A/N: My apologies for the length of time between chapters, and thanks to all of you who are sticking with this story. I'm working on Chapter 5 now and hope to have it out soon.

To Dorlinda Chong : Your reviews are the only I have ever deleted. The reason I can delete them is because they are "anonymous." When you are man/woman enough to log in and allow me to reply to your reviews, we can have a two-sided conversation. I just left a message to you on my profile page. I don't understand why you read this entire series plus another of my stories and left deprecatory reviews on all of them. Hello? If you don't like the fandom writer, don't read! Go to the main HP page on fanfic dot net. I believe there are a half million stories on the site, plenty from which to choose for your apparently very exacting requirements!

And now..with that off my chest...

In the last chapter, Harry gets another letter from the mysterious Hilda Smith. He and Draco then go with Severus to Diagon Alley to get new wands. When they return, Harry decides to show Severus the letter he received. Chapter 4 picks up when the get inside, and Harry gives Severus the letter.

Chapter 4: The Photograph in the Yearbook

Severus pressed down on Harry's shoulder, forcing him to sit on the corner of the sofa.

"Show me this letter," he said, holding his hand out and sinking into his own wingback chair.

Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out the envelope. He held it out to Severus and Severus, face set in an unreadable expression, took it and smoothed it out on his knee, studying the writing on it.

"This arrived today?"

Harry nodded. "I got it while I was outside on the castle stairs waiting for you and Draco this morning," he explained.

"You did not recognize the owl?" He had made no move yet to take the letter out of the envelope.

Harry shook his head. "It was just an ordinary post owl," he said. "A tawny."

Severus continued to stare at the envelope.

"I do not recognize the handwriting," he said, contemplatively, as if to himself.

"Did you think you would?" asked Harry. Severus had been a professor a long time, but surely he didn't think he could recognize the handwriting of every witch or wizard in Great Britain.

Severus glanced at Harry, lifting his eyes from the letter on his lap. "I thought that if the name was a false one, the handwriting might give away the writer."

"Right." Harry watched Severus nervously as he turned the envelope over and examined the seal. He suddenly understood that Severus had expected that the letters were coming from someone he knew.

"I do not recognize this either," he said, frowning. "It seems a very plain seal for a wizarding family. They are normally given to…exaggeration."

"I think you'll find exaggeration inside the letter," said Harry, forcing a smile. He wished Severus would just get on with it and read the letter.

Severus was still in no hurry. He looked up again at Harry.

"You have the first letter as well?"

"In my Charms textbook," answered Harry.

"Hmm." Severus tapped the envelope on his hand, glanced up at Harry again, then finally—finally—reached into the envelope and pulled out the letter. He took just as much time smoothing out the letter onto his thigh as he had with the envelope.

Waiting for Severus to read the letter was nerve-wracking. Harry kept his eyes focused on Severus' face as he read, watching his eyes move from left to right, his mouth begin to set in a hard, thin line. He could tell when Severus finished the letter as his eyes remained still, focused, Harry was sure, on the signature at the bottom of the letter.

His head slowly lifted. He looked intently at Harry.

"Go get the other letter." There was a short pause. "Please."

"All right." Harry stood, glancing back over at Severus, but he was already rereading the letter, his face set in the kind of expression Harry saw when he was marking essays and they were particularly bad ones. Irritated. Angry. Impatient.

Harry hurried out, nearly running down the corridor and up the stairs, heading for the eighth year dorms.

it was almost noon on Saturday, and the halls were beginning to fill with students moving toward the Great Hall for lunch. His stomach rumbled. It hadn't been that long since breakfast, but the thought of food nearly always made his stomach react like this. Maybe he could invite Severus back to the dorm some evening for dinner—they could cook there instead of eating in the Great Hall. He grinned as he ducked into the dorms, imagining Severus visiting the dorms and eating with the eighth years. It was everyday stuff for Harry, but he doubted that anyone else had ever had a private dinner with the Headmaster.

He grabbed his bag from the corner of the room by his desk where he had left it the previous night and turned toward the door. He almost missed the package sitting on his bed.

It was wrapped in plain brown paper, book-sized. His name was written on the paper in a familiar hand.

