Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Council of War
The six of them followed Snape into the house, stamping the snow from their shoes and glancing at one another with looks filled with foreboding. Arthur and Molly both sat at the kitchen table, their faces drawn and thoughtful, talking quietly with Professor Dumbledore. He raised his head as the teenagers entered, and smiled.
"Merry Christmas," the old man greeted them, patting his white beard thoughtfully. They returned the salutation.
"Now that the children have deigned to join us," Snape's voice dripped contempt, "We can perhaps..."
"And a Happy Christmas to you too, Severus," Harry beamed at him, brightly. Snape's jaw clamped shut for a second.
"Harry..." Dumbledore's eyes flickered cautioningly. Ben Granger, standing somewhat awkwardly with his wife Susan on the edges of this gathering of wizards, gave a quiet snort of laughter.
"Certain intelligence has reached me lately," Snape attempted again.
"About time some did," Ron muttered to his sister, and received a quelling look from Hermione.
Snape bristled, levelling a venomous glance at the pair indiscriminately, before affording Dumbledore a silent glance of appeal. The old man raised a hand, his eyes dancing.
"I think, Severus, we must forgive the excesses of youth when we come into their presence at such a time, and unexpectedly." He considered, following the gentle rebuke with a questioning look to Harry. The boy met it unflinching, and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"Sorry, Professor Snape," Harry said, lightly. "It's just taking us a bit of time to calm down." He heard the twins wheeze with mild outrage somewhere behind him, and allowed the amusing image of the two of them like kettles boiling over to sweeten the bitter pill of apologising to his adversary. Harry gained a certain further pleasure at Snape's confused expression. He could all too easily imagine the various sneers, retorts, or glares of disgust that the Potions Master had been happily preparing for some outburst of defiance or resentment on Harry's part.
Always do the unexpected. Even if your enemy is clever enough to be prepared for it, an erratic adversary is an irritating adversary, and irritated people start making mistakes.
He felt a smug glee permeate him at that, and gathered his emotions, metaphorically sharpening the honest, respectful smile he was targeting Snape with to a point- even his distinctly limited legilmency capable of tasting the confusion and annoyance in Snape's mind- annoyance that the man couldn't actually find anything to legitimately be annoyed about... and turned the feeling off with a brisk flick of some mental switch. Once again, he was delaying matters. A flash of annoyance at Dumbledore for disturbing their Christmas holiday vanished in moments. An annoying little platitudinous saying he remembered slipping from Uncle Vernon's lips in a vain effort to persuade Dudley to do his homework before retreating upstairs to his Playstation crossed Harry's mind.
Guns before butter.
"What's Voldemort up to?"
Snape recoiled, as if stung, and his lip twisted further.
"I have told you not to--"
"All right," Harry found his own anger rising despite himself, "What's He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Given-A-Barclaycard been up to?" He pulled a chair out abruptly, the legs screeching on the tiled floor, and sat down heavily, taking a few more from his lifetime supply of very deep breaths. Snape's teeth bared.
"As I have informed the Headmaster," he growled, more than a little resentfully, "The Dark Lord has made it known amongst his Death Eaters that they are to be prepared for his vengeance upon the world for the indignities he has recently suffered at your hand." He stressed the last phrase deeply, allowing a faintly accusing sneer to cross his face. "As I believe I warned you earlier, the consequences of your actions are likely to be felt by many."
Hermione's cheeks coloured with annoyance, and she clenched her teeth.
What does he expect Harry to do? Just sit back and let Voldemort kill him and Ginny?
She looked at her friend, half-expecting to see the same anger flickering in his eyes- but Harry had leant back in his seat, and his frown was one of thought and deliberation, rather than anger. Hermione's eyes narrowed. She'd seen the dread in his eyes when Snape had beckoned them inside. Harry had expected something else.
Which begs the question- who's the more reliable guide to what Voldemort's doing? Harry- or Snape?
"Any idea what he's going to do?" Arthur Weasley folded his arms, glancing at Moody. "At least we might stand a chance of being ready for him."
"I sincerely doubt the Order of the Phoenix is ready to battle the Dark Lord in open warfare, Weasley," the Potions Master snapped. "And in any case, his precise intents and purposes remain, for the moment, occluded. As the time draws nearer, it may be that he will take certain Death Eaters further into his confidence- and if I am one of those individuals, or if they are members of the Dark order with whom I have some communication or influence, then I may be able to procure further information for you."
