WARNING! : One of the reviewers has chosen to post a spoiler in the reviews. If you do not wish to know the ending in advance, do not read the reviews.

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Severus Snape: The Middle Years – The Third Year, 1983-1984 (2)

Friday to Saturday, November 4 - 5, 1983

It was in this context that the first Quidditch game of the season was to be played. In accordance with long tradition, the game would be between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Snape asked to speak with Dumbledore and McGonagall the day before the match. It was Friday evening – usually a time of relaxation, but at this particular moment one of great anxiety.

"I do wish you'd stop pacing like that, Severus," said McGonagall. "You're making me dizzy."

"How can you sit there so calmly when potential disaster is looming around the corner?" was Snape's reply. "Something – mark my words – something evil is going to happen tomorrow! And it's going to be Paul Hooper's fault!"

"I'll admit," rejoined McGonagall, "that we have one or more practical jokers of considerable talent and little judgment in the school right now, but why do you think we need to worry about the Quidditch game? And why that boy in particular."

At his desk, Dumbledore simply observed the exchange, his fingers steepled in front of his chin as he contemplated the remarkable scene of Snape accusing, while McGonagall defended, a Slytherin student.

"Look," said Snape in frustration, "have you honestly considered the skill and determination that have been unleashed here? We're talking about someone, whoever it might be, with the ability to circumvent the perimeter security and smuggle a previously unknown goat onto the grounds. For crying out loud, you can't hide a goat under your cloak! Then he manages to get close enough to a cage of clabberts to feed them caffeine and let them out of the cage without anyone seeing him and without a single clabbert laying a finger on him. And no trace of magic in the room! Could you do that? And the banner? How do you get a banner that size up at a time when the Hall is being decorated for Halloween, and nobody notices? We have a wizard of extraordinary power here, he has no sense of morality whatsoever, his Quidditch team is about to play against your Quidditch team, and you're not worried? I wish I had your sang-froid."

"You're sweet to be concerned, Severus," said McGonagall, "but I really don't think I need to worry."

To make matters worse, a whole crowd of former Hogwarts students came to watch the season's opening game the next day, among whom was Alastor Moody. Moody stumped his way over to the viewing stands where McGonagall and Snape sat separated by Flitwick and Sprout, and plunked himself down on the bench right behind Snape.

"Just wanted you to know I was still taking an interest," he said with a malicious grin. "Let's see if I can spot my favorite Slytherin student in the stands."

Sancho Folkenstone was, in fact, right in front, and it didn't help Snape's peace of mind to know that he had two problems to deal with that afternoon instead of one.

Then Moody did an amazing thing. He took out his wand, stood up, sent a stream of sparks into the air to attract attention, and pointed at the Slytherin stands.

"What the hell was that for?" Snape yelled at Moody, standing himself and turning to face the auror.

"Just letting him know I've got an eye on him," Moody smiled, pointing to the enchanted blue one.

"You leave my students alone, do you hear me! You have no business…!"

"Settle down, Severus," McGonagall advised. "You're attracting attention."

"He's threatening my students!"

"Don't be silly, of course he isn't, are you Alastor?"

"Just reminding someone to be on his best behavior. No need to get all huffy about it, Professor."

Snape glared back at Moody's real eye, the enchanted one still being fixed on the Slytherin stands. "I'll thank you," he said coldly, "not to interfere in my house, and not to harass my students."

"Suit yourself," Moody laughed. "Though by now I'd 've thought you'd be clutching at any offer of help you could get. Not many in your position would have the same fortitude. Should I tell Erick his son's finally learned to behave?"

"Erick?" Snape asked, now thoroughly bewildered, since he'd had the definite impression that Sancho's father was named Gonzalo.

"Erick Hooper. He's an auror, too. Saved my life once."

"You mean you're talking about Paul Hooper?"

"Who else would I be taking an interest in besides the son of an old friend?"

"Will you sit down?" McGonagall snapped, looking past Flitwick and Sprout, her mouth pursed into an irritated line. "In case you two haven't noticed, the game's started and people behind you are trying to see!"

Snape and Moody sat down, Snape now trying to sort out the sudden change in his perception of the situation. He turned in his seat to face Moody. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I did. You got a kid from a Gryffindor family sorted into Slytherin house. I told you I was interested. Who'd you think I was talking about?"

"Nobody," Snape said hurriedly. "Does Paul generally have a tendency to get into trouble?"

Moody threw back his head and roared with laughter, drawing another glare from McGonagall. "Professor, that's the boy who set a whole nest of Brazilian fire ants loose in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Trouble's been his middle name since the day he started to crawl."

"How does he do it? I mean, do things without people catching him?"

"Oho! So he has been giving you trouble! I didn't think he'd turn into a little angel just because of a mistake in sorting. What's he done?"

Snape explained briefly about the goat, the clabberts, and the banner, without going into too much detail. By this time the other three heads of house were just as attentive as Moody was. "Are you telling us, Alastor," said McGonagall, "that Severus is right about the Hooper boy?"

"Right? Minerva, I'm surprised it's been so mild. He's got something brewing that's going to pop out at you when you least expect it that really will turn this place upside down. And he gets away with it because he's good with creatures and Confundus charms. Something he gets from his father."

The stands erupted in sudden cheering. "Who won?" asked McGonagall, looking around in surprise. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Neither was I," Snape said. "Did any of you see who won?"

As it turned out, Gryffindor won, but that was a relatively minor event in the grand scheme of things. Moody accompanied Snape and the other heads of houses up to Dumbledore's office where they sent for Master Hooper to join them. There, confronted with Moody's quite fascinating account of his previous escapades, one of which, to Snape's delight, involved Rufus Scrimgeour and a highly irritated doxy, Master Hooper confessed his sins and vowed to sin no more.

At least not until you can do it without getting caught, Snape thought.

Life was quiet for a while. Life was, in fact, quite pleasant throughout the rest of November and into December and the rest of term. Paul Hooper was quiescent, the investigation into the puzzle of the Liripipe family had run into a temporary dead end, and the only outlet for Snape's excessive mental activity was the odd behavior of Professors Kettleburn and Dawson.

"Oh, Severus," Dawson called to him one Friday evening just after the middle of November as they were leaving the Great Hall.

Snape turned and waited until she caught up. "How may I be of assistance, Sapientia?" he asked. Professor Dawson and he seldom spoke, as she was one of the staff who commuted home to her family each evening as soon as the students were in their houses, and she was almost never at Hogwarts on weekends.

"I was wondering if I might pilfer your stores," Dawson said, and it seemed to Snape that she was blushing a little. "There are a couple of potions I've been working on, and I'm just a touch short. Would you mind?"

"Not at all. Anything for a colleague. Would you like to come down now – I was just going to inspect and lock up for the weekend."

"That would be wonderful. So kind of you."

