A/N: Thank you again to all the wonderful readers and reviewers! I actually managed to get through another chapter, although I'd initially thought I wouldn't have much time before week-end to write… We're getting into the thick of things now. Enjoy!

Anyeshabaner: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. To answer your queries… Harry's dream is not quite premonition, exactly. Vision would be closer. Similar to his nightmares earlier in the year about a dark forest (and later, in canon, from the beginning of book 4 through book 7, and arguably once very early in book 1), he is connected by his scar to Voldemort – and to the other… parts… of Voldemort. He doesn't really realise this as yet, although Dumbledore might (remember that he is most anxious to have Harry instructed in Occlumency when he discovers that he's been dreaming of the Accursed Mountains). When his 'nightmares' are really these contemporaneous visions, that's when they tend to make him physically ill. So, the scene he dreamt was not a premonition, because it wasn't happening in the future, but rather happening at the moment he dreamt it. I view these visions as directly linked to Voldemort's strength, which is why when Harry has the strange dream about Quirrell's turban in the first book, he cannot remember it the next day, though by book five he is quite able to recall most of the details when he encounters the dreams. As to your second query… I believe you will discover the answer in this new chapter. I hope you enjoy!

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 21: The Drowned Diary

Harry and Ron both woke late on Boxing Day, after their interrupted sleep the night before. To Ron's great relief, Harry was much better this morning, as he had predicted. His headache and nausea had gone, though Ron said he was still looking a bit peaky. The boys headed down to breakfast, where they found much of the remaining students trickling in on the later side as well, many bleary-eyed and still yawning.

'What's up with you?' Ron asked George as he and Harry sank onto the bench opposite the twins at the Gryffindor table.

George groaned. 'Keep it down, won't you Ron?' he said with a wince. He and Fred were both looking wan, and Fred pushed his eggs away, a tad green behind the ears.

'They thought they'd have a little Christmas revelry,' offered Percy from the other end of the table, who was quite chipper and talking in an unnecessarily loud voice. George winced again.

Harry was confused. 'What do you mean?' he asked, looking between Percy and the twins. Percy smirked in a satisfied sort of way.

'They got hold of a bit of Firewhisky last night,' he said. 'I caught them at it with their friends 'bout three in the morning.'

'Yeah, well, you already took points, didn't you,' said Fred weakly. 'No need to rub it in.'

Percy's grin grew more pronounced. 'I ought to have gone for McGonagall about your two,' he said, waving a fork sternly at Fred. 'You're lucky I didn't want to disturb her Christmas. Not so much fun this morning though, is it boys?' He looked very smug indeed as he watched both twins trying to choke down their porridge.

Ron laughed.

'Where's Hermione got to?' Percy asked, turning to Ron and Harry. They frowned.

'She's in hospital wing,' Harry said. 'Had a bit of an accident yesterday. We'll go up and see her after breakfast – bring her some of her things. We'll have to ask Ginny to get them from the dormitory.'

Ginny came in at that moment, muttering a good morning to them all. She agreed to bring them Hermione's school bag.

A little scroll of parchment suddenly appeared against Harry's glass of pumpkin juice. He unrolled it with a grin, recognising Dumbledore's narrow, slanted handwriting.

'Brilliant!' he said, as he finished reading the missive.

'What's up?' asked Ron through a mouthful of eggs.

'Dumbledore and McGonagall want to have lunch,' Harry said, taking a slice of toast. 'In Hogsmeade. The note said to meet them in the entrance hall at midday.'

As he finished eating, a second scroll popped into place in precisely the same spot. Harry stared, feeling his heart sink a bit. He recognised the script on this missive as well.

'What does Snape want with me?' he wondered aloud, reaching for the note. Ron grimaced in sympathy.

Potter – you will meet me tonight in my office at 8 p.m. sharp. Do not be late. SS

Harry had a nasty feeling about this.

'What does he want?' asked Ron, trying to read the note over Harry's shoulder.

Harry shrugged. 'He doesn't say, just to meet him tonight. Maybe my last Potions essay was rubbish or something, and he wants me to pickle rat liver to make it up'

'Git,' said Ron, in a routine sort of way. He stuffed the last of his breakfast into his mouth, standing up from the table. 'Come on, Harry, let's go get Hermione's stuff from Ginny.'

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Severus was seething.

He'd begged off breakfast, taking coffee in his quarters instead. He didn't think he could stomach seeing Potter before the time he'd scheduled to berate the moronic brat. And he didn't particularly care to see Albus yet either, when he'd only barely been able to quell his temper long enough to get out of that office last night.

Upon realising what Potter and his equally foolish sidekicks had done, Severus's instinct was to go for him immediately, and throttle the boy. Not only for his complete disregard for school rules again, but for putting himself and his friends in incredible danger, again. The boy was so thick-headed; it was a wonder they'd managed to keep him alive to date.

