Elementary, My Dear Potter

Prologue: Baby Steps in the Right Direction

The conversation back at the cottage was somewhat less amicable.

"Now there," Snape pronounced to the room in general after the Latimers had left, "is a woman of remarkable perception. You may be interested in knowing that she was not fooled for a moment by Potter's puppy dog eyes or his pretense at persecution. She saw him for the whiner he is."

"I am not a whiner!"

"There you go whining again. Hagrid, this poor excuse for a wizard has been whining from the beginning." Snape began a limp-handed parody of Harry for Hagrid's amusement. "Oh, professor, you have to handle me with kid gloves because I'm an orphan as well as a celebrity, and I'm not used to…"

"Shut up!" Harry snapped at him. "For your information, I got treated a lot worse by the Dursleys…"

"So you should have felt right at home."

"You picked on me from Day One!"

"I didn't speak to you on Day One. But when you sauntered into my classroom, I had a good opportunity to see if you took after your mother or your father. It was no contest. Like father, like son. Same laziness, same rudeness."

"I was not lazy! It was the first day!"

"You had those books for a month! Did it ever occur to you to open one of them? Your mother would have known the material backwards!"

"I did read them! I just didn't remember everything!"

"Your father's intellectual ability, too. You'd have done better to take after your mother!"

"My mother had a head start! She already knew she was a witch!"

Snape smiled a cold smile. "Granger didn't," he pointed out. "Granger was working in the same time frame you had. She knew the answers. It wasn't rocket science; it was all in the introduction and chapter one."

Harry was breathing heavily. "You bullied us from the moment we started at school, me and Neville. You're nothing but a big bully, and I should have stood up to you from the beginning."

"I thought you did," Snape said calmly. "You were cheeky from the beginning. You challenged my authority on the first day, you insulted me at every opportunity, and you endangered the physical well being of the other students in my class in order to further your own interests."

"I never…!"

"Second year, Potter! Great thing about pensieve memories – you get to notice things that were behind your back the first time around. A Filibuster firework tossed into Gregory Goyle's Swelling Solution to cover petty theft by Granger, half the class injured and three of them ending up in the hospital wing… I'd hate to see what your definition of endangering others is if that one doesn't make it. And you! You were laughing. You injured others, and you thought it was funny! Do you know the definition of Dark Magic, Potter? Better still, do you know the definition of sadism?"

"If I didn't before I got to Hogwarts, I'd have learned it from you." Harry had now grown almost as cold as Snape. If he was going to be forced to relive these memories, then he was going to turn them into weapons.

"I never touched you." Snape clearly felt himself on solid ground now. "I never touched any of you – not with a hand, and not with a wand. If violence erupted, it was always Gryffindor that started it."

"You can hurt just as much by what you say…"

"Oh, Potter, hadn't you heard? It's a deeply rooted part of British tradition: 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.' No one ever taught you that as a talisman against teasing? Your education has been neglected."

"You're behind the times," Harry shot back at him. "Verbal attacks wound just as much as physical ones, and emotional abuse is just as bad as a whipping."

Snape stared at Harry for a moment. "No," he said at last, "it isn't. Believe me, Potter, the two do not compare. I may, however, have to reevaluate your mother in that light. Your father was better at physical threats, but when it came to emotional bullying, she was the master."

"No!" Harry screamed at Snape. "My mother was a wonderful person, and you loved her!"

"My, my, what a difference a year makes." Snape's eyes were devoid of feeling, his voice soft. "There was a time when the thought that I had anything to do with your mother would have sent you into a murderous frenzy. Let me enlighten you about Saint Lily. She was a lot like her son. She, too, enjoyed having a slave to dance for her on the levee, playing his tambourine. Her only problem was that there were other people bidding on the same slave, and they were more powerful. She was never one to share, your mother. She wouldn't say yes to your father until she was sure she was strong enough to tear him away from Sirius…"

"You're a turd!" Harry yelled at him. "Dumping you was the smartest thing my mother ever did!" He wheeled and stormed out the front door, apparating to London before he was halfway across the yard.

"Good riddance," said Snape, watching through the front window as Harry departed.

"Ya sure got a way about ya," said Hagrid calmly. "It ain't often ya see a bloke so good at making enemies. Pity there ain't much call for it, or ya could patent and sell it."

"You can leave, too," Snape said without turning around. "I don't need you either."

"Tha's a good one. Le's see. Ya got a wand, so the next time ya get separated from that body, ya can get into the pensieve. After that… Well if nobody comes by f'r a couple o' days, the body's gonna get all dehydrated and die, along with every memory ya ain't put into that bottle yet… I can see how y're gonna have loads o' fun here."

"I'd be better off if I didn't have any memories."

"Ya know that ain't true. Ya got lots o' good memories."

"All of them associated with people who are dead. I'm surrounded by death."

"I ain't dead."

"We were talking about good memories."

Hagrid heaved himself off the chair. "If I was a sensitive person, I might take offense at that," he said. "What about that lady as used t' take care o' ya? That Mrs. Hanson?"

Snape's laugh was bitter. "Right. I haven't seen her in three years, and the last time I did, I was thirty-six. Now I'm seventeen, and I'm supposed to go up to her door and say, 'Hello, Mrs. Hanson. Remember me?' Brilliant idea."

"I was just pointing out as how she ain't dead 'n ya got some good memories there." Hagrid lumbered toward the kitchen. "I'm getting coffee. Ya want some?"

"How do you know she's not dead?" Snape demanded. "She was older than my mother. And what's the use of having someone you can never see again, even if they are still alive?"

Hagrid's coffee making was accompanied by thumps and bumps. "Sugar?" he called from the kitchen. "Cream?"

"There isn't any cream."

"Milk, then? Don't ya got no good school memories?"

