people you'll be speaking with are children. They'll be frightened, even if they don't show it."

The short, dark-haired woman gave Harry a keen look. "I'm on it, Harry," she replied in a strong voice. Meredith had been a magical forensic specialist for twenty years and knew more ways to kill a person than Harry could ever have imagined. She'd started her career during the first war with Voldemort and had developed charms that could link spell residue to a specific type of wand. Harry didn't know spells even left residue until he'd started working with her.

They stepped into the Entrance Hall and gazed around. The Great Stair was deserted. Peeves was nowhere in sight. None of the Heads of House were there to greet them. Not even the portraits were speaking. The silence hung like a heavy shroud and Harry motioned to his team and started up the stairs.

The Hospital Wing was located on the first floor, and both Harry and Ron knew the way well. "Until we know what we're facing, speak to no one other than the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey."

"Is she still here, then?" asked Ron. "I reckoned she'd retired already. She was ancient when we were here."

"She's still matron here," replied Harry, "though I heard she'd taken an apprentice. I've no idea who it might be, though." He pushed his way through the doors and led the rest of the squad inside.

The infirmary appeared the same as it had done the last time Harry had been a patient there. Two long rows of occupied beds stretched from one end to the other with Healers swirling around them like a pandemonium of bright green parrots, but this time a transfigured sheet divided the room in two. Silencing Charms shimmered around the makeshift barricade and Harry felt them tingle against his skin as he stepped through uninvited.

It was a scene from a nightmare and Harry's nose twitched at the smell of death that hung in the air. He removed the first sheet so Winston Adams, the team's photographer, could take pictures of the corpse and Harry closed his eyes for a moment to steel himself. The body belonged to a fifteen year old boy, not yet a man, and there was a ragged hole where his heart should have been. Blood covered the boy's hands and wrists; his fingernails were jagged and torn.

He picked up the scroll of parchment that hung at the foot of the bed. "Lucien Willard, Ravenclaw," he read aloud. "Sliced himself open with a potions knife and tore his own heart out. How on earth...?" The blood drained from his face and he exchanged horrified looks with Ron.

"Why? Why would he do that?" Ron's voice shook and his skin was grey. The rest of the team looked no better.

"Do we know where he was when this happened?" asked Naomi in a hush. She was a Seer who had a gift for reading sympathetic magic and could put two and two together before most people realised there was a problem. Harry still couldn't make heads or tails out of her reports, but she was right far more often than she was wrong, and no one could sift through Pensieve memories like she could.

"It says he was in the Arithmancy classroom, but if that's the case, where did the knife come from?" As Harry read on, Winston took photographs and Meredith Summoned dust and debris from the body to deposit in specially marked plastic bags.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had undergone a sea change during Harry's tenure. Gone were the antiquated methods of deducing 'who done it' and all Aurors moving off patrol and into one of the newly created specialty divisions were required to take courses in Criminalistics and Forensics at Scotland Yard. They even used microscopes now, though their best breakthroughs still came to them via the judicious application of magic.

The next body, that of Hufflepuff Panthea McClamrock, had come out on the losing side of an apparent battle between Devil's Snare and Venomous Tentacula. The poor girl was encased head to toe in a thick web of vines, many of which appeared to have erupted from her skin. Harry was tempted to write it off as an appalling coincidence until Meredith pointed out that it looked like the girl had attempted to devour the Devil's Snare and the plant had fought back.

"If you recall from Herbology, Devil's Snare attacks from behind, Harry, and it always starts at the feet. If you follow the vine down her body, you can see where the thinnest parts of the vine are looped around her ankles instead of her neck. It didn't start there. I think she bit the fleshy part near the root, not at the top where you'd expect to find teeth marks."

"And the Venomous Tentacula?"

"Well..." Meredith paused. "It bit her, but I've not figured out how she came in contact with it. They're not kept anywhere near each other, but they're all tangled together here. It will take some time before we understand what happened."

On it went: a fall from the top of the Astronomy Tower, one self immolation, a boy who stabbed himself over twenty times, another who attacked a suit of armour and lost his life in a collision with a morning star flail. It was every bit as bad as the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry shook his head. What had gone so badly wrong here at the castle? And where was Snape? He was supposed to meet them, but Harry hadn't seen hide nor hair of him yet.

Whilst the others collected evidence and examined the bodies, Harry sat at a small desk near the curtained divider to catalogue his impressions. He prepared a list of questions; avenues of inquiry that required investigation. So caught up in his work was he that it took a moment for the shadow that fell across his parchment to register. "Professor Snape," he said as a sharp frisson ran down his spine like ice water.

Coal black eyes regarded him steadily, but Harry came to his feet and greeted the Headmaster as one professional to another. He extended his hand and prayed he wouldn't be left standing in the centre of the makeshift morgue like a berk.

The first thing Harry noticed—other than Snape's eyes—was that the headmaster's robes were dark blue. The cut was still severe, but Harry knew now that such robes were favoured by Potioneers and were imminently more practical than the flowing—some would say flashy—robes Albus Dumbledore once preferred. No matter how long he lived, Harry would never be able to envision Snape wearing robes spangled with stars. But the blue suited him and Harry noticed.

"Mr Potter," said Snape in measured tones that were much warmer than Harry expected. "Given the circumstances, it would be unseemly to welcome you to Hogwarts, but I am grateful for your presence nonetheless." His gaze encompassed the rest of the team and Harry understood the greeting was intended for all of them. "I am pleased to note the Ministry sent someone competent."

Harry wasn't certain how to take that, but his eyes reflected nothing more than friendly inquisitiveness. "Tell me everything you know about this," said Harry as his forensics team began to prepare the bodies for transport to St Mungo's.

Snape's expression became hard, angry, when his gaze expanded to take in the bodies, now lying exposed as the Aurors conducted their examinations. Headmaster Severus Snape hadn't appeared so livid since the night Harry had seen him fleeing Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy in tow. 'No Unforgivables from you, Mr Potter,' he had snarled as he'd blocked Harry's futile attempts to curse him. Even now as Snape clenched his wand in his fist, Harry was afraid that Snape's anger was sufficient to crush it to kindling.

"Professor?"

"Not here, Potter." Snape's black eyes spit fire as they swept along the line of occupied beds in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. Ten more students would remain in the infirmary for an indefinite period of time and several teams of Healers had taken the Floo to Hogwarts to assist Madam Pomfrey in her efforts to heal them. "Come up to my office."

Harry gave a sharp nod and began walking the length of the infirmary alongside Snape, pausing only to give Ron a few additional instructions. "Interview the Head Boy and Girl—"

"And then the prefects," said Ron in a hush as they walked past the wounded. "They'll know who the victims' friends are. I'm also sending Marshall and Winter to Hogsmeade first thing in the morning to poke around a bit. Maybe someone noticed something odd. Is Williamson handling the notifications?"

"No, Mr Weasley," said Snape in the same crisp tone. "I notified the families personally some time ago. I only contacted the Auror Corps once that duty had been done, though I am uncertain about what is to happen next."

"I'll explain it to you when we're upstairs." Harry gave Ron a brief nod before striding with Snape through the doors at the end of the corridor. His stomach was churning as they headed up the Great Stair, his thoughts so tumultuous that nostalgia never had an opportunity to make an appearance. He paced at the gargoyle as he waited for it to spring aside to allow Snape access to the headmaster's tower and remained silent as the two of them rode the stairs up to the door.

The rows of portraits were the only things familiar about the headmaster's office. Gone were all the enchanting magical instruments that littered Dumbledore's office, as were Fawkes' perch and the cabinet that housed the Pensieve. The floor was bare and the numerous bookcases had been replaced with a stone laboratory bench that held more potions equipment than did the forensics lab back at the Ministry.

"Do you still brew for the Hospital Wing?" asked Harry as he flipped out a notepad and a Quick Quotes quill.

"Is this an official inquiry or are you making small talk?" said Snape as he sat heavily at his desk. He buried his face in his hands briefly before he dragged his hands through his hair and gazed up at Harry. "I regret we had to meet again under such circumstances."

