Phoenix Fire, Chapter Six: Return of the Half-Blood Prince

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute.

Once again, this chapter has not been betad. Please forgive me! And forgive any mistakes. Thanks for each and every review-you make my heart sing!


It is 10,500 miles from Melbourne to London, but by Portkey, the journey takes only 12 minutes: nowhere near long enough for Severus to recover from Susan Granger's farewell. It wasn't that she'd hugged him—her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed briefly against his cheek—for since his recovery he'd been hugged by Poppy and Molly Weasley both, Hooch had fiercely gripped his hand while simultaneously thumping him on the back, and innumerable people had shaken his hand in congratulation or consolation. No, it was what she'd said: "You're family now, Severus, after everything you've done for us. I hope you won't hesitate to ask if you need anything." As his feet thudded into the floor of the Faris Spavin International Portkey Arrivals and Departures Hub, the word "family" continued to echo in his brain.

"Hermione!"

Three lanky boys leapt to their feet and crowded past the customs line without a thought for international protocol. To Severus' disgust, an official looked on indulgently as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Disregard Rules, his sidekick, Weasley, and that idiot, Longbottom, surged towards Granger with all the elegance of a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs.

"Harry!" Granger stumbled as she moved towards him, still unbalanced from the Portkey ride, and Potter reached out to grab her even as she threw her arms around him. "I'm so glad that you're okay!"

Their clench was awkward: one of Potter's arms was trapped under Granger's embrace, her face was pressed against the front of his robes, and her hair was all up in his face. Without letting go, Granger extended a hand to the Weasley boy and grabbed his hand too.

"You saved him!" she exclaimed.

"Always the tone of surprise!" he replied, blushing slightly and rolling back his eyes.

Severus could feel the scowl solidifying on his face; he would have to step past the happily reunited group of young war heroes in order to leave.

"Well, as soon as we get out of here I want to hear all about it." Granger had finally disentangled herself from Potter, but she'd kept hold of Weasley's hand. "Hey, Neville, I didn't expect to see you."

"Hey, Hermione, I hope you don't mind, Ron said—"

"Of course I don't mind! It's a pleasure to see you."

"Neville's doing the intensive Auror course, too," commented Ron, swinging out his free arm to punch his friend lightly on the shoulder.

"Wonderful," sneered Severus, interrupting Granger's more genuine response. "Another under-qualified Law Enforcement Official. Just what the Ministry needs."

Longbottom flushed a dark red, but he stood his ground. "Good morning, Professor," he said politely.

"Professor Snape," added Potter in greeting; Weasley said nothing.

Severus gave them all a disparaging look as he swept past.

"Professor!" Granger's voice called him back, and his body turned towards her of its own volition. "Thank you for everything," she told him. There was an odd, unreadable expression on her face and she clutched at Weasley's large freckled hand with both of hers.

He acknowledged her thanks with a fractional inclination of his head. "I live to serve, Miss Granger," he replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. As Severus swept away, he drew his wand and transfigured his clothes into his customary black robes. In some situations, the billow was definitely called for.

Fragments of their conversation continued to impinge upon his consciousness as his wand was checked at the control desk—"Yeah, my gran was so proud of me that I decided to do it," "Oh, Harry, I'm just so glad you're okay!" "You won't believe Ron's treacle tart until you taste it! He really nailed it,"—but soon he was through, on into the elevator, and out through the atrium.

"You're family now, Severus, after everything you've done for us. I hope you won't hesitate to ask if you need anything."

He inhaled a deep breath of murky London air and ducked down a narrow alley.

Well, then, what about the hand of your daughter and half your kingdom?

Self-repugnance twisted Severus' face into an ugly expression. He couldn't Apparate away from his own guilt, and the shame of having desired his student in the house of her parents stayed with him as he rematerialised in the dingy sitting room of Spinner's End.


Severus rattled around the empty house for most of the day, but by mid-afternoon he had abandoned any immediate plans to clean away the years of accumulated filth. Instead, he sat in one of the sitting room's ratty armchairs with his left sleeve rolled up and gently brushed the tips of his fingers over the raised, tender weals of his new tattoo.