In the upper dungeon area, Snape unlocked the classroom door, opened the cabinets, and motioned to the drawers that contained all the little bottles and flasks, leaving Dawson to select what she needed while he made sure all the braziers had cooled and put them back near the wall, and in general tidied up.

"That's about it," Dawson said after a few minutes. "It's just that there were one or two other…"

"I have some more things in my office," Snape said as he locked everything up. "They need to be kept away from the students. Come with me. You can see if what you need is there."

Once inside the dark, cool office, Snape lit the lamps and started a fire. Then he went into his bedroom while Dawson inspected the shelves and took what she needed. She thanked him and left.

What Dawson did not know was that Snape had everything inventoried down to the gram, and curiosity affects more than cats. Besides, I have to see if I need to reorder anything. It didn't take long. Not only had Dawson taken the ingredients for Amortentia and other love potions, but also herbs needed to improve… performance, and to act as contraceptives.

Fairly common things. Now what was that all about? Unless she didn't want every apothecary in Diagon Alley to know what she was buying.

Next was Kettleburn, who accosted Snape at breakfast on a Sunday morning when there were very few people in the Hall. Normally Kettleburn wasn't there either, since he was another commuter, and his presence at seven o'clock on a Sunday was enough to make anyone suspicious.

"You told me something a few weeks ago that I wanted to check with you. About muggle identification. You need that in a hotel or a bank, or other places?"

"Generally, why?"

Kettleburn coughed, thereby gaining himself several seconds of thinking time. "I have this bet with an old friend that I can spend an entire day, noon to noon, acting like a muggle without making anyone suspect anything."

"Good luck," said Snape. "You're going to need it."

"No, seriously, about the identification. Do you have that?"

"Of course. I have a bank account."

"Could I…?"

Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a thin wallet. Inside were several rectangles of plastic and paper, some with his own name and some with other names.

"The picture is a little static, isn't it?"

"Muggle pictures don't move."

"You gave them your real name? But whose names are on these cards?"

"Of course I gave them my real name," Snape replied, a little irritated. "I'm a real person in the muggle world. I even have a birth certificate. The others are business cards. That's my banker, and that's…"

"I can see this is complicated," Kettleburn said with a sigh.

Kettleburn was back at the end of November to ask more questions, about shaking hands and writing with muggle pens, about menus in restaurants and tipping taxi drivers, and about hotels. This time the story about the bet was more detailed, but he wasn't fooling anyone, especially not Snape.

"And in the morning, when you make your bed, do you…"

"You don't make your own bed in a hotel. The maid does it for you."

"The maid?"

"Everything about keeping the room clean and in order is done daily by a maid while you're out of the room."

"Everything?"

"Cleaning the bathroom, changing the towels, making the beds, vacuuming…"

"So they can see everything you have and notice if there's something strange?"

"I suppose so, though I don't know why you're so worried. This must be some bet."

"It is. Thanks, Severus. I owe you one."

Dawson came the first week in December with – muggle magazines.

"I know it in general, Severus. It's the nuances I want to get down. I mean, there are some things you can wear to both a business meeting and a cocktail party, but others that are just for business or just for the party…"

So they went through pages and pages of men's and women's clothes, from tuxedos to three piece suits ("I don't think anyone wears bowler hats anymore.") to sweaters, to ball gowns, to blue jeans, to…

"You don't need to show that to the students," said Snape, glancing away and turning a rather endearing shade of pink. "I can only imagine a woman wearing that on her husband's birthday…"

"Oh," Dawson said, reddening herself. "Yes, I see what you mean."

Then, just before the Christmas break…

"…what Severus says…"

It is a most peculiar phenomenon, but it matters not where you are, nor the volume of the noise around you, nor the softness with which the words are spoken – you always hear your own name. Snape paused on the stairs between the third and second floors wondering where the words had come from. What he heard was muffled and indistinct, and he caught only some of the conversation.

"…dear, are you sure? Couldn't we just…" A woman's voice. Snape was sure it was Professor Dawson.

Then unmistakably Kettleburn. "…of the scandal if we were caught, and me from an old pureblood…"

"Shh! You'll attract attention. Did you bring the material? We need to study the rituals, the duties, the rites. We can't have them suspect that we're novices…" The rest was obscured by the rustle of parchment – no, not parchment – paper!

"Why don't we ask Severus more? He's an expert in this, too, you know…" Kettleburn sounded nervous.

Dawson's voice was sharp. "And much better than the designated professor? I agree…" They seemed to move away for it became harder to hear them. "No. I'll ask him…, but not something like this… Too dangerous…"

"…discreet about it…"

"…necessarily virgin?"

"They told me it was best."

"…problem with the identity… solved it now…"

Then there were voices from below, students coming up the stairs, and Kettleburn and Dawson were gone.

Christmas break began the way Christmas break always began – on Sunday morning the entire staff, even the commuting teachers, was there to be sure the students made it to the train in one piece with all their necessary equipment. Kettleburn was helping with the students of Slytherin house while Dawson assisted Professor Sprout, and it may have been Snape's imagination, but they seemed to meet quite often in the entrance hall.

After the last student had sent the last piece of luggage down and boarded the last thestral carriage, the staff assembled in the entrance hall so that Professor Dumbledore could wish them all a pleasant break and a happy New Year. As they finally separated and each went his or her own way, Snape overheard Dumbledore say to Kettleburn, "You be careful in Malaysia, now, Maximilian. I once heard a story about a man who became intoxicated and fell into a ditch. It was not deep enough for him to drown, but by the time they found him, his blood had been drained by the leeches."

Kettleburn laughed. "I'll be sure to get intoxicated only where I'm far away from ditches."

"You do that, Max. You do that." A few minutes later, Dumbledore said to Professor Dawson, "I look forward to hearing about the Amazon, Sapientia. I have been there more than once myself, but they tell me that it has changed."

"I'll tell you all the details, sir," Dawson replied, and then she was gone and the crowd pretty much all departed.

Snape managed to put himself near Dumbledore. "So Professor Kettleburn is taking his family to Malaysia for Christmas?"

"Ah, no," responded Dumbledore. "Mrs. Kettleburn is staying in England, and Maximilian is going alone. It is more in the line of duty and has to do, as I understand, with the preservation of an endangered spider. I did not ask for details."

"Lucky man, to be going on holiday. As lucky as Professor Dawson and her husband."

"There again, Severus, I fear Sapientia is on more of a working holiday. Something to do with Amazonian tribal beliefs."

"I see," said Snape, who rather feared he saw all too well. "Speaking of which, would you mind if I took a few days off during the break?"

"Whatever for?"

"I was thinking of checking the lost and found on the Isle of Skye."

"A most excellent idea. But who will look after Slytherin house while you are gone? Heads are supposed to remain, you know."