"We are aware of the limitations you are under, Severus," Dumbledore murmured, resting a hand lightly on Snape's sleeve and pushing gently until the aggrieved spy resumed his seat. The old man looked particularly at Harry for a moment, then back to Snape. "To remain able to stay close to the Dark Lord, you may only help us so far... only discover so much information to us, never move so far that your hand becomes visible against the sky." The Headmaster's eyes cast downward a moment.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. It was true, she realised, with a distinctly unpleasant feeling as she looked at Snape. Not only was the man limited in terms of what he could risk doing, of just how many times he could feign an innocent explanation for prying into the Dark Lord's affairs... but there was another shadow over him. Each secret he gained, every little bit of information, each thing he learned that could help the Order would have to be weighed in the secret depths of the spy's mind. Would them knowing this incriminate him? Would telling them that secret confirm to Voldemort that there was a spy in his midst, and the name of that spy? What would Snape do? Which way would he jump?
She wondered how many times it had happened. How many times Snape had allowed the Dark Lord to continue unchecked- because to pass on information that might save lives today would have revealed him to Voldemort, and might cost the Order victory tomorrow. She wondered, too, with a cold shiver as she looked at the kindly old man who allowed Snape to sit at his side, how many times Dumbledore had himself made that choice. How many times he had, indeed, been given such precious knowledge, held the scales in his hands... and let innocents die so that Snape might remain hidden, a concealed card in the game. She looked up into the Headmaster's face- and met Dumbledore's eyes as he smiled at her in his genial fashion- yet with a glint behind the eyes that seemed to say that he guessed much of what was in her mind.
"I agree with Harry," Remus was saying, Hermione realised, pulling herself back to the realm of the here and now with a jolt. "Ollivander's is the most likely target." He gave Fred and George an apologetic look. "That means an attack on Diagon Alley." Lupin gnawed one fingernail pensively. "It's a good, high-profile target. Close to the Daily Prophet offices too," he added, thoughtfully. "After the way they jumped right behind Harry when You-Know-Who tried to attack him, He's likely to think they need to be cowed."
"Maybe he can get a job as a proof-reader while he's there," Harry murmured. "I've had enough of 'Harpy Porter and his girlfiend Jenny Wesley' to last me a lifetime."
Ginny stifled a chuckle. The boy grinned at her, then drew serious once more.
"I've warned Mr Ollivander about it," he told them, and frowned in irritation. "Not that I thought he actually bothered to listen or anything." He considered. "Other than trying to imply he'd be quite happy to sell a wand to Voldemort if he asked, of course."
"He tries that and he'll be in for it," Moody growled. "That dratted Umbridge woman's got Ministry agents watching every shop in the Alley."
"It's supposedly about making sure no one's hoarding supplies or magical artefacts for some sort of coup against the Ministry," Ginny's father told them, "But I don't think even she could cover it up if Ollivander sold a wand to He Who Must Not Be Named."
"Mr Ollivander is a skilled man with many talents," Dumbledore observed, sitting up straighter. "And his motives are not always easy to fathom... but I do not think that he would willingly seek to assist Lord Voldemort. To form an alliance with someone who wishes to turn the established order so firmly on its head would be most unwise for a businessman like our wandsmith. That is not to say, of course," he added, thoughtfully, "That he would be willing to risk Voldemort's wrath by refusing him, were he to gain access to the premises."
"He did say that no one could take a wand from the shop without his permission," Harry offered. Fred and George looked at each other, with slightly pained expressions on their faces.
"He's right..."
"... About that."
Mrs Weasley hissed faintly, and glared at them.
"It was years ago!" Fred protested. "We only meant it as a joke..."
"Well," Moody scratched his cheek. "One thing, old Ollivander knows those wands and who he's sold them to back to front. If he reckons You-Know-Who wouldn't be able to get past them- and I don't say we trust him, mind, nor that we let our guard down, there's too many that let their guard down and don't regret it for more than a minute, if you take my meaning, then still, if Ollivander reckons those wands of his are enough to keep out He Who Must Not Be Named, he probably knows what he's talking about."