"Black. No, wait. That's an ugly name and an ugly word. Sugar and milk. I was bullied in muggle school, and no adult lifted a finger. I was bullied in Slytherin, and you know how much attention Slughorn paid to that. I was bullied by Gryffindor, and not only did Dumbledore do nothing, McGonagall still thinks those sadistic hooligans were charming young men."

"Moongazing?" Hagrid asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway with two cups of coffee.

"I don't remember any moongazing," Snape said, taking the proffered cup.

"That's 'cause ya put it in the bottle. Ya should keep yer good memories in yer head."

"So I can remember all the good things I don't have anymore? That I haven't had since I was fourteen?" Snape sipped the coffee. "That's the advantage of bad memories. I can look around me right now and I can say 'At least I'm not getting the buckle end of a belt. At least I'm not getting punched in a playground. At least I'm not being ambushed and hexed in a corridor. At least I'm not getting cruciated by someone I call Lord.' That pansy Potter's an idiot. Do you know how much I would have given just to be yelled at instead of…"

There was a fireplace in the room, and Snape spun and flung the cup, coffee and all, against the stone. "I should be dead!" he screamed. "I should have died a year ago! I should have died in February! Why am I still here?"

"It might be fate. Maybe y've somewhat still to do."

"Do you have any idea how much I hate you!" Snape yelled, and launched himself in an attack on Hagrid.

There was, of course, no possible way in which Snape could injure Hagrid, and Hagrid knew it. Hagrid, on the other hand, had a plethora of ways to injure Snape. He made no avail of them. Instead, he caught hold of Snape's wrists and held him steady until Snape began to tire. "Ya ain't getting nowhere like this, lad," Hagrid commented after he sensed Snape weakening. You 'n me, we done this before."

"I hate you!" Snape screamed.

"Ya said that before," Hagrid replied. "No offense, but I'd be rather partial t' hearing something ya ain't said before. I take it ya ain't thrilled at the idea y're still meant t' do something."

"You sound like Dumbledore." Snape relaxed, and Hagrid let him go.

"Ain't too many ever accused me o' that before," said Hagrid. "It don't sound like a compliment, though."

"It's one of the ways Dumbledore used to control me. I was meant to do this… It was fate… There were important tasks only I could perform. Pull the string, the puppet dances."

"Thought ya was a slave with a tambourine."

"I'll use any metaphor I like!" Snape pointed his wand at the fireplace, said "Reparo!" and the cup was whole again, minus coffee. "All my life I've been doing what other people told me to do. My parents… Lily… the Dark Lord… Dumbledore… Then just when it looks like I might become my own master… I get killed."

"That ain't gonna wash. Y've had two months here being yer own master, 'n what've ya done with it?" Hagrid snagged the cup out of Snape's hand before he could throw it again. "Moping, that's all y're doing. Moping 'n feeling sorry f'r yerself. You chose this place to live. Ya musta had a reason."

"Fine!" Snape spat at him. "You're not fooling me. You just want to get rid of me like everyone else." He headed for the kitchen, talking as he went. "Look, I'm going outside where I can't bother you. I'm going to work in the garden!" He pulled open the back door, grabbed a trowel from a pile of tools next to the step, and strode out through the overgrown tangle to an indiscriminate patch of weeds about fifty feet away where he flung himself to his knees and began wrenching things out of the ground and tossing them behind him.

Hagrid stood at the back door and sighed, then, after a couple of minutes, turned and began a thorough inspection of the house, noting first the details of the reconstruction, then taking stock of every item in the place, and finally taking out his wand to dust and clean everything. It was a quick task as there wasn't much that needed cleaning, Snape having hardly used any rooms but the kitchen, the back bedroom, and the tiny upstairs bathroom, and being naturally tidy when it came to his surroundings. As a final touch, Hagrid gathered the few dishes and items of clothing into the kitchen where he washed everything, dried it, folded what needed folding, and put it away. Then he went out to where Snape still knelt in the dirt weeding, nodding slightly to himself as he noted that even in his morose state, Snape had pulled out only the actual weeds and had carefully tended the herbs that survived between them.

"I don't want t' sound critical nor nothing," said Hagrid after a moment, "but it don't look like y're planning t' stay here f'r very long."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Snape retorted, not looking up. "This is my home now. This is where I'm going to live out the rest of my natur… my unnatural existence. This is for the duration, the entire sentence."

"It's jury-built," Hagrid said, settling himself onto the ground after checking that he wasn't sitting on anything valuable. "The burned-out shell's still there underneath, 'n a lot o' what's covering it is thrown together quick or transfigured. One day it'll all come down around ya. Not tomorrow, but one day."

"It'll outlast me," Snape muttered, stabbing at the ground with his trowel.

"Maybe," Hagrid said. "I just thought ya'd do a better job. Y've always been one t' take more care with yer work."

The trowel plunged into the earth a few more times, then stopped. "It's me, isn't it?" said Snape quietly. "I'm not good enough."

"Now, lad, that's not what I meant."

"But it's true. I've never been good enough, just ugly and stupid. I was a disappointment to my father, I know. That's why he…" The trowel rose and stabbed the earth again. "Lily only noticed me because I forced her to, and dumped me as soon as she found the right excuse. If you're worth anything, people will like you, and if you aren't, they won't. It's that simple. If you're useful, they'll tolerate you." Snape rose and brushed the dirt from his trousers. "I'm just not useful anymore," he said, turning away from Hagrid, and walking back into the cottage.

"Drat!" muttered Hagrid, struggling to his feet and following. The lower rooms were empty, so Hagrid went up to the bedroom where Snape again lay on the bed facing the wall.

It was now early evening, and most of the nearby cottagers and villagers were home in anticipation of supper, so it was probably the best time of day for Hagrid to go to the village himself. He had no illusions as to how the unprepared would react to his appearance, and hoped that those he encountered were like Constable Latimer and his wife. He had taken the precaution of 'borrowing' a little muggle money from a jar Snape kept in the kitchen so that he would have the pretext of shopping. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all Hagrid could think of at the moment.