"My seventh-year prefect, Lionel Atherton, is staying to work on his NEWT subjects. There are only three younger students staying as well. Lionel could report to you. He's very dependable."

"That sounds satisfactory. Do let me know just before you leave."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

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Wednesday, December 21, 1983

Normally the fact that the Isle of Skye could be reached from the mainland only by boat or ferry would not pose a problem for a wizard, but Snape wasn't certain that the Liripipes had stayed in a wizard establishment during their honeymoon. Nor was he certain that they'd stayed in Portree. That meant that Snape needed a car. It would not do for a gent with a Lancashire accent to come strolling into an inn in say, Uig or Struan and claim to have walked all the way from Fort William.

Dumbledore was funding the trip, so Snape changed a considerable number of galleons in Gringotts, apparated to Scotland, and rented a car in Glasgow, the driver's license being one of the pieces of identification that Kettleburn had examined in November. (As a young teenager Snape's father had allowed him behind the wheel for short stints on deserted country roads, thus he had not been totally unfamiliar with the process when he sat for his driving test some years earlier. Admittedly, he had not been the best driver ever tested, but the examiner seemed to think him adequate enough to pass the test. There are advantages to being a wizard.) The longest part of the trip was the line of cars waiting to board the crowded little ferry between Kyle of Lochalsh and Kyleakin. Somebody ought to build a bridge here, Snape thought as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Disembarking at last in Kyleakin, Snape drove north into Portree. It was well after dark, since this far north in the darkest time of the year the sun set close to three-thirty in the afternoon and rose again at a quarter to nine. He checked into a little hotel near both the water and the center of town and began his work. Snape was committing a crime. He was impersonating a police detective. Scotland Yard, to be specific.

The most peculiar thing about the Liripipe wedding was that it had taken the wizarding world by complete surprise, and no one had seemed to be aware of it until after the newlyweds returned to London. Snape therefore reasoned that they had avoided the wizards of Skye and secluded themselves in the muggle community. That was his starting point. Luckily, it was off-season, with a scant number of visitors and plenty of time to talk to people, the first being the clerk at the hotel desk, an older man who had probably been there for far longer than the ten years Snape needed. A quick question confirmed that the man owned the hotel, and had worked there since a young man, as it was a family business.

"Would you mind looking at a photograph and see if you recognize any of the people?" Snape took the picture from his wallet. It was a Ministry photograph of a small awards ceremony attended by both Mr. and Mrs. Liripipe. Snape had told the subjects of the picture to stand still for a moment and had photographed the photograph with a muggle camera. It was now quite staid and motionless.

"Costume party, eh?" the man at the desk commented.

"Something like that."

The man was not forthcoming. "Who are you to be asking me about my customers?"

Snape pulled out the card that identified him as working for Scotland Yard. It was the only one he carried that he'd magicked. The man studied it for a moment, scanned Snape's long, dark hair and winter jacket, then grunted. "You don't look like a policeman."

"Not all of us wear uniforms," Snape replied. "I do have to tell you, however, that I really am on holiday, and this isn't official business, so you don't have to answer me if you don't want to. I'm helping a friend."

"I wouldn't be any help if it was official. I don't know any of them. You might try the Royal, or any of the other places." He gave Snape a piece of paper with a printed map of the town, circling a couple of spots where there were other small hotels, and Snape stepped out into the cold dark of early evening to continue his search. And I don't even know if they stayed in Portree.

The fourth place Snape visited was a little hotel on Wentworth Street, its exterior natural stone and its interior simple but warm and cozy. Here the clerk at the desk, probably also a member of the family that owned the establishment, asked if he could be of assistance. Snape showed him the picture.

"I've never seen any of them, but someone else may have." He opened the door into the office. "Mother, here's a gentleman who wants to know if we recognize a photograph."

A much older woman appeared, smiled politely as she glanced at the picture, then turned to Snape with a more hostile look. "What do you want with her?" she asked coldly.

"You do recognize one of the people then? Are you sure? It was ten years ago."

"'T isn't something you forget." She handed the photograph back to him.

Snape felt the adrenaline begin to seep into his system as the room around him clarified and focused with anticipation. "Why? What happened?"

"Nothing happened. They stayed a night, then they left. But I'm not helping you find her." There was now no doubt whatever that the woman regarded him as an enemy.

"I'm not looking for her," Snape said quickly. "I know where she is. I'm trying to locate something for her."

"Is she still with him?"

"No. She's with friends. She wants to leave for good, but she…"

"Needs something." The woman nodded. Behind her, her son looked totally confused. "I can't help you with that, but I remember they were going to the eastern side of Skye. They wanted to hire a car. I sent them down to Tim Macleod. He might be able to tell you." She jotted an address on a piece of paper.

"Do you think he'll remember?" Snape asked.

"How could he forget?"

Macleod owned a bookshop several doors down, and a sign in the window proclaimed that he also had a car for hire to see the island. Snape walked in to the tinkle of a bell on the door above his head, and an older man came out from the back. This time Snape was not at all surprised by his reaction.

"Why are you looking for her?" Macleod asked, knowing immediately which person in the photograph was the subject of Snape's search.

"How do you know it's her? It was more than ten years ago." Snape retorted.

"Can't be but the one." Macleod paused, then laughed harshly. "You're what? Twenty-five? Young people don't know anything anymore. Old people like me, we know. There's strange things in this world, lad. There's some things so rare a man never expects to see even one in his lifetime. When he does, ten years, twenty years, it doesn't matter. He remembers."

"Where did you take them?" Snape asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

'Where' was a thatched stone farmhouse just past Dunvegan. Snape waited until dawn lightened the southeastern sky the next morning before setting out on the northern road toward Uig. In the space of about fifteen minutes out of Portree, he passed a total of five cars going in the other direction. What is this? Rush hour on the Isle of Skye? After veering left to go westward, however, traffic eased up, and Snape saw no one else on the road to Edinbane.

The coastline of Skye varies from rocky inlets, to hills guarding pockets of habitable seashore, to spectacular vertical cliffs, yet much of the interior of the island is rolling farm and moor country. This gentler land, so delicately green in the summer, was now patched with dustings of snow and frost, but nothing that hindered Snape in his drive. This was fortunate, for at this moment the last thing Snape wanted was to have to use magic. Polydore Liripipe visited Skye periodically as part of his job, and Snape did not want to alert potential friends and colleagues of the unpleasant Polydore to his presence, especially since the local wizarding community seemed less connected to Professor Liripipe than the muggle community was.

It took but a moment to pass through the peaceful fishing village of Edinbane with its neat, white cottages, and then on to the village of Dunvegan. There was a castle here, but Snape had no time to play tourist, taking instead the road south and slowing down to nearly a crawl so as not to miss the single track road leading out onto the almost uninhabited Duirinish Peninsula and the tiny, ancient croft Macleod had described to him. The road was on the right, a good mile past Dunvegan, and Snape pulled off onto the narrow way. After a while he saw the croft to his left.