Hilda's handwriting.

He stared at the package, then looked around the room. The window was closed—if an owl had come through, it—or someone—had closed the window afterward. A password was needed to get into the dorms.

Would any of his friends have taken the package and agreed to deliver it to him?

He reached for the parcel, then thought better of it and backed away, staring at it suspiciously. Instead, he checked to make sure the window was locked, then drew the curtains and left the room, closing the door behind him and locking it with a spell.

He was halfway back to Severus' office when he realized he had dropped his backpack and left it, with the package, in his bedroom. He kept going—he'd get the letter out of it when he figured out what to do about the package.

He burst back into Severus' office a few minutes later. Severus was still sitting in the chair, but the letter and envelope were on the table beside him. Severus stared at Harry as he skidded to a stop.

"The letter?"

"Left it in my room—come on. You have to come with me," Harry panted.

"You couldn't just bring the letter here?" Severus asked, frowning.

"No. Severus—there's a package on my bed that wasn't there when I left. It's got my name on it—in her writing!" He gestured toward the envelope. Severus rose to his feet.

"You are sure?"

Harry nodded. "I can't be positive, but I think so. Yes. I just got that other letter today—I remember her writing."

"And your room—nothing else is disturbed?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. It looked the same, but I didn't spend a lot of time looking around. I checked to be sure the window was closed—it was, and latched from the inside. The door was closed too, but we don't lock the doors to our rooms when we're gone."

Severus stood up, picking up the letter and pocketing it as he did so.

"Come."

Harry followed him out into the corridor.

"Do you have any ideas…?"

"Nothing specific. I would like to see the first letter, and this parcel. I am not familiar with the name, but we have no proof she is using her real name."

"Maybe it's not even a she," said Harry. The students were moving out of the Headmaster's way, but Harry hardly gave them a glance.

"The handwriting would lead me to believe it is a woman," said Severus. "But handwriting can be disguised as well."

Ron and Hermione were in the common area when Harry and Severus entered a few minutes later. They were sitting on the floor on either side of the low sofa table, Indian take-away spread out before them. Harry's stomach growled. The smell was divine.

"I need a girlfriend who lives in Muggle London," said Harry, smiling at his friends.

Ron looked chagrined. He looked down at the food before him, obviously thinking there was not enough to share with two extra people.

"I thought you were going to be in Diagon Alley for lunch?" he said.

"We had company—a couple of Aurors from the Ministry. They were kind of anxious to get us out of there and back here," he said.

"What's going on?" asked Hermione, cueing in more quickly than Ron that the Headmaster was not here on a social call.

"I got another letter this morning," said Harry. "I showed it to Severus and he wanted to see the first one. I ran up here to get it and found a package on my bed—with my name on it. I think the writing is the same as the person who wrote the letters so I went down and got Severus."

"Someone put a package on your bed? Could it have been a post owl?" Hermione stood up, clearly intending to go with them to investigate. Ron, however, looked more invested in the food than the mystery.

"Yeah. Was the window open?" he asked.

"No, the window was shut and latched from the inside," answered Harry. He was nervous, and he looked down the passageway toward his room.

"Come. Show me this package," said Severus. Harry saw him glance down—again—at the food spread out on the table. He thought Severus must be wondering when Hogwarts had become something like a Muggle dorm at Uni.

Harry unwarded his bedroom door and opened it, stepping back to let Severus enter first.

The package was on the bed where he had left it. Nothing else looked disturbed.

"Hermione—check the rest of the room, please," said Severus. He took Harry's arm, keeping him where he stood beside him, facing the bed. "Harry, stay here." Hermione, wand in hand, began casting, as if it were second nature to her. And it was. Harry had seen her in that exact pose countless times the year they had spent on the run. Muttering spells under her breath, for detection and protection.

Severus took out his own wand and pointed it at the innocuous looking package. Harry watched as the package glowed as Severus ran through a litany of detection spells. Finally, he pocked his wand and sighing, picked up the package.

"I believe it is a book," he said. With all the magic in the world available, he did what every child did on Christmas morning. Picked up the package to feel its weight and shape.

