One Day More:

By: Kitty

"Finally! I can't believe Robards kept you so long, it's almost midnight!" Ginny shouts, coming out of the lounge to badger me in the entry hall.

"You know Gawin, he's a slave driver," I mutter, lip curling in distain. I brush past her with as little contact as possible, heading towards the kitchen to rummage something edible (e.g. something not made by Ginny).

"Oh, that man! After last night, you think he'd cut you some slack! You saved all their asses out there! I ought to march down there and give him a piece of my mind!" She exclaims, prancing into the kitchen and bustling about trying to serve me a helping of clumpy slop that must have been an attempt at stew. I wish she wouldn't talk at all, let alone about last night. It's bad enough to have to kill a man, even if he was a Death Eater, without her bringing it up every five minutes. The Prophet is doing well enough all on their own without any help from Ginny Weasley to broadcast my epic defeat of Antonin Dolohov to anyone who will listen.

"Gin, you've had a long day. Go rest, I can certainly get my own dinner," I suggest, voice sickly sweet. Please don't make me have to listen to her, let alone eat her stew, I beg you.

"Oh, that's so sweet! That's why I love you so much! I'll just go get ready for bed, if you don't mind," she coos, kissing my cheek and flouncing up the stairs, humming off-tune and practically skipping. She's been like this ever since she saw The Daily Prophet this morning. It appears that as soon as I do something news worthy, she forgets all about our arguments. Damn it, I worked really hard to start those!

At least she left me in peace to eat my dinner - Thank Merlin for that; I don't think I could handle another bout of idiocy from her tonight. It's bad enough that I've been tense, nervous and jumpy ever since that weird bloke tried to take me from the Ministry last week, I don't need Ginny making everything worse by bringing up things I would rather never think about again. The whole bloody thing is just ridiculous; I mean who would just go off with some cloaked man who says The Prince needs them? Someone would have to be incredibly stupid or simply have a death wish to ever think of going with that guy.

It's been ten days, and still not one word from Cloak Guy or The Prince. It's just as well, seeing as how I didn't want to hear anything about The Prince anyway. I am completely relieved that I haven't gotten any letters or harassed outside my job. It was obviously just some plot to kill me and now that it failed, they gave up for a bit. It's not as though I was excited about the possibility that The Prince might be a specific, dead Prince that I wish was able to write me letters. I am absolutely not disappointed.

"Goodnight, Harry" Ginny chirps from upstairs and makes a disgusting kissing noise. It certainly is better than getting another kiss anywhere on my person.

"Night, Gin," I reply as nicely as possible. It seems to work because she giggles weirdly and shuts her bedroom door.

Girls are so strange. I don't think I'll ever understand them as long as I live. Blokes are simple, uncomplicated, and easy to understand. I have never got on with many women, Hermione aside, and the longer I live with Ginny the more I understand life-long bachelors. My life would improve drastically if I didn't have her hovering about all the time, prattling on about inane frivolities. Why in Merlin's name would I give a Knut about table linens and china patterns? I just don't understand at all.

Tap Tap Tap

What - ? An owl at this hour? Oh god, don't panic! It doesn't particularly mean anything has happened to anyone. It could just as easily be from Charlie or someone else I know in another country or The Prince. No! Not the Prince, you dolt! He was just a ploy to kill you, not a real person. Not… Him. But what if it is? Oh god, don't panic.

Despite my mantra, I run to the kitchen window and throw it open as fast as I can. A large tawny owl rests on the sill peacefully; a letter tied to its leg, and hoots a greeting. I force a smile and practically rip the envelope from the little string attached to the owl and remember at the last minute to rub the birds head.

The envelope is thick, expensive, and smells faintly of orange blossoms. Merlin, why am I smelling it?! Harry Potter is scrawled neatly on the top in spindly, even script. Okay, breathe properly, stop biting your lip and make your hands stop shaking. This letter could very easily be anything from anyone so there is no use in getting all excited about something you haven't even opened yet.

Oh for Merlin's sake, stop hyperventilating and open the bloody letter already! Whatever it says cannot be worse than you are imagining. Yes, I am going to open it, I am going to open it any minute now. STOP SHAKING! Calm down, right now! Right, stop talking to yourself and open the letter.