"Tom Riddle."
"Eh?" Moody looked at Hermione, surprised. The girl rubbed her forehead with the fingertips of one hand, and looked back at him, then at Dumbledore.
"What is it, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked, gently.
"I don't know Mr Ollivander as well as you, Professor," she said thoughtfully, "But from what Harry's told me, and how he spoke when I did meet him, he sounds as if he works out everything he knows about a wizard... well, backwards, in a way. Starting from the wand."
"You can tell a lot about a wizard from their wand, Hermione," Lupin told her.
"A lot isn't everything, Professor- sorry, Mister..."
"Just Remus, Hermione," the thin man smiled wanly. "Go on."
"Right." Hermione glanced around, a little nervously. It was all very well to take the lead with Harry and Ron- for one thing, she knew very well that they expected it, but rather a different thing to find herself trying to explain something to Dumbledore, of all people. She looked at him. The old man met her eyes again, and for a moment she caught a flash of amusement, and almost stopped, crushed, before she read more into his bearded countenance. Dumbledore's look was sympathetic- and almost nostalgic.
"Go on, Miss Granger," he asked, curiously.
"The wand chooses the wizard," Hermione ruminated, spinning webs of reason in her mind and leaping along them. "So from that, knowing the wand, he knows the wizard... but he only knows the wizard that the wand chose... at the time it happened. The trouble is, Mr Ollivander's so caught up in that way of looking at the world, that he only really sees a wizard as something that has magical power that a wand can channel, and has a hand that can hold the wand in the air. I don't think it's ever actually occurred to him that people change. When he thinks of Voldemort, or looks at Harry, or Ron, or even you, Professor, he sees a wand that he sold to an eleven year old child." She waved her hand. "All right, he realises that we grow up, we learn more magic, more power... but still, when he thinks about power and potential, he's thinking about a wand, not a wizard. So, no... I don't think we can rely on what he says at all. He doesn't believe Tom Riddle could steal one of his wands. On the other hand, I don't think Mr Ollivander has the faintest idea who or what Voldemort is, or what he can do."
There was silence for a moment. Then Harry spoke.
"Makes sense," he looked at Dumbledore. "I don't suppose you put "Will Rule the Forces of Evil" on Little Tommy's first school report, did you, Professor?"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"I do not believe so," he murmured. "I do, however, recollect that his marks in Arithmancy were somewhat higher than your own, Mr Potter," he smiled.
"I can put two and two together," Harry defended himself. "And I happen to like the number five," he added, after a moment."
"The point," Hermione stressed it slightly, "Is that we can't be certain of Voldemort's potential, so we can't know if Ollivander's is safe or not."
"I doubt it." Ginny spoke for the first time. She had sat beside Harry, her legs pulled up under her on the chair, listening in silence, pensive. "It's not just about strength, is it?" she looked at the headmaster for confirmation. "He seems to use magic in a totally different way to anyone else." She sucked in her lips for a second. "To be honest, I get the feeling he's been experimenting on the Unforgivable Curses- maybe trying to create that same sort of magic again." She shuddered. "I can't really explain it... but..." she glanced around the room. "It feels twisted... almost deformed. In a way I think that's why he's so powerful, more than just because he's strong. His magic breaks the rules. How can you block something you don't understand?"
It was not cold, no. Not warm, certainly, and there was a chill in the air, but what cold is, is cold as cold is felt by a warm body, and I was not of that element after he had left me. I was comfortable, sunk down into the deep dark place.
I suppose I remembered what he'd told me, that red-headed spectre at the gate, but all those names, they weren't anything important to me then, I hope you can understand that? You see, they were all from other dreams. Harry Potter, Professor Dumbledore, even that name that can't be mentioned, they were narrative. Sleeping or waking, dream or reality, it didn't make any difference. They were on another level. I was the still self, sitting curled up way below it all, and until I stepped into it again there wasn't any urgency or anything like that.
Nice. If you grab two words in the right place you can turn an argument round and make it bite itself to death.