Fortunately, Hagrid got as far as Bill Ridley's grocery without being seen. Bill, whose nephew was one of the three local constables, had been warned by Hugh that one of the visitors at the Prince place was… large. He didn't bat an eye when Hagrid came into his store.

"How may I help you, sir?"

"Sausages," said Hagrid at once. "That or bacon. Or maybe kipper. He always did like kipper. Here." He held out a massive hand with a few coins in it. "How far 'll that take me?"

"Not very, I'm afraid," Bill thought a bit, his forefinger scratching his jaw. Pork's not too dear – I've got some nice chops – that and the sausages is about all you could do with that."

"I'll take it," said Hagrid. "Ya wouldn't happen t' know a policeman named Latimer, would ya? Got a nice wife, too."

"Hugh and Gillian? Everyone knows them. Hugh'll be on duty tonight. You could call him if he's needed."

"Call him?" Hagrid wrinkled his brow. "Would that be with one o' them tellyphones?"

Bill smiled slightly. "Yeah. I've got a 'phone right here in the shop, if you'd like to use it."

"Well, now… I ain't handled one in a while. I ain't sure…"

"I'll ring him for you," said Bill, picking up the receiver and punching in the numbers. There was a slight pause. "Gillian? Bill Ridley here. There's a chap here who says he's made your acquaintance and would like to talk to Hugh… Right… You certainly weren't exaggerating there… Hold on." He turned to Hagrid. "Did you want to see the constable or Mrs. Latimer? He's gone off to Salterforth, but she expects him back in half an hour or so."

Hagrid thought of Snape talking animatedly to Gillian in the garden that afternoon. "If it ain't too much trouble f'r her," he said. "She might be a sight better under the circumstances than him. If it ain't too much trouble."

It was not too much trouble, and Gillian was at the grocer's shop in five minutes. "Has something happened, Hagrid?" she asked at once.

"Loads. First he got angry 'n drove Harry off, then he went for me, then he went out in the garden, but soon he's talking like nobody'd want a bloke like him anyway, 'n he ain't even useful anymore, 'n now he's lying upstairs with his face t' the wall."

"How often does he do this?"

"Not too… but then he's had a lot to keep him occupied 'til recent. The worst before this was back when his parents died in that car crash, but that was a good ways back."

"There's been quite a bit of trauma there, I see. Bill," Gillian turned to the grocer, "I've left a note for Hugh, but if you see him before he goes home, tell him I'm at the Prince place. It's professional. He can try the mobile, but it seems to be a dead area, so it might not work."

"Right you are," said Bill. He wrapped the sausages and the chops and handed Hagrid his package of meat. "You let me know if he needs anything else."

"I'm obliged," said Hagrid, and left with Gillian. "What did you mean," he asked her a few moments later as they walked along the country road, "by it being professional?"

"Oh, that." Gillian smiled slightly. "I'm taking courses to qualify as a mental health assistant for the health center at Colne. I'd get case work in the villages. It's not like being a doctor or a nurse, but it's a service we need out here."

"Do ya know what ails the professor?"

"Professor? A seventeen-year-old professor? I know, he's really stuck at thirty-eight. That's going to take some getting used to. I have a good idea what the symptoms are, but I'd like to find out more about the underlying cause. Does he have any family at all?"

"Nope. Not a soul since his gram died in that fire when he was…" Hagrid started to redden. "Well, that was when he really was seventeen. Ya don't think that's why… Nah."

"All right, no family. What about friends? A support group?"

"Can't think he had more 'n one, and she's been dead nigh on eighteen year."

Gillian stopped there in the road and glared at Hagrid. "You won't let this go, will you?" she said accusingly. "You know, your friend's mental health might be more important than this charade you're putting on."

"Sorry, ma'am." Hagrid couldn't look her in the eyes, but it wasn't for lack of honesty. "I don't know how t' explain it t' ya except that it's part o' the problem. I've knowed him since he were eleven, and that's getting close on twenty-eight years ago. I helped bring his body back when he died 'n helped bury it over by Pendle Hill. There's a town not five miles from here where there're people who'd look at him and swear they'd seen a ghost – 'n he'd tell them things no one else but him could tell. I know ya don't believe what we are, but I can't help that. I can't change my story, 'cause then I'd be lying. 'N begging yer pardon, ma'am, but if ya don't understand y're dealing with a growed man 'n problems that go back more 'n thirty years, how're you gonna be able t' help him?"

It was a fair question. Gillian dropped the argument. "Earlier today," she said, resuming her walk, Hagrid matching her pace, "there was some mention of a faked suicide. What was that all about?"

Hagrid knit his brows. "That's a long story, ma'am. Le's see if I can shorten it f'r ya." He thought for a moment. "In the last bit o' fighting 'gainst the evil wizard – we can tell ya all about that later – Professor Snape got put together the way he is now, old mind 'n thoughts in a young body. The Ministry o' Magic…" Hagrid paused slightly, but as Gillian did not interrupt in surprise, he continued, "they had a hearing, like a trial, to decide if he was a legal person or not. They said he wasn't."

"Not a person!" Gillian exclaimed. "Are you serious? They told him he wasn't a person?"

"Tha's right, ma'am. Ya see, he can do things like go inside someone else's head 'n see what they're thinking, 'n the Ministry – well, he thinks, 'n Harry thinks, 'n some others, too, as the Ministry saw him as a weapon, 'n they wanted t' keep their hands on him. He was due a reward f'r what he did in the fighting, 'n he told 'em he had a muggle nephew who'd get the money. That's who he's supposed t' be here, the nephew. Then he 'n Harry, 'n I guess Robards, they pretended he killed hisself jumping off a cliff so 's he could come here 'n be normal again. It weren't no real suicide."

"Has he ever talked about suicide before?"