This was unexpected and Harry took a moment to really look at the headmaster. The scowl that seemed permanently etched on Snape's face whilst Harry was a student at Hogwarts was gone, his careworn face open and honest. His elegant hands were still stained with the remnants of hundreds of ingredients, but his long, slender fingers were still graceful even as they rubbed in tiny circles at his temples. His fine, black hair now glinted with threads of silver. His troubled dark eyes gazed at Harry over half-moon spectacles perched on his infamous hooked nose and for a moment, Harry was strongly reminded of Dumbledore, who wore a similar expression the night Sirius Black had been killed.

"It's been a very long time," said Harry quietly as he surreptitiously drank in the details of Snape's appearance, and his heart skipped a beat. At some point, Harry knew, Ron was going to take a moment or ten to point out to Harry that the headmaster was precisely Harry's type, and for once, he wouldn't be wrong. "I know this has been a horribly long day, so I'll try to keep this meeting brief. I don't want to take any more of your time than is necessary."

A flash of anger appeared in Snape's eyes, but vanished so quickly that Harry wondered if he'd imagined it. "You may have as much of my time as you require. I wish to know what happened to these children so that I can take whatever steps are necessary to see that it never happens again.

"As for your question, I brew a small number of the potions used here at Hogwarts. Most of my brewing is done for the Ministry. I am also a member of the Review Board for the Guild of Potioneers. It is my privilege to provide oversight for the Research Division's experimental trials and ensure that proper protocols are being followed. They are not allowed to administer potions that I cannot replicate here."

Harry nodded and scribbled a few notes before wandering around, taking a moment to familiarise himself with the bits and bobs that decorated Snape's office. Well-ordered shelves of ingredients lined one wall and more laboratory equipment than he could name hung from pegs on another. He peered into a cauldron on the work bench and sniffed lightly. "I see several cauldrons that appear to be under stasis charms. Are those experimental potions?"

"No." Snape shook his head and pressed his fingertips together. "I have the base for Bruise Balm simmering in the left-hand cauldron. It can keep for up to seven days. In the centre cauldron is a nearly completed batch of Skele-Gro and I have Blood-Replenisher curing in the copper cauldron on the right." One brow arched as Snape gave Harry a pointed look. "Ravenclaw play Slytherin next Saturday and Poppy prefers to have the infirmary well-stocked."

"Where do you make your more advanced potions?" asked Harry as he jotted down another note. As he did, he recalled his Quidditch career and thought to himself that it was a toss-up whether Hufflepuff or Slytherin were the tougher opponents. Still, it was a mark in his good books that Snape ensured that the House Quidditch teams were well taken care of, going so far as to brew their potions himself, though Harry strongly suspected Snape would deny it if asked. He found himself fighting a smile as he added a thought to his notes.

"I am happy to show you my private laboratory, Auror Potter," said Snape after a moment's hesitation. "But I'm afraid I do not see the connection between the brewing I do for the Guild and today's disaster."

Harry met Snape's eyes squarely and the air between them suddenly became electric. He swallowed heavily and then said, "You are a Potions Master with decades of experience, Headmaster. From what I've seen and based the evidence my team has gathered so far, it appears these students succumbed to altered substances of one sort or another. It strikes me as odd that you've not reached the same conclusions yourself." He turned suddenly to face the bench again, his left hand stealing into his pocket, the air cooling his heated cheeks.

Snape's eyes flashed, but again the anger faded quickly. "That these students may have been poisoned was the first thing that came to mind," Harry could almost hear the 'idiot boy' underneath, "but I know of nothing that would account for the horrors of tonight. Any potion that could do this... Would you do me the courtesy of listening to me when I speak?"

A light flush stole over Harry's cheeks and he shoved a charmed Galleon back into his pocket before he returned Snape's gaze. Thank Merlin for Justin's insecurities. He could, if pressed, use them as the excuse for his blush. "My apologies. 'Any potion that could do this...'" he prompted.

"Potter, my expertise is in healing potions and antidotes to poisons. There was a time in my past when I was required to create poisons that worked quickly and left no trace, but I assure you that nothing I ever envisioned had an effect such as this." For a moment, Snape was visibly distraught, but he gathered his dignity around him and met Harry's eyes with clear resolve. "I refuse to believe that what happened tonight was an attempt to discredit the work I do here."

For a moment, Harry appeared startled and he felt a rush of protectiveness towards Snape. "No. God, no." He got up from his chair and wandered over to the cauldrons, inhaling deeply at the familiar aroma that whisked him back to lonely nights in the infirmary. He took a moment whilst his back was turned to pull the Galleon back out, whispered to it, and then tapped it with his wand. Task complete, the Galleon slid back into his pocket. "Tonight I received my promotion to Homicide Detective, did you know? This is my first case."

Snape inclined his head. "Congratulations, Detective Potter. Might I presume that your promotion was in part predicated on the ability to conduct an interrogation?"

Harry whirled swiftly, his eyes wide. "Is that what you believe this is? And please call me Harry. We've known each other for far too long to stand on formalities."

For a moment, Snape appeared perplexed. "If this is not an interrogation, what is it? It seems clear to me that I am a suspect."

"No!" Harry shook his head violently. "Merlin, no. I'm sorry I gave you that impression. I'm hoping you can help me make heads or tails of what happened, but I'm guessing that I should bring you up to speed on what the Department has been working on. I thought you'd know since you're with the Guild and all, but I guess they're just as compartmentalised as we are."

"Each Master has his or her own area of interest." A wry smile flickered about Snape's lips for a moment before the corners of his mouth curved down in a grimace. "In my youth I once entertained the notion of becoming a Healer, but it was suggested to me that my personality might not be in keeping with my aspirations."

It was hard, very hard, to keep from laughing, and were a part of the Hospital Wing not serving as a makeshift morgue, Harry might have done so. "Sir," he said with quiet confidence, "I believe you can do anything you put your mind to. But let me tell you about the investigation the Illicit Potions Division is running."

Harry pulled a chair up close to Snape's desk whilst the headmaster tapped his wand to the surface and said, "Tea for two." It appeared almost instantly, a ribbon of steam wafting from the spout and Harry poured a splash of milk into his cup before asking silently if Snape took his the same way.

Their hands moved in a practised dance as Harry took charge of the milk, Snape the sugar and then pouring out, as if they'd done this a hundred times instead of this being the first time they'd ever sat down to tea together as colleagues. The warmth that spread through him had little to do with tea and his belly did a slow roll as he locked eyes with Snape.

"You know," said Harry as he blew lightly on his tea to cool it, needing the distraction, "when I was a kid, you accused me of having a boundless ego and took great pains to remind me that the world did not revolve around me." He took a sip and thought it marvellous, thinking that there were moments when nothing but tea would ever do. "Perhaps you should consider taking a page from your own book."

To Harry's amusement, it appeared that Snape was about to launch into one of his famous tirades, but his jaws snapped shut with an audible click. He was not laughing at Snape, nor was he attempting to even the scales at Snape's expense. Harry had matured; his innate sense of fairness and professionalism kept this meeting from devolving into one of their characteristic shouting matches, though Harry suspected that a flare of passions between them would have a much different result now.

Snape looked at him with renewed respect and Harry basked in the approval. "Point," said Snape. "Though it must not come as any surprise to you that there are any number of people who would like nothing more than to see me fail as Hogwarts' headmaster."

"Perhaps," acknowledged Harry, "but I am not one of them," he added firmly. "About three years ago, we received word from the American Bureau of Magical Investigations that some enterprising potioneer operating out of Hong Kong found a way to synthesise together several Muggle narcotics to which she added a particularly strong strain of something called Israfil's Trumpet. We asked Pomona about it at the time, but she'd never heard of it.

"Anyway, when it reached the States, the formula was refined a bit and one of the older narcotics swapped out with something newer and, well, umm..." Harry busied himself with his tea for a moment and wondered why he was suddenly finding it difficult to tell Snape about the drug. "Once the Americans got a hold of it, well, it started to include some sexual side effects." Harry's cheeks heated.

"Or perhaps it was intended to produce them," said Snape calmly, though his smouldering gaze never left Harry's face. "There are certain communities that regularly employ the use of recreational drugs and potions to further their enjoyment of sexual activity. It is not unknown in either the Muggle or wizarding worlds."