The decision, like so many of those that shaped his life, had been impulsive—but that, he knew, didn't necessarily mean that he would regret it.

A memory came to him, disconcertingly vivid, of Granger in his private lab, stubbornly insisting that he reminded her of a phoenix, and joking about how absurd he would look in Gryffindor-coloured robes. That was back before he'd killed Dumbledore, back when everything was as simple as spying on the Dark Lord and hoping that his own death, when it came, would be fast and relatively painless.

Severus almost laughed—less at the memory of Granger than at himself, for wanting to be the man she seemed to think he was. For marking himself, yet again. For finally getting the tattoo that his seventeen-year-old self had wanted so desperately. Somehow, he didn't think it had instantly catapulted him into coolness, as he had once imagined it might.

It had, however, covered over the rather dreadful blankness on his arm.

At first, the absence of the Dark Mark had been an unbelievable relief, but the habit of it wasn't lost so easily. Once before, the mark had disappeared only to return as painful and horrible as ever. This time, Severus had found himself checking his skin with a frequency bordering on obsession. The faint, barely perceptible outline of where the curse had been burned into his skin seemed to stand out, and the few times he'd bared his arm in public, he felt as if every eye stared at it with voyeuristic desire. Now, at least, he had good reason to keep his arm private once again, and good reason for people to look if he ever decided to put it on show.

A tapping at the window brought Severus out of his reverie. The darkness had crept unnoticed into the room, and as Severus crossed to the window, he had to step carefully around the furniture. He wondered who had sent him an owl at this time of night.

No-one, as it turned out. The bird on the sill was Fawkes, and as Severus opened the window, Fawkes trilled in evident delight. Fawkes immediately took up position on Severus' shoulder and tweaked his ear in welcome.

"What do you think?" asked Severus, holding up his arm for inspection. He couldn't help feeling a little foolish.

Fawkes tilted his head to one side and carefully stared at Severus' tattoo—first with one eye, then with the other. He clucked once and then began preening his own chest feathers.

"What does that mean?" asked Severus. He sounded peevish. "That you don't think much of the likeness? That you knew already? That you expected as much in homage?"

Fawkes ignored all the questions, not even bothering to look up from his grooming.

Severus grunted in exasperation and pulled down his shirt sleeve, buttoning it back up tightly.

"Let's go back to Hogwarts," he announced suddenly. "I can't stand it here a moment longer."


Minerva, for one, was delighted to have him back. In her human form, she wasn't one for effusive displays of public affection, but at Severus' appearance she grasped his hand in a pincer grip that lasted too long to be comfortable. Almost at once she began badgering him to come up to her office for tea.

Severus managed to put her off for several days. Hogwarts had provided the company he craved—in the form of his former and once-again colleagues—and a level of physical and magical labour—used to repair the castle—that he found deeply satisfying. He had no desire for the confrontation with Dumbledore's portrait that he knew to be imminent.

Still, Minerva had a persistence that rivalled any of the more subtle means of persuasion Dumbledore had favoured, and eventually, Severus found himself riding the moving staircase up to the Headmistress' office.

"Severus!" she exclaimed as she opened the door. The way she turned from him to face Dumbledore's portrait was unmistakable.

There was a rush of noise, as most of the portraits called out greetings, but it was Albus' calm tones that Severus heard most clearly.

"My dear boy, I am so glad to see you." Dumbledore rose to his feet and leaned towards the picture plane until his forehead was pressed flat against the surface of his painting.

"Albus," Severus replied, his voice blank and devoid of emotion.

"Can you ever forgive me?" asked the painting that represented the man he had killed.

"There is nothing to forgive."

"But I—"

Severus held up a hand and interrupted Albus before he could finish. "Your original plan required my death. I know. From the moment I swore my allegiance to you I expected my life to be forfeit, yet I was willing."

That much was true. No need to mention the moment when his willingness had evaporated: when the fierceness of Hermione Granger's trust propelled him into a new, rawer reality, where despite all evidence to the contrary, Severus Snape began to hope and long for a certain, specific reality rather then the sweet oblivion of death.

Dumbledore's eyes were staring searchingly into his. The painting was life-like enough that Severus wondered momentarily whether portraits could perform Legilimency.