"Talked about it? Nah. Tried to take a walk off the Astronomy Tower when he heard that lady friend o' his had been killed…"

"Whoa!" The two of them stopped again. "That's four already. Killed, I mean. His parents, his grandmother, this friend… How many people have been killed?"

"I'd have t' count," said Hagrid. "Schoolmates in Slytherin house, Evan, Aaron, Regulus, Bella, 'n the lads he tangled with in Gryffindor, James, Sirius, Remus, Peter. Lily, o' course. Students he taught, Fred, Tonks, Colin, there were nigh fifty at the battle f'r the school last year. 'N then there were…"

"All right. I understand. This isn't a simple case. How many of those deaths does he feel responsible for?"

"That he killed hisself, or just assisted?"

There was a low stone wall separating the road where they were walking from a little pasture area, and Gillian leaned against it, almost sitting, left arm across her chest propping her other elbow, face cupped in her right hand. "Killed?" she whispered.

"Oh, they both asked him to. Dumbledore argued with him f'r months 'cause Snape, he didn't want to, 'n Moody – he were dying already 'n it was to save him from torture – so it ain't like actual murder…"

"How long did this fighting go on?"

"The first time, eleven years. He were twenty-one when it stopped. Then he'd promised t' help take care o' Harry. Harry's mum was the friend who died. 'N then that evil wizard came back about four years ago…"

"I see. So now that the fighting is over, this is the first opportunity he's had to just relax and think about himself."

"That's about it, ma'am."

The cottage was quiet when the two arrived. Hagrid trudged upstairs to be sure Snape was still where Hagrid had left him, then he came down to fix a light supper for himself and Gillian. She, meanwhile, was wandering through the cottage, this time noting all the furniture and the titles of the books. She was the one who found the box full of voodoo dolls, shrunken heads, poison dart blowers, and all the other dark objects collected for more than one lifetime by more than one person. She didn't mention it to Hagrid when she went into the kitchen to join him.

Hugh arrived around nine o'clock bringing tins and packages of things that Hagrid would never have known about but which needed no refrigeration to stay good for a long time. "Ya can put bacon in one o' these?" Hagrid asked, examining a tin. "What won't they think of next?"

"You're not off duty now, are you?" Gillian said. "I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet."

"Take your time," Hugh said, knowing her private smile meant that she, too, was glad they'd had the time together that afternoon. "I can't stay, though. I need to be where I can get a signal if anyone rings me."

"I may be all night."

"I may camp on the road." Hugh left, not walking this time but on a bicycle that he'd left by the gate. He had a car, of course, and used it when needed, but it attracted too much attention in the quiet evening, and the bicycle was more discreet and almost as fast.

Almost as soon as Hugh left, Snape appeared on the stairs. "What is this?" he demanded. "Paddington Station? Who gave all you people the right to come storming in and out of my house. Get out!"

Gillian took a sip of her tea. "I was hoping to have a chance to chat with you," she said. "From what you told me this afternoon, you've had a fascinating life."

"What did I tell you this afternoon?" Snape inquired cautiously. "I don't remember anything fascinating." He didn't sound enthusiastic, but he wasn't ordering her out either.

"I thought it was. How you grew up near here and learned about making medicines when you were just a child. And how you know about all the plants here, their names and everything. I grew up in a big city, and we didn't have gardens like this one."

"Really," said Snape, pouring himself a cup of tea and sitting with them at the table. "Where are you from?"

"Glasgow."

"Funny, you don't sound Scottish."

"Not everyone speaks with a burr."

"I was in Glasgow a couple o' times," Hagrid volunteered.

"Who asked you?" Snape snapped at him.

"Just trying t' make conversation."

Gillian, too, ignored Hagrid. "Everyone keeps calling you 'Professor.' What were you a professor of?"

"Potions. It's similar to pharmacy. I've trained quite a few apothecaries."

"Were you planning on turning one of these rooms into a little druggist's workshop?"

Snape's face closed suddenly, and became cold and aloof. "That would hardly be wise," he said, then rose from the table and went out the back door into the deepening twilight of the garden. "Shouldn't you be getting back to that copper husband of yours?"

"May I drop by tomorrow? I really am interested in the medical part of it."

"As you wish."

Hagrid walked Gillian to the gate and a good distance down the road. "It's the cottage," he explained. "He's gone 'n cobbled it together with magic, specially the upstairs. There's certain things y're supposed t' do without magic interfering, potions being one of 'em. Ya reminded him o' that."

"Do you think maybe he's just using that as an excuse for not having to mix any potions?"

"I don't think so. I checked the whole house. He's put it up real quick. It might not last two years. Not the right atmosphere f'r potions at all. Even I know that much about it."

"What would it take to have the right atmosphere?"

"Rebuild the whole house." Hagrid shook his head. "That ain't gonna happen real soon."

"What about building a separate little shed, maybe like a greenhouse, just for the potions? If you did that, do you think he'd use it? Honestly, if feeling useful is one of the things that takes his mind away from his other problems, then mixing things might help."

This time Hagrid nodded. "Ya might be right. I'll make sure he don't harm hisself tonight, 'n tomorrow I'll think what can be done."

The following morning, however, it was Harry Potter who helped work out the solution. He took it upon himself to apparate to Weetsmoor, inquire of a couple of the locals (who seemed to know who he was) where the constable lived, and arrive on the Latimers' doorstep at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning. Hugh, on duty until two that morning, was still asleep. Gillian answered the door.

"Good morning," Gillian said. "I heard you had a bit of a tiff with the professor yesterday. Come in and have a cup of coffee."

"Thanks for being so nice so early in the morning," Harry replied. "I'd love the coffee. Does everyone in this town know everything that happens out there?"

"It helps if someone as big as Mr. Hagrid comes wandering into the village looking for a constable. In general, though, yes. Everyone knows everything. I went out there myself yesterday evening."