Mr. Potter,

I am pleased to hear that you have developed a self-preservation instinct, as you demonstrated Sunday night. Well done, by the way, but I do believe I told you – no Unforgivables. I didn't know you had the stomach to kill a man, even if it was a dirty Death Eater. Imagine my astonishment when I woke up Monday morning and retrieved the Prophet only to see you plastered all over the front page again. Where exactly was Roonil Wazlib during all the excitement? I didn't see his name anywhere in the massive article smeared across the front page of the Daily Prophet. It's just as well that he wasn't there; he probably would have just gotten himself killed. And wouldn't that be a shame. After all, he doesn't have the infallible luck you do.
I am sorry that it has taken so long to open a correspondence with you; it seems that life has a peculiar tendency of getting in the way. As my good friend, Vastian, mentioned, it has become important that we speak in person. I realize that you may have some reservations about coming to meet someone who could easily turn out to be a platoon of Death Eaters, but I promise that you shall be completely safe. I'm sure that a promise from a stranger really isn't very comforting, but I can assure you that I didn't work so hard to save your life only to kill you.
If you should find yourself agreeable to a meeting, go with Vastian (the man in the cloak) and he will bring you to my home. You can expect him outside The Ministry of Magic tomorrow evening when you get off work. Everything will be explained as soon as you arrive.

Your friend,

The Prince

Hands shaking again, I slowly lower the parchment to the table and place my hands flat on either side of it. Oh god, I think I'm going to throw up. Memories swirl behind my eyes unchecked and I can hear his voice ringing out over the Hogwarts grounds like it was yesterday. 'No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter. You haven't the nerve or ability –' This is just impossible! I saw him die, I watched the light leave his eyes and I knew that he was gone. But if this letter is true, if he is actually alive, then that means I left him to suffer in the Shrieking Shack, bleeding to death and filled up to the eyeballs with snake venom. I just left him without checking for a pulse or trying to help him at all. I just left him to die, all alone in a place that held nothing but his humiliation. Merlin, how can I be contemplating this? Severus Snape cannot be writing me letters, no matter how authentic it seems to be.

But who else knows about that 'no Unforgivables' thing? For that matter, who knows about The Half-Blood Prince? Who else knows about Roonil Wazlib being inscribed in the Advanced Potions book I attempted to pass off as my own instead of giving him The Half-Blood Prince's book? Who is actually that sarcastic, even when writing a letter? Who else always told me that it was only luck keeping me alive? Who would pretend to be Snape? I mean, every time I came to a conclusion about Snape, it was wrong. Each and every time I thought I had him figured out, something would pop up and ruin my brilliant theories. Is it completely beyond the realm of possibilities that he might not be dead? If anyone could out stubborn snake venom, it would be him.

Snape did create the anti-venom for Mr. Weasley when he was attacked by Nagini, it's entirely possible that he had some in his robes… or that he took it before each confrontation with Voldemort in case he was found out. Voldemort liked to let Nagini play with people he couldn't be bothered to kill himself. But if there was one thing that Voldemort despised as much as Muggles, it was traitors; he liked to take care of them himself. How would Snape have known to be concerned about Nagini? Maybe it was jus a precaution? Maybe he's a vampire and he just pretended to die in order to get out of the Wizarding world and now he's sick of being in hiding and needs my help to clear his name enough to return. That last bit may just be the fire whiskey talking, but something had to have been going on that I don't know about. Maybe Voldemort was afraid of Snape – he was eerily smart and in Dumbledore's pocket for fifteen years and Voldemort was under the impression that he was the only one good enough to kill him. It makes no matter that Dumbledore let Snape kill him because Voldemort didn't know about that until the end. Voldemort had all rights to be concerned about Snape.

Holy mother of Salazar Slytherin, it's really Snape! It has to be! No matter how far-fetched this is, the only explanation is that the person who wrote this letter is Severus Snape. It's only just hit me, and even though I have been pondering this for over thirty minutes the truth that this might actually be him never fully entered my mind. Somehow he lived and went into hiding and now he needs something from me, and I will give him anything he could possibly ask for. I will gladly do anything, give anything, to show him how grateful I am for everything he did for me. Words could never be enough, he would just sneer at me and tell me to leave, but by doing whatever he needs without question I can prove everything he won't let me say.

I can't believe I'm going to do this, two weeks ago I never would have allowed myself to even so much as think about things like this. But now that I started thinking about him, I just can't seem to stop. I think about him all the time now; I think about what he would say about the situation with Ginny. What else could he teach me that Robards can't? Would he laugh at me if I told him about my life? Would he understand the emptiness? I obviously need professional help because I am absolutely going with Cloak Guy. I'm not letting an opportunity like this slip away from me.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Ministry is the exact same every day. People bustle about urgently, going about their lives without a single clue as to what is really going on the world and I have made it my mission to simply not care anymore. If they would just rather muddle though their lives without any sense about them, then far be it from me to try and stop them. People are happier in ignorance and I am rather inclined to let them carry on.