And the worst part was, he couldn't say anything to the headmaster. Because he couldn't prove anything. Granger's invalidity was not to be used for punishment… indeed, Severus really had no right at all to even know that particular bit of trivia. And without it, he had no conclusive proof of what the trio had done. Even with the information, his suspicions were mostly conjecture and logic – he couldn't prove anything. Albus would probably lecture the child if he knew, but Potter wouldn't get into any real trouble. In fact, the old man would probably be impressed that his darling team of Gryffindor brats had been resourceful enough to think of Polyjuice Potion in their attempts to discover the culprit for themselves. Minerva might side more with Severus's view on things, but she would be the first to warn against using Poppy's information. They would force his silence, and his hands would be tied.

So he had written off their concern at his momentary rage with some tosh about a sudden headache, and bid them both good evening. And then he had spent several hours contemplating exactly how he was going to deal with the brat himself.

Right now, the best course of action still seemed to be throttling. Disgusted by his weakness, he dosed himself with one of his own calming draughts, trying to take the edge off his fury. The potion settled the worst of the temper, though it left him a bit lethargic. He sank onto his sofa with a fresh cup of coffee, thinking.

Eight o'clock. Ten hours. Then, he would ensure that Potter was never foolish enough to assume he could pull the wool over Severus Snape's eyes again.

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'Ah, Harry,' said Albus, smiling as the child bounded down the steps to join him and Minerva in the entrance hall at noon. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said, beaming back.

'Then fasten your cloak, and put your gloves and cap on,' said Minerva, fussily checking the collar of Harry's travelling cloak. 'The weather is quite nasty at the moment.'

Harry allowed her ministrations, pulling on his thick woollen hat. 'Where are we going, sir?' he asked.

'To another pub in the village, Harry,' Albus replied. 'It is called the Hog's Head. In my opinion, the pub is a little less conducive to a friendly chat than the Three Broomsticks, but Minerva –'

'Rightfully insisted,' said Minerva primly, shooting him a glare.

'I agreed to go, my dear,' he said, putting up his hands in surrender.

'Under great duress,' she muttered, leading the way toward the doors. Albus gave Harry, who was looking in puzzlement between the two of them, a small wink, ushering him after Minerva.

The grounds were indeed very cold and blustery. Albus cast warming charms over all three of their cloaks to keep out the worst of the chill.

'How was your Christmas, Harry?' he asked the boy as they walked.

'Wonderful – thanks, sir!' Harry said, grinning. 'Thank you for the gifts, by the way.'

'And same to you,' said Minerva, giving his shoulder a squeeze. 'Though you didn't have to get us anything.'

'I was particularly partial to those excellent knee-highs with the blue pattern of dancing pixies,' Albus added, his eyes twinkling. 'It is so very hard to get pixies to act so civilised in life.' Harry laughed.

A short while later, they were making their way down the high street in Hogsmeade, toward the old building with its low handing boar's head sign set alone halfway down the street. Albus pushed the door ajar and held it for Harry and Minerva to precede him through.

'Good afternoon, Abe,' Minerva said, nodding to the barkeep. The little pub was deserted but for themselves, and Aberforth was wiping down the counter. He turned at her greeting, narrowing his eyes at the headmaster.

'Back again, Albus?' he said gruffly. 'Something of a surprise that – thought I would have a month or two before you resurfaced.' His expression softened slightly as he greeted Minerva in turn. 'Minnie – always a pleasure.'

'Ah well, Christmas cheer, Aberforth, you know,' said Albus lightly, placing a protective hand on Harry's shoulder.

'And who's this, then?' Aberforth said, nodding at the child. 'Bit young for a pint, isn't he? You two dragging your students out underage now?'

'This is Harry, Aberforth,' Minerva said, a bit of warning in her tone. 'Harry Potter.'

'Is he now?' Aberforth replied, his eyes raking the boy's famous forehead. 'That's interesting then. He does look like his father, right enough.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed, squeezing Harry's shoulder a bit. 'Though he has Lily's eyes.'

The barkeep grunted, turning back to his countertop. 'Well, grab yourselves a booth,' he said gruffly. 'You know the menu by now I take it. Your usual to drink?'

'That would be fine, thank you, Abe,' said Minerva. 'And perhaps a butterbeer for Harry.'

Albus led the way to a booth in the corner, helping Harry out of his travelling cloak. The three of them slid into their seats as Aberforth reappeared with the drinks.

'Won't you join us, Abe?' Minerva asked, as he set hers in front of her.

'Who'll tend the bar, Minnie?' he asked her, gesturing behind him at the empty pub.

'I'm sure you can manage a short respite,' Albus said, forcing a smile.

Aberforth grunted, but summoned over a stool to sit at the end of the table. With a click of his fingers, a gleaming bottle of Firewhisky and a tumbler appeared. He poured a healthy measure, drank it in one, and refilled the glass again.