You don't sneak up on a rural farmhouse. Whoever lived there heard the sound of the car and knew when he turned off the road. The croft had been 'modernized' at some point in the past, and therefore had a stone chimney and, on either side of the door, narrow windows through whose curtains a face peered and then vanished. Before Snape got to the door, it opened, and a hunched old woman wrapped in shawls hustled him inside before she lost the interior warmth to the winter air.

"Are you cold, dearie?" the woman said. "Sit. I'll get you a cup of tea. Just let me put the kettle on the fire." Which she quite literally did, the fire in question being the hearth fire and the kettle being a small iron cauldron rather than a tea kettle with a spout. For light the woman had the windows, and a candle in a holder for after dark.

The modernization had gone so far as to hang a ceiling under the thatch, and a large curtain could divide the interior into two spaces, one with the table where Snape now sat, and the other a bedroom area with a large, comfortable-looking bed. The two 'rooms' were sparsely but adequately furnished with cupboards, chairs, rugs – it was, in fact, both modest and charming. The old woman clearly took pride in her simple domestic arrangements. She also clearly craved company.

The old woman, whose name was Mrs. MacLeod (half of Skye, it seemed, was named MacLeod or a variant thereof) , assumed that Snape was lost, and was determined to feed him tea and scones with a dab of butter and a lot of conversation. She had him nailed as a southerner from the moment he opened his mouth to thank her and plied him with questions about Portree, Lancashire, and London. Snape's initial irritation faded as he began to realize the degree of loneliness someone in her position might suffer on a long winter day. And so he talked.

He talked about the ferry from Kyle of Lochalsh and the restaurant in Portree. He talked about the hotel and the bookstore, and the cars on the road to Uig. Then he told her of renting the car in Glasgow, and from there they moved south to London and the Christmas season, and how were the Prince and Princess and their little baby boy? Then, after entertaining Mrs. MacLeod for the better part of an hour, Snape showed her the picture.

Mrs. MacLeod's cheerful round countenance saddened as she looked at the face, the one face among all the others that she, too, recognized immediately. "Och, the dear lady," she said softly. "Aye, they were here for two weeks, and she going up to gaze out on the loch and the water every day, it like to have broken a heart of stone."

"Did he treat her badly?"

"Oh, no! He was always trying to find some way to cheer her, bringing her gifts and sweet-talking her into a smile. Mind, I wasn't here all day, it wouldn't have been proper with them on their honeymoon and all, but I stayed with my sister and came by each morning to straighten up and cook, and we talked, she and I. No, she was content as his wife, but they can't help but be sad, can they? It's the sea longing. When I was young, you know, I didn't half believe it, but the croft's been blessed by her being here, and I still feel the blessing in my bones. But they can't help but be sad. Has she gone back home now? Is that why he's looking for her, the poor man?"

"Mrs. MacLeod," Snape said, "you'll have to explain this to me because, southerner that I am, I don't understand. What sea longing? And where's her home?"

"How can you look at her eyes and not understand? Haven't you seen the same in every seal pup that was ever born? Her home's the sea, lad. She's a seal maiden who loved a mortal man and forsook the sea for his sake. But no matter how strong the love, they're always sad. It's the sea longing."

Windows opened and light poured in, and Snape suddenly recalled the day he'd seen Professor Liripipe swimming in the lake – how she'd risen from the water and dived smoothly back under like a fish, like a seal – like a selkie.

Snape, driving back to Portree that afternoon, was furious. No matter how often Mrs. MacLeod assured him of the tenderness of Polydore Liripipe, Snape knew that the only way a land mortal could snare a selkie was to take her skin. Selkies were shapeshifters, after a fashion. Seal-like creatures of the sea, they could venture onto land by shedding their skin, an act which gave them human form. They returned to the sea by donning the seal skin again. The means by which a human could hold a selkie was to steal and hide the skin. The selkie, unable to return to the sea, became the human's slave.

This particular selkie had, for ten years, been the slave of Polydore Liripipe, forced to exist on land, away from her home and people, and forced to bear his children – children who would follow her back into the sea if ever she found a way to free herself from bondage. Mrs. MacLeod insisted that Liripipe loved his wife. Love! What kind of love is based on servitude?

Mrs. MacLeod knew something else, however. She alone had spoken both daily and privately to Beatrice Liripipe. She alone knew where Beatrice Liripipe had met her husband. She alone could point to a specific spot. She alone could give Snape a name – a jigsaw-puzzle-piece shaped island in the Orkneys called Stronsay. On Stronsay, just by St. Catherine's Bay.

Polydore Liripipe had, apparently, stumbled on a selkie maiden on St. Catherine's beach. He had seized her skin and forced her to marry him. The skin had to be hidden somewhere, somewhere probably close to Stronsay.

Snape spent the night in Portree, then left early on Friday to catch the first ferry back to the mainland of Scotland. In Fort William at midday, he was able to drop off the rented car and search the local bookstores for maps and pictures of the Orkneys. By early afternoon he'd bought the perfect book.

Before sunset, Snape apparated to Kirkwall on The Mainland, the largest of the Orkney islands. Far bigger than Portree, Kirkwall had several largish hotels, and Snape checked into one on the water front whose whitewashed walls reminded him of the buildings on Skye.

The next morning, Snape apparated to Stronsay.

Stronsay turned out to be a disappointment because of its dearth of places that could be used for natural concealment. The beaches and the waters were pristine and clear, and the overarching sky from horizon to horizon was liberating and exhilarating, and though Snape could easily imagine that Polydore Liripipe may have first spied his selkie bride here, he could find no place where the seal skin could have remained hidden for more than ten years.

Back in Kirkwall, Snape locked himself in his hotel room and immersed himself in his book. In the end he concluded that if the seal skin was still in the Orkneys, there was only one island it could be on – Hoy.

Hoy was different from all the other islands of the Orkneys for its great cliffs and rugged terrain. Any person, able to apparate and looking for a location nearby to Stronsay, would go to Hoy. The major problem with Hoy was that there were too many places where a selkie's skin might be concealed. Snape looked around the island and admitted temporary defeat.

That afternoon, he apparated back to Hogwarts.

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Friday, December 23, 1983 – evening.

"You're in her confidence. You must have known all of this all along." Snape was pacing back and forth in Dumbledore's office trying to control his ire.

"I beg to differ with you, Severus. There are many things about this situation that I do not know." Dumbledore, true to custom, was pouring Snape a glass of mead.

"You mean she didn't tell you she's from Stronsay and honeymooned on the Duirinish Peninsula?"

