The afternoon turned into evening and long shadows slipped across the Infirmary walls. Harry lay very still; there was nothing to do but go over the events of the past few days again and again. Malfoy was still in the bed next to him but he had stayed huddled under his sheets since his father's visit.
Had Snape left him locked in his office for Voldemort to find? But then, why had he driven the Dementors away? Acting quickly to protect himself, since the attack had gone wrong? And why did Draco have a scar identical to Harry's now?
Just before dinner, the door opened and Cho Chang slipped in.
"I came to say 'sorry' for what happened to you," she told him awkwardly. "How're you doing?"
"I've been better," said Harry with a grin.
"Blaise said to say he hoped you'd be O.K." Cho added. "You know, it's terrible; what with this all happening right outside the Slytherin Common Room and all, and Goyle dying – it's put him right off his Quidditch."
There was nothing much to say to that, so Harry just nodded. The silence grew uncomfortably between them and Harry saw that Cho looked as relieved as he felt when Pomfrey came in with two trays and shooed her away.
"Chicken and chips," she told him kindly. "Try to eat, it will do you good." Harry looked at it. It was usually one of his favorites, but today he had no appetite. He managed to force down most of the plateful, noticing that Malfoy left his untouched on the bedside table. As he set the tray aside, Hermione appeared. There was a set of clean clothes over her arm and she was carrying Harry's wand.
"Hecate's told me most of what went on," she said. "I can't believe he almost got you again!"
Harry shrugged. "Just my mission in life." He grasped the wand eagerly. "Am I glad to have this back! All that fuss about the feather and I never got a chance to use it."
"It'll come in useful one day," Hermione told him. "Do you feel up to going somewhere? Only, Mr and Mrs Weasley are here and I think they'd like to talk to you – about George, you know."
Harry swung himself out of bed in an instant and held out his hand for the robes. He quickly changed into them while Hermione pulled the curtains. As he put on his sneakers, he found the scrap of paper with the potion recipe and tucked it into his pocket.
"Is it just Mr and Mrs Weasley?" he asked. "What about Goyle's parents?"
"They've been and gone already, apparently. They didn't want to see you."
They set off via Hecate's office; she had told Hermione that she might well want to see the Weasleys to pay her respects. As they walked, Harry told Hermione everything that he had heard in the Infirmary.
"Malfoy's got your scar!" gasped Hermione.
"And his dad is really trying to drop Snape in it," said Harry. "What do you think? Was he making me a sitting target for Voldemort? My wand wouldn't work in his office."
"Oh, Harry, he's the Headmaster," she replied.
"Hermione!" said Harry but there was a lump in his throat. The fact of people being their usual annoying selves was suddenly very precious.
"Have you seen Ron much?" he asked.
"He's been with his family most of the time. He just looks – lost."
"And Crabbe – how is he taking it?"
"OK, considering. You know, we had a long talk last night and decided to just be friends from now on."
"What about the love potion, then?" asked Harry.
Hermione stared far down the corridor, her cheeks going slightly pink. "After we finished talking, I finally got up the nerve to look up how long they last. A month at the outside." She glanced sideways at Harry, as if looking for his reaction. Now why should that be important? asked a small voice in the back of his mind. Ah, yes, of course, that's it.
"He really did like you, then," he replied.
Hermione beamed. "All the sweet things he said, the flowers he sent, they were nothing to do with the potion. He thought I was special. Imagine that. Me."
She certainly is, said the small voice. Aren't you going to tell her so? Don't wait for another chance. No one ever knows how many more chances they will have for anything.
Harry took a deep breath. "Well, you are special. Ron and I both think so." Suddenly it was easier, and the words poured out of him. "It's nothing to do with being clever, it's just you. Friends like you don't come along every day. So…so I'm glad you're my friend. And I don't need a potion to know it." Now it was Harry's turn to blush. Fortunately Hermione didn't seem to notice; she was still staring off down the hall.
Turning the corner, Hermione broke the silence. "Speaking of potions, we still don't know about Dumbledore's," she mused.
"I copied it out from Snape's book when I was locked in his office," said Harry, suddenly remembering the scrap of paper. He handed it to her. Hermione bent over it with a frown.
"Oh, I see, it was a Hindi A," she exclaimed. "And I missed out a whole sentence the first time. Give me a minute…Here we go, it should be –" She began to read, haltingly.