'So, been learning much from this old codger, Harry?' Aberforth said to the boy, jerking his head at Albus.

'Er, yes, sir,' Harry replied, sounding a little nervous. Aberforth snorted.

'I'll bet,' he said, sipping from the glass again. 'Been wondering when he'd take you under his wing. He's talked about you a lot, you know, over the past year or so. And of course, Albus always did like to make sure he'd set his pieces in place for the Greater –'

'Yes, thank you, Aberforth,' Albus said, cutting the barkeep off. He glared at the interruption.

'Don't go getting your knickers in a twist, Albus. I didn't mean anything by it.'

'We meant to bring Harry by this past summer, Abe, but time got away from us a bit,' Minerva offered, trying to divert the awkward subject.

Aberforth looked surprised. 'What do you mean, this past summer, Minnie? Wouldn't the boy have been at home?'

'Actually,' said Albus, 'We brought Harry back to the castle around the beginning of July. Things were not ideal at his relatives'.'

Aberforth gave him a sharp look. 'That so, eh?' he said, looking pensive. 'Well, it's good to meet you now, lad,' he said to Harry. 'There aren't many students that Albus here would bring by – I reckon you must be something special.'

Harry blushed a bit. 'Do you know each other well?' he ventured, looking curiously between the men.

Aberforth gave a booming laugh, throwing his head back. When he'd recovered himself, he gave Albus a sideways look. 'You haven't told him, eh, Albus? Well, don't suppose I should be surprised. Always played your cards against your chest, didn't you?' He leaned over toward Harry again. 'I know Albus better than anyone, lad. Well, except maybe Minnie here,' he allowed, giving Minerva a wink. 'He's my brother.'

'He's what?' exclaimed Harry, looking shocked. Albus allowed himself a chuckle at that, and even Minerva coughed a bit on her drink.

'Aye, lad,' said Aberforth, his own eyes dancing with amusement. 'My elder brother, obviously.'

Harry looked over at Albus. 'I never knew you had a brother,' he said.

'Alas,' said Albus, with a dramatic sigh. 'None knows the weight of another's burden.'

'Herbert,' Aberforth grunted. 'Get some new quotes, Albus.'

'That's enough you two,' said Minerva firmly. 'Now, how about we all have some lunch, and you can let Aberforth get to know Harry a little, Albus?'

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'How was it?' Ron asked, as Harry threw himself into a chair beside him in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room several hours later.

'Good, but kind of weird,' Harry said. 'And I'm knackered – that's a long walk, and it's still blowing like mad out there.' He shook the hem of his cloak out, bits of melting snow cascading onto the crimson hearthrug. The heat of the fire felt wonderful as it warmed him.

Ron snorted. 'What do you mean, weird?'

Harry shrugged. 'I met Dumbledore's brother.'

Ron looked gobsmacked. 'You met Dumbledore's… what?'

'His brother, yeah,' Harry said. 'His name's Aberforth, and he runs this inn and pub in the village. It's called the Hog's Head.'

Ron still looked stunned. 'Does he look like Dumbledore? What's he like?'

Harry thought about it for a moment. 'I don't know… he sort of looks like him, I guess. They've got those same blue eyes, and they both have long hair and beards. Aberforth's is more grey than white though. And he's alright – a bit gruff, but I think he's funny. He snipes with Dumbledore a lot, which is kind of odd to watch, but I think he likes Professor McGonagall.'

Ron snorted. 'I'll bet it was weird – seeing Dumbledore like that.'

Harry shrugged. 'It was, but it was also kind of nice. Like how families sometimes act, you know? Like you and your brothers do… I wish I had brothers or sisters.' He trailed off, a little sad.

Ron looked like he didn't quite know what to say. 'Fancy chess before supper?' he said, after a few awkward moments, gesturing to the board on the side table.

'Yeah, alright,' Harry agreed, happy for the diversion. Ron pulled the board over and began to set up the pieces.

Three spectacular losses later, Harry headed down to eat with Ron. They left a bit early so they could pop in to see Hermione before supper. Her spirits were much improved since the morning, now that her face was starting to shed some.

'Do you think the twins will walk down with us?' Harry asked, as he and Ron finished up their steak and kidney pie. 'To Snape's, I mean? You can't come with me on your own, or we'll be in even more trouble.'

Ron called over to Fred and George, who agreed to accompany them. The four boys headed out of the portrait hole together shortly before eight.

'So, what'd you do to hack off old Snape?' George asked, as they made their way down the corridor for the staircase.

Harry shrugged. 'Not sure, but there's usually something.'

Fred sniggered. 'Aw, ickle Harrykins can't behave himself, can he? Always causing too much trouble… little Gryffindor beastie.' Harry threw a mock punch at him, and Fred dodged, laughing as Harry smacked Ron accidentally.