Harry leaned in to examine it with him. Harry's name was written on the front of the package in black ink. Severus pulled the envelope out of his pocket and held it up next to the package.

"Same writing," said Harry.

"I believe so," commented Severus.

"There's no one here now," said Hermione, looking back at them from the opposite side of the bed. "Though the house elves have been here cleaning since Harry left this morning. I can't find anything out of the ordinary at all."

"Thank you," muttered Severus, nodding at Hermione. He handed the package to Harry. "Open it."

Harry took it without comment. The package had a comfortable weight about it.

"Carefully, please," said Severus as Harry turned it over and put his finger in the seam of the wrapping. "I'd like to examine the paper too."

Harry nodded and carefully removed the wrapping, handing it to Severus then turning the book over to examine it.

"Might vs. Right: The Case for Magical Law Enforcement," read Harry out loud.

"Open it," instructed Severus, his voice deceptively calm. "Check for an inscription."

Harry opened the book. It smelled old, but the pages were still crisp.

There was an inscription, on the blank cover page. Harry read it out loud.

"To H. Some food for thought as you contemplate your future. H"

He looked up to find both Severus and Hermione staring at him.

"May I read the letter?" asked Hermione, of Severus.

Severus handed it across the bed to her and she sat in the desk chair and opened the envelope.

"I'd like that book, please, and the other letter, Harry," said Severus. "Why don't you eat lunch with your friends and then join me in my office in an hour?" He accepted the book from Harry, which Harry handed over without hesitation. The title was so off-putting to him that he was glad to get rid of it. Harry dug in his bag for the first letter and Severus addressed Hermione.

"I would like to speak to you, as well. Could you accompany Harry?" Harry glanced over at Hermione as he handed the first letter to Severus. She looked surprised, and pleased.

"Of course. I'd be happy to come."

Severus left without a reassuring glance or gesture—no smile or nod or touch on his shoulder.

"He's worried," said Hermione as they sat down in the common area where Ron was still eating.

"What was that all about?" asked Ron.

"My mystery writer…."

"Hilda," supplied Ron.

"Yeah, Hilda. She sent me a book. About being an Auror."

"Well you want to be a Auror, don't you?" asked Ron.

"Yeah, I do," said Harry. "But she makes it sound like it's my responsibility—my duty. I don't want to be an Auror because that's what I'm supposed to do." He paused and tore off a piece of naan bread. "I want to be one because it's interesting, and I think I'd be good at it."

"Don't let her get to you, Harry," said Hermione. She handed the second letter across the table to Harry, but Ron reached out for it.

"Can I?" he asked.

"Sure," said Harry. He watched as Ron started to read the letter, then looked back toward Hermione. "You think Severus is worried about this?"

"Of course he's worried," said Hermione. "You can just tell. He didn't even give you any false reassurances."

"Why would I need reassurances?" asked Harry. "I mean—this Hilda is kind of creepy, I admit. But do you think she's a real threat? She isn't going to drag me down to the Auror Academy and hold a wand on me until I sign up for life."

Ron laughed. "I don't think it's going to be that hard to get you to sign up," he said. "Besides, you're going to have to fill out the application and go in for the physical before Christmas." He scooped some more rice onto his plate. "Hope you pass it with those eyes."

"He'll pass it just fine," reassured Hermione. "He's really quite fit." She glanced sideways at Harry and he winked.

"Fit?" Ron rolled his eyes. "Look at the way those jeans are hanging off his hips. He's got no bum to speak of."

"Says the bloke who has an arse and a half," said Harry. He snagged a piece of chicken directly off Ron's plate.

"Aww! You noticed!" exclaimed Ron.

"You two are impossible," said Hermione, shaking her head fondly.

"Did you get your new wand?" asked Ron, obviously remembering again where Harry had been that morning.

"No—Ollivander is making it, though. Severus told him that I needed one that looks like the one I have now. He didn't even let me try any out. Just told me he'd send it by owl post when he finished it."

"How's the old fellow doing?" asked Ron, with obvious interest. "Last time I saw him—well, he wasn't exactly dancing around at Shell Cottage last spring."