"Severus?" asked Albus quietly, in the same voice he'd used on top of the tower. "Please?"

Dumbledore's hand was pressed up against the picture plane: he wanted Severus to reach out and touch him. For a moment, a rush of black anger welled up inside Severus. He was tempted to spin away and deny the painting its moment of absolution. He was tempted to leave Albus hanging in that interstitial space of the almost-forgiven that Severus himself had inhabited for such a long time. In the end, however, it was the presence of Minerva, hovering by the door, that pushed him to press his own hand up against that of Albus' painting, palm to palm with the pigment and ink that his mentor had become. Minerva—who, after all, would have to share her office with Dumbledore no matter the outcome of this conversation—sniffed back tears, and Severus saw them glinting in Albus' twinkly blue eyes. He himself, felt strangely empty.

"You are much more forgiving than I was," remarked Minerva, breaking off to blow her nose loudly. "At the very least he could have told you."

Severus shrugged. "I would have preferred that he told me, but it doesn't change anything."

"I intended to tell you," interpolated Dumbledore. "But once it was clear that it was Draco, not you, who Harry needed to beat, I became hopeful that another possibility would present itself."

Dumbledore's words should have hurt, but for some reason they didn't: instead, Severus felt completely numb, as if this whole performance was designed to aid Minerva and Albus, but not him.


Three days before school went back, there was an Order meeting at Hogwarts, and the day before that, Harry Potter went to visit Severus Snape.

When he knocked on the door, Severus assumed it was yet another member of the MLE, calling with yet another question about Death Eater activity. No matter how many Pensieve memories he filed or descriptions he gave, there was always some small detail that needed clarification. Thus when his office door opened to reveal Potter, Severus was momentarily taken aback.

"You're a day early, Potter," he drawled. "The holidays have clearly addled your brain even more than I might have surmised."

"Good afternoon, sir," replied Potter stiffly, refusing the bait. "I hoped to speak with you before the meeting."

Severus let out a long sigh through his nose. "I don't suppose you've satisfied the urge already?" he asked, one eyebrow elevated with false hope. "No? Then you'd better come in."

Potter did as he was bid, carefully closing the door behind him before approaching the desk. Severus hadn't invited him to sit down, and despite an anxious glance at the hard chair that sat ready, Potter stood.

Severus laid his quill down over his fourth-year lesson plans and leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he looked over the young man before him.

"Make it snappy, Potter. I haven't got all day." Severus heard the rustle of feathers behind him as Fawkes arranged his head more securely under his wing.

"Well, sir, there were a couple of things . . . first, I wanted to return this." Just for a moment, as he passed across the book he was holding, Potter met Severus' eye. Almost immediately, the boy wrenched his gaze away. Apparently, he was fascinated by a rare specimen of a two-headed goblin foetus, which swum, suspended in formaldehyde, exactly one foot to the left of Severus' face.

The book, Severus noted at once, was the most recent edition of Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion Making. Were he still faced with the old, disrespectful Potter, he would have suspected trickery, but the boy had been at such pains to be polite. Severus held the instinctive rush of anger in check. With one long finger, he flicked the book open randomly. The gesture revealed a much older book than the cover suggested, with the pages marred by instructions and additions in a distinctive, spiky script.

His old potions book.

"And second?" he asked, displaying no emotion and making no comment on this return of his property.

"I, er . . ." Potter broke off and took a deep breath. When he began again, his voice had a slightly singsong quality, as if he'd rehearsed the speech before he came. "I know that I only received an 'Exceeds Expectations' in my Potions OWL, but I would very much like to continue Potions at the NEWTs level. I took the sixth year of classes, so I wouldn't be behind. My marks were even quite good. I know you probably think that I cheated, but I really enjoyed learning from the Half-Blood Prince"—how odd, to hear himself referred to in the third person as such—"and"—Potter faltered slightly—"as Hermione pointed out to me, that was you. I was hoping you would consent to have me in your class."

Severus ran one finger over his lips and stared at the student before him appraisingly: his clenched fists, his jutting chin. How much had it cost the boy to come and ask like this? What else had "Hermione" pointed out?