'Oi!' Ron grumbled, rubbing his arm. 'Easy, mate – I'm not the one taking the mickey am I?' he complained.

'Sorry,' said Harry, though he was grinning. The light-hearted banter faded, however, as they drew closer to the bottom of the stairs. Harry felt the familiar sense of foreboding increase as they descended toward the dungeons.

'His office, right?' said George as they reached the bottom of the stone steps. 'Funny that – you'd think he'd meet you in the classroom if he wanted you doing detention.'

'Yeah,' Harry said, his unease increasing. 'Maybe he wants to shout at me or something.' He exchanged a miserable look with Ron.

The foursome made their way down the corridor, and Harry knocked resignedly on the potion master's door.

It flew open almost at once.

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'You three – go,' Severus said dismissively to the Weasley boys. They shot him suspicious looks, but backed away from the door.

'Should we come back for –' Ron Weasley began.

'No,' Severus interrupted him. 'I shall make sure Potter gets back… safely… to Gryffindor tower. Potter – inside. Now.'

Potter gave his little friends a melancholy look, but strode past Severus into the office without a word. Severus slammed the door in the three curious faces, locking and spelling it with a silencing charm immediately. He lowered his wand but kept it in hand as he stared down at Potter, his own eyes boring into the emerald green.

'You wanted to see me professor?' said Potter in a small voice. He looked nervous. Good.

'Have a seat, Potter,' he said. The boy sank into the student chair in front of his desk, still looking wary.

Severus turned away, pacing the office. He did not look at Potter as he began to speak.

'I will have been a teacher at Hogwarts for twelve years, this March… did you know that?' he asked quietly.

'No, sir.'

'Indeed,' said Severus. 'The headmaster hired me initially to work under the previous Potions master, who had decided to retire the following term. Professor Dumbledore wished to groom me for the post, you see, though I was very young at the time – only just twenty-one.' He ran a hand along the shelves of the back wall, fingertips grazing over the many jars of samples and specimens he'd been collecting and preserving in the past decade. The child did not interrupt.

'Twenty-one,' Severus continued quietly, 'is quite unusual an age to start instructing children in the wizarding world. Unlike our Muggle counterparts, who are often young when they enter the education field, teachers in the wizarding world are held to a different standard. We do not have university, and our children come of age at seventeen years. Most professions have no further study than what you will learn here at Hogwarts, although some of the more difficult lines of work require additional specialised training. And, of course, Hogwarts is the only wizarding school in Britain. To be a professor at Hogwarts, therefore, is a highly-coveted and highly prestigious position. Professors are well respected, in wizarding society.

'Most professors, as no doubt you have noticed by now, come back to Hogwarts later in life, once they have obtained study in their field beyond the classroom: perhaps gained a formal mastery through an apprenticeship programme on the continent, or else worked for the Ministry or a private company in some capacity. When the headmaster took me onto the staff, I was the youngest Hogwarts professor since he himself took a post in the Transfiguration department. And I took the position only because he asked it of me himself.'

Severus paused in his reminiscence, choosing a jar from the shelf as he spoke. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Potter was riveted to his every word, although he still looked confused.

'I was not unstudied. Far from it. In the three years since I had left the school, I had seen and done… much. I was always a competent brewer – prodigious even – and I honed those skills further in my work between leaving Hogwarts and returning. The headmaster knew this, though that was not why he hired me.'

He strode back over to the boy, and placed the little jar he'd pulled off the shelf down in front of him. Unlike the many slimy, floating things on display in the office, this jar was filled with the most infinitesimal amount of what seemed to be water, but with a sparkling, silver quality. Potter stared down at it blankly.

'Do you know what this is?' he asked the boy. Potter shook his head. Severus snorted. He turned away again, resuming his pacing.

'I am not surprised,' he said. 'Few wizards would recognise it. And even fewer have managed to obtain and bottle a sample. They are very rare, and must be freely given.'

'What is it, professor?' said Potter, still bent over the jar.

'They are unicorn tears,' Snape said simply. 'Very rare, and incredibly valuable. Like the tears of a phoenix, unicorn tears have certain healing qualities. Unicorn tears can save a wizard from everything short of the killing curse itself. But they come with a price. A unicorn who freely offers her tears gives only the dose necessary for one life – one salvation. A specific salvation, for which they are marked. And once those tears are used, the witch or wizard can never be saved in such a way again.'

'How did you get them, sir?' asked Potter, now wide-eyed.

Severus did not answer.

'Do you know why I keep these tears, Potter?' he asked, looking seriously down at him. The child shook his head.

'Because I must. They cannot be sold, or given away. To dispose of unicorn tears is a heinous slight on the gift. They cannot be used on any other but the one they were meant to save. And these tears can save nobody now. They are useless – a mere artefact. A symbol of a life foolishly lost. Mistakes that can never be undone. Salvation, that will never be granted.'