"He seemed fine," answered Harry. He considered a moment. Ollivander had behaved rather oddly with Draco, but Harry had agreed to keep that part of the visit to himself. "His shop was in good shape, at least, and he seemed like he was getting on with life."

"The Ministry used some of the reparation money to restore some of the businesses on Diagon Alley," said Ron casually. "Mum and Dad were offered some because of the damage the night of Bill's wedding. They didn't take it. They said they didn't need it, really, and so many others did."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick look. The Weasleys did need the money, but it gave him a warm feeling inside to know that they thought others needed it even more.

/

"This is impossible."

Harry sat across from Hermione at the big library table.

"Not impossible. It's tedious, and time-consuming."

"And boring," Harry added. He closed the Hogwarts yearbook he was holding, pushed it to the right, and picked up the next one from the stack on his left. "I've gone through six of these things already."

"We only have thirty years in all to go through," said Hermione. She didn't even look up. She was paging quickly through the book in front of her, stopping occasionally to look at the photos or read the short quips. "Did you know that Hogwarts had a curling team until the 1960s?"

"Curling? Isn't that played on ice?"

"It is," answered Hermione. "Here's a Hilda." She squinted at the page. "No—it's Hilde with an 'e'."

"Helda?" asked Harry, leaning forward.

"No, H-i-l-d-e. I guess it could be the same person."

"Hilde Johnson?" Harry read the name upside down. "That's almost as common as Smith."

"I know," said Hermione with a sigh. "But it's the best I've come up with so far. And it's the only Hilde—or Hilda—we've seen and we've already covered a dozen years."

"This is useless," said Harry. Unlike Hermione, he didn't enjoy paging through old yearbooks looking for people with a first name of Hilda or a last name of Smith. "I don't know why Severus is so worried about this anyway."

Hermione looked up.

"You're whinging, Harry. You know perfectly well why he's worried. Those letters aren't normal. They're…well, they're almost insidious. Creepy."

"People get in other people's business all the time," said Harry. "Well, into my business, anyway."

"But now you have someone watching out for you," sad Hermione. "Look, Harry. You're going to have to get used to it. Parents are always interfering." She laughed. "Well, not interfering, I guess. But getting their nose into things. They worry about us—want to protect us."

"Hermione…"

"They can't help it," said Hermione. "It's in their blood. Just wait until you're a parent, Harry…"

"No. Look! I've found her! Hilda Smith. She's a first-year here." He turned the book around to show Hermione a photograph of a little girl with brown hair done up in two long braids.

"Ravenclaw," said Hermione. She smiled to herself. "No surprise there."

"This is 1977," said Hermione. "Which means she left Hogwarts in 1983—five years after Severus. It would make sense that he didn't know her."

She pulled the 1983 yearbook off Harry's stack and opened it, thumbing to the back to find the photos of the seventh years.

"Well, that's odd. She's not here."

Harry shrugged and pulled out 1980. "Here she is," he said, quickly finding her with the fourth years. "Still in Ravenclaw."

"Ha ha," said Hermione, leaning over to study the picture with him. Hilda's face was less babyish in this photo. Her hair was long and loose. She was looking at the camera almost shyly. She occasionally blinked but didn't flirt with the camera like the other girls on the page did.

Hermione found her again in 1981. And in 1982.

"Oh." Hermione looked up at Harry. She sounded distraught.

"What?"

"She…died. That's what is says—right here. It's an 'In Memoriam' tribute."

"But…"

"I know! She can't be dead if she's writing you letters, can she?"

"How did she die?" Harry got up and walked around the table to look over Hermione's shoulder. It was easier than craning his neck across the table and trying to read upside down. The full-page photograph of Hilda showed her sitting next to the lake with four other girls,

"Drowned," said Hermione, shivering a little. "In the lake, right here at Hogwarts. It doesn't say much else—but we can look it up in back issues of The Prophet." She stared at the photograph again, and Harry stared too. It was so easy to imagine themselves in the photo instead of these girls, smiling and hugging each other with the lake in the background. "Odd, isn't it, that they would publish a photo of her in front of the lake—when she drowned in it?"