"Not a word of it. I am not certain, at least not entirely certain, how much of it is due to simple nervousness and fear, or how much of it is due to certain magical prohibitions that govern the servitude of the selkies to their skinmasters, but she has told me almost nothing. I rather guessed she was from the Orkneys, but had no way to know that she was caught there or what transpired on Skye. You, Severus, have filled in many of the blank places."

"I'm pleased, headmaster, that it wasn't all for nothing."

Snape's sarcastic note was not lost on Dumbledore, who turned to his Potions master with some concern. " None of it was 'for nothing,' I assure you, Severus. You have verified her story, if nothing else. You have unbiased witnesses to her unique qualities. You have identified the place of her capture and the possible location of her shapeshifting skin. This is not bad for just under three days' work." He handed Snape a glass of mead.

Somewhat mollified, Snape took the mead and sipped it. "All right, let's assume that everything I've discovered is true. What do we do with the information?"

"The first thing is that we keep it to ourselves. Professor Liripipe would be most uncomfortable if she were aware that you knew her secret. Added to that, any hint that our Defense against the Dark Arts teacher was not a witch..."

"She can't do magic?"

"No, Severus, she cannot. Fortunately, so far, no situation has come up in the classroom where she would have to. But a rumor that she is not a witch would jeopardize her position here. I have been employing a muggle ritual ever since the year began. I have been keeping my fingers crossed that Professor Kettleburn will not notice the magical creature in our midst."

Snape coughed. "He's been… somewhat preoccupied with other matters. I don't think you have to worry about him."

"That is good to hear. I shall still keep my fingers crossed, however. It may have been precisely that which caused him to be preoccupied. Another vital concern is that Polydore Liripipe have no inkling that we are aware of anything untoward. If he has the slightest suspicion that we might hunt for Professor Liripipe's skin, he will move it and hide it far more securely. Our biggest hope in the search is that it is still in its originally hiding place, and therefore still within the Orkney islands. Right now, Polydore does not know that we know. He will not expose her secret, as that would expose him as a slave holder. Right now we are at a stage of awkward but stable equilibrium. When we actually go after the skin, that could change."

"When can we go? Clearly, Headmaster, you don't think now a good time."

Dumbledore peered at Snape over his glasses. "Just how, precisely, did you consider going about it? Were you planning to scour every square inch of the island of Hoy, pausing at fifty-foot intervals to brandish your wand and shout 'Accio sealskin,' drawing attention to yourself and alerting the locals?"

"No, sir."

"There, a sensible answer. We must come up with a means of locating a magical item concealed, most probably by magical means."

"Wouldn't it have degraded by now?"

"A selkie's skin is impermeable to…"

"No, the magic."

"I shall forgive you for interrupting me only because the hunt is up. You are most likely correct. A wizard such as Polydore would not be able to install magical guards that would maintain their power after ten years, though he might not be aware of that. If the original protections are still there, they are probably degraded."

Snape returned to the library, studying first everything he could about selkies and learning that the skin they sought would be about the same size and a little lighter than a cloak, and probably folded in a small bundle. Then he studied maps of the Orkneys, and of Hoy in particular, all fifty-five square miles of its cliffs and hills, and began to get discouraged. How, even if the skin is on Hoy – and there's no guarantee of that – are we ever going to find it?

The new term started in January. Kettleburn and Dawson returned from wherever they'd been, less discreet than ever, and Snape, to his irritation, frequently saw them with their heads together, hiding behind the copies of the Guardian that Kettleburn continued to borrow.

Truth be told, Snape regarded the pair as prime examples of what was wrong with all humankind. Here they were, professionals supposedly dedicated to the education of the young, and they were behaving as irresponsibly as a couple of teenagers. Snape had met Kettleburn's wife, and he knew that Dawson was married as well. Watching the two of them, working on the problem of the unhappy marriage of the Liripipes, Snape found his attitude toward the whole business of love, matrimony, and mutual relationships souring to the point of bitterness, and was heartily thankful that he was free of any such ties.

All January and into February, Snape worked with charms of hiding and discovery. The key to success was to slip in undetected, locate the skin with a minimum of fuss, recover it without alerting anyone, and get Professor Liripipe back to the sea before her husband was aware that anything had happened. What he was going to do if the skin was not on Hoy was something Snape didn't care to think about.

The weekend before Valentine's Day was a Hogsmeade excursion, and Snape was assigned supervision duty. Mindful that he'd made an enemy on the previous occasion he'd gone to Hogsmeade, Snape was careful to watch his back, keeping eyes and ears open for any trace of Polydore Liripipe. It was also no surprise that Moody was there, a sinister presence lurking in the background of Snape's awareness.

When trouble came, however, it came not from Liripipe, who never appeared, nor from Moody. It came from Hogwarts. Snape was relaxing over a glass of elf wine in the Three Broomsticks when Lionel Atherton came bursting in.

"Professor!" he called. "Professor Snape! The Headmaster wants you to go back to the castle at once. Every owl in the place has gone crazy!"

Snape was not the only one. He didn't count Moody, who tagged along behind, but Dumbledore had sent for Kettleburn and Hagrid as well and, during the trek up the hill to the castle, they had a chance to see what the juxtaposition of 'owl' and 'crazy' meant in real terms.

Hundreds of owls had departed the owlery in the west tower and were spread throughout the grounds. They perched on trees, large bushes, signposts, Quidditch stands, turrets, and gutters. They loved gutters. The eaves of Hogwarts were replete with owls. Yet if perching were all, there would be no phenomenon. The perching owls were in constant motion. They appeared to be trying to hide behind each other.

Owls snuck between owls to conceal themselves, knocking other owls off to flutter, soar, and seek a new berth. Owls scrabbled on slate-shingled roofs, slipped, and bumped into other owls, who toppled off and screeched in frustration. Owls beat vain wings against casement windows, slipped through unguarded doors, hid in the thestral carriages in the carriage house and, once inside the castle, crouched behind suits of armor or pretended to be a hat on the statue of Dirk the Daffy.

"Well?" said Dumbledore, who met the little group in the entrance hall, where first and second year students were trying to persuade the owls to go back outside with little success. "Do we have any ideas or suggestions?"

"Headmaster," Snape said with studied calm. "I know why you sent for Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn, but why me? This isn't a potions matter."

Dumbledore peered over his glasses. "Rumor has it that you have already demonstrated a great natural talent. Something about a goat. In any case, you are here, Severus, so we may as well have the benefit of your wisdom and experience, too."

"If you ask me," Hagrid said, "I'd say they was scared of something."

"But what is there to be scared of?"

Hagrid thought about this for a moment. Then he stomped outside and gazed around at the sky. Snape followed him and looked where Hagrid was looking. All he could see, circling over the lake, was one hawk, medium size.

"Would they be afraid of the hawk?" Snape asked Hagrid.