Potter swallowed, hard. 'You… you keep them because somebody died?' he asked, horrified.

'Yes,' Severus said. 'And no. I keep them as a reminder of why that person died. And the price of hesitancy, foolhardiness, mistrust and cowardice.' He took the jar back from the boy, considering the pool of tears in the bottom of the glass. 'Do you know the price of such sins, Potter? Are you willing to pay it – or to let your little friends do so?'

The child looked frightened. 'I… er…' he started, seeming unsure what to say. 'I mean no, of course I don't want – want my friends to pay a price if I'm, er, foolish or cowardly…. Or what–'

'Then tell me,' Severus interjected, setting the jar on his desk and leaning back against the wood with his arms crossed over his chest, 'Why is it that no matter how many warnings you are given, no matter what consequences you are threatened with, no matter what disaster seems to follow you around, you are still so arrogant and reckless that you insist upon endangering your life and the lives of your friends with your schemes?'

Potter's eyes widened further. 'I, I don't know what you –'

'Do not play the fool with me, Potter!' Severus barked, eyes flashing. 'The headmaster may have bought your little charade, but I KNOW BETTER. You and your little friends have been brewing Polyjuice Potion illegally for months! The missing boomslang skin, the ridiculous display with the firework, Ms Granger's very unique injuries, two of my students locked in a cupboard, missing their shoes… I told you, Potter, I have been a teacher for over a decade. My profession is to lord over the House of the cunning and the clever. Do you really think that I, of all people, am unable to put these pieces together? You have been foolish and careless with your own neck once again, and you are incredibly lucky that nobody was permanently hurt by your flouting of the rules! Do you think you are above restriction? Did you think that you alone – a twelve-year-old with mediocre talent and no sense of self-preservation – would be able to corner the heir of Slytherin where the greatest wizard of the age has not yet succeeded? Tell me – did you give any thought to what might happen if you were caught? Or if the potion was brewed unsuccessfully? Or if, worse still, you'd been attacked and killed in your attempt?'

He watched as the child grew paler while he railed at him. Severus broke off his rant, breathing heavily and glaring down at the boy. Potter was ghostly white for several moments, and then he grew faintly green. He looked, in fact, like he might sick up.

Severus had about three second's warning before Potter started to retch in earnest. He conjured a basin at the last moment, hurriedly shoving the child's head down into it as he emptied his stomach. The boy's skin was clammy.

He summoned a stomach-soother wordlessly from his private stores, and conjured a flannel. He shoved the cloth roughly at Potter when he finally resurfaced, letting him wipe his face, then banished both that and the basin before the odour turned his own stomach.

'Drink,' he said curtly, handing over the potion. Potter grimaced but did not dare to disobey, upending the phial and downing it quickly.

'Thanks,' he said weakly, handing the empty phial back to Severus. His colour was better, but Severus scrutinised his face with narrowed eyes.

'Are you ill, Potter?' he asked, still in the same cool tone. Potter shook his head but Severus, seeing the beads of perspiration on his brow, was unconvinced. He raised an eyebrow.

'I'm not, professor,' said Potter firmly. 'I just… my stomach's been a bit queasy all day. I had a nightmare last night and it left me a little off. And then what you said…' he looked rather squeamish again. Severus leaned closer.

'I did not say these things to make you vomit, Potter,' he said. 'But you must take things more seriously. We have rules at this castle for a reason. The last time the Chamber was opened, a girl your age was killed.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir,' he said quietly, not looking at Severus.

'What sort of nightmare?' Severus asked, changing the subject abruptly. 'I thought you were using Occlumency to stop them.'

'I am!' said Potter, a little miffed now.

'Tone, Potter!' Severus snapped.

'Sorry, sir,' the boy said, slightly apologetic. 'I just mean… I am using Occlumency. But sometimes it doesn't work.'

Severus frowned at him. 'This nightmare, it made you ill?'

Potter shrugged. 'I guess so,' he said. 'That happens sometimes with the dreams. I don't know why it's that way with some but not the others.'

'What was this dream about?'

'I can't remember much of it,' he said, shrugging again. 'A room with green fire, or something like that. It's the same sort of green that I always see when I dream about…' but he trailed off, looking sad and out of reach.

'About what, Potter?' Severus pressed.

'About the night my parents died, sir,' Potter admitted in a small voice.

Severus felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. That night haunted his own dreams far too often. He hadn't realised Potter could even remember that – he'd been little more than a year old at the time. He wondered what, exactly, Potter remembered. The moment when the curses had been cast? His father hitting the floor? Did he remember Lily – in her final moments? Did he remember what had happened after… the destroyed house? Severus – running into the nursery and holding the dead woman in his arms, ignoring the wailing infant behind him as his life was torn apart forever… fleeing from the scene as the crowd of Muggles and wizards began to surround the house, leaving the distraught child in the wreckage?