"Yeah, well, drugs just make me paranoid," muttered Harry, earning for himself at the admission a well-arched eyebrow from Snape. "It was part of Auror Training." And strictly voluntary, but Harry omitted that part. "But after taking three years to spread throughout the States, it's now landed here and in France. We're also hearing rumblings from Polish Ministry and everyone's keeping fingers crossed that it doesn't spread into Eastern Europe.

"The problem is that it's fairly simple to manufacture if the producers are able to get their hands on some relatively pure Ecstasy, and the recipe seems to spreading faster than the recipe for chocolate biscuits. It's called Banshee." Harry shook his head and took another sip of tea, holding the cup in his hands and allowing the warmth to soak into his skin. "I've not been part of that investigation. I've been in Crimes Against the Living since I started. Different division entirely."

"A truly deplorable name for your division," remarked Snape.

"Yeah, well, it was Personal Crimes before Hermione got a hold of it. She pointed out that we've several beings that the Ministry doesn't classify as fully human so we sort of renamed ourselves so that we cover most sentient beings, including Magical Creatures." He wagged his finger at Snape. "If you ever kick a kneazle, I'll hear about it." A smile flashed across his face, but it was replaced in short order with weariness.

"I don't know how familiar you are with Muggle narcotics, but—"

"I know quite a bit about them. If it was harmful and could be used for deadly intent, the Dark Lord wanted to know about it. Opiates, stimulants, hallucinogens, even animal tranquilizers, which rightfully have a notorious reputation for the harm they cause, were employed in strategically important pockets of Muggle Britain to cover the activities of the Death Eaters during his first rise."

"Then you've heard of something called..." Harry pulled out his notebook, wanting to get the unpronounceable chemical name right, "Phencyclidine. PCP. Angel dust is its street name. And that Israfil's Trumpet is a magical variant of a plant called—"

"Angel's trumpet." A chill swept through the room and Harry could almost hear Snape's Occlumency shields slam into place like a portcullis protecting a fortress. It left him feeling oddly bereft. He shelved that thought to examine later.

"You know it then. So we have this angel dust and Israfil's trumpet and Ecstasy, mixed with Amazonian Pixie Dust, which is just supposed to produce a state of euphoria, and bad things are happening. We've managed to keep most of it quiet, but someone is making some pretty horrible stuff. Normal people go completely around the twist and about half of them are taking someone along for the ride.

"So far, it's just shown up in a few clubs in the south—around Brighton and Devon. Then we got reports of some really disturbing things happening in Dover, so we checked in with the French, but they've not reported anything unusual."

"And how would they notice anything unusual? They're French."

Harry buried his amusement behind his teacup, though the laughter in his eyes betrayed him. "I doubt the French would agree." He sobered quickly and met Snape's warm gaze. "Pixie Dust has been a fixture in the club scene for years. Loud music, flashing lights, twenty somethings looking for a thrill. Throw in some sex and it's easy to see why it makes for a fun Friday night." And didn't that thought set the wheels in his head turning? He tried to cast it aside."Until now. Banshee is in a whole other category of awful."

"Indeed. I am not so naive to think that sex does not occur between the students at Hogwarts," said Snape. "We've had a few instances of under-aged drinking and some of our more ambitious students have attempted to smuggle in tobacco and marijuana. We have never had a cocaine problem here; the house-elves are notoriously sensitive to it and the one student who attempted to introduce it was discovered in so spectacular a fashion that no one has tried since."

"Really?" Harry blinked and set his cup on Snape's desk, propping his elbow on the desk and settling in to hear a bit of Hogwarts history that never made it into Hermione's favourite book. "I know I'm ridiculously sheltered in some respects..." Snape snorted. "...but can't remember ever hearing any rumours of drug use here. Not even weed."

"It was before your time, Harry. I was a new professor in my second or third year of teaching. I believe Bill Weasley might have been a first-year then, but I'm not certain. It was quite some time ago. Cocaine was quite popular with the Muggles, and a sixth or seventh year Ravenclaw brought some back with her after the Christmas break." Snape faced Harry squarely. "I do recall it was one of our female students.

"Anyway, as you know, the students' trunks are delivered to their dormitories by the house-elves, and so it was even then. The Ravenclaw in question had 'done a line'—as they call it—off the cover of her trunk. A very few grains remained on the surface, nearly invisible to the naked eye." Snape leaned back and touched his fingertips together and for a moment his eyes appeared to twinkle. Harry was very nearly alarmed.

"I need not remind you how...excitable house-elves can be. Energetic. Industrious. Indefatigable. And that's just the 'normal' ones."

"We both know Dobby was about as far from a normal house-elf as one can get." Harry's brow furrowed a bit. "Judging from the three I've known, I'm not certain I know what a normal house-elf is like."

"Now try to imagine one after it has absorbed a few grains of cocaine. Or two house-elves. Or three, all in an enclosed area like the seventh years' girls dormitory. They managed to clean the paint off the walls, the ink off the parchment, the House colours off the students' robes, the wool off the carpets, and the paint off the canvas of the portraits that hung in their common room. Fortunately, the subjects manage to escape to other paintings, so no souls were lost.

"The three house-elves then went on a four day baking binge, so we 'enjoyed' pudding with every single meal, sometimes in lieu of the meal itself."

"Not horrible for breakfast," said Harry with a grin, "but I'm not certain I'd appreciate treacle tart three times a day."

"Treacle tart, cakes, biscuits, shortbread, cakes, pies, tartlets in every flavour imaginable, and more cakes. Breads, rolls, muffins. The ovens were in use around the clock and the school used a month's worth of flour in four days. They produced so much food that they were delivering it during classes—every class except mine, of course," Snape added smugly.

"Of course," agreed Harry. "I pity the poor house-elf who breaks one of your rules."

"Quite," said Snape. "After that little incident, Albus incorporated some Shimmering Sunburst dew into their cleaning supplies and ordered the house-elves to use it for routine dusting and in the laundry detergent. The dew itself is worthless, except for one notable exception—it glows in the presence of certain alkaloids. And given the effects a single grain of the stuff can cause, it's best to keep it out of the castle."

"Four days of desserts was enough to keep the students from trying to smuggle it in?" asked Harry dubiously. "As a third year, I would have brought extras if it meant nothing but sweets for awhile."

"And so thought a group of enterprising Slytherins. I've no idea where they procured it, but they brought in enough to send every house-elf at Hogwarts into orbit." Snape's lips twitched and the humour playing around his mouth warred with the trauma Harry saw in his eyes.

"There are over eight hundred house-elves at Hogwarts. They very nearly reduced the castle to a pile of rubble. They made the beds whilst students were still sleeping in them. They gathered the all laundry whether the clothes were occupied or not. They nearly scrubbed the mortar out from between the stones. When they ran out of walls and floors to scrub, they started in on the school's inhabitants."

A laugh started to burst out of Harry but he slapped his hand over his mouth before it could escape. Snape's expression said it all; the Greasy Git of the Dungeons had not been spared.

"You said the 'one student' who attempted it," said Harry once he was certain he could speak without chortling. "And then 'a group of Slytherins'. Were you speaking of the one Ravenclaw? Or is there more to the story?" His eyes danced, though a part of him agreed with Snape that a castle full of strung-out house-elves could be terrifying.

There was a long pause during which Snape studied Harry as though weighing his attributes and finding they far surpassed his expectations. Harry very nearly squirmed under the attention, feeling the heat pool low in his belly as the moment stretched out between them. His pupils dilated and his pulse quickened; his conscience was oddly silent.

Snape held Harry's gaze. "The small band of Slytherins were led by one influential seventh year who hoped to make her mark on the world before she finished school. Her name, if I recall properly, was Lucretia Burke and because of the incident she became a bit of a pariah within the House. Several house-elves bathed her during her Care of Magical Creatures lesson and there were some hinkypunks..."

It was like being doused with cold water. "Say no more," pleaded Harry. He needed to get that image out of his head. "You said Burke? Of Borgin and Burkes?"

"A lesser member, but related to be sure," agreed Snape, traces of amusement playing around his lips. "We've not had a Burke in residence since then. But we were discussing drug use at Hogwarts or the lack thereof. I apologise for diverting our discourse, especially at this late hour. I am certain you have more important matters to attend to."

"No, not really," replied Harry as he pulled the Galleon out of his pocket again, murmured to it and tapped it with his wand. He returned it to his pocket without explanation. "But it does help my investigation to know that this is an isolated incident and not the tip of an unsuspected iceberg."