"Shouldn't be. Owls 'd mob a hawk sometimes. And that one ain't big enough t' be a threat t' the larger owls. I'm going up t' the owlery. You coming?"

Snape agreed immediately, and while Kettleburn tried to coax an owl out from under the main staircase so he could examine it, and while Dumbledore and Moody chatted in the entrance hall, Snape and Hagrid climbed up to the seventh floor and from there into the west tower and the owlery.

The great cylinder of the owlery, with its hundreds of perches rising up into the dimness of the tower, its floor covered in straw to absorb the droppings and regurgitated bones, was empty of life. Every single owl had departed, and it appeared they had departed in a hurry, for around the door and the various window slits were newly scattered feathers where owls had fought each other in their panic to escape.

Snape had never been in the owlery, never having had anyone to send an owl to since his grandmother died, and he stepped carefully around Hagrid and walked into the center of the tower, looking up at the ancient beams and rafters that were home to so many owls.

The attack came out of nowhere – beaks open wide in fierce predator screams, strong wings pummeling him with vicious blows, talons tearing at his hair and skin. Snape flailed wildly with his arms, trying to protect himself from the great raptors that strove to rend his flesh, devour him. He fell to the floor, rolling in the straw, beating back the birds – and then he was outside the owlery, with Hagrid holding his arms. The owlery was empty, and Hagrid was looking at him with concern.

"What just happened t' you?" Hagrid asked. "You was walking all calm like, and then of a sudden you was fighting something, but there wasn't nothing there."

"I'm going back in," Snape said. "If I start to fight again, pull me back just a little to get me out of the spell. I think I know what happened. I think it's a Confundus Charm."

The spell was in the center of the owlery, and probably rose on a vertical axis right up to the roof. Every owl it touched would have raced for the window slits, communicating fear to the others. It was as if the owlery had been invaded by hundreds of ravenous eagles. Snape and Hagrid hurried back down to the entrance hall to tell Dumbledore. This, it turned out, was a job for Professor Flitwick, dispelling charms being a specialty of his.

"Who do you think did it?" Kettleburn asked of no one in particular after Flitwick had been fetched and sent upstairs. "And how did he get in and out of the owlery without being spotted."

Snape glared at Moody as if Moody was personally responsible. "I still haven't worked out the how yet, though the fact that almost everyone was in Hogsmeade would have helped, but I have a really good idea who. Who do we know that's good both with animals and with confusion charms?"

It was Dumbledore's turn to look at Moody. "Alastor, would you be so kind as to see if you could locate Master Hooper and bring him to my office? He has some explaining to do."

Flitwick got to Dumbledore's office first, presenting Dumbledore with fragments of a broken glass vial and an innocent-looking, or rather on second glance a somewhat gruesome looking dead mouse.

"The spell was cursed into the mouse, and the mouse encased in glass," Flitwick explained. "When the vial was thrown or dropped, the glass broke, thus releasing the mouse and the spell it was charmed to project. Simple, if you're good at these kinds of spells, but quite ingenious."

Then Moody returned, bringing not one but two, for perched on Hooper's heavily gloved fist, bells on its jesses and a tiny leather hood topped with bright feathers over its head, was the hawk that had been soaring above the lake. This particular hawk, Snape noted, was a peregrine falcon. The pieces were beginning to fit together.

"Ah, Master Hooper. I desire to have a word with you." Dumbledore allowed Hooper to see the glass and dead mouse on his desk before asking him directly, "Are these your handiwork?"

"Sure," Hooper replied, not the slightest bit abashed. "You found them sooner than I thought you would."

"So you admit to having placed them in the owlery?"

"No, sir. I didn't put them there."

"But the idea was yours, and the impulse to carry it out was yours, regardless of which creature transported the item."

"Yes, sir."

"Why, Master Hooper? What possible right could you have to terrify the school's owls, disrupt their peaceful existence, and generate extra labor for the rest of us?"

"I wanted to see if he'd do it," was Hooper's enigmatic reply.

"If who would do what?" asked Dumbledore.

"If Randir would do what I asked. If he'd take something and put it where I told him. It had to make something change, otherwise I wouldn't know for sure."

"You were testing the falcon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Master Hooper, do you realize that you stand now in jeopardy of expulsion from this school for your cruel and irresponsible… You spoke, Severus?"

Snape had coughed. It wasn't a loud cough, but it was one of those 'could we discuss this before you do something irreversible' coughs that usually attracted Dumbledore's attention rather quickly.

"Sir, is it really Paul's fault if he got dropped on his head when he was a baby?" Snape asked.

"I didn't get dropped…"

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore cut Hooper off, watching Snape keenly.

"Forgive me, but recent research shows that children who suffer head injuries as infants often mature with an inadequate ability to empathize with others. In addition, I am…"

"Yes, Severus?"

"His head of house. Should not his discipline rest in my hands?"

Their eyes met, and Dumbledore smiled. "You are quite correct, Severus. As his head of house, it is for you to determine his punishment. I do hope you have something appropriate in mind."

"Very appropriate, Headmaster. Thank you. Master Hooper, would you come with me?"

"Wait a minute!" Moody exclaimed. "You can't just turn the boy over…"

"It is none of your concern, Alastor. Young Paul is Severus's responsibility and…"

"But he's going to…"

"I am certain he is going to do nothing of the kind, Alastor. This is, after all an internal matter and you…"

Neither Snape nor Hooper heard the rest, for Snape beckoned Hooper out of Dumbledore's office, and Hooper exhibited no reluctance to leaving Moody with Dumbledore. Together they walked down the staircases toward the dungeons.

At about the third floor, Snape finally spoke. "Tell me, Hooper, what else have you trained this bird to do?"

"Train?" said Hooper. "I didn't train it. I just ask it to do things, and it does them or it doesn't."

"You mean you speak falcon?"

Hooper giggled. "Nobody speaks falcon. Falcons don't have a language. Are you one of those people who thinks snakes talk?"

Snape ignored the question. "How do you communicate with the bird, then?"

"I look at it, and it looks at me, and I think what I want it to do, and it says yes or no." Hooper spoke as if only an idiot wouldn't have guessed that long ago.

Great. I have a student who practices legilimency with animals, and he thinks only morons can't do the same. Steady, Severus. "What did you ask it to do this time?"

"To take that glass bottle into the owlery and drop it. It sure stirred up the owls, didn't it?"

"It did indeed. How long have you had this falcon?"

"I found it in the forest last week."

You've tamed a wild falcon to jesses and a hood in a week. It follows your orders after a week. "Do you think you could ask it to do anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, maybe find something."

"You lose anything, Professor?"

"Not me, but a friend. Could you do it?"

"If I knew sort of where it was and sort of what it looked like, I could ask. You want me to ask?"

"Not yet. I need to do some research first. It could get you out of detention."

"Pff. Who cares about detention? I like to work with Randir, though."