'Do you know why that is, professor?' the boy asked, pulling Severus back to the office.

'Why what is, Potter?' Severus snapped, a bit harsher than he'd intended. The child flinched.

'Why… why sometimes the Occlumency won't work, and the nightmares make me that way… but I can't remember them, sir?'

Severus stared hard at Potter. It was an odd thing, now he came to think about it. But he did not have an answer. 'I do not,' he said, carefully. 'But I can try to… help you, to remember.'

'How?' the child asked, looking eager.

Severus stood straight and pulled his wand free from his pocket again. He walked around to the opposite side of the desk, preparing himself. 'Concentrate on what you can remember of the dream,' he said, pushing back the sleeves of his robes. 'Put it to the forefront of your mind – it will make it easier. And do not try to resist.'

'What… what are you going to do, sir?' Potter asked, eying Severus's wand with fear.

Severus smirked. 'I am going to penetrate your mind,' he said. 'On the count of three then, Potter,' he added, ignoring the sudden horror that spread over the child's face. 'One… two… three. Legilimens!'

The boy had clearly not done what he'd asked. Not that Severus was surprised at his inability to follow direction in the slightest. Potter's mind was in chaos; flashes of thought and memory streaking past so quickly, Severus could barely get his bearings. He latched onto the first scene he could see in any detail… a bubbling cauldron, familiar in its scent and substance – Polyjuice Potion, set on a blue flame over what looked oddly like a toilet. So he had been right. But Severus let the memory slip away again – it was not his quarry.

A flash of green.

Severus pushed forward roughly – this memory was older, farther from reach. Blinding green light and a woman's scream… and high, cold, familiar laughter. Severus reeled back in panic – he did not want to see… did not what to know.

More green.

But these were eyes. Familiar, beautiful, almond-shaped eyes of emerald green. Lily's eyes, that in life were now set so heartbreakingly in the face of the man he'd hated, mocking Severus's failure. Lily's face was staring back at him, and James' – oddly distorted, until Severus registered that both were staring out from a great, gilded mirror. They were smiling with such tenderness and love in their expression that Severus was momentarily thrown, until he realised that Harry Potter was seated on the floor in front of him, one small hand pressed up against the glass. Severus remained for several long moments, staring entranced at Lily's image, until he was startled by the sudden emergence of Albus Dumbledore beside him, running a hand over his own form as he silently lifted a disillusionment charm. The headmaster watched the boy with nearly the same expression of tenderness as his parents wore in the mirror for a minute, before gently pulling the child's attention from the glass.

Severus left them in conversation, pulling himself back into the sea of churning thoughts. He tried to focus his search, using his own skill to force the most recent memories to the front of Potter's mind.

And there it was.

Severus was in an odd stone room, glowing with green flame torches. There was an open book upon the ground, lit up in a similar way. Severus tried to focus on the details of the room, but it was hazy about the edges; distorted in the way unfinished memories so often were. He did not recognise the place. Perhaps it only existed in Potter's imaginings. A blurry, red-haired figure was at the opposite end of the room, her back to Severus and Potter, dressed in Gryffindor nightclothes. Severus immediately thought it might be a young Lily, but how would Potter have such a memory? And anyway, this girl's hair seemed straighter, and brighter… not quite the deep shade of red that Lily's had been. Harry called out to her, and Severus realised that it was the Weasley daughter.

But the scene began to fade. At first, Severus thought it was the effects of the incomplete recollection – that Potter had reached the end of his ability to recall the dream at all, even subconsciously. But as he was pulled back into the stream of general thought, Severus saw that all of Potter's thoughts were beginning to blacken, the maddening flow of images slowing.

The child was losing consciousness.

Shite.

He pulled out of the boy's head immediately, steadying himself for a moment on the edge of the desk as his gaze came back into focus on the real world. Then he nearly vaulted the desk in his haste to get around it, lunging for the child as Potter's body went limp and he began to fall from the chair.

Dumbledore would kill him.

'Potter!' he called, shaking the boy's shoulders. He didn't move. He was sweaty again, and very pale. Severus shook him harder. He thought the child felt warm – fevered, maybe. He was still unresponsive.

Shite…

Severus kept him in the chair with one arm, summoning an invigoration draught with the other. He wrenched Potter's jaw open and tipped the contents of the phial down his throat, massaging it to make him swallow. After a few agonising minutes, Potter began to stir with a groan.

Severus released him as his eyes fluttered open, and Potter pushed himself straight again in the chair.

'What –' he said in confusion, looking up at Severus through hazy eyes.