The corridor leading to Hermione's office is crowded and stuffy, and I instantly want to turn around and go back the way I came. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is always packed to the rafters with people and their complaint forms. I wonder how anyone in here gets anything done with the amount of people bursting in with their banners waving for whatever organization they support.

"Harry! It's so good to see – oh, excuse me. Come over here and let me take a look at you, it's been months!" A demanding voice issues from the throng of protestors and advocates spilling from every office. I reckon that if I am led to slaughter tonight, I should at least visit with Hermione for a little while. Just in case.

"Herm – Pardon me, I need to get through here. Where are you, Hermione? Wave your arm or something!" I bellow, searching the rampant crowd for Hermione's signal.

"Over here, Harry, by the water cooler!"

"Yeah, alright, I see you," I mumble, mostly to myself, and shove people from my path despite random shouts of indignation.

Hermione's office is strangely quiet after the ruckus in the corridor and although there are papers and folders strewn about willy-nilly, the bushy-haired young woman behind the desk is tidy and put together.

"Oh Harry, it's wonderful to see you! You look so tired, you haven't been sleeping again! Sit down and I'll fix you a cuppa," she fusses, flittering about her office and pouring hot tea into a chipped mug. "There you are," she says and hands me the steaming cup.

"Thanks, 'Mione. You really need to stop fussing, you need sit down and tell me all your news," I demand, smiling widely.

"Well, Ron and I are moving into a little flat near by soon. Its going to be wonderful to have a place of our own, don't you think? Molly has been great but I really don't think I could endure another month at the Burrow," she rambles, gesticulating enthusiastically and fiddling with papers on her desk as she speaks.

"Yes, it is a bit busy at the Burrow. I could never quite get used to it there. I'm just thrilled for you both, I think the new flat will be brilliant," I gush, feeling better the longer I sit in the lumpy, slightly lopsided chair in Hermione's office and sip on a cup of tea.

"Me too, but enough about us! Tell me all your news; how's Ginny?" She inquires, smiling blandly with polite interest. Maybe I should talk to Hermione… She's a bird, after all, and engaged to my other best friend and just might know how to live with someone you are apparently marrying. Not to mention the fact that I have been debating telling someone that I shall be going off with some bloke that I met just the once to go traipsing off to find Severus Snape… who has been dead for two years.

"Well, we're sort of… Merlin, I just need someone to talk to. I mean, all this crazy shit is happening, and I cant talk to Ginny about it because she's absolutely obsessed with planning the wedding every bloody minute and besides I don't particularly want to talk to her about anything at all, let alone about these things and I cant even stand to be in the same room with her anymore without wanting to rip out my own hair. So, yeah, we're a bit on the out at the moment."

"Alright, calm down. Tell me what's happening," she says evenly, looking as calm as ever.

"First off, Ginny is driving me up the bloody wall and it's gotten to the point that I don't even want to come home anymore because that means that I will have to face her and her inane blathering. It's not that I'm afraid of commitment or any of that sort of rubbish, but I just know that I don't want to be with her anymore. I'm not saying this right… but I… she… You know?" I blurt, managing to push the words past the idiocy that wanted to squeak past my lips and into the conversation without my express permission.

"Not actually, but I can imagine that I understand. You're at a precipice, Harry, and you either have to push past it or get out before one or both of you lose your minds. Do you honestly believe that you can't just make up?" Hermione asks, her tone very gentle and reminiscent of the way people speak to the very ill.

"It's not a matter of making up, 'Mione, The entire problem lies with her in general; I just cant stand her or her gold-digging, fame seeking, selfishness any longer. And that's not even mentioning her cooking!" I exclaim, throwing my arms around strangely.

"Well, it seems to me that you've already made up your mind. Do you reckon you should warn Ron before you actually break it off with her?" She asks with the same gentleness.

"No, I think not. He will absolutely blow a gasket the minute she comes running to him, crying her eyes out about mean old Harry Potter breaking her heart. I promise, it wont do any good to tell him ahead of time. No matter what I say, he'll be required to hate me for a while. It's not like I mean to hurt her, its just that I cant do this anymore with everything that's happening," I mutter, glaring into my cup of tea as though this entire situation was the teas fault.