"Wow." Harry stared down at the photograph of the five girls. He could pick out Hilda easily enough. She was pretty, but in an ordinary way, so that you wouldn't necessarily notice her if she came in the room with a group of people. She had a serious look about her. Her hands were folded in her lap, although the girls on either side of her had their arms around her shoulders.

"So she never had a seventh year, then," he said. He reached out and traced the line of her face with his finger.

"No." Hermione was still reading the article. "Harry…"

"What?"

Hermione moved her finger beneath the last paragraph in the article. "Read this."

Harry scanned the paragraph. Oh.

"She wanted to be an Auror."

He sat in the empty chair beside her.

"Severus will want to see this. Can you duplicate it?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I mean—would you duplicate it?" he corrected. And while she got out a blank sheet of parchment and incanted the duplication spell, Harry stared at the photo of Hilda, looking not at her serious face but at the girls around her.

Mary Amberhurst.

Camilla Foster.

Rhonda McMillan

Honor Carson

Hilda's friends. Could one of them be writing to him using her name?

Urging him to become an Auror because she had never gotten her wish?

"Let's go find Ron and Ginny and go outside for a while," suggested Harry. "I'm tired of the library."

"How can you ever get tired of the library?" asked Hermione. But she packed up nonetheless and followed him out to find their friends.

/

On Tuesday evening, when he presented himself in Severus' quarters at six o'clock, Severus was sitting on the sofa with a sheaf of parchment in his hands.

"Still marking?" asked Harry. He walked past Severus into the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of milk.

"No. I'm reading a report," answered Severus. He looked up at Harry. "It's the Auror's report on Hilda Smith's death."

"The Auror's report?" Harry sat down next to Severus. "Is this why you asked me to hold off interrogating Ernie McMillan?"

"I asked you to let me do some research before you launched your own investigation," clarified Severus. "According to the yearbook article you brought me, Hilda Smith died at Hogwarts. If she died here, there would be a report on the death, and as Headmaster I would have access to said report." He held up the sheaf of parchment he was reading.

"Really? What's it say? What's in it?

Harry sat down beside Severus and looked curiously at the rather thick document.

"The death was ruled accidental," said Severus. "But there were those that contended it was murder and others who claimed it was a suicide."

"Can I read it?"

"May you read it and no, technically, I am not allowed to share this report with a student. I will, however, answer any questions you may have."

Harry thought a moment, remembering the police shows Dudley had always watched on the telly. "What were the circumstances surrounding this mysterious death?"

Severus rolled his eyes and smacked him on the head with the report. Harry grinned.

"Alright, alright. What happened? Why couldn't they agree on the cause?"

"Miss Smith was discovered missing by her dorm mates when they woke up on a Sunday morning near the end of term. She had been out the previous evening with her boyfriend and apparently they often stayed out past curfew, so no one was worried." Here Severus looked sharply at Harry. "I, however, would find out as you well know."

"Oh, I know alright," answered Harry with a very Severus-like roll of his eyes. "What next?"

"The boyfriend was found asleep and severely hung over on the Quidditch Pitch. He had a black eye but could not explain how he got it. He remembered little of the evening before save an impromptu swim in the lake. The girls' body was pushed to the shore later that morning by the giant squid, whose help was enlisted in the search."

"So why all the different theories?" asked Harry.

Severus considered a moment before answering. "The girl's friends reported that she had been experiencing some family issues and was depressed. Her parents were divorcing and she was to go live with her father for the upcoming summer in Milan. Her grades had been slipping as well. The boyfriend was a seventh-year Gryffindor, and he would be leaving Hogwarts soon." He looked down at the report again before continuing, then back at Harry, speaking more softly. "The murder theories came about because of the condition of the body. But ultimately cause of death was ruled to be by drowning. The injuries were likely caused before she got in the water."

"Or was put there," said Harry. "Someone could have put her in while she was unconscious."

"True," said Severus. "I am inordinately glad that something like this did not happen on my watch. I wonder why Albus never spoke of it. He was interviewed by the Aurors—it is in the report."

"He probably didn't like thinking about it," said Harry, thinking to himself that this could not have been the most unpleasant thing Albus Dumbledore had to deal with during the course of his time at Hogwarts.