"You are aware, Potter, that all students are required to sit exams at the beginning of this semester?" It was both a question and a statement.

"Yes, sir."

"I suggest you sit the sixth-year test. If you receive an Outstanding grade, I would be prepared to allow you take your NEWT the following year."

Potter stood up slightly taller in surprise. "Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed. "It means a lot to me, you won't regret it."

Severus reached out and flicked the cover of his old Potions book shut with one finger and then slid it across the desk towards Potter.

"I suggest you take this," he commented dryly. "You're going to need it."

Potter looked him directly in the face for the first time in the entire visit. "Sir?" he stuttered. Then, "Thank you. Thank you very much."

He reached out and lifted the book from the desk, cradling it to his chest in an oddly tender gesture.

"Shut the door on your way out, Potter." Severus picked up his pen and drew a sharp straight line across the page.

"Um . . . there was, er, one other thing, sir."

Severus looked up at Potter once again. He sighed theatrically. "What is it now, Potter?"

Potter grimaced and glanced down at the book, stroking one hand across the cover.

"I wondered if you would talk to me about my mum." It came out in a rush; he glanced up at Severus afterwards and then back down at the book.

In all honesty, it was a question Severus had been half expecting ever since Rita's report of his life and Harry's in the Daily Prophet.

"It's just," continued Harry, unaccountably emboldened by Severus' lack of response. "It's just that there's no-one else, not now Remus and Sirius . . . No-one but Slughorn has ever mentioned her to me. The only thing I know about her is that she was good at Potions."

"She was good at Potions, Potter, because I taught her."

He hugged the book to his chest. "Well, you taught me, too, sir."

Severus let his eyes flutter closed for a brief moment. He tried to imagine what Lily would say to him if she could see him now. Probably nothing: she hadn't spoken to him since the moment he'd refused to—but enough of that.

"I will, Potter, but not today. Not even, perhaps, this year. But I will. That promise will have to suffice for the time being."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you."

As the boy backed out of the room, clutching his book and smiling to himself and at Severus, in a dazed way, Severus realised that he'd never seen Potter look so uncomplicatedly happy. He turned in his chair to look at Fawkes, but the bird slept on.

About an hour later, Minerva turned up. It was a rare occurrence for her to wander down to the dungeons of her own accord. More typically, she called through the Floo, usually demanding that Severus come to her. That she chose to walk this time suggested that she had something on her mind.

"Ah, Severus," she said in greeting. "Do you have a moment?"

"Come," he replied, getting to his feet and gesturing her through the concealed doorway that led back through his private lab and into his quarters. He waved her towards one of the comfy chairs by the fire and poured her a Firewhisky.

"Thank you, Severus." She clinked her glass against his and took a practiced mouthful of the fiery liquid. "I had Harry Potter up in my office just now," she announced.

"Indeed."

"He's grown up, that boy. Do you know what he wanted?"

To learn more about his mother from Minerva? Unlikely. Severus hummed noncommittally and swirled his whisky across the back of his tongue.

"Neither he nor Hermione Granger nor Ronald Weasley wish to be considered for the position of Head Boy or Girl—oh, he didn't go so far as to imply that any of them thought they'd be a shoo-in, but he made his point quite clearly nevertheless. He thinks—or perhaps Hermione thinks, it can be hard to tell sometimes—that it would be fairest to give the position to someone who would have ordinarily been a seventh-year."

There was more than a hint of Granger's intelligence behind the suggestion. But possibly also a fair dose of Potter's reticence for the spotlight. Severus stared down into the smoky alcohol in the base of his glass. Two years ago, he never would have believed it; here he was considering saying as much to Minerva.

"Do you think Miss Lovegood will return to finish her studies?" he asked instead.

"I have reason to believe she will, but that, Severus, is not the point."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow. "Do you see fit to enlighten me?"

"The point, Severus, is Potter!"

"He makes a valid argument: ordinarily we wouldn't consider students returning to repeat a year for the position. It wouldn't be fair."

Minerva snorted with irritation. "The boy has grown up, Severus. He's an adult, and he expects and deserves to be treated like one. How, exactly, do you think that's going to play out in the classroom this year? How about in Order meetings?"