"How are they?"

"Not good. Your professor is a very disturbed person." Gillian poured the coffee and set some pastries in front of Harry.

"I could have told you that when I was eleven," said Harry, taking a bite. "He's always been like that."

"Mr. Potter, nobody has 'always' been like that. We all started out as wee babes in arms. That man, young or old as he may be, has gone through a lot to make him what he is. Do you know if he's ever had psychiatric help?"

"A psychiatrist!" Harry laughed out loud. "I don't think wizards have psychiatrists. And I don't think Professor Snape would talk to one if they did. He's pretty independent about everything. Pretty self-sufficient."

"So self-sufficient he's shutting himself off from human contact now in the same way that he did when he was fourteen and his parents died?" Gillian leaned forward across the table. "Do you want him to try to kill himself like he did when your mother died?"

"Hey!" said Harry, setting his cup down. "That's private! You're not supposed to go messing around in my family. Or his for that matter. Where'd you learn that?"

"Mr. Hagrid told me. And you're right, it's a matter of privacy. So I shall bow out of the matter altogether, in accordance with your wishes. I do strongly suggest, however, that you advise his personal physician of recent events and get him to a psychiatrist."

Harry balked. "Personal physician? I'm not sure… And I told you about wizard psychiatrists." He picked up the cup again. "What else did Hagrid tell you?"

"That your professor never did have but one friend, and she's been dead for a long time. That a large number of the people in his life are not only dead, but were killed in a kind of war. That the cottage he's living in was slapped together by 'magic' and is temporary. That he doesn't consider it possible that people would like him, and now that he's no longer useful, he isn't even tolerated. That the most useful thing he might do is brew simple medicines, but he can't do that because of the nature of the construction of the cottage. Would you like me to continue?"

"How do you know all that?" Harry got up and poured himself a second cup of coffee. "You haven't known him twenty-four hours and already it sounds like you know more than I do. How do you know that?"

"I ask questions where I know I can get answers, and where the answers are grudged, I don't ask questions. People will tell you a lot if they think you're not asking."

There was a sound on the stairs, and Hugh appeared wrapped in a blue dressing gown that was tied at the waist. He had pajamas on under it and was wearing a pair of brown slippers. "I heard voices," he said. "Where's the coffee?"

Harry looked at Gillian, and she shrugged. "Of course he knows. The police have a right to know if there's a potential suicide in the neighborhood. I suggested to Mr. Hagrid last night…"

"Ahem," Harry interrupted with a cough. "He's not going to like being called 'Mr.' I'd suggest you drop it because you sound like a police inquiry. He's got his pride, you know. And I'm just Harry."

"Okay. And I'm Gillian, and that's Hugh when he's not on duty. Anyway, I suggested to Hagrid that you put up a shed or a greenhouse for a 'potions' workshop. One that has nothing to do with magic. That way he can be busy doing something."

"Is that going to solve his problems? Something that simple?"

"Of course not. But in cases like these, the symptoms can become a major part of the problem. Right now his depression is augmented by feelings of uselessness and isolation. Our first baby step is to show him he's still useful, and to make him less isolated. By force, if necessary."

Harry looked uncomfortable. "Force? I don't like that idea."

"It isn't really force. He's very likely, however, to insist that you leave him alone. This is partly because he thinks you don't really want to be there, and partly to reinforce his own negative image of himself. If you take him at his word and simply leave, you're supporting the depression. Don't chain yourself to him, but quietly and calmly stay where he can see you or where you can respond to him at once."

"Sort of what Hagrid does all the time," Harry grinned.

"Yeah," Gillian smiled. "Like Hagrid does."

"I was thinking," said Hugh, wide awake now because of the coffee, "that we could hop on down to Manchester and see if you can find one of those ready-made greenhouses that you just assemble. I've seen them around – aluminum frame, polycarbonate walls, fairly easy to set up." He frowned slightly. "They cost a few hundred pounds, though."

Gillian started ticking off places on her fingers. "There's the shop in Bolton, they have quite a bit. And there's one in Oldham, too. I think Nick said they got a nice little shed in Failsworth…"

Harry was standing next to the kitchen sink and turned to look out the window. The Latimers had a garden, too, though much of it was scrub and weeds, and the few tended plants were small. "I've never been to any of those places," he said. "I wouldn't be able to apparate there."

"Apparate?" said Hugh. "What's that?"

"It's how we travel quickly. A magic thing."

"It seems to me," Hugh pointed out, "that if these potions he's going to be making aren't supposed to be done by magic, then the less magic around them, the better. I was thinking of borrowing Fred Allsop's pickup truck and driving down. It's a pleasant ride, and that's where the larger stores are. Things are more likely to be open on a Sunday around Manchester, too."

"Why are you doing this for me?" Harry asked. "It seems a lot of trouble for someone you don't know."

The question fell into silence, and Harry sensed that behind his back Hugh and Gillian were exchanging glances and trying to work out what to say. Hugh started. "This is a small village, and people are more likely to move out than move in, but we all know each other, we're like family. Your friend is part of the family now, more so since he even has roots here. Pretty long roots if what you tell us about him is true. We didn't think our offer was unusual. Just normal. I know Fred would be pleased to lend the pickup after what Mr. Snape did to save his Daisy."

"We also know," continued Gillian, "that you've all been through some pretty rough times, not just the professor. Hagrid was telling us how much the professor's lost, but that means the two of you have lost it, too."

"We're different," said Harry quietly. "We have friends to talk to."

"I'm glad to hear that. You don't know how glad I am to hear that. But here, in this place, there are only the three of you, and it's easier when you don't have to bear all the burden yourself. Think of us as your backup, your support team." Harry nodded, and Gillian added, "I'm going up to get ready. I won't be but a few minutes."