"No, he most likely did not," confirmed Severus.

"Did they ever find out what happened with the boyfriend?" asked Harry.

"They examined his memories, of course," said Severus. "It is even stated here that the Headmaster used Legilimency on him. But the young man was intoxicated during much of the time in questions. Results were inconclusive at best and he maintained his innocence. The family suspected him of foul play, but his friends—and hers as well—stood by him."

Harry sat there a minute, thinking of the long-ago tragedy, and what it meant to him, today.

"So, do you think someone is just borrowing that name?" he asked. "They needed an alias and thought of the girl who died?"

"If they thought of the girl who died, they likely have some association with her, or were in school with her. But Harry, it is also possible that this is a different Hilda, who married a man named Smith, and is now Hilda Smith. Or a woman whose last name is Smith, who picked Hilda out of the air."

"How old would she be—if she'd lived? Early thirties?"

She would be five years younger than me," answered Severus. "Thirty-three or thirty-four."

"She could have kids here, then."

"She could."

"She could have had her kid bring that package to me then. Or give it to someone to put on my bed."

"Harry, I've interviewed every person in your year. No one admits taking a package and placing it on your bed. No one heard or saw anything that morning, in fact."

"It could have been a house elf."

"Yes, it could have. I have not yet had time to interrogate all one hundred of them."

Harry sighed.

"Well—what next?" Harry hoisted a trainer-clad food up on the table but quickly removed it when Severus gave him the look.

"Next is dinner."

"And then?"

"Then, a game of chess. Or two."

"And then?"

"I've a lemon pie for pudding."

"Excellent." Harry grinned. "So, when are we going to talk about finding the person writing to me?"

"I think, Harry, that we need to wait. Wait for her next letter. You are resolved to bring it to me, are you not? Even if it speaks negatively of me?"

"Sure, Severus."

But he wasn't going to sit around and twiddle his thumbs waiting for another letter to arrive. He had names, and he had Hermione, and she would know where to start to find out what happened to Hilda Smith's friends.

"Dad?"

Severus looked sidelong at Harry, a humored but exasperated look on his face. "You switch back and forth between my given name and 'Dad' randomly, you know."

"Do I?"

Severus closed his eyes and shook his head. "You do."

"Do you think I should be an Auror? Wait—don't answer. I know. We've talked about this already. You'll respect my career choice. So let me rephrase that—do you want me to be an Auror?"

Harry looked up into his father's eyes, searching for the truth. He saw Severus' expression soften, saw the crinkles form around his eyes as the corners of his mouth moved upward, just slightly.

"My mother wanted me to be a healer," he said. It wasn't the answer Harry had expected. "She thought that I could easily turn my love of Potions into a career crafting medical marvels for the wizarding world. She hoped I could eventually become the private healer of a prominent wizarding family and be set for life." He paused a moment, a wistful, far-away look in his eyes. "She used to hold my hands when I was very small—a mere boy—and study my fingers. She told me that I had the hands of a healer—long fingered, narrow, dexterous." He held up one hand and regarded it, then dropped it back to his stomach.

Harry looked down at Severus' hands. They were folded across his stomach, and he was lying back against the cushions of the sofa, not looking at Harry as he spoke. His hands were just as Severus' mother had said—long fingered and nimble, narrow and dexterous. But Harry knew that when Eileen Prince had kissed her little boy's hands, they weren't stained with potions and ink, nor scarred from a life more difficult than she could have imagined.

"My mother would not have made any of the choices in life that I made for myself—save one," he said. "She would not have wanted me to join the Death Eaters. She would not have wanted me to teach here at Hogwarts, or to serve as Headmaster. She was not fond of the school." He didn't elaborate, falling silent for a moment.

"What choice would she have made? You said 'save one,'" said Harry quietly after a few quiet moments had passed.

Severus glanced over at him.

"She always wanted to be a grandmother," he said simply.

"Oh." Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. He sat there, looking at Severus' hands, considering what he had said.

"You didn't answer my question," he said.

Severus smiled, reaching out for Harry's hand and squeezing it.

"Oh, I think I did, Harry. I think I did."