"Consider it a deal."

Snape let Hooper go back to Slytherin house with the falcon. He himself went to his office and private quarters to check the book on the Orkneys. Among the native species there were falcons – Merlins and Peregrines. Snape was beginning to get an idea.

The first goal was to enlist the boy's sympathies. Snape couldn't remember any strong feelings for his own professors, many of whom were now his colleagues, but then he'd had other things to worry about. Like werewolves.

"How are your classes, Hooper?" Snape asked, cornering Hooper after breakfast the next day, a Sunday.

"They're okay."

"What's your favorite class?"

"Not yours."

Steady, Severus. "Why not?"

"You're mean." Hooper paused to think. "Really mean."

Snape bristled. "And don't you ever forget it. I'm the Wicked Wizard of the West. I'll chew you up and spit you out as soon as look at you. Are there any classes you like?"

Hooper wasn't intimidated. "Not Herbology. You can't talk to plants, and Professor Sprout's too motherish. Not Astronomy. The stars are too far away. Not boring old History of Magic. Has anyone ever tried an exorcism? Charms and Transfiguration are okay, but Professor Flitwick's a midget, and Professor McGonagall's a prune. Professor Liripipe's okay. She has nice eyes."

From Hooper, that was almost a declaration of love. "How would you like to do something sneaky that would help Professor Liripipe?" Snape asked.

"How sneaky?"

"Really sneaky."

"Would it really help Professor Liripipe?"

"Yes, but she mustn't ever know."

"Wicked!"

For the next few weeks, Snape and Hooper spent considerable time working with the falcon Randir. As near as Snape could tell, Hooper used a form of legilimency with the bird that transmitted images rather than words and allowed the boy to project into the hawk's mind whatever Hooper wanted the falcon to do. Randir then chose to do it or not to do it. At first Snape worried that Randir's ability to refuse to do something might hinder them, but it soon turned out that the creature actually enjoyed the challenge of the tasks he was given, and looked forward to the sessions as a sort of game.

They started out by asking Randir to bring them common things, like pine cones or twigs. Then they shifted to unusual things, like quills and potions vials. As Randir improved, Snape began going out where neither the falcon nor Hooper could see him and hiding items. Hooper would then project the image of the item, and Randir would hunt for it. By the end of March, the hunts had become quite complex, with Snape sometimes spending hours looking for a hiding place, and the search branching out into the area around the lake, the forest, and even into Hogsmeade. Randir was developing the patience to keep up the search even if it extended over several days.

The next big step in the plan was set for the Easter break.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Why can't we use magic?" Hooper asked.

"We don't want anyone to know we're there. Magic can be detected and traced."

"We can't even apparate in?"

"No, too risky. Besides, you're underage. You can't apparate."

Hooper grinned. "You could take me."

"I told you, too risky. And how would Randir get there?"

"He could fly. He is a bird, you know."

"Don't get cheeky. You're not my only plan. I do have other options."

"Right, Professor. I'll keep that in mind."

The journey to the Orkneys turned out to be more complex than Snape had imagined. It was Hooper who first noticed the flaw.

"I can't tell him how to get there because I've never been there before."

Snape thought about this for a while. "Can he follow the ferry?"

"How long is the trip?"

"About six hours from Aberdeen."

"Isn't there any other ferry?"

"Not for cars. I don't think you want to walk from Stromness to Kirkwall."

Hooper thought about this for a moment. "What about a bicycle?"

"You don't know how to ride a bicycle!"

"No? Look, Professor, you're not the only one that sometimes wants to do things that can't be detected. I'll bet you don't know how to ride a bicycle, though."

It was not something that Snape was going to admit to. At some point before the actual beginning of the Easter break he was going to have to learn the bicycling art just so that Hooper wouldn't be able to make snide remarks about it. In the interests of maintaining professorial superiority, he apparated several times from Hogsmeade to Lancashire, purchasing a bicycle the first time and practicing on the country roads of his native region. By the time they were ready to leave for the far north of Scotland, Snape had the bicycle thing down pretty well. He'd only fallen off twice.

The beginning of April brought the Easter break. Students left Hogwarts for home, but Paul Hooper was not among them. That Sunday afternoon, Hooper gave instructions to Randir to meet him in Aberdeen, and then Snape and Hooper went into Hogsmeade. On the outskirts of the village, Hooper held on to Snape's robes and they, too, headed for Aberdeen by side-along apparation.

Nobody but Dumbledore knew where they had gone, or why.

Snape rented a car in Aberdeen and spent an hour and a half making it clear to Hooper why, from this point on, he was forbidden to use magic.

"You apparated into Kirkwall before."

"How do you know?"

"You told me. So if someone was going to notice magic, it was already done in December."

"But I didn't do anything in December except walk around streets, go to St. Catherine's Bay, and buy books."

"So if he was going to notice you, he already has."

"If he had any spies, he'd have noticed I didn't look anywhere."

"Except St. Catherine's Bay. You were sloppy in December."

It was at this point that Snape began to fully appreciate the caliber of his partner in crime. Hooper was right. If damage had been done, it had been done in December.

"But I was open and obvious in December. They'd have seen I didn't come anywhere close."

"You hope. For all you know, that skin is in Trinidad by now."

"If it is, maybe it enjoyed Carnival. How do you know about Trinidad, you pureblood brat?"

"I'm not an idiot." Hooper paused, malice glinting in his eyes. "And don't insult my mom."

It was Snape's turn to pause. "Are you sure you're not a fifty-five-year-old midget?" he finally asked. "You don't talk like an eleven-year-old. And I'm a half-blood, too."

"If you read your files, you'd know I was twelve in September. Dad or mom?"

"Dad. Do the other students in Slytherin know?"

"Nah. They can be pretty dumb. Did they know about you?"

"Yeah, first day. I didn't know about houses and let slip my dad'd gone to muggle schools."

"Rotten luck," Hooper said. "Slytherins can be nasty."

"Tell me about it."

With that, they bonded. Snape would protect Hooper with his last breath, and Hooper would idolize Snape for the rest of his life. The conversation quickly changed its focus.

"So where do we get the bicycles?" Hooper asked.

"I say be obvious about driving up from Aberdeen, find a place to leave the car, take the ferry, and rent bicycles in Stromness. We have a perfectly good story that way. It'll cost more to rent the bikes in Scrabster, so getting them in Stromness won't be a problem. We'll take them to Hoy, but whether or not we really need them there will depend on Randir. The bikes are more a cover story."

The drive north to Scrabster was bountiful in its exchange of confidences.

"They say you were a… you know… death eater."

"They say a lot of things. They say there's a monster in Loch Ness."

"Is it true?"

"What is truth? Truth is that there are a large number of fakes in the world. Truth is that people will believe the worst because it's juicier. Truth is that you botched your spring Potions exam by putting Wartcap Powder into a Pepperup Potion."