When she'd gone, Hugh came to stand looking out the window with Harry. "I used to play around that cottage," he said. "We all knew about the fire – it was the village's dark, scary secret – and we lads used to climb through the burnt-out shell and play we were witches, and you know… Sometimes you could feel it – the magic around the place. Then I grew up and went off to school and university, and I thought it was just something kids do, pretend to feel what's not there. Now he's there, and it's like something missing has been found. The whole village feels it. Fred's horse was a sign. They'd all like to help, they're just not sure how to go about it. I'm going to ring up a couple of people now and get dressed. Make yourself at home."

"What I really need," said Harry, "is a quiet spot outside where nobody will see me. I need to go to London for some money."

"The garden's pretty quiet, especially this time on a Sunday morning. You could use that."

Harry went out into the garden, his thoughts in a whirl. He didn't remember the community in Little Whinging being this tight-knit or supportive. They'd known each other, but each family had had its own circle of friends, mostly outside the neighborhood, and it was always to that outside circle that they turned in time of need. Pondering the contrasts, he concentrated, spun, and apparated.

Upstairs, Gillian had heard the back door open and close. She had moved to the window of the bedroom to look down and see Harry standing outside. Not wishing to spy, she was going back to her own business when there was a movement, a popping sound, and suddenly Harry was no longer there. Gillian finished getting dressed very quickly and went looking for Hugh.

"All right, how did you do that?" Gillian leaned against the jamb of the bathroom door watching her husband shave. She was also enjoying the view, since Hugh was shirtless. He was slender, clean-limbed and smooth skinned, and could have passed for a few years younger than twenty-four. He was, in fact, quite young for his job, but it was not always easy to find somebody content to deal with half a score tiny villages, and his youth was balanced by the relative maturity of Ridley and Cranmer.

"Do what?" Hugh asked, paying careful attention to his left jaw, for he used an old-fashioned safety razor rather than an electric one.

"Make him disappear – poof! – just like that."

"Disappear? He did say he had a quick way to get to London." Finished now, Hugh rinsed the lather from his face and splashed on a little aftershave. It had almost no scent at all, which both he and Gillian preferred.

As Hugh pulled on his shirt, Gillian reflected that in all the time she'd known him, at Glasgow University and in the months since their wedding, Hugh had never tried to deceive her or even tease for more than a few minutes, and then always gently. For him to join these outsiders in an elaborate hoax was totally alien to his character. She'd noticed no other changes in him to make her suspect…

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hugh was combing his hair and grinning.

"Nothing," she answered. "Are we taking lunch or stopping along the way?"

"Let's make an outing of it and stop."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

He took her in his arms. "More than anything. Well, almost anything. It's hard to explain, Gill, but it's like a part of my life I never thought I'd see again has come back. It's even stronger for the older people. Tell me, in the short time you've been here, have you ever known Bill Ridley to extend credit without blinking an eye? Or Fred Allsop so quick to tell a vet what to do with his advice?"

Before Gillian could answer, there was another 'pop' outside, and the opening of the back door. "We'll be right down, Harry," Hugh called. He pecked his wife on the check and hurried to make his telephone calls.

"That was quick," Gillian said to Harry as she followed Hugh more slowly down the stairs. "All the way to London and back."

"I stopped off at the cottage, too," Harry said, "to tell Hagrid what we're doing."

"How are they?"

"Snape's bossing Hagrid around, making him gather and chop wood for the stove. I apparated far enough away so they didn't hear me and talked to Hagrid alone. He says Snape's grumpy, but active. He wants to work in the garden after he fixes lunch, and he's spent part of the morning moving the furniture in the front room around. Not with magic either. Actually pushing it."

"That's great!" Gillian laughed. "Better than lying all day in a bed."

Hugh joined them. "Fred says he'd be proud to lend the truck. He'll bring it around in just a minute. He also says be sure whatever we get has a steel base, especially if it's light weight. Better in a storm."

The truck, when it arrived, was white and fairly new. It had an extended cab, with another bench behind the front seats, which is where Gillian insisted on sitting. Before boarding, Hugh introduced Harry to Fred, and the two shook hands. "You wouldn't also be…?" Fred asked softly, and when Harry admitted he was, Fred shook harder. "And in my truck, too. Pleased to be of service. Pleased to be of service."

The ride was a pleasant one, starting on a country road which quickly became a trunk road. Instead of going on the motorway at Colne, Hugh took the slower road through the Pendle Forest area, with its rolling, rocky hills, moor and farmland interspersed with scattered stands of trees, and the imposing bulk of Pendle Hill off to the right. It was open, wide, and beautiful, and once again Harry was amazed that Snape had come from a place like this.

Another thing that Harry found amazing was the ride itself. The last time he'd been in a muggle car was two years before, when Uncle Vernon had picked him up at King's Cross Station and driven him 'home' to Little Whinging at the end of his sixth year. He'd never, in all his life, ever been in the front seat (driving to Hogwarts with Ron in the enchanted Ford Anglia didn't really count). The view was spectacular, the dials and lights on the dashboard fascinating, and Hugh and Gillian were like tour guides, pointing out all the things of interest to see.

The garden shop was a treasure trove. Harry hadn't thought about it before – there were a lot of things he hadn't thought about before – but he'd grown up in a neat, pleasant neighborhood full of grass, flowers, and trees. Even Aunt Petunia's precisely trimmed hedges, carefully pruned roses, prim little flower beds and, yes, the garden bench, spoke of a calm and peaceful life with attention paid to the sweeter things. It was a far cry from the stark poverty of ancient cobbles and a dirty, graveled area yard. Now, wandering through rooms and rows and wide squares of potted lemon trees, hydrangeas, ferns, and rhododendrons; shelves full of little pots of sage, hyssop, and mint; lettuces and tomatoes ready to set out; racks and racks of seeds; wrought-iron tables and chairs, artificial fountains, stone bird baths, and cute little statues of flamingos and gnomes (muggle gnomes, not wizard ones), Harry was glad for the spacious garden of Snape's grandmother, and Snape's chance to dig his hands, while still a boy, deep in the soil, and smell the heady aroma when you brushed against rosemary.