Severus traced slow circles on the arm of his chair with the base of his glass. "I don't deny the boy has grown up, Minerva. Many of our students have. Neither these halls nor the students about to return to them are innocent; I think we're going to have more problems than even the ever-problematic Potter can provide."

"Aye." Minerva sighed. "I'm afeard you're right about that."


The Order meeting was a relatively small affair: Severus, Minerva, Kingsley, Vector—who'd gone back to her old, assumed name—Potter, Granger, and a medium sized contingent of Weasleys: Molly, Arthur, William, Ronald and Ginevra. It was held in the Headmistress' Office under the rather-too-attentive eye of Dumbledore's portrait, and it was Potter, nudged by Granger, who brought the meeting to attention.

"Shall we get started, then?" he asked the room at large; those around him fell obediently silent.

Minerva shot Severus a smug "I told you so" glance from behind her imposing desk before turning her attention back to Potter.

"Where would you like to begin, Mr Potter?" she asked.

"Well, Hermione made an agenda, actually," volunteered Ron Weasley.

On cue, Granger pulled out a sheet of parchment. The middle finger of her quill hand was stained with a large smudge of dark ink. She stood up and passed it to Minerva.

"1. Purpose," read Minerva to the assembled group. "2. Leadership, 3. Membership, 4. Protection, 5. Possible methods to destroy Elder Wand." She cleared her throat. "Excellent. I assume that you had something to say about the purpose of this meeting?"

"More the purpose of the Order," corrected Potter.

Severus restrained a sigh and leant his head back against the high wings of the chair he'd conjured, careful not to disturb Fawkes where he nestled against Severus' neck. He'd woken that morning with a niggling sense of irritation that had persisted throughout the day. Irreverently, he wondered whether he could train the phoenix to wake him when things got interesting.

"I reinstated the Order on Professor Snape's advice," continued Potter, twisting in his chair and fiddling with his glasses as he peered at the man he named. "And, er, no offence to Kingsley here, the recent events at the Ministry have only proved the good sense of that decision—"

"If you're referring to the fact that you were attacked, Harry, why not just say so?" Ginervra snapped, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

There was definitely some tension between those two.

"Well, yes, thank you, Ginny." Harry shot her a reproving glance. "The point is that we don't know who our enemy is any more. Terrifying though Voldemort was, we knew who we were fighting. Now, it could be anyone. As I see it, the purpose of this group is twofold: firstly, to deal with the objects that Voldemort's death has left in circulation—namely the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone—and secondly, to protect those who are endangered by the existence of the said objects."

"Well said, Potter," commented Minerva approvingly.

"Also," he added, with a fleeting smile of gratitude towards his head of house, "people should feel free to step down. They signed up to the Order to destroy Voldemort. No-one is obliged to keep going."

"No-one except you, of course," snarled Ginevra.

"Oh, Harry," sighed Molly. "We're in it for the long haul. We're not going to abandon you now."

"If we weren't willing, we wouldn't be here, Harry." Arthur rubbed gently at Molly shoulder as he spoke.

Several people spoke at once, but Potter threw up a hand to quiet them. "There are risks, and I can't bear the idea that you all feel obligated to put yourselves in danger once again, just because I didn't manage to keep my big mouth shut about an unbeatable wand in a room full of witnesses and one curious reporter."

"Enough, Harry." Granger looked fierce. "This is not your fault. This is the unavoidable consequence of the plan put into motion by Professor Dumbledore, and it may well have been the only way to defeat Voldemort. There is no need to point the finger of blame."

Harry dropped his head and Ronald reached out and rested a hand in the flat space between his shoulder blades. There was an awkward silence.

Severus broke it.

"Can I suggest we move onto the next item on the agenda?"

Minerva nodded, relieved. "Leadership," she noted in a clipped tone.

"Yeah," replied Harry, drawing a shaky breath and sitting up again. "I think we need to have an official leader, someone to settle arguments and make difficult decisions when necessary."

Severus watched the responses to this statement with mild curiosity. Most of the adult members of the Order looked uncomfortable, and fair enough: it seemed fairly clear where this was headed. Harry Potter might have saved the world, but the reality of taking orders from him on a permanent basis was still a difficult idea for these people, many of whom clearly saw themselves in loco parentis. Vector, however, smiled her private smile and scribbled distractedly on a sheet of parchment.