He leaned forward, his wide green eyes earnest. "I've nothing but respect for the work you're doing here and I know this has been devastating for you, both personally and professionally. So, to aid my investigation, why don't you talk me through your day? The more details you can provide, the better off we'll be." His eyes softened and were this anyone other than Snape, he would reach across to squeeze the man's hand. "I know you're a trained observer, even if you might be a bit out of practice, but try not to evaluate anything. It's much too early in the investigation to form any conclusions."

"My day? You wish to know about my day?" For a moment Snape appeared perplexed, but he gave a brief nod of his head and commenced speaking. "I arose shortly before six in the morning and engaged upon my usual morning constitutional—"

"You...what?" replied Harry, his head snapping up from his notes.

"I took a walk, Mr Potter," said Snape dryly. "As I do most mornings, unless the weather is utterly abysmal." He paused. "That means bad."

Harry's lip twitched as he attempted valiantly to give Snape a withering look. "I do know what 'abysmal' means. I even know what you meant by 'morning constitutional.' I just didn't know you ever got any exercise."

Snape let the opportunity to needle Harry pass by without comment. "I find it provides me with an opportunity to organise my thoughts. After returning to the castle and finishing my ablutions..." He allowed the phrase to hang suspended for a moment and Harry surrendered a wry grin. "I went up to the Great Hall for breakfast. I reviewed the day's plans with Filius and reminded several of the professors that they were expected to chaperon the day's visit to Hogsmeade."

"It was a Hogsmeade weekend?" said Harry, suddenly all business as he flipped frantically through his notes.

"Were you unaware of that fact?"

"I don't think anyone mentioned it until now." Harry came to his feet. "Excuse me for a moment." He pulled his two-way mirror from his pocket and tapped it with his wand. Ron's face appeared in it just seconds later. "Let the team know it was a Hogsmeade weekend. Find out if any of our vics purchased anything in the village."

"Will do." Ron paused and his blue eyes were grave. "The fifth year who was nearly ripped to pieces didn't make it," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Harry nodded tightly and sat back down. "You heard?"

Snape's eyes were closed and he gave a brief nod.

The words Harry was trained to say stuck in his throat. He felt Snape deserved better and he had no words of comfort to offer. "I apologise for the interruption," he said at last. "Please continue."

Snape examined Harry closely. "Very well. I stood in the Entrance Hall whilst the students began their exodus, after which I went to my laboratory in the dungeons to check on the status of some tests I'm conducting on a shipment of new ingredients indigenous to the Canary Islands.

"I worked for several hours, had lunch—again, in the Great Hall—and then came up here to commence brewing for both Madam Pomfrey and the Guild." His brow furrowed and his gaze turned inward as he formulated his report. "It was late afternoon when one of the house-elves appeared to inform me that there was trouble in the third floor corridor. I placed the potions under stasis and made my way down—"

"How much time elapsed, do you know?" interrupted Harry. "Even an estimate will be helpful."

"From the time the house-elf informed me of trouble until I reached the student...fifteen minutes at most. At that point, all I knew is that a fifth year student tangled with a suit of armour. Nothing in the house-elf's behaviour gave any indication that the situation was life-threatening." Snape took a swallow of tea and his fingers trembled as he lifted the cup to his lips.

"No sooner had I arrived there than Professor Vector sent word that Jenny Harrington had fallen from the Astronomy Tower. Word began to spread quickly, so we had the prefects escort the students to their common rooms, but by then we understood that we were embroiled in a crisis and we implemented one of our resolution plans.

"Poppy contacted St Mungo's and requested aid and Hilliard began brewing some standard antidotes. Bear in mind we'd no idea what we were dealing with. At first we thought the students had contracted some virulent strain of wizard's flu, but St Mungo's had no reports of widespread illness."

Harry scribbled notes onto his pad of parchment, felt his pendant heat again, and clutched it for a moment. He felt a flash of irritation and more than a little guilt, but knew Justin was simply worried about him. "If you can, please tell me in which order you learned of the situations. It might give us a starting point. Oh, and who is Hilliard?"

Snape's head tilted with curiosity, but when Harry said nothing, he explained. "Robert Hilliard is our Potions Professor. He is not a Master, but he is a gifted instructor," he replied. "I believe he was a Ravenclaw prefect when you started here. As for the order..." He listed them for Harry, starting with Roderic Farley's close encounter with a spiked flail wielded by one of the suits of armour and ending with Aeterna Lamont's self-immolation during pudding.

Bile rose in Harry's throat as Snape went through the litany of horrors. One student had tried to peel her skin off. Another had stabbed himself twenty times in the mistaken belief he was cursing his identical twin brother in some sort of Dark ritual. One of the students sent to St Mungo's had attempted to turn herself into a statue and fallen over, shattering the entire left side of her body. A sixth year had fancied himself a hippogriff and...and...the results didn't bear thinking about.

The desire to flee arose suddenly and Harry had to move. He launched himself from his chair and, agitated, paced through Snape's office like the lion that signified his House. He pulled the Galleon from his pocket and held it close to his lips. "It's bad, babe. Really bad." Message sent, he sat back down and reviewed his notes.

Snape said nothing, merely observed him with his fingertips pressed tightly together. Silence filled the office; not even the portraits were stirring. It was, surprisingly, a comfortable silence, unusual given their past history.

"May I have a sheet of parchment?" asked Harry in a hushed voice. He looked up when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Snape had moved from his desk and was standing at the window, staring out at the Black Lake.

"Centre drawer," he replied. "I invite you to use the desk. You will be more comfortable there. With your leave, I should like to consult with my Heads of House. Is there anything in particular I should or should not tell them?"

Surprised by Snape's offer, Harry nodded and moved to the working side of the desk. "The list of things we don't know is much longer than the list of things we do know," he said. "Please ask them to extend all courtesies to members of my team and that we sincerely apologise for the disruptions our investigation will cause. Ask them too if they would assist in the collection of items purchased in the village. We'll return everything once we're certain it won't cause anyone additional harm." He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion crashed through him. The night would be endless.

A warm hand with long fingers rested on his shoulder and Harry craned his head back to gaze into Snape's weary face. Harry had no idea how attractive he appeared at that moment, with parted red lips, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks, his green eyes soft and tender. Snape's impossibly dark eyes turned to smouldering pools and Harry's breath caught. He gave Snape a brief nod of understanding and a tremulous smile at the gentle squeeze.

"There is a suite of rooms and a common room in the South Tower," said Snape in tones of velvet. "I invite you—and your team—to make use of it as you see fit. It is well protected and there are three house-elves assigned to see to your every need."

"That will be lovely. Thank you." Harry's face took on a chagrined expression. "I owe you an apology, Headmaster. I expected a battle at every turn, but you've been nothing but supportive and gracious. You've made this much easier than it could have been and that will be noted in my reports."

"I want this solved as much as you do," replied Snape as he gave Harry another long, searching look. He gave Harry's shoulder another squeeze and headed towards the door, pausing before he stepped through. "If you've nothing further...?"

A small, abashed smile curved Harry's lips. "Erm...I'm not sure where the South Tower is." He braced himself automatically for a withering remark and was disgusted with himself for assuming the worst.

Snape gave a brief nod and then said, "Tremblee." A house-elf with Dumbo sized ears and a bulbous nose appeared without a sound.

"You called, sir?" it said in the highest, squeakiest voice Harry had ever heard.

Snape gave the creature a respectful bow. "You are now at Auror Potter's disposal. When he has finished here, please escort him," his eyes narrowed and the creature's impressive ears drooped, "through the hallways to the South Tower. Have Neehai and Spourful serve the Aurors whilst they remain at the castle and until further notice."

"As Master Snape Sir wishes," squeaked Tremblee. "And Tremblee is—"

"Begging the Master's pardon. I know, Tremblee, and as I have stated before, you are forgiven when you follow my instructions." He gave the house-elf a stern look. "And there will be no more ironing of ears. Is that clear?"

The house-elf gave an aggrieved sigh. "When the Headmaster is having ears like poor—"

"Is? That? Clear?"