I liked him, though. I suppose it's a bit selfish- actually, yeah, it is, I know, but so what? If you can't be selfish inside your own mind, then where can you be? I like people who save my life, and I didn't want to fall into the garden of colours. Thus there lay the sense that was once and future me, curled, enraptured, suspended in one perfect moment beneath a flowering shrub in the fair garden of walks, and lo, yeah, I know, get to the point. I don't say I couldn't remember things if I wanted to. I don't know? Can you remember when you're asleep? The thing is, I couldn't want to. It's like willing something's a sort of movement. I just was. Nothing more was I but the simple and pure awareness of the continuing self, and now I lay upon a dark seashore of clammy rocks, and gazed out across a black sea at the piercing eye of the sunset on the horizon, a great burning ball of red wreathed in orange clouds.
Very Gryffindor, I know. Typical. Well, he did sort of save my life in the gardens, didn't he?
"That's a fair summing-up of defence in general from young Virginia," Mad-Eye Moody observed sourly. "I don't deny that Mr Potter may be right, and we may be seeing Death Eaters in Diagon Alley before January's well underway, but if we put all our best people on that one, and You-Know-Who leaps another way, then we'll end up with egg on our faces and no mistake. The trick of it is, we haven't the faintest idea which way he's going to jump."
Hermione's lips pursed, and she frowned down at the coarse, swirling grain of the tabletop. Eventually it was Bill Weasley who spoke.
"Well, just how many people have we got anyway, Professor Dumbledore?" The tall young man tossed his head and sat back, arms folded. "We don't really know how much we can count on the Aurors with that revolting woman creeping all over the place as Acting Minister, do we?"
"The Aurors had damn well best do their duty if it comes to it, Whitehall or no blasted Whitehall," Moody grated, ignoring a look from Molly.
"And most of them will, Alastor," Dumbledore reassured him, turning to smile at the war torn old survivor. "Kingsley-"
"Good man, Kingsley. Good head on his shoulders and keeps his eyes open."
"Quite." The Headmaster nodded. "Kingsley and Miss Tonks are doing their best to discover what they can of any genuine bad blood within the Auror body, as you might say, and to further other lines of communication. If things do come to a head with the Ministry at a critical time... then I cannot say that I am certain the Aurors will be with us... but I can say that I am not certain that they will be with the Ministry either."
Ron made a strangled noise in his throat, and, as Hermione looked round, startled and a little concerned, he banged one fist down on the table, face red with laughter.
"Mr Weasley?" One of Dumbledore's great eyebrows raised in amusement.
"I don't... I don't believe it..." the boy shook his head with laughter. "Sorry, Professor... it's just that last year there was all that fuss about- well, about Dumbledore's Army- and now you've not just got Harry going all steam ahead on that- but you're going to nick Dumbridge's own army right out from under her snotty nose as well?" He groaned. "It's classic, that's what it is..."
The Headmaster's eyes glittered.
"The irony had occurred to me as well, Mr Weasley," he chuckled. "However, unfortunately I am afraid neither Mr Potter's formidable Defence Association, nor the Aurors really qualify as an army. I fear any hope of defeating Voldemort in open war is indeed a vain one. We must look for other ways."
"So I should hope," Molly told him. "I've kept my mouth shut about most of the danger Harry and the others have put themselves into over the years-" Ron, on the other side of the table, nearly choked again, before subsiding instantly at a quelling look from his mother, "But if it comes to a war..." she became aware of Harry's eyes on her, "I'm not talking about you, Harry- or even Ron and Ginny, if it comes to that," she added, in strained tones. "Those two- and young Hermione too- would probably go after you no matter what I or anyone else said... and..." she paused for a moment, and grit her teeth. "And although it goes against all sense to say it, I'm downright proud of all of you for that and shame on any of you for doubting it- but you four aren't the only children in Hogwarts, you know that." She directed a penetrating look, not at Dumbledore, but at Harry. "You do remember that, don't you, Harry?"
"The decision is scarcely his to take!" No one needed to look for the source of the interruption. Snape's voice rasped sinuously, like a blade being drawn from a scabbard. "We are all aware that Hogwarts is another quite likely target for the Dark Lord's revenge, but the protective wards now in place will keep it secure, provided proper precautions are taken. If Mr Potter wishes to idle away his days in fantasy of heroic last stands defending the castle, then let him."