'The memory was not at the front of your mind,' said Severus stiffly, leaning back toward his desk again, now that the crisis had passed. 'I had to go farther into your subconscious than I had originally intended. We should, perhaps, have waited until you were more recovered from the incident last night. The strain was too much on your mind and you fainted. I… apologise. I should have recognised the possibility sooner.'

Potter was rubbing his forehead vaguely, still trying to get his bearings. 'Did you… did you see everything I saw, sir?' he asked, not looking up.

Severus hesitated. 'Flashes of it,' he admitted.

The boy looked angry now. 'That – some of that was private!' he whinged, still holding his head.

Severus nodded. 'I know. But perhaps next time you will pay closer attention when I am giving an instruction, and I will not have to rummage about in your chaotic head to find what we are looking for.'

Potter scowled. 'There isn't going to be a next time,' he muttered to the desktop. 'And you didn't give me much of a warning to get ready!' he accused.

Severus glared. 'I am only overlooking your cheek, Potter,' he said in a forcibly restrained voice, 'because I appreciate that you are not feeling your best at the moment. But you would do well to remember to whom you are speaking when you open your mouth.'

Potter ground his teeth, but said nothing.

'Did you recall anything further about the dream?' Severus asked. 'I did not recognise the location… it may have been nothing but imaginings.'

'The book was new,' said the boy. 'But other than that, it was pretty much everything I could remember before.'

Severus nodded, going over to his potions cabinet. He began to sift through the shelves in search of the right phial.

'Perhaps it will come back to you in time,' he said. 'Or, perhaps, it is of little importance anyway.' He selected the correct potion, and shut the store cupboard again. 'Come. I shall take you back up to the tower.'

Potter gained his feet a little unsteadily.

'Can you walk?' Severus asked, seeing the way the child stumbled toward the door.

'Yeah, I just…' Potter kneaded his knuckles against his forehead again. 'I have a wicked headache.'

'A side effect of the process,' Severus said. 'It will fade with time, and sleep. Which you will be doing as soon as you return to the Tower.' He pressed the phial he'd retrieved into the boy's hand.

'Dreamless Sleep potion,' he explained with a roll of his eyes, as the child stared down at it blankly. 'You've had it before, you ought to recognise the colour by now. You will go straight up to bed when I release you at the Gryffindor entrance, and take the entire phial once you are lying down. I trust you remember that it is a fast-acting brew. It will prevent you from dreaming, tonight.'

Potter looked up, giving him an odd look. 'Right. Er – thanks, sir,' he said, pocketing the phial of potion.

Severus grunted and opened the door, motioning the child ahead of him. But Potter hesitated.

'But, sir… what about my punishment? You never said.'

Severus stared hard at the boy. 'This time, Potter,' he said, 'I am going to let you off with my warning. Do not expect me to be so lenient the next time. If I catch you – or any of your sidekicks – out of bounds again, the consequences will be more severe than you can possibly imagine.'

In truth, though Severus dearly wanted to throw all three Gryffindor brats into detention until they came of age, he knew perfectly well he could not. The information was spotty, and partly unethical to use against them. And he had no conclusive proof… except, of course, the evidence he'd obtained legilimising Potter. Which Dumbledore would never accept, and probably skin him alive for daring to unearth in the first place – even if that had not been the intended goal of the exercise.

As he ushered Potter out of the office ahead of him, Severus's eyes fell again on the little jar of unicorn tears he'd shown the boy that night. He suppressed a small shudder. What he hadn't told the child, was that there was a second jar. A sample he'd obtained later… in the first days of his teaching position. A jar marked for Harry Potter.

And Severus' goal, in this lecture tonight, was to ensure that he would never have need to use it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Ron spent the last week of the holidays in happy distraction – playing in the grounds with Fred and George and wiling away hours in the common room with chess or gobstones. Harry luxuriated in the free time, even the few hours each day they spent visiting with Hermione in the hospital wing, where more often than not she made them work on their holiday assignments with her. Hermione was, slowly, getting back to normal, though her eyes were still yellow with slits for pupils. Harry was growing used to them by now. Madam Pomfrey had told Hermione she ought to be able to get back to lessons by the third week of January, but she was determined not to fall behind in the meantime.

'Do make sure to give those essays to Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape, won't you?' she reminded them anxiously, as Harry and Ron packed up their things to head back to the tower on the last evening of the Christmas holidays.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'We've told you we would, Hermione,' he said wearily. 'About a hundred times now.'

Hermione huffed, but seemed placated. 'You will make notes for me, won't you?' she persisted.

'Of course we will,' Harry assured her soothingly. 'We'll come down every night to give them to you – don't worry.'

'Oh… alright,' she relented, smiling at him. 'You'd better be off then – it's nearly curfew.'

Harry glanced down at his watch. She was quite right – they had less than half an hour before they were due to be back in Gryffindor Tower. He and Ron bid Hermione a good night, and set off for the staircase.