Harry gave an explosive cough as he fought to keep from laughing. No matter how hard Hermione worked to see to elfish welfare, the house-elves themselves were her most formidable obstacle. Harry remained convinced that the entire lot of them, with the possible exception of Dobby, were masochistic buggers at heart. "Tremblee," he said, his voice strangely thick with barely suppressed amusement, "I have ten people on my team. Will you see to it that they have somewhere to rest should they need to?"

The house-elf turned and his bright blue eyes filled with reverence. "Master Harry Potter Sir," it breathed in a voice that sounded like air escaping from a balloon. "Tremblee is honoured, Sir. Honoured. Tremblee will do everything Master Harry Potter Sir wishes." And it burst into tears.

Harry looked despairingly at Snape, and then the pendant burned hot against his skin. "I need to let my boyfriend know I'll be late."

"Boyfriend?" The temperature seemed to drop a few thousand degrees and Snape suddenly seemed as remote as an Uspeakable.

"Yes, boyfriend," replied Harry as his heart inexplicably plummeted to his toes. "The Prophet has done a spectacular job of covering my private life so I thought you knew. 'Gay wizard Harry Potter was seen at a gay club with his boyfriend.' 'Gay Auror Harry Potter was spotted in Diagon Alley with his partner Wednesday night.' I was on patrol with Ron, but why be specific?" He bit back a sigh and had the grace to feel abashed. "I know I should have said something to you sooner. Will this be a problem? That I have a boyfriend?" Suddenly, Snape's answer mattered very much.

Snape turned away to face the portraits. "Of all the problems I might have with you, Potter, that is the least of them. But as you must know, I am hardly in the Prophet's good graces. I know nothing of your personal life and as someone who resents intrusions into mine I cannot fathom why you think I'd peer into yours."

"Thank you," said Harry simply. He should have felt relief that his private life wasn't going to become a bone of contention between them, but all he felt was a vague disappointment. "My life is not as exciting as most people seem to think it is." He turned to Tremblee. "If you could show me to the Tower now?"

Entrusted to the keeping of the house-elf, Harry was nearly through the office door when Snape spoke again. "Is there anything you would like me to do, or not do, that would aid you in your investigation?"

Harry came to a stop and paused in the doorway. "As a matter of fact there is." He turned to face the headmaster, but Snape's back was still toward him. "The only time I've ever seen a suit of armour move was during the Battle. Will you or Professor Flitwick check the enchantments on them? It may be nothing, but until we look into it, we'll never know."

ssHPss

It took nearly an hour to assemble the team after Tremblee escorted Harry to the South Tower and Harry used the time to organise a scheme that ensured their investigation missed nothing, though thoughts of Snape intruded more than they should have. In twos and threes the Aurors staggered in and firecalled their families to inform them they'd either be spending a few days there at Hogwarts or coming home soon.

The South Tower reminded Harry much of Gryffindor Tower, but rather than the scarlet and gold tones from his youth, this Tower was decorated in primary colours with touches of green here and there to ensure Slytherin House was represented. Unlike the Gryffindor common room, there was a dining area and a broad work table where they could gather and strategise, and a branching staircase led to suites that were far more comfortable than his old dormitory had been.

"Thanks, everybody," said Harry once they'd all had a chance to review the next day's assignments. "I'll see you all tomorrow morning at ten. The headmaster is going to ask the students to remain in the Great Hall after breakfast. Naomi will tell the students what we can and ask them for their help."

"Are you going home or staying here?" asked Meredith as she eyed the stairway to the bedrooms upstairs. The entire team appeared exhausted and Harry was already feeling the strain.

"I'm for home. The headmaster has opened this Floo to us, so feel free to come and go as you will. If you'd rather go home than stay here, by all means do so. There's no need for all of us to stay, though I would like someone here 'round the clock. If needs be, we'll set a rota tomorrow. The password for the Floo is 'Beazor'..." Ron coughed. "...and the address is Governors' Den, Hogwarts."

Harry watched as some of his team headed upstairs and others stepped through the Floo to their homes. "Are you staying or going?" he asked Ron once the common room had emptied.

"Do you reckon Snape would mind if Hermione came through?"

Harry shook his head. "He seems willing to do whatever needs to be done to see this through." He stared in the direction of the seventh floor and Snape's office. "He's been brilliant." A touch of awe entered his voice and he glanced over in time to see Ron eyeing him thoughtfully.

"Don't give me that look," said Harry. "I have a boyfriend."

"Who's a git," muttered Ron darkly.

"So is Snape, according to you anyway," Harry fired back, irritated. "Besides, you have horrible taste in men."

"One time, Harry. I set you up one time."

"That bloke was straighter than you are."

"My money is still on denial."

"Give it up," said Harry wearily. "I'm going home to Justin. Shall I leave you in charge for the..." He cast a quick Tempus and winced. It was coming on three AM. "Next six hours? I need some sleep."

The Floo roared and Hermione stepped through. Her eyes swept over him from head to toe before she exchanged some irritating couples' telepathy with Ron that always left him feeling as though he'd missed something. A curious little half-grin appeared and she shook her head with what might have been exasperation, but Harry wasn't certain. "Go home," she ordered. "We'll send for you should anything happen."

It was a pleasant fiction, but Harry nodded anyway. "I'll be back after breakfast." He tossed some Floo powder on the flames, called out an address and was swept away by emerald flames.

ssHPss

Harry stumbled through the Floo and nearly tripped over a curl in the hearth rug, so exhausted that the bags under his eyes nearly reached his knees. He staggered through the dark flat, the shadowy forms of furniture serving as a guide to the narrow hallway that led to his bedroom.

Discarding bits and bobs of his uniform on his trek through the house, he tiptoed through the door and moved as silently as a wraith into their bathroom to disrobe and freshen up before he slipped into bed. He needed to wash the thoughts of Snape out of his head before he went to sleep. It wouldn't do to dream.

Justin stirred the moment Harry's bottom touched the mattress and by the time Harry was between the sheets Justin was wrapped around him, clinging like a barnacle. "You've been gone all night," he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Wasn't certain you were coming home."

"Wasn't sure either," said Harry thickly. His eyelids were threatening to cut off his contact with the outside world and his bones were already dissolving as he melted into the mattress. He was too tired to yawn. "Need to sleep, babe. Love you." His head hit the mattress and he was out cold.

After five hours of uninterrupted sleep, Harry rousted himself from bed and yawned so broadly that he was in fear of dislocating his jaw. The bed was empty, no surprise. Justin was a morning person and Harry, having no set schedule, was either wide awake or fast asleep. There was very little middle ground.

He found Justin in their living room gnawing on the end of a quill with reports and ledgers spread out over every available surface. The Sunday Prophet was folded neatly and set near Harry's end of the sofa, but other than that, it looked like Justin brought home work to keep himself occupied whilst Harry was investigating the latest front page catastrophe. "Hey, baby," said Harry with a soft smile. "What are you working on?"

Justin's head came up. "Harry!" A brilliant smile lit his face and he lifted his face to accept a kiss. "When did you get in? I was so worried about you and I didn't look at the time. All those messages and then the Prophet..." He gestured with his hand towards the paper. "You must be starving."

Harry grimaced. "The Prophet has it already?" His job just became a lot harder, depending on which reporter penned the article. Most likely the Ministry would want a statement from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Harry didn't know enough yet to be able to determine what he could tell them.

"It says the Governors will be convening a Board of Enquiry. They're demanding a liaison to assist with the investigation." Justin unfolded himself and rose from the sofa. "But enough of that. It's your day off, so let's fix up a scrumptious omelette and pick up from where we left off last night." He wrapped his arms around Harry and nuzzled his neck. "I'm so happy you're home. I missed you."

"I...I can't, sweetheart," said Harry as his heart clenched. "I have to get back to Hogwarts. I nearly decided to sleep there but I knew you'd wear yourself to a frazzle if I didn't come home."

"But you don't work again 'til Tuesday," complained Justin. "And I have your budget proposal nearly complete. I thought we could go through it together so I could explain it in Great Detail. That way you'd be prepared for anything Shacklebolt might toss your way."

Harry looped his arms around Justin's neck and kissed him softly. "I'm a detective now. I can't leave this for the others. You know I can't. And as much as I love having you explain in Great Detail," which inevitably led to explorations in great detail, then explicit instructions in great detail, "I have to go back."