"Oh, for gods' sake." Remus grimaced. "Three words, Snape. Change. The. Record. Have you actually been listening for the last sixteen years?" He moved to stand behind Harry and his friends. "You think Hogwarts' wards are going to stand up to You-Know-Who? Seriously?" He stared at the Potions' Master for a long time, and then shook his head. "Maybe you do. It's impossible for anyone to break the wards," he observed, in a sarcastic tone. "In pretty much the same way it was impossible for Harry to survive the Killing Curse. Pretty much the same way it was impossible for him and Ginny here to come out of a firefight with He Who Must Not Be Named and pinch his wand to boot? Frankly, Severus, if 'Mr Potter' tells me it's time for a last stand, I'll be drawing my wand and getting ready for it."
Harry stared at him, and swallowed. He looked sharply away- and caught sight of Ron's head, nodding slightly, unconsciously. Beside him, Ginny's hand slipped under the table and clasped his own, her eyes flicking to meet his. The boy grit his teeth.
Snape's eyes slid slowly around the room, before finally taking in Harry's face, his eyebrows arching in some secret, bitter amusement. Harry lifted his head, glaring back at the Professor. He didn't want power. He didn't want glory... but he'd taken that decision months ago, he realised. In Grimmauld Place, the day after he'd left Privet Drive. The Prophecy had Marked him, as surely as Voldemort had. He was the Dark Wizard's adversary now- not Dumbledore- him. Harry lowered his eyes to the tabletop for a long moment.
If only that old bat Trelawney had kept her mouth shut!
The Boy Who Lived looked up again.
"I'm not going to forget it, Molly," he told her. "That's -really- not what the Defence Association's about." He bit his lip. "But he's coming. We all know it." Harry looked round the room- glaring especially hard at Snape. "All right, maybe we don't know where he'll attack, or who he'll attack... but it's going to happen. Sooner or later- no matter what I, or Professor Dumbledore, or anyone does, somewhere, one of my classmates is going to find himself with his back to the wall and a Death Eater standing over him. When that happens..." Harry closed his eyes, and then directed a penetrating look at the Headmaster. "Remember Cedric Diggory," he quoted the Professor's own valediction. "I want him or her to at least have a fighting chance."
For a long moment, Dumbledore held his gaze, his eyes solemn. Then the old man nodded.
"The question is, what else can we do?" Bill cleared his throat. "Even if we can get the Aurors on our side, if the Ministry's going to stick then I can't see any of the other ministries around the world sending any help, can you?" he asked his father.
Arthur shook his head.
"Bill's right, I'm afraid."
"I'm thinking it's best if we keep what Aurors we can count on round Diagon Alley for now," Moody broke in, leaning forward, his mismatched eyes glinting with the anticipation of battle. "The way I see it, after young Potter's little bit of grandstanding, when He Who Must Not Be Named gets his backside in gear, he's going to be going for a bit of a spectacle- the bigger the better. Odds are he won't make any sort of play for Hogsmeade until school starts up again- not that I don't say we ought to have a fair bit of a guard out there too, you never know..."
Harry sat back in his seat, massaging his forehead with one hand. Ginny shot him a questioning look, aimed particularly at his scar. Unspeaking, as the debate went on, the boy, one hand cupped over half his face, gently squeezed her hand with the other, and shook his head, with a rueful half-grin.
"Just the waiting," he half-mouthed, half-whispered to her.
Ginny nodded. Still, she tilted her head slightly, and half-lifted her eyebrows. It wasn't just the waiting. She remembered the sensation in the air, the night that Draco had attacked them at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was simply human intuition. Perhaps something more, some child of their shared connection to Voldemort- but they both felt it- and, for once, the shared experience was no comfort. The Dark Lord was planning something.
Dumbledore's voice cut in on her thoughts. Once again, the conversation had turned to the protective wards which surrounded Hogwarts.
"However, as you and I both know, Harry," he added, pausing as the boy started, his attention returning to the conversation with a jolt, "There are many loopholes, weaknesses in the wards. Some of them have been traced- but some are so integral to the founding of the wards themselves that they cannot be closed, while others remain hidden. It is, I fear, in the nature of old spells to compound folly even as they mount in potency."