"What 'things', Harry? Do you mean your training?" She inquires, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.

"Not particularly. Its… well… I don't want to tell you but I really want to tell you," I whine, practically begging her to insist so that I can get this whole mess off my chest.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Just tell me," she huffs, rolling her eyes and crossing her legs.

"Alright, I'll tell you but I don't want you to try and interfere. I'm not looking for advice or any sort of help at all, I just want to tell someone so that I don't feel like there's this huge weight crushing down on me all the time," I declare heatedly.

"Yes, I understand. You want me to keep my mouth shut," she gripes, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Good. Well, you see, it all started about two weeks ago. I had just got off work and I had made it to the anti-apparition barriers so that I could go home when this bloke came out of nowhere and demanded that I come with him…" I start, and piece by piece I recount the strange events surrounding the cloaked man and weird letters coming to me in the dead of night.

When I had finished speaking, I chance a look at Hermione only to see her staring at me with something akin to extreme pity. I hate it when people pity me, it's not as though I'm some little baby that needs to be coddled into each and every decision that I make. This is precisely the reason that I never told anyone about the Dursley's! I just cant stand the way people look at me when they find out something unpleasant about my past, or the things I've had to do.

"Do you really think it's from Professor Snape?" She asks after a rather long moment of silence.

"Yes, I think so. I mean, the letter sounded just like him; he mentioned a lot of things that only the two of us knew about and I just cant imagine him telling people about them, and he signed the letter 'The Prince'. Do you know any other princes that know about the things Snape said to me the night he fled Hogwarts with Draco?" I snip, starting to become slightly irritable with the new turn of the conversation. Didn't I specifically mention that I didn't want advice or interference?

"Well, I can't think of anyone off the top of my head… but that doesn't mean that the person sending the letter is Professor Snape. Harry, it could be anyone! You simply cannot be considering this!" She shouts, only calming when I shush her rather dramatically. I really don't want the entire Ministry finding out about any of this.

"I'm not considering it, Hermione," I snap. "I have already decided to go."

"Oh Harry! Are you certain that you want to do this?" She whinges, making a rather unfortunate face and wringing her hands together.

"Yes, I am absolutely certain that I have to do this. I would regret it forever if I didn't go… Hermione, I have to go or I will go mad," I declare with a sneer, leaning back in my chair with renewed relaxation. This is exactly what I needed; a good debate to force me to see how very determined I really am to see this through.

"If you insist…," she mumbles wearily.

"I do. I just wanted someone to know what I'm doing just in case," I state, though in reality I had just made the connection between this conversation and the strange gnawing sensation that had been growing in my stomach the longer I thought about going off with some stranger that may or may not lead me to a presumed dead man.

"Alright, but if I don't hear from you tomorrow, I am going to alert the Aurors and send out a search party," she says vehemently, waggling her finger at me all the while.

"That sounds perfectly reasonable to me," I reply amiably.

"Good, now that's settled I think I should be getting back to work… unless there's something else you wanted to discuss," she hints.

"Of course, thanks for listening," I say, getting to my feet and leaning across the desk and kissing her cheek before making my way back into the swarm.

Alright, don't panic. This can end only two ways; one, this man could lead me into a death trap or two, he could lead me to Snape. It's not a huge mystery so there is no reason to be this nervous about a meeting with some cloaked man. I already know that I have to do this, so there is nothing left to do but walk out of this blasted building and talk to 'Vastian'. Easier said than done, I reckon.

The anti-apparition barriers tingle over me as I pass them and I heave a stinging breath into my lungs. A shudder runs through me as soon as I glimpse the cloaked man striding towards me purposefully.

"Mr. Potter, we meet again. Are you prepared to come with me this time?" says Vastian, and I can hear amusement coloring his voice.

"Yes, take me to him," I reply stiffly, feeling my stomach do a barrel-roll at the idea of letting this man take me anywhere. Every instinct is telling me to run, far away but I have to know, I have to find out, I have to do this.

"Excellent! Hold on to my arm," he exclaims and holds out his arm for me.

"Just so you know, if you lead me into a Death Eater trap, I will find you," I warn, reaching forward to grasp his forearm with my slightly damp hand. The last thing I hear before we begin our spin is a raspy chuckle at my expense.

A/N: Sorry it took me a little while to get this chapter out; I got distracted by the random family members that always climb out of the woodwork as soon as the holidays come around. I could really use some feedback, so if it's not too much trouble PLEASE REVIEW!!

Oceans of Love,
Kitty