"Can't Weasley do it?" Distress shone in Justin's eyes and worry lines furrowed his brow. "I'm just so afraid something horrible will happen to you up there. That Death Eater is still headmaster and you know how much he despised you. He just wants to get even, Harry. Robards should know this. He's risking your life for no good reason at all!"

"Who? Snape?" Harry unclasped his hands and took a step back to study his boyfriend. Though Justin's jaw was set in a hard line, dark circles ringed fretful blue eyes and Justin's well-coiffed hair was as messy as his own. "Sweetie, there's no need to get worked up over this. I'm perfectly safe at Hogwarts, especially with Snape watching my back."

"I reckon that's not all he's watching," muttered Justin with a jealous edge to his tone—a tone with which Harry was all too familiar. "He's a perverted old sod who fancies a bit of rough now and again. Likes 'em young, too."

"He is nothing like that. Besides, if he was watching more than just my back, don't you think I'd notice?" Harry cringed inwardly as the lie spilled easily from his lips. Some weird alchemy was brewing between him and Snape; he'd have to be dead not to notice.

The atmosphere became icy and Justin's lips tightened. "You'd notice. You're not dead, Harry, just involved with someone—me." He gathered up his charts and graphs and shoved them into a folder. "It appears I need not waste my time with this rot." He hurled himself onto the sofa and crossed his arms as he glowered.

Like Harry, Justin had a quick temper, but it flashed quickly and burned brightly, and then it was done. Harry waited a moment before walking over to the couch and kneeling between Justin's parted legs. "Ron won't mind if I'm a few minutes late," he murmured as he rested his hands on Justin's knees. He slid his palms up Justin's thighs before looking up through his fringe. "Or I could go to work now..."

The look Justin gave him was contemptuous. "Go to work, Harry."

ssHPss

"Really, mate. I don't need to know why you were late. You're here now so we can debrief." Ron scowled as he marched into the Tower's lounge with Harry a step or two behind him. Harry paused at the doorway to say hello to Hermione and winked at her. The lie rankled, but he'd rather let Ron think what he would than admit to trouble in Paradise.

"You'd think he lives like a monk the way he carries on," grinned Hermione. "Let me know if you can meet up at the Three Broomsticks for lunch. Otherwise, I'm back to London."

"One of us will message you," Harry assured her. "Cheers." He stepped past Ron to fill a cup with black coffee before taking a seat at the table. Zoe, his team's Potions specialist, was Transfiguring part of the wall to a chalkboard whilst Liam Winter was laying out pads of paper and setting out biros for everyone to use.

"What do we know?" As Harry expected, Meredith led the discussion.

"Of our seventeen victims, ten are boys and seven girls. Their ages range from thirteen to seventeen. They're distributed amongst all four Houses: five Gryffindors and four from the other three Houses. Of the seventeen, eleven of them went into Hogsmeade and the others remained at the castle. Interestingly enough, none of our victims are first or second years. I don't know if that's significant.

"With the house-elves assistance, we've managed to collect nearly everything purchased from the village. It's all labelled and sorted so we'll be able to return it to their owners when we've finished our investigation." She looked up from her notes and met Harry's gaze. "It appears that Banshee made it up to Hogsmeade, but we don't know how it found its way into the castle. Or why."

Harry nodded. "Snape and I thought the same thing."

"We're waiting for confirmation from St Mungo's," said Abbie, "but it matches what we've seen in the south."

Ron leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "The randomness bothers me. I spoke for some time with Marie Calhoun. She's Head Girl. Hufflepuff. Aeterna Lamont, the girl who set herself on fire, was her best friend. She said they stayed at the castle to work on their Potions project."

"Potions project?" Harry sat up and focussed intently on Ron. "Did she go into any detail about it?"

Ron snorted. "It was like speaking with Hermione when she's on about something. They're working on an enhancement to Pensieve solution. She showed me her notes and lists of ingredients they've tried, none of which are a part of Banshee. They've been working with Professor Hilliard and Snape for a couple of months now. There's a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin in the study group as well, but they're both fine. Lamont is the only one of that bunch affected.

"She knows just about everyone in the castle, knows who usually goes into Hogsmeade and who doesn't. She knows who's at odds and who isn't. She knows everyone who has dated, when they broke up, and in most cases, why." For a moment, Ron appeared perplexed. "I've no idea how she keeps track of all that."

"I was able to confirm almost everything Ron got from Ms Calhoun," said Maxine. "The only detail I've not managed to corroborate is whether Joseph Fitzgibbons purchased anything at Honeydukes. His mate says not, but he brought a Honeydukes bag into his common room. He's the one who fancied himself a hippogriff."

"Which House?" asked Zoe.

Maxine checked her notes. "Fitzgibbons is in Slytherin. Adam Nicholas is Ravenclaw."

"Nicholas is Fitzgibbons' friend?"

Maxine nodded. "They're both half-bloods and their mums were best friends all through school. They've known each other their whole lives. Nicholas is absolutely gutted."

"All of the upper forms know someone affected. So do most of the lower forms," added Abbie. "The first-years are terrified. The second-years are hiding it better."

"Not surprising," said Harry. "Let's go back to Ron's statement. What's bothering you specifically?"

"It cuts across all the Houses and most of the years. Some of them went to Hogsmeade, some of them didn't. So what do they have in common?"

"Banshee is a powder," reminded Meredith. "Most of the users we've managed to take into custody have inhaled it."

"The ones who've survived," muttered Winston darkly.

"Precisely," agreed Harry. "Have you come across any the usual paraphernalia?"

"What's to say they're not using transfigured items?" asked Liam. "It's not particularly difficult to transfigure a quill into a straw."

"There's no sign of it in any of the dormitories or common rooms," Naomi pointed out. "No signs of magic that can't be accounted for." She yawned broadly. "We were on hands and knees until nearly five this morning. We couldn't find a grain of it anywhere—and that was with the help of nearly a hundred house-elves."

Harry scowled. "What about—"

The door burst open and Snape flew in, his dark robes billowing around him. "It's happening again. The Black Lake." He turned swiftly and exited, his long strides covering a remarkable distance. Harry and his team scrambled to their feet and rushed the doorway, pushing their way through to follow in Snape's wake.

Minutes later, they were gathered at shore of the Black Lake. The surface churned and frothed and a long tentacle slapped the surface, sending a geyser of water shooting into the air. A handful of panicked students stood hip-deep in the frigid lake and were shouting and gesticulating wildly. Harry nearly missed seeing the heads of several merpeople peeking out above the waves, but two of them swam forward and deposited the pale body of a young girl into the students' waiting arms.

The water was freezing, but Harry and Snape, acting in unspoken accord, splashed forward. The girl was naked, her pallid flesh nearly blue and Harry felt for a pulse as Snape took her in his arms.

Harry gave a sharp nod. "Faint, but it's there." He heard his name over the frightened wails of the other students and his head snapped around to see who had shouted. A Healer was running full tilt towards the throng assembled at the shore, her bright green robes fluttering wildly in the wind. Beside her, Ron was easily keeping pace, his long legs gobbling up a metre with each stride.

"I went to the Hospital Wing," he panted as he cast a charm to dry Harry's and Snape's dripping robes. "I thought we could use the help."

"You thought right." Harry helped Snape remove his cloak and spread it on the ground. He cast a mild Cushioning Charm and helped the headmaster lay the girl down so the Healer could see to her. When he came to his feet, Ron was unusually contemplative.

"Later," whispered Harry as he approached the group of crying girls who were pressing as close to the Healer as they dared. He observed them for a moment, and then caught the attention of the girl in the centre. "I'm Harry Potter," he said quietly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice. "What's your name?"

"Jeanne," she quavered. "Jeanne DeLany. That's Ellie. Eleanor Becker." She pointed at the girl the Healer was working on and tears started running down her cheeks. "We tried to stop her, but...but she said she was a...a mermaid and had to go...go home," she sobbed. "She tore up her...her robes and we grabbed her, but we couldn't hold on." She gave Harry a bewildered look. "She's just a wee thing, but she nearly broke my arm."

Frowning, Harry pushed back her sleeve to reveal dark bruises and deep scratches. He pulled his wand and cast one of the standard rudimentary healing charms he learnt at the academy. Jeanne's bruises faded a bit and the torn flesh knitted back together. "You should have Madam Pomfrey take a look at that. She's much better at this than I am." He gave her a reassuring smile. "And afterwards, we'll sit down and talk for a bit, alright?"