'This is the secret potion of the ancients that will protect you from your enemy and destroy him when he attacks you. The usual price is exacted – a life – but not your own. Find some poor fool whom you can trick to drink this potion before you do, and keep him close to you against the day when your enemy attacks. Let your enemy slay him, or kill him yourself when you are sure your enemy is near. His death will save and strengthen you. Urchin, slave, convict, courtesan, or halfwit, any life will do. Those skilled in the potioner's art do prescribe a fool, for who but an idiot would die so, to protect the one who kills him? Now this be a potion where the skill…'"
She broke off. "The rest we know." She turned a horrified gaze on Harry. "He gave this to Dumbledore?"
"There's been too much death, Hermione," said Harry as they reached Hecate's office.
They knocked, and then realized the angry voice they were hearing had come from inside. "Enter!" barked a deep, accented voice from behind the door.
"Hesperos, really!" Hecate's voice replied. Harry and Hermione hesitated, exchanging alarmed glances.
"I said, enter! Enter!" The door burst open and Sinistra swept them into the office with a broad, impatient gesture. In one hand he brandished a sheet of gold parchment bordered in green and purple; a large purple envelope with the Ministry seal lay on Takushiki's desk. Snape stood like a menacing black eagle at the other end of the room. His eyes narrowed when he saw them, and he glared at Sinistra.
"Apart from your unfortunate habit of jumping to conclusions, Professor, this is no matter for students," he hissed.
"Is it not?" retorted Sinistra. "When she is their teacher?" He shook the letter in Snape's face, his eyes blazing under his bushy eyebrows. "This is unconscionable! And in these dark times! Do you not know how difficult it is to find a qualified teacher of Defense? You drove out Remus Lupin; this year we are so fortunate to find Hecate and now she must leave us too?"
"Your opinion has been noted. I repeat, this is a staff matter," Snape replied coldly.
"A staff matter, you say? I tell you, it is a plain injustice!" Sinistra shouted back at him, his hands rising passionately into the air. "There is nobody – nobody who can teach like our Hecate – no one so perceptive, so devoted –"
"Silence!" roared Snape.
"For shame, sir!" Sinistra roared back. "Can you disguise vendetta from me? I know it when I smell it and this reeks of vendetta – it reeks to heaven. Say what you like, I shall not keep silent!" He flung the letter onto the tabletop and stalked out, muttering to himself in Italian.
Hecate rose from her chair and took a step toward Snape, her eyes flashing. "For heaven's sake, did you have to bark at him? And let him go on like that? Couldn't you have let him know it was nothing to do with you? As if everyone wasn't upset enough already!"
Hermione pulled at Harry's sleeve and both of them sidled toward the door. "Erm, we'll wait outside, miss."
"No, just go on, I've seen the Weasleys and I'll catch you up later," said Hecate, still glaring at Snape. The two pupils backed into the hallway and shut the door. Inside they could still hear the argument. Hecate spoke again, her usual patience yielding to frustration.
"Sorry, Headmaster. But since I suppose I'm leaving, I might as well just say it – you can't treat your faculty like that and expect to keep them. You have to work with them. And you can do it, I know you can. We worked together this year, you and I, and I'm proud of what we did. Now if you'd only trust the rest of your colleagues..."
"Meaning?" said Snape dangerously.
"Professor McGonagall for one. You let me understand that she knew everything that Professor Sinistra and I knew. Now I find that you didn't even tell her that we knew the date of Voldemort's attack. Sinistra confirmed over a month ago that the conjunction of Gemini and the crescent moon agreed with the Centaur's prophecy of the Twins and the Sickle, it was perfectly clear. I know you hate the fact that she remembers you from your schooldays – "
Snape snorted.
"– and you think she resents you being Headmaster, so you try to put her down," continued Hecate. "Well, just because you'd hate it if she were head teacher, don't assume that she's so – adolescent – about the whole thing. She's your senior colleague. You should have confided in her fully. She would have supported you."
There was silence.
"And your staff aren't the only ones who can help you, you know. There's a big world outside of Hogwarts. The Ministry – not Fudge, of course, but he has some very good department heads. Then there's Jigger at the Potions Institute..."
"Jigger! After…"
"Yes, 'after'," said Hecate crossly. "Dumbledore specifically told you to write to him, to extend a hand to him, but have you done it? And you have the portraits in your office, and the Sorting Hat… yes, yes, I know it's got an attitude. Do you think it didn't twit Dumbledore too? He still consulted it all the time, and I think he gave as good as he got." Suddenly she chuckled. "You know, if anyone could dress it down properly, it would be you."