They were just walking past the first floor landing when Harry noticed something odd. The steps here were covered in a thin layer of water. He nudged Ron, pointing down. Ron furrowed his brow.

'You think Myrtle's flooded the place again?' he asked Harry, nodding toward her lavatory. Harry squinted down the passage. It did indeed look as though the water had completely covered the long marble floor. He glanced up and down the staircase – there didn't appear to be anyone else in sight.

'Come on,' whispered Harry, pulling Ron toward the flood. 'Let's have a quick look around.'

He and Ron made their way down the corridor, picking carefully through the puddles to avoid slipping. Harry inched the door open when they'd arrived at the loo. Every tap in the place had been turned, the faucets unleashing torrents that overflowed their basins and cascaded onto the stone floor. Gurgling noises told Harry the toilets must be similarly running. Above the din from the water, they could hear Moaning Myrtle's characteristic wailing.

'Myrtle?' Harry ventured, trying to make himself heard above the noise. The wailing stopped suddenly and Myrtle floated out of a cubicle, hiccupping slightly, her pearly eyes misted behind her spectacles.

'Oh, it's you,' she said, giving them a mournful once-over.

'Yes,' Harry agreed. 'Er, is everything alright?'

Myrtle sniffed dramatically. 'Oh, I don't know,' she said. 'Would you be alright if someone had barged into your room and thrown a book at you?'

'Well,' piped up Ron, apparently attempting rational argument. 'I mean, it can't hurt you if it hits you, can it? I mean… it'd just go right through you, no?'

Myrtle swooped down toward them so quickly, Harry jumped back in fright.

'Oh, of course!' she snapped, her voice losing its depressed whinge in her anger. 'You're just like the rest of them, aren't you? Let's all have a bit of fun with Myrtle – because she's dead and can't feel it!'

'No, no that's not what he meant, Myrtle,' said Harry quickly, while Ron stood frozen, rather gormless. 'Who was it, anyway?'

Myrtle shrugged. 'I didn't see them,' she said. 'But I washed the book back up again. It's somewhere over there.' She motioned vaguely with her hand toward the far side of the bathroom, where Harry could see a small black book was lying innocently in one of the larger puddles. He moved toward it, reaching a hand down to pick it up.

But to his surprise, Ron splashed up behind him in panic, grasping his wrist before he could take the book.

'What's the matter?' asked Harry, raising his eyebrows.

'Don't touch it mate,' said Ron, shaking his head. 'It might be dangerous.'

Harry laughed. 'Dangerous?' he repeated incredulously. 'Ron – it's just a book!'

But Ron still looked uncertain. 'Listen,' he said. 'Dad sees all sorts of mad stuff at work. Wizards can enchant books, you know, so they'll do things to the next reader. Sometimes you can't stop reading them, or they burn your eyes out, or they mess with your brain… it's not a good idea, Harry, trust me.'

Harry shook him off. 'We'll never know if we don't check, will we?' he said reasonably. 'And besides, some other student obviously had this book before, because they chucked it in here, didn't they? And I haven't seen anyone with burnt eyes running around Hogwarts lately.'

Before Ron could protest further, Harry had retrieved the little book. It was small and leather-bound, with pages that were slightly yellowed at the ends from age. Harry flicked through it, as Ron held his breath. It appeared to be a diary, but without any entries.

'This is a Muggle book,' Harry said softly, pointing to the inside cover. 'That's a print shop in London. 1943… it's fifty years old.'

'But there's no writing in it,' Ron pointed out. 'Why would someone want to chuck an old, blank diary?'

Harry shrugged, flipping to the front cover. T. M. Riddle was embossed in fading gold letters in the lower right hand corner. Harry ran his fingers lightly over the name. It was familiar to him, somehow. He felt an eerie pull toward the book, almost as though Riddle was someone he ought to remember, but could not.

'T. M. Riddle…' Ron read out, watching Harry. He suddenly gripped his arm again. 'Hey, Harry – I know that name!'

'You do?' said Harry in surprise, turning to Ron. 'How?'

'He won an award – Special Services to the School. The shield's in the trophy room.'

'How on earth do you remember that?' Harry queried, eying him sceptically. Ron could barely remember what they'd had for breakfast most days. Ron grimaced.

'I had to scrub it about twenty times in my detention with Filch. I sicked up slugs all over it – you remember that curse I was trying to put on Malfoy? If you'd been working out grime from someone's name for an hour, you'd remember it too.'

Harry nodded, still running his fingers over the name, thinking hard.

Why would someone throw a fifty-year-old empty diary down the toilet? And who was T. M. Riddle?

Ron shook him from his musings, as he began tugging at his arm.

'Come on, Harry,' he said, yanking him toward the door. 'We'll miss curfew if we don't get on.'

Harry allowed Ron to pull him from the lavatory. But as they left, he pocketed the diary.