Jeanne nodded and sniffled. "Will Ellie be okay?"

If there was an upside to Banshee, it was that there were no long-term side effects to it. Other than that, there was nothing redeemable about it. "She should be, but she's going to be very sick for awhile. The Black Lake did her no favours."

"Why did she think she's a mermaid? She doesn't even like them."

"Do you want to talk about it now?" Harry watched as the Healer levitated Eleanor's unconscious body to move it to the Hospital Wing. Snape removed his outer robes and draped them over the girl, affording her some measure of dignity and Harry found himself admiring the long, lean lines of Snape's body. He gave himself a hard mental shake and turned his attention back to Jeanne.

The other three girls huddled around Jeanne and they exchanged hugs and whispered amongst themselves for a moment. Harry recognised it as a tactic to avoid getting themselves in trouble. He'd employed it a time or two himself with Ron and Hermione when they were students here. Since they didn't know what happened to Ellie, they weren't certain which version of the truth would keep them out of detention. "You do realise I can't take House points, right?" he reminded them.

Jeanne and one of the other girls flushed and her eyes shifted away. "Ellie, Morgan and I had some chocolate frogs after breakfast. Sydney didn't and neither did Ruthie."

"Who bought the chocolate frogs and when?" It was Abbie's voice, warm and soothing, promising that there would be no trouble for any of them for answering honestly. The oldest member of their team, Abbie was the person in whom Harry confided when his current case began to trouble him, which was nearly every single time.

Jeanne stared at her feet. "Morgan and—"

"Hush," hissed one of the girls, and Harry assumed it must be Morgan.

"Go on, Jeanne. No House points, remember?" Harry reminded them.

"We bought them yesterday and hid them from the House-elves." She looked up defiantly. "We didn't see why they should steal our chocolate. We paid for it with our own money and it's not like we'd get it back." Her brown eyes began to swim with tears and she stared up at the castle for a minute.

"How on earth did you manage to hide them?" asked Abbie in something approaching amazement.

Jeanne and Morgan exchanged a speaking glance. "Well, it's not as hard as you'd think," said Jeanne cautiously. "We hid a couple of Canary Crèmes inside an old Skiving Snackbox and put some concealing charms on it. Once they found the box, they ignored the stuff wrapped in our socks."

Harry beckoned Meredith over. "Find out who of our victims had chocolate frogs yesterday," he murmured. "And ask the headmaster for another sweep of the dormitories. We're looking for any Honeydukes products that we missed the first time."

ssHPss

By the end of the week, every chocolate frog in Great Britain had been pulled from shops and sent to the Ministry for examination. Another twenty-four frogs were found to be contaminated with Banshee, but the ban hadn't occurred soon enough to save half a dozen witches and wizards from killing themselves with their own delusions. The worst of them had been a three year-old boy who tried to stop a moving lorry with his super-hero strength, but was run over instead.

Harry and his team worked steadily backwards, from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade to the wizarding section of Cadbury Chocolates where the chocolate frogs were made. They spoke with hundreds of people, read through thousands of files, tracked every single purchase they could, and by the end of April, they had come to the end of the trail. Harry had no suspects, but he knew more about chocolate frogs than he ever wanted to know.

Every Sunday, he travelled up to Hogsmeade to have dinner with Snape in the Great Hall. They reviewed together Harry's notes and Snape suggested possible theories that Harry had come up with on his own. This, more than his promotion, thrilled him and Harry began to believe that he truly did have the makings of a good Auror.

Then there was the mystifying camaraderie that was developing between them. Harry found that he spent the week looking forward to his Sunday supper at Hogwarts and the pleasant hours of conversation with Severus. The only dark spot to those evenings was the frequency with which Justin contacted him during those interludes.

That Justin had a jealous streak was not a secret, but Harry attributed it to Justin's rampant insecurity and did his best to counter it by being attentive and considerate. He brought Justin small gifts when the spirit moved him, and since he was travelling all over Great Britain the spirit moved often. He always let Justin know where he was and when to expect him home and was (usually) prompt at sending messages through their charmed Galleons. But every once in awhile, Harry craved breathing space.

It was on his seventh Sunday that Snape deviated from their routine. "Won't they miss you down in the Great Hall?" asked Harry as he was ushered into a charming dining area on the second level of the Headmaster's tower.

"And how many times did Albus miss a meal? Did the world end?" asked Snape as he gestured broadly with his hand. He waited until Harry chose a seat and took the chair opposite him. He removed the snowy serviette from the place setting and spread it across his lap.

"Only during fifth year," said Harry. His eyes darted all over the room, taking in the dusty rose coloured flocked wallpaper, heavy silver tableware and antique furniture, none of which struck him as being particularly Snape-like. Flames danced merrily from mirrored wall sconces, casting flickering shadows across the table and had there been a floral arrangement Harry would have thought he was on a dinner date arranged by the Grand Inquisitor herself. Fortunately for his peace of mind, the paintings on the walls were still-lifes and not frolicking kittens. He met Snape's puzzled gaze and knew at once his disquiet had been evident. "Umbridge."

A visible shudder passed through Snape. "Do me a favour and do not utter that harridan's name ever again."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And how do you refer to her?"

"I don't, but in those rare cases where it becomes unavoidable I mutter something about Bane and centaurs and arch my brow just enough so even the thickest cretin can draw the correct conclusion."

For a moment Harry was shocked, then he threw his head back and howled with laughter. "In the hospital wing Ron would make clip-clop noises with his tongue, like horse hooves, just to watch her panic." His expression sobered. "It was probably the only amusing part of that entire debacle."

"You acquitted yourself admirably that night, Harry," said Snape as their wineglasses were filled with ruby-red wine. Platters of food appeared on the table: rare roast beef, creamy mashed potatoes, haricots verts with slivered almonds, a boat of thick brown gravy, a basket of warm rolls. "I regret—"

"No," said Harry softly as a thin slice of meat dangled from the serving fork. "It's been more than a dozen years and I know you did everything you could to keep that night from becoming an unmitigated disaster. It could have been so much worse, but once again, you saved us all."

Colour rose in Snape's cheeks. "Yes, well, I assure you it was not my intention to haul your arse out of the fire. I merely sought to keep Dumbledore apprised of the situation and pass word to the Order that you'd managed to embroil yourself in trouble up to your neck yet again."

"Of course," murmured Harry as he hid his amusement behind a sip of wine. Butterflies fluttered in his belly and slow warmth spread through him at seeing mutual regard shine in the depths of Snape's eyes. Their eyes met and the moment stretched out between them until Harry's pendant heated against his skin.

Frowning, he pulled the Galleon from his pocket. "I told you I'd be late. I'm eating now," he said and tapped it with his wand. Scowling, he shoved the coin back in his pocket and resumed filling his plate with food whilst Snape looked on with undisguised interest.

"Protean charm," explained Harry. "It's also how we avoided Umbridge and arranged our Defence lessons that same year, curiously enough, but Justin and I use it to communicate when I'm out in the field. We tried using charmed mirrors, but I kept getting them mixed up and Ron hasn't developed an appreciation for the sorts of messages I exchange with my boyfriend."

"I should think not." Snape shuddered slightly and then began to cut his meat with precise strokes into bite-sized squares. "Were I the fortunate Mr Finch-Fletchley, I would not be pleased to discover my tête-à-têtes were being overheard by others." Snape regarded him with some curiosity. "How did you and Mr Finch-Fletchley ever become a couple? I will admit that I did not know him well, but what I do remember of him doesn't seem to suit your personality."

The Harry of old would have flown into a rage. This Harry had heard the same thing from nearly everyone he knew, so he responded with an automatic long-suffering sigh. "We knew each other here, of course...No! Not like that," he added hastily when Snape's eyebrows nearly shot to the ceiling. "I mean I met Justin for the first time as a first-year, but it wasn't until my fourth year as an Auror that we became re-acquainted.

"He works in the Treasury Department of the Ministry and he's the liaison with Gringotts and the Muggle Stock Exchange. A couple of years ago, Robards asked for an increase in our budget and the Ministry sent Justin over to look at our books."

Snape's brow furrowed and it was apparent he was trying to work out the math in his head. "So you've been together for six years?"