"Are you quite finished?" asked Snape, a peculiar roughness in his voice.
"Not yet," said Hecate, a bit more calmly now. "What about Harry? Didn't we agree that it would be best simply to tell him that the attack was expected and that he was safe in your office? Of course he tried to escape, who wouldn't have? Once he got out, he was right where Voldemort wanted him."
"If you think Potter would have obeyed my orders..." began Snape.
"Orders again!" exclaimed Hecate. "You're supposed to be a Headmaster, not some kind of petty dictator. For heaven's sake, act like one. He would have listened to me, and to you, too, if you'd bothered explaining things instead of ordering him around. And finally, we should have stayed closer to the office waiting for Voldemort. By the time we got there he'd already chased Harry downstairs. We might have been able to save those kids. And poor old Filch almost died too, when that Pettigrew character found him."
"Well, he seems to have got over it, the way he's boasting about the experience," grumbled Snape. "Anyway, we needed Voldemort's attention to be fully on Potter before we attacked."
"Harry's a human being, Headmaster. He isn't just a flobberworm to stick on the end of a fishing line so you can go trawling for Dark wizards," retorted Hecate. She was silent for a moment. "All right. Now, do you want me to make the announcement about my leaving? No? Well, try to put a good face on it, then. For the school's sake. No one wants any more bad news."
Hermione knocked on the door to the small chamber beside the Great Hall, then held it open for herself and Harry to enter.
Arthur and Molly Weasley were sitting together on a battered couch, their heads bowed, holding hands. They scarcely looked up when Harry came in. Ginny was crouched down by her mother's knees, her head in her lap. Mrs Weasley's free hand was mechanically stroking her hair. Ron was staring dully into the empty fireplace and of Percy there was no sign. Only Fred was moving, pacing up and down the room with angry gestures and lecturing his indifferent family in a harsh bark.
"Snape killed him as much as Voldemort did. He hated us from the day we came here. I've told you what George – " he paused and swallowed for a moment – "and I heard him saying to the Mirror of Erised. That he's paid Dumbledore back by making that potion. And Harry's father. It was poison!"
He rushed over to Harry and grasped his arms painfully tight, his face desperate. "You tell them, Harry. Snape's Dark, isn't he? He called Voldemort here. He killed my brother."
"Let the boy be, Fred," said Mr Weasley gently. He held out a hand to Harry.
"I'm so sorry, Mr Weasley," said Harry, going over to him and taking his hand. Arthur Weasley squeezed it, hard.
"I just wish they would let us take him home," whispered Mrs Weasley next to him. "Safe and home. But they keep talking about inquests, and Fred keeps saying... and Charlie and Bill aren't here..." She began to cry.
"There, there, Molly, Percy's sorting all that out, remember?" her husband told her. "I don't know what we'd have done without him these last two days," he added.
Ron appeared by Harry's side. "Tell us what happened, Harry, " he said. If it had not been for his voice, Harry would not have recognised his friend, so pinched and white was Ron's face.
"Yes, tell us," added Fred.
Harry glanced nervously at Mrs Weasley. "No, go on, say it, dear," she whispered. "If I don't know the truth, I'll only imagine."
Harry recounted the whole story, from his entry into the potions dungeon, to Snape's interrogation of Draco and his anger at learning that Draco had swallowed some of the potion meant for Dumbledore.
"Thought he'd poisoned his pet pupil by mistake, did he?" spat Fred.
"It hasn't hurt Malfoy at all, though," said Harry.
"Was Draco Malfoy not hurt in the attack, then?" asked Mr Weasley, suddenly sitting up straight.
"Not much – the only thing is that he's got a scar like mine, now – here, on his forehead," Harry answered.
"Harry – this is important – tell me exactly what happened just before Voldemort made that ball of fire – where everyone was – no, Molly, it is important. Fred can't remember much."
Harry searched his memory. "I was lying on the floor just outside the Slytherin common room. The door opened and they all rushed out –"
"Who came out first?" pressed Mr Weasley.
"Goyle and...and George," answered Harry. "They were first. They tripped and fell right on top of me. Then Draco. Then Fred and I suppose Pansy behind him."
"Arthur, what does it matter?" sobbed Mrs Weasley.
"Is that door tight shut, Hermione?" said Mr Weasley. Hermione closed it firmly and nodded. Arthur Weasley beckoned for all in the room to come closer to him.