Harry rubbed at his lips with a thumb. "What about Milner?" he wondered. "That Core he had could detect Hogwarts' magical field- do you think he'd be able to do anything?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"Professor Milner has undertaken some study of the wards," he confirmed. "His assessment- if you will permit me to paraphrase, in the interests of clarity and brevity- and occasionally decency- alike," his eyes twinkled slightly, "Is that the wards are sound- but unpredictable. In other words, they may be trusted, in normal circumstances... but in the matter of defence, we would be unwise to place all our eggs in one basket." The old man stroked his beard. "I think you will find, Harry, that you and your Defence Association represent an additional basket."
"He'd better hard-boil his troops, then," Fred said quietly, to no-one in particular. Ben Granger sniggered, and received a quietening elbow in the stomach from his wife. Dumbledore idly examined the salt-cellar on the table, and cleared his throat.
"Might I make a suggestion, Harry?" he enquired, sitting back again and straightening his beard. Harry nodded, and the old wizard ducked his head, as if in gracious acknowledgement of the permission- and although fond amusement glittered somewhere in his eyes, it was mingled with sincere respect. "Perhaps you may think my suggestion to be based on a certain... foolish pride? Although my choices of Dark Arts teacher have invariably proved eventful- in addition to generally being instructive above and beyond the demands of the curriculum, it is rare and something of a regret to me that one of my more... inspired appointments, as I thought, never actually had the opportunity to teach." Mad-Eye paused, his magical eye sidling round to regard the Headmaster suspiciously through the side of his head. Dumbledore continued- and although his gaze did not falter from Harry, watching, the boy felt sure the old man was fully aware of Moody's scrutiny.
"There are few Aurors with more genuine combat experience than Alastor- and fewer of those in condition sane enough to have learned by it." A faint- and very hastily suppressed intake of breath from the general vicinity of Ron suggested that his opinion of Mad-Eye Moody's sanity was not, perhaps, the highest. Moody's magical eye rolled round in its socket, to give the boy a rather hawkish stare across Moody's incomplete nose, while his head and normal eye turned to give Dumbledore the benefit of his full attention. Ron swallowed, and looked sharply away- only to meet his mother's accusatory stare to his left. Evasively, the boy jerked his own head round to the right, trying to slink under Mad-Eye's gaze- and met Hermione's own reproving glance. Ron's shoulders slumped.
"Once you and your compatriots have returned to the sobering atmosphere of school," Dumbledore observed, with a faint smile on his lips, "Alastor and other members of the Order will be frequent visitors. I fear, if December's attack has taught us one thing, it is that it is no longer possible to keep Hogwarts and the Order rigidly separate. Harry, I would advise that- if you are willing to help, Alastor, that you ask Moody to lend his eye- and I think you know what I mean, Fred and George Weasley- and hand to assist your training work every so often. You have a natural talent for teaching," - Harry stared at Dumbledore at this, and both Hermione and- surprisingly- Ron, gave slight nods of agreement, "And considerable experience in fighting Voldemort. However, it is a mistake to ever try to survive entirely alone, is it not?"
Harry nodded.
"You're right." He looked at Moody, and hesitated. "I... er.."
"Seems to me Dumbledore's pretty much asked it for you, Potter," the big man gave a savage grin. "And he's right, makes sense. Besides, I owe him a term or two's teachin'."
Harry let out a long breath. "I wanted to ask you last Autumn," he confessed, "But I thought you'd be too busy."
"Me, busy?" Moody laughed shortly. "Don't be daft, lad. Doin' what? Setting up half a dozen Dark Detectors only for some young idiots to come along and take half of 'em down for blocking the thoroughfare? I like what you're doing- I don't say I'd do everything the way you've been doing it, mind- but it's your class, not mine." He gave the boy an odd look, as if waiting for something. Harry's eyes flicked to Dumbledore, and then back, and he stood up, holding out a hand.
"Then I'll take any help I can get, Alastor." He stressed the first name slightly, as Moody took his hand and shook it. The war torn old Auror met his eyes, and gave a wolfish sort of a grin.
"Right you are, Captain." With a chuckle, Moody let go the hand and stepped back.
"Then, for the moment," Dumbledore concluded, slowly getting to his feet, leaning on Bill's arm as he stood up, "It seems we can do little besides watch and wait." He looked at Moody. "Alastor, would you come back to headquarters with me for the moment? You have several contacts amongst the Aurors- and I think it might be wise to hide the depth of Kingsley and young Nymphadora's involvement with us from Delores for the time being."