They took some care, he and Hugh and Gillian, in the selection of a greenhouse. The one they bought had a galvanized steel base, aluminum frame, and polycarbonate sheets for walls, plus a vent in the sloped roof to keep the interior from getting too hot. It was nearly nine feet long and about six and a half feet wide, and was supposed to be able to stand up to gale force winds if properly put together. It cost under three hundred pounds, and Harry paid with cash, which shocked the cashier so much she almost asked him for identification.

It was still a bit early for lunch, so the three started back home, thinking to stop in Nelson for a bite to eat. "How long have you known the professor?" Gillian asked after they had passed Haslingden.

"Since I was eleven," Harry told her. "He was my Potions teacher for five years."

"I got the impression you had a rather stormy relationship."

Harry made a sound partway between a snort and a huff. "I used to think he hated me, he was so nasty. I never found out until it was too late that he was also looking out for me. Kids always think the whole world started with them. They don't consider that adults had this whole other life before they were born. I didn't really find out about Professor Snape's other life until after it was too late. I'm kind of glad I got another chance."

"He knew your mother?" It was a more of a statement, and Gillian was pretty sure Harry wouldn't question it.

"She was his only friend. I've thought a lot about what my life might have been like if I didn't have Ron and Hermione, or Ginny, or the whole Weasley family for that matter. I don't think I could have made it all those years without someone to spill my guts to. Just knowing they were there got me through a lot."

"Didn't he have anyone else? It was a big school." This was a leap in the dark because Gillian had no idea how big the school was, or too many details about the friendship for that matter, but it seemed the right thing to say.

"Somebody, several years ago, told me he did, but I found out later that they were just manipulating him because they wanted to use his talents. They lured him over to the other side, but when he really had to make a choice, he chose my mother. They hadn't even seen each other in more than two years, she ditched him for my father, and helping her could have gotten him killed, but when he had to make the choice… And then he stayed there to be a spy for us. If it hadn't been for him, the evil side would have beaten the good side. I don't have all the details, but I know he suffered a lot. I could kick myself for not realizing it until after he was dead."

It was more information than Gillian had expected. She didn't press further. A few minutes later they pulled into Nelson and started looking for somewhere nice to eat. Harry, unexpectedly, made the choice for them. "Fish and chips!" he shouted as they passed a place with a garish sign. "He loves fish and chips!"

"All right," Hugh shouted back, "but not here!" He drove until they came to a place with a matronly name and the word 'traditional' on its signboard. Stopping the truck in the street, he asked, "Do you want to eat here, or do you just want to pick up something on the way home?"

"I want to eat here," proclaimed Harry. "How can I get fish and chips here unless I know they're good?"

Hugh parked the truck and they all walked to the restaurant. "Just how good an expert are you when it comes to fish and chips?" Hugh asked Harry as he pushed open the door.

Everything was excellent, and the fish and chips were like the distillation of a primal memory. The conversation was, in a way, neutral because Hugh and Gillian talked more about the village than they did about wizards. Then, as they were leaving, they ordered takeaway for Snape and Hagrid.

Not too many minutes after that, the white pickup truck stopped outside the gate of the Prince place.

Hagrid had been watching out the window from time to time and opened the front door when the truck stopped. "Is that you, Harry?" he called.

"Yeah," Harry called back as he clambered out of the truck's cab. "We brought a couple of things."

A slim, dark figure appeared at the upper window, opened it, and leaned out. "Don't you park that noisy, smelly thing in front of my home! Get it out of here!" The window slammed shut and Snape disappeared only to reappear again behind Hagrid. "Do you hear me?" he shouted, striding across the yard, "There's no stopping here!"

"It's a public road, sir," said Hugh mildly. "We're dropping Mr. Potter off."

Harry was more direct. "I hope you haven't eaten yet," he said, and held out the paper bag. "This is for you and Hagrid."

The bag was still quite warm, and opening it released the aroma of the food inside. Snape paused for a moment to inhale it, then seemed to shake himself. "Hagrid!" he yelled over his shoulder, "this is for you!"

"Oh," cried Gillian, descending from the cab herself, "you've already had lunch. We were so hoping to get here on time."

Snape stared at her. "No," he said, "we have not had lunch. Hagrid is probably quite hungry. I'm sure he appreciates this."

"I'm very sorry to trouble you," Gillian continued, "but I was wondering if you had any borage. There's a yoghurt fish sauce I'd like to try, but it isn't an herb people grow much around here."

Once again there was a slight pause as Snape seemed to take this in. "There used to be," he said, "but I haven't cleared there yet. Perhaps I could find some for you." He wheeled abruptly and headed toward the back of the garden, the bag of fish and chips still in his hand. Gillian followed quickly behind him.

"Good," said Hugh to Harry and Hagrid, who had joined them. "Let's get this out of the truck." He lowered the tailgate and they slid out all the metal rods and polycarbonate panels and stacked them in the open grassy area of the front yard.

The three men could see Gillian and Snape in the back. She was now holding the bag of food while he waded into weeds in search of the borage that memory told him had once been there. Borage is no shy, low-lying plant, and only the abundance of other growth temporarily shielded it from sight. Snape found it quickly and gathered a leaf or two for Gillian to sample. Gillian, meanwhile, had opened the bag and was nibbling on a plump stick of fried potato. When Snape brought her the leaves, she offered him the bag, holding it so that he could extract one of the chips, too, which he did. Together, examining the herb and eating the food, they headed toward the back door.

"That's it," said Hagrid, "hooked and landed. Le's go inside. Act like ev'rything's perfectly normal."