"Fred – my boy – " he said to his son, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It was Lord Voldemort who killed your brother. That potion – the one Professor Snape made, the one that Dumbledore and Draco Malfoy drank – it was a protection potion, not a poison. That's why the people who were in front of Draco died – and you and Pansy, and Harry, who were behind him, lived. That potion saved your life."
"Then why didn't it protect Dumbledore?" asked Fred. "And how could a potion someone else took save me?"
"Was it the...?" began Hermione.
Mr Weasley held up his hand. "No more," he said quietly. "That potion has a dark, terrible history; for many years it was thought to be lost and unmakeable. The less you know about it, the better."
"But people can make it now?" asked Hermione.
"One person, according to rumour at the Ministry," Mr Weasley told her. "That's all. And we'd best not discuss it any further. Thank you, Harry; I haven't asked how you are, have I?"
"It doesn't matter," Harry told him, but Mr Weasley had already turned away and had wrapped his arms around his wife, to rock her gently to and fro.
"We'd better go," said Hermione.
"Ron," said Harry to his friend, "I..." He couldn't go on. Looking down, he grasped Ron's hands and held them tightly in both of his.
Finally Ron swallowed, an d nodded. "We're all going home tonight. Could you pack my stuff?" He paused. "I think it's the worst for Fred out of all of us."
Harry looked over at the surviving Weasley twin. How many times over the years would Fred look at his own aging face in a mirror and think of the unchanging one of his dead twin? How many times would an old acquaintance who hadn't heard the news walk up to him and ask if he were George?
"Harry, that was the Doomspell potion Mr Weasley was talking about, wasn't it?" said Hermione as they made their way back to the Infirmary. "It fits with the instructions, especially now that we can read the first part. Dumbledore took it – he must have wanted you to drink it as well, to protect you now that Voldemort was back. But Voldemort attacked too early, and Malfoy got the protection instead."
"You mean that Voldemort's spell rebounded off Malfoy because...?"
"Dumbledore died after he took the first draught," finished Hermione. "That was the forfeit the potions instructions meant. The first drinker dies – but the second is protected by the death. When he's attacked, the spell will fall back on the attacker."
"Dumbledore was willing to die for me," said Harry slowly. They walked on in silence for a few paces. Then Harry said, "Malfoy's got a scar like mine, now."
"You said so, and I saw it in the infirmary," said Hermione. "You got that scar from Voldemort too."
"I told you in Godric's Hollow – I remembered when I was a baby and my father was feeding me something that tasted awful." Harry went on. "More of it came back when the Dementors were standing over me. My mother was there. She was angry and worried, she was asking my Dad if he'd given me something, if he'd taken it himself. I'm sure she mentioned Snape. "
"Suppose Snape made that potion before?" said Hermione. "Didn't Dumbledore say he'd seen it in the past when Snape brought him that goblet?"
"I've been thinking the same thing, but it's just... I don't know, how could it be true?" said Harry, stopping to face her. "That my father took that potion, a potion Snape made? When he knew how much Snape hated him? And that he gave it to me, and then died? And that's why I lived?"
"It may well be," answered Hermione, moving mechanically down the corridor, a faraway look in her eyes. "But if that's so, why did your mother try to protect you? She didn't have to die, did she? All she had to do was stand back and let Voldemort curse you. Then the spell would have rebounded, Voldemort would have been destroyed and she'd still be alive as well as you."
"She wasn't quite sure that my father had given it to me, I think," said Harry slowly. Then he thought of Mrs Weasley and her blank-eyed grief. "Anyway, I don't think that she could have gone through with it – stood there and let him attack me, I mean. She had to protect me, she couldn't stop herself. And so he – he killed her."
Through the swirl of thoughts in his head, Harry heard an echo of Hecate's voice. "Dumbledore said your father trusted Snape." So it had been true after all.
"It's a Dark Arts potion, Mr Weasley said," Hermione was telling him. "Suppose that's what Snape was doing in that year that's missing from his records – rediscovering that potion? Then something happened to turn him away from the Dark side. He came back from the Dark and Dumbledore took him in at Hogwarts."
Harry did not reply. The idea that Snape could have had something to do with his survival fourteen years ago was too new and jarring. What had it cost Snape to keep quiet about it for all those years, when everyone around him was cheering Harry Potter's victory over Voldemort? What would it cost Harry himself to know it?