"Right," Moody got to his feet. "I've been idle long enough, anyway." He turned to Ron's father. "Sorry to cut the break short, Arthur... and thank you, Molly. I've not enjoyed a good Christmas lunch in such good company for many a year."
As the party got back to their feet, Snape peered at Harry, his eyes almost coal-black points, glittering malevolently. Against his sallow, almost dead-white skin, for a moment he reminded Harry irresistibly of the snow man. Then he moved, a creature of ice and sharp corners. Jack Frost.
"Potter." Snape strode towards the back door, ignoring Dumbledore's questioning glance. "I'd like a word with you." Harry started after him, Ron a step behind. Snape froze. "Alone." He swept out, a cold draught blowing snow into the room in his wake. The Boy Who Lived scowled, but followed the Potions Master to the door. Even now, that peculiar sensation he'd felt from Voldemort haunted him, and his intuition that Snape had not told him the whole truth. When Ginny in turn moved to follow him, he stopped her with a soft word, and walked out into the snow.
Severus Snape stood muffled beside the snowman, regarding it silently as Harry approached.
"All right, Professor," Harry resisted the temptation to sneer the last word. "What's this about?"
The teacher and spy turned his head, looking down at the boy from under creased dark brows.
"Milner." Snape turned back to contemplating the snowman. Already the driving snow sparkled white in his dead black hair, and clung in wide deposits to his robes. "You consider him... an ally?"
"He's helped us," Harry said, his tone souring. "He certainly doesn't like Death Eaters." He left the obvious addendum to Snape's imagination, letting a bleak scowl complete the remark. Professor Snape greeted Harry's challenge with cold indifference, only raising his eyebrows a trifle, and tilting his head a little more.
The Gryffindor rounded on him.
"Perhaps if you actually came out and told me why you obviously don't trust him, instead of just savouring the chance to stand their sneering at me and thinking how much better you are because you think you know something I don't?" Harry's temper flashed for a moment, and he saw the cruel light flicker in Snape's eyes in response. Ruthlessly, his mind clamped down on the feelings, his emotions flooding with blank static. Snape turned again, took a pace closer to him- and seized his wrist in a vice-like grip of his black glove.
"Listen to me, Potter." Snape brought his face close to the boy's own, his features distorted with loathing. "Do not trust him. You are right... Aloysius Milner is no Death Eater, and he hates the Dark Lord... but do not imagine that alone tells you anything- anything- of use about him."
"I know that--" Harry broke off. He had no desire to share Milner's grief- his guilt- with this man... but the Potions Master's face twisted in a sardonic effort at a smile.
"Ah yes, how he blames himself for poor Florence Lovegood's death," Snape almost lilted the words. "The poor, broken man... well, Potter, I warn you of this much, and that is that Florence Lovegood deserved every ounce of the agony she suffered in the spell of her own making, and that if your harmless eccentric teacher of the Dark Arts could have said anything of the power to turn her aside from a course she had decided upon, he would have been a stronger-willed man than any I have met... or served."
"What do you..." Harry's feet shifted in the snow, trying to pull his wrist away. Snape scowled closer, his voice dropping. Slowly, his free hand slid back the sleeve of his robes.
"I mean that I knew Florence Lovegood." The arm was bare beneath the robe, and on the livid skin, a black mark like a hideous burn endured. A skull, and from its mouth there issued a snake. Snape spoke with a deadly softness. "We had something in common."
Well, in the immortal words of Samwise, son of Hamfast, I'm back. Having received something of a sucker-punch from the world, I wasn't really in any psychological condition to write for a while. My sincere apologies to all those who were following the story- it is still my intention to finish it, and eventually the sequel too. I don't yet have anything really approaching a formal schedule for updates again- they won't be as frequent as they were last year, but hopefully more often than a year apart!
The odds are that the pace of updates will pick up again once I get back into the rhythm of the story. This chapter was both a really bad one to have to restart with, since the whole resolution of the cliffhanger's a deliberate anti-climax, and an awkward one to write since it's just talking heads, for the most part. Still, t'won't be long before we get some more action.