Harry and Hugh followed him into the cottage where it turned out that Snape had started to prepare a salad for lunch with an assortment of lettuces and other vegetables from the garden. It was a good thing they'd brought extra takeaway for Hagrid because it turned out they were expected to have lunch with him and Snape. Nobody mentioned that they'd already eaten.

It wasn't a talkative meal. Harry contributed most, describing the ride in the truck and the wealth of goods in the garden store, with Hagrid adding appreciative comment, and Hugh and Gillian contributing details. Snape remained glum and taciturn, but at least he remained – and ate his food, and sipped his tea. Harry was beginning to learn that moments like this were victories.

"Well," said Snape finally, having beaten Hagrid to the last piece of fish, a competition that Hagrid had cunningly contrived as a way to spark Snape's interest in consuming one more bite of food, "let's look at this 'thing' you've purchased."

On the way out, Gillian managed to whispered privately to Harry and Hagrid, "Don't be too competent about this. He needs to take possession of it himself for this to work." Harry nodded in understanding, but he rather thought that Hagrid hadn't needed to be told.

At first Snape stood aside as the others began to lay the various components of the greenhouse out on the lawn. After a few minutes, he said, "You're not going to build it here."

"Why not?" asked Hagrid, counting the nuts and bolts in a large, zip-locked bag.

"And have everything disturbed by the noise and vibration and fumes of passing vehicles? No wonder Potter here never got an Outstanding in Potions. I marvel he did better than Poor." Which started a discussion about the location of the little workshop. It was the first step. Snape had accepted the presence of the greenhouse on his property.

For nearly an hour, Snape proved himself bossy and impossible to please. He wanted his workshop near the cottage for convenience but no, that near would invite interference from the crude magic of the dwelling. This spot was well drained, but exposed to wind. That spot was sheltered but had overhanging branches. Harry and Hugh did most of the lifting and shifting, beginning to perspire now in the heat of the afternoon, while Hagrid handled the heaviest pieces, and Gillian listened, commenting, asking questions, and gradually getting Snape to recognize and state what his needs and priorities were. He finally settled on a spot northeast and a bit to the rear of the cottage where rising ground coming up from a tiny stream leveled for a moment, enough for the steel base to fit comfortably. The whole area was in the lee of Weets Hill and reasonably sheltered despite Snape's previous protestations.

As the men began the job of moving everything for the last, they hoped, time, a man's voice shouted from the road, "Afternoon, Mr. Snape. You wouldn't have Hugh Latimer in there by any chance?" It was Fred Allsop.

Harry at first thought Snape was going to order the man off his property, but instead Snape seemed pleased to see him. "Mr. Allsop," he called back, "he's here; I've got him working. Come in and watch. It should be amusing." As Fred approached, he added, "How is your mare doing?"

"Hale and hearty, Mr. Snape. Hale and hearty. I just came to see if Hugh still needed the truck. Look's like you're making an addition." Fred's eyebrows shot up at the sight of Hagrid, but he said nothing. He'd probably been forewarned.

"We are if these gentlemen are more talented than they appear to be," Snape said maliciously. "From the way it looks now, we'll be here all month."

"I got myself one of those in March," Fred offered. "It's a mite smaller than yours, but same construction. Very useful. Sturdier than it looks."

"That's good to hear. What do you think? Do you think they'll have it up before the frost sets in?" None of the others said anything, Harry and Hugh were trying to bolt the steel frame together, Gillian was studying the instructions, and Hagrid was moving the last of the framework. They were listening, however.

"They might," said Fred reflectively, rubbing his chin. "I had a bit of trouble with that base myself. Took me a while to figure it out. I wouldn't want to butt in though. Too many cooks…"

"Oh, go ahead," Snape urged. "Tell them what they're doing wrong. Make my day."

It turned out that Harry and Hugh had one of the pieces upside down, a revelation that caused Snape no end of pleasure and put him firmly in Fred Allsop's camp. Fred, modest and plainspoken, took over the direction of the project to the relief of everyone involved. Gillian went into the cottage to make some tea. After several minutes, Snape followed her.

"Isn't it a bit hot for tea?" he asked. The kettle was beginning to boil.

"They need something to drink," said Gillian, "and since it's well water, I'd rather have it boiled, if you don't mind."

"The water is fine, and probably safer than anything you'd get in a city," Snape responded, "but if it makes you feel better, make the tea, let it cool, and served it iced. There's mint in the garden if you'd like."

Gillian smiled. "How am I supposed to serve it iced? You don't have a refrigerator."

"Very simple," said Snape. He opened one of the cupboards and pulled out an old-fashioned metal ice cube tray. The tea was steeping in the pot, so Snape took the kettle from Gillian and poured the rest of the hot water into the tray. Then he slipped his wand out of his sleeve into his right hand, flicked it, and said, "Congelato!" The water in the tray cracked noisily as it froze on the spot. "There," said Snape, replacing his wand, "now you can make iced tea." He turned and walked back outside to watch the construction.

Gillian just stood there and stared at the ice cube tray. Timidly, cautiously, she reached out a finger to touch the frozen surface of one of the cubes. There was no doubt that it was ice. She sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. Breathe normally, she thought. Don't hyperventilate. It was what Hugh had been trying to tell her ever since this strange, dark young man had come into the village. It was what glowed from Fred's face the morning he told her confidently that Daisy had come through. It was the look of hope and redemption in Sam Logan's eyes whenever he looked west down the little road…

Slowly Gillian rose and went into the garden to collect sprigs of mint. On the other side of the cottage she could hear the men grunting as they settled the steel base and began the process of assembling the walls of the greenhouse/workshop. The garden vibrated with life, with all the hidden, flourishing plants that should not have been there after twenty years of neglect, but were. Her hands full of fragrant mint, Gillian returned to the kitchen, found tall glasses and made the iced tea. As she stepped out the back door carrying the glasses on a tray, it occurred to her that having a wizard in the neighborhood might be a useful thing.

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