"I was hoping you planned to ignore that."

"No. But your performance in this extracurricular and therefore extra credit assignment may boost your grade."

"You mean I could get an Outstanding?"

"I mean you may deliver yourself from a Dreadful. Is that bird still following us?"

"Randir? Yeah, he's still here. When are we going to stop and eat? I'm hungry."

Hooper was always hungry. Snape wasn't sure if it was his age or a tapeworm. The food he'd brought for the entire journey to Scrabster was gone by mid morning. If it wasn't for the falcon, Snape would have ditched the boy long before.

After passing through Inverness (where he bought more food), and crossing the head of the Dornoch Firth at Bonar Bridge, Snape hugged the coast of the Moray Firth all the way to Latheron where the hills on his left began to smooth out into flatter land. There he turned north to Thurso and Scrabster. It was a lot like driving on Skye. Almost no cars, few people, and tiny villages. Snape was getting very used to white-painted stone cottages. Hooper was getting a lot of sleep.

Scrabster was a little town on the northern edge of Scotland, with stone buildings, some white, some natural, with gray roofs and chimney pots, that now seemed large after the empty moors. Snape booked passage on the little ferry to Stromness, found a place to leave the car for several days, then woke Hooper, who immediately demanded food. Snape gave him an apple and ignored the rest of his complaint. The ferry left at 5:00 that afternoon. Clocks were already on summer time, so there were more than two hours of light left.

The ferry took them past Hoy on the way to Mainland, and they were able to see the great pinnacle of rock on the western coast known as the Old Man of Hoy. Hooper scanned the cliffs where sea birds nested. "You want Randir to search all of that?" he asked. "You have high expectations."

"If you think the two of you aren't capable of it…"

"I didn't say that."

Stromness was a larger town whose stone-paved streets ended in stone quays at the water's edge. Snape got a room at a small guest house near the ferry dock, and left their bags while he and Hooper strolled in the soft sunset out to the edge of the town and the moors and hills beyond. There Hooper called Randir, and for the first time since they'd left Aberdeen, the falcon came to his hand.

"What do I show him?" Hooper asked.

Snape took off his coat, ignoring the evening chill. "Show him a seal," he said, "then think about its skin. Think about different types of seals, too, black ones, brown ones, mottled ones. We're not sure of the color." As he talked, he folded the coat into a neat package, a kind of squarish bundle. "Now show him that it's folded up like this."

Hooper did as Snape directed, and then flung his arm upwards to give the bird momentum to leave his fist without clawing. Randir rose, wings beating strongly, then began to scream. It wasn't a scream of anger or of pain, nor was it the screech of a hawk pouncing on its prey. It was a strange, lonesome scream of longing and solitude that Snape had never heard before.

For ten minutes Randir circled, screeching, and Snape worried that there would soon be no light. Suddenly, from the direction of the hills, there came an answering scream as another peregrine dove down, seeming to attack Randir. Wings beat frantically for several seconds as the falcons faced each other, claw to claw in midair, then Randir broke away and swooped down onto a rock. The other bird followed.

What was happening became apparent a moment later when first Randir and then the second falcon flew over to Hooper. Snape watched, fascinated, as the boy communicated soundlessly with both, and then the Orkney falcon flew away while Randir settled again on Hooper's hand.

"We may know something tomorrow," Hooper said quietly. "She's going to tell the others."

The two walked back into town, the path by now nearly invisible in the northern twilight, and the moon, only a little past new, of no help at all. They got a quick supper and went to bed, ready for an early start the next day.

The next morning they went out onto the moors again to find three peregrines waiting for Randir. Hooper 'spoke' briefly to each, and they left to search the hills around Stromness. Snape and Hooper returned to town and found a place that rented bicycles. Then they took the ferry to Hoy.

On the ferry ride to Hoy, it began to rain. "Thank goodness," Snape said, pulling out a raincoat, hat, and woolen scarf from the pack on the back of the bicycle. "I was hoping this would happen."

"Why? You like getting wet?"

"Don't get cheeky. It so happens that just because I never heard of a wizard living on Hoy doesn't mean there aren't any. All the places I've gone so far, I've tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, but that's hard to do here. Too small. Rain means covering my head and face will be natural. There are too many Hogwarts students from the last fifteen years who could recognize me."

"You don't have the kind of face that gets lost in a crowd, that's for sure," Hooper commented acidly.

Once off the ferry and biking into the interior of the island, Hooper sent Randir off again to find other falcons. By mid morning they had a crew of about half a dozen searching for something that might be a selkie skin.

"Hope nobody notices all the noise and activity," Hooper said as the two settled on a couple of rocks for lunch around noon.

"What activity?" Snape asked.

"The puffins, gulls, skuas – there's a whole bunch of birds that nest here. Randir showed me they were getting pretty stirred up because of the falcons searching through their nesting grounds."

"I hope they're not eating anybody."

"No more than usual. There's always some hunting."

"How do you know so much about birds?"

"Been showing and seeing all my life. It took me a long time to realize other people couldn't do it." Hooper threw a piece of his sandwich to a passing gull. "Part of me was hoping that one of you could communicate with that goat. I thought maybe there'd be someone like me at Hogwarts."

"I hate to disillusion you, but I've never heard of the talent before."

"Well, at least I tried."

Most of the afternoon passed in silence. There was something about the great expanse of sky arching over the rolling land and the stark cliffs at sea's edge that satisfied more than conversation could. Snape felt at home; Hooper, a city boy, was awed. By the end of the day they didn't want to return to Stromness, but they knew they would be back on Hoy on the morrow, for the search was not yet over, and the falcons had so far found no selkie skin. They took the ferry back, checked with the local Stromness birds, supped, slept, and were back on the ferry the next day.

"What if he's already been here and taken it, or enchanted it, or… I mean, wouldn't he expect us to come looking for it?" Hooper, being young, was impatient and depressed when, towards the end of the second day, they'd still found nothing.

"That's always possible. This may turn out to be a fruitless search."

"All this work for nothing."

Snape watched the frustration play around Hooper's face. "Even nothing is information. Usually finding out that something doesn't work is just as valuable as finding out that it does. Every time we cross a place off, it narrows the rest of our search."

"It's boring."

"That, Master Hooper, is why you could never be a Hufflepuff, or even a Ravenclaw. The Slytherins and Gryffindors may make the occasional flashy discovery, but it's the other houses that get the most work done. And I tend to think he wouldn't come here. There are lots of people who can detect magic, and I imagine more of them would report to Albus Dumbledore than to Polydore Liripipe. He might worry that he would show Dumbledore where the skin is if he came looking for it, too. There are a lot of variables, and we can only do what is given us to do and hope for the best."

By the end of the third day, they were reasonably certain that the selkie skin was not on Hoy.

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