"Someone who can see the whole problem," added Ron.

"Someone who can command our respect," said Granger.

"Yeah," said Potter, nodding his agreement with his friends' comments. "And we think it should be Professor Snape."

The room froze—Severus included. From the corner of one eye, he saw Phineas—who had literally slipped from his chair in surprise—climb back up into his seat.

"An excellent idea!" noted Vector, looking up from her work and tucking her quill behind one ear.

Gradually the other people in the room relaxed. Several were nodding.

"Well, Mr Potter, I think that's a very good suggestion," said Minerva.

"All in favour?" asked Granger.

Severus had to forcibly relax his hands against his chair as he watched everyone in the room raise their hands.

"Severus?" inquired Vector politely, the end of her quill bobbing ridiculously next to her face.

The lure of power was still there, and somewhere, deep inside, it roared to life. I deserve this. The thought echoed inside his head and drowned out other, more admirable sentiments. These people would be nothing without me. I would be in control. He felt affirmed, noticed, powerful. The speed at which it happened sickened him.

"No," he stated firmly, horror at his own response coating the back of his throat.

Albus, goddamn him, was staring down from his portrait with an entirely sympathetic look on his face.

"Why, Severus?" asked Molly, her brows furrowed slightly.

Because I can't be trusted.

Because to be handed something I've always wanted is too dangerous.

Because I couldn't bear to fail you all.

"The topic is not up for debate," he replied coldly. Fawkes' talons tightened on his shoulder and he tried not to wince.

"As I see it," remarked Granger, her voice unexpectedly light and a devastating upward curve to the edge of her mouth, "you've got two choices: either exercise your right to say no, thus putting your individual opinion above those of the group; or say yes, and thus reserve your right to do so in the future."

Severus found himself uncharacteristically speechless and he glared at her, gritting his teeth at the twinkle in her eye.

"Honestly, Severus, you're the best choice." Minerva looked at him from across the desk, and she twisted one side of her mouth sufficiently that he realised what it had cost her to say so: she'd wanted the job for her own.

Well, she was welcome to it.

"Kingsley has far too much on his plate as the new Minister of Magic, I'm here running the school, Molly and Arthur both have important work to do—at the Ministry and in the Wizengamot as well as with their family. Who else should it be?"

"Besides," added Vector brightly, "I've run some basic calculations and they strongly suggest that Severus' presence as leader will save lives."

Severus directed the full force of his glare at Vector's benign smile. "It becomes evident why Albus never called you to the meetings themselves," he snarled.

"A decision you, too, will be free to make." Vector's smile was undiminished.

"Well?" asked Granger.

Severus made the mistake of meeting her eye. Where did she learn to look at people like that? he wondered. Her gaze cut. She thought he would do it; she thought he would do it well.

Fawkes squeezed again, digging his claws savagely into Severus' shoulder. If the damn bird wasn't more careful, he would draw blood.

How long until I let her down?

"Fine," he said at last. There was a noticeable release of tension at his words.

Minerva gave him a tight smile; Granger flashed him a look of gratitude, and then turned her attention back to the front of the room.

"Item three," stated Minerva, reading from Granger's agenda, "membership."

This was, it seemed, the cue to bicker. The range of positions from inclusive to exclusive was widely variable, and the conversation came to a head when Molly shouted at her daughter:

"For the last time, Ginevra! The Order does not accept underage members! Regardless of what you and your friends got up to during the last school year, the answer is no!"

"If you honestly think Harry's friends are going to stand by and do nothing while he's still in danger, then you're the ones that need to grow up!" Ginervra glared around the room, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

"Enough," said Severus, his voice cutting through the tumult. "Anastasia Septima Sedenova Papavasilopolous Vector, do you have anything to add?"

Vector smiled, bending her head to acknowledge his question. "Yes. I believe that the students will be much safer joining the Order."

"Exactly," snapped Ginevra.

"When people don't know what's going on," added Potter, "they can make stupid and dangerous decisions."

"Better, you imagine, to keep them close and closely watched?" The question came from Kingsley and was directed at the Arithmancy professor.