Harry chuckled. "Nowhere near that long. We've been living together for, hmm, almost a year and a half now. We both had a few mistakes yet to make before we started going out. And Justin still needed to come out to his family. That's not gone particularly well."

"Oh?" Snape gave Harry a dubious look as he topped off their wine glasses. "I was under the impression that the Muggles embraced our deviance now, throwing parades in our honour and waving their rainbow-coloured flags."

Harry snorted. "Not all Muggles are like Hermione. Some of them are more like my aunt and uncle. Justin's family certainly is." He sliced more of his beef into bite-sized pieces and lifted one to his mouth. "They're landed and titled and all that rot, so succession is important to them." Harry snorted. "Justin threw their scheme awry."

"He's the first son, I take it?"

"Only son, but he has two sisters, both younger. Justin won't step aside, though, and his father is none too pleased. He and Justin's mum both think Justin needs to try harder to be 'normal', but that's not on." Harry stared at his plate for a moment. "Well, it might be if I weren't around."

Justin had explained it once, that their lands and titles were the result of a royal decree a few centuries ago, so succession was by royal grant though it was just a formality at this point. But no Marquis of Camerleigh had been bent and his Lordship was determined that Justin not ruin their unbroken line by virtue of his sexuality. Harry thought it was all a load of rubbish, but as a mere commoner, he wasn't expected to understand.

"Explain," ordered Snape.

"I won't date anybody who's closeted. I've no secret lovers stashed away under Fidelius. No clandestine rendezvous. No straight men experimenting to make certain they don't have a hidden bi side." Harry had learnt that lesson the hard way. "It's the one sticking point between us. Justin's not comfortable with being gay so he'd rather avoid public displays of affection."

Snape stabbed a piece of meat with more viciousness than Harry thought warranted. "Then he's changed quite a lot since he finished school."

Harry's expression hardened and his eyes became chips of green ice. "That's a bit rich, considering. I know he was little more than a plaything for Slytherin House during his seventh year; your first year as headmaster," he added savagely.

Snape set down his fork and knife and picked up his wineglass to take a deliberate sip. "I heard him boasting of his conquests with my own ears. And he was quite territorial as well."

"That might have been intentional," Harry countered. "I don't know what happened that year, but I do know Justin came out of Hogwarts afraid of his own shadow. He doesn't speak of that time." Some of his outrage evaporated and he slumped back in his chair. "In truth, none of us do." He arched a brow and met Snape's hard gaze. "But you'll be best pleased to know Ron shares your opinion of Justin. So does Ginny."

To Harry's surprise, Snape appeared concerned. "I am not pleased to hear that. The person you partner with should fit as well into your life as you do into his. From what I have heard, this has not happened in either direction. It is cause for concern."

"We're fine," gritted Harry. "And frankly, it's none of your business."

For some reason, Snape's eyes gleamed. "On the contrary, I'm afraid it's very much my business. Like your friends, I intend to see you happy and from where I'm sitting that seems unlikely in the long run."

"Why doesn't anyone believe I'm happy? Do I look miserable? Justin loves me."

"Mr Finch-Fletchley possesses you and he does not like to share his things. He has contacted you at least four times since we sat down to our meal even though he is aware you are not in the field. He makes no effort to woo the Weasleys, instead preferring to ignore them when in their presence. His year-mates have little use for him and he has maintained few ties from his adolescence. He is a danger to you, though you do not see it.

"But come, let us not spend our meal sparring over your abysmal taste in boyfriends. Tell me instead about your investigation. Is it still stalled?"

Harry willed away his anger through sheer determination. "We've just finished the background checks of the people who make the wizard cards that go into each box. There are two people whose Potions NEWT scores seem to indicate they can make Banshee without any difficulties."

"Are you looking at their criminal histories?"

"We're looking at everything. Scotland Yard thinks we should be looking for someone in his early twenties with a history of drug abuse and some minor criminal infractions. Naomi believes it will be someone older who is carrying a grudge against someone in the supply chain. We have a hundred theories and no suspects. Now that chocolate frogs are back in the shops, I'm hoping it's not going to happen again."

"They've taken precautions though, yes?"

As they began to discuss the case, Harry started to relax. He truly enjoyed bouncing ideas off Snape and more than once the headmaster said something that sparked an interesting thought. "It's possible," said Snape, "that we've a sociopath on our hands."

"What do you mean?"

"Consider this: an individual purchases a case or two of chocolate frogs. It's not an impossibility; one merely needs to know how to contact a supplier. They pollute the frogs with Banshee, then carry them into a shop and set the doctored product on display with the others. The purchases have been random. The frogs have appeared all over the country."

"But concentrated here."

"Only because Honeydukes sells so many. You said they purchased upwards of thirty cases a month. It would be no hard task to carry in a case of them and add them to the barrel on the display floor. No one looks for product coming into the shop, only for the product leaving."

Harry sopped up the rest of his gravy with a roll and chewed slowly whilst he thought. "We've always thought it was deliberate, but we've focussed on the employees at Cadbury, Suleiman's Magic Shipping, Destiny's Wizarding cards, and Honeydukes itself. We've not thought to look outside." He raked his fingers through his hair. "Our task just became incomparably harder."

ssHPss

"Where are you going?" asked Justin as he came out of the bedroom, a quill tucked haphazardly behind his ear. "I thought you were home for the rest of the night."

"I thought so, too," replied Harry with a sigh, "but I've got to go back to Hogsmeade. The wizard at Honeydukes said he's heard noises in the cellar and when they went down to investigate, someone Stunned them and turned a few boxes over on top of them."

"Are you going to see him again?" demanded Justin, his face growing florid as his anger grew. At seeing the confusion on Harry's face, he adopted a more conciliatory tone. "You're never here, Harry, and it's lonely without you. I miss you."

"It's nearly at an end," said Harry as he extended his hand to pull Justin close. An end to the investigation. An end to his pleasant interludes with Snape. Guilt gnawed his stomach to shreds. Justin remained aloof. "When it's done, we'll have ourselves a holiday, just the two of us."

"When will that be? Once you've arrested this miscreant and testified before the Wizengamot, seen to his assignment in Azkaban and ensure he's not suffering unduly from his punishment?" Justin fixed him with a hard stare. "I'm tired of it all. This case is consuming you and leaving nothing for me."

"All the more reason for a holiday, and sooner rather than later. But I do have to go." Harry approached to give Justin a kiss goodbye. He rested his palm against Justin's cheek and gazed into icy blue eyes. "I'm sorry, love. I truly am." He leaned in for a kiss and closed his eyes.

In that brief second before their lips met, Harry felt a searing pain in between his shoulder blades and he cried out, instinctively twisting away.

"I told you I'm tired of it all," said Justin in an eerie, flat voice and he stabbed downward brutally, thrusting a knife that seemed to come out of nowhere deep into Harry's chest. "I'm tired of him." He yanked hard and the blade came up, casting off blood that sprayed above him and he plunged the blade in again.

Harry screamed and stumbled backwards as the knife penetrated the hollow above his collarbone, and he raised his hand to protect himself. The wounds blazed with searing heat and crimson blood poured in rivers down his chest. He felt it running over him, hot and sticky, and he stared at his blood-soaked hand in horror.

The knife flashed again and he gasped as white-hot fire tore through his arm, the edge of the blade slicing through muscle and sinew from wrist to elbow. He could see bone. "Justin! No!" Clutching his wounded arm to his flayed chest, he dropped onto his knees and tried to wriggle under the table to escape the slaughter, but the blade struck again, sliding along his ribs and opening a huge flap of skin before coming to rest in the small of his back. He arched his back and tried to scream.

Paralysing pain momentarily froze him in place and the smell of copper filled Harry's nostrils. He reached out with one hand to grasp Justin's ankle but his strength was failing and he missed. His vision was greying out at the edges and he tried to curl into a ball. Why, Justin? Why? Barely able to comprehend what was happening, Harry gurgled out a groan as Justin twisted the dagger as he pulled it back out.

The fireplace popped and crackled as the flames turned green. "Harry?" It was Ron, but Harry couldn't lift his head to answer the call. He heard rather than felt the blow that skewered him to the floor and the last sound ringing in his ears was Justin's shocked voice. "I think I've killed him."

The world went black.