"Precisely." Vector smiled at him.

"I think that the Order should be open to anyone who wants to join. Hermione can make another one of those magical parchments—"

"A wand oath should prove sufficient," noted Severus, cutting across Ronald Weasley. "Underage members will be welcome. There will not, however, be an open call for membership. The Order of the Phoenix remains a secret and risky organisation, and no-one here is at liberty to speak freely of the Order's existence with anyone who is not already a member. Next item?"

He was more than ready for this interminable meeting to be over.

"Protection."

Granger cleared her throat. "We need to protect Harry, obviously, but also everyone else, too. I thought we should get Vik—Professor Krum to provide voice-activated Portkeys to all of us. That way if there is an attack, everyone can get out safely."

Mercifully, everyone agreed with this statement, and the merits were discussed only briefly. Since Krum was due to arrive with the Hogwarts Express and not before, the topic was shelved until that date. Finally, they reached the last item on the agenda.

"Very well then," said Minerva. "Does anyone have any suggestions about how to destroy the Elder Wand? We have already confirmed that it can't be broken, or indeed, burnt."

There was an expectant silence.

"Well," said Granger eventually. "We did have one possibility to suggest."—She looked over at Potter for permission to continue and he nodded sharply—"Does anyone know what would happen were we to throw the wand through the Veil that they keep in the Department of Mysteries. The one where Sirius died."

"It won't work, I'm afraid," responded Kingsley, in his slow, deep voice. "Objects merely pass through and stay in the real world. To disappear, they would need to be carried by a person . . ." He trailed off. Everyone knew what would happen to the person concerned.

"Also," added Severus, reaching up and attempting to dissuade Fawkes from chewing on his ear as he spoke, "we have no way of knowing what would happen to the wand in the world beyond the Veil. Armed with an 'unbeatable wand' associated with surviving death, it is entirely possible that someone or something might manage to come back."

"Right. Cross that one off the list, then." Ron Weasley's frankly horrified look brought some reluctant chuckles from the grim faces around the room.

"Does anyone else have a suggestion?" asked Granger. "Bill?" She looked hopefully at the newest DADA professor, but he, too shrugged.

"There are some things I could try, but I have no idea if they would work."

Severus stroked the plush feathers of Fawkes' breast.

There was a palpable excitement in the room at the idea that Bill Weasley might just solve the problem, once and for all. After some consultation, the chairs were pushed back against the walls and the wand was taken from the compartment behind Albus' portrait and placed in the centre of the room. Everyone but Bill stood back to give him space.

Before he cast, he performed a quick series of exercises in centring and focussing with the surety born of long practice. He must¸ Severus reflected, have made an extraordinary cursebreaker. He remembered Minerva's guilty grimace when Bill's appointment as DADA professor had been announced: "Is it wrong," she had asked, "to be happy that the younger Mr Weasley's role in destroying Gringotts' made William's job there untenable?"

The first spell he cast was an Unravelling Charm, designed to tease at the edges of protective wards and allow the caster to spot loopholes or frayed patches. There were no known adverse reactions to this particular variant, yet something pulled at Severus' attention: something wasn't right. He felt the sharp pain of Fawkes' claws piercing the skin of his shoulder as the bird threw his wings out and leapt from his perch. Severus heard Fawkes' loud squawk, even as he sprang to his own feet, wand drawn, and cast the strongest shield charm of which he was capable on the occupants of the room.

At that very moment, the room exploded.

When the smoke cleared, he saw everyone, miraculously uninjured, though Bill Weasley was singed and Minerva's new tartan curtains were burnt beyond repair. Fawkes lay in the centre of the room beside the Elder Wand. He was featherless, wrinkled and grey; impossibly ugly. The wand was unharmed.

With a snarl, Severus waved his own wand at the Elder Wand, sending it flying through the air and safely into the hidden cabinet. Dumbledore's portrait slammed closed with a satisfying bang. Severus bent and scooped up the tiny body of his killed and reborn phoenix, tucking him safely into his pocket.

"Meeting adjourned," he growled before turning on his heel and sweeping out of the room.


A/N: Grumpy, isn't he? :)