FIVE

"Harry? Harry, wake up."

The room was hazy, and a dim outline stood over him, shaking his arm insistently and repeating his name. Harry groped around for his glasses, but a helpful hand presented them before he was fully aware of it. He put them on upside down, took them off, turned them over, and the outline resolved itself into Hermione.

"You know, I've never really looked at your glasses before. You must be terrifically farsighted. Have you ever considered contact lenses?"

Yes, definitely Hermione.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked.

"Much better. Still a little light-headed."

"That's just the psyche elatorius spell Dumbledore did. That or the rum. Hagrid slipped it to you in a teacup, insisting it would perk you right up. Neville told me. You've been here four days."

Neville Longbottom did medicinal herbaria research under Pomfrey. It was terrifying to know that someone like Neville might have been supplying him with decoctions while he slept. Harry sat up, feeling the whirling room slowly come to a stop.

"Snape didn't quite quit," Hermione said.

"Really?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't let him quit outright. He's staying on until the end of the term, then he's going to retire. When I asked around nobody seemed to know why he all of a sudden wanted out, so it looks like he and Evensong are still keeping things hush-hush." Her tone subtly altered when she mentioned this. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "He told Dumbledore he was leaving on the same day you collapsed. Now everybody's certain he's the one who cursed you."

"No whispering!" crowed a familiar gleeful voice. "No whispering, no conspiring, no secrets whatsoever allowed in the hospital wing!"

Hermione shouted, "Bugger off, Peeves! You know you're not allowed in the infirmary. Haven't you ever heard of patient confidentiality?"

Peeves gave her the double-finger and drifted off to torment someone else.

"I was cursed? I thought it was a cold."

"Either you got cursed, or you got in the way of someone being cursed. Neville says that McGonagoll told Pomfrey it was probably the second one. But as nobody else has turned up with a full curse, they don't know what's going on, so they just gave you all the standard treatments. Psyche elatorius for the depression and a full physicum for the symptoms. Evensong did a Cleansing for any negative energies that might be hanging about, and you perked right up."

"I'll bet I did," said Harry darkly. "Considering it was her curse to begin with."

Hermione dropped her hands to her hips, sighing in frustration. "I still don't believe she's done anything wrong, Harry, but Snape tried to leave like you said he would, and I'm sure now you caught them in the greenhouse together. Something's up. I just can't decide what. Things just get shadier and shadier."

"Told you," said Harry.

She looked away for a moment, her knobbly ink-blotted fingers twining with his and squeezing hard enough to hurt.

"I was worried about you," she said. "So was Ron."

Harry waited for her to say something more. Her eyes were shut, and she chewed her lower lip in the same way he'd seen her nibble a quill when she was trying to determine exactly what she wanted to write.

"Which is why," she said at last, and in an entirely different tone, "I've been sent on behalf of all Gryffindor House to bring you this gift basket. We hope you shall be rejoining us soon."

She reached down to the floor, and with a grand flourish dropped a heavy, beribboned basket on Harry's lap. It was full of get-well-quick cards which occasionally surprised Harry by ejecting fountains of iridescent glitter upon being opened, a selection of Honeyduke's sweets, and a Weasley Brothers Unlimited Surreptitious Glowing Wand, Patent Pending, which cast a light only visible to the person wielding it ('perfect for reading after lights-out and all-purpose general prowling,' promised the fastened card). There was also a creamy grey envelope, addressed in purple ink by an instantly recognizable hand, which Harry plucked out at once.

Hermione politely turned her back while Harry opened his godfather's letter.

Harry,

I received word of your misfortune. I keep my ear to the ground concerning Hogwarts. Don't get in over your head. I hope the gift I sent will be entertaining--and informative--while you convalesce.

All my love,

Sirius

"He send me something. This must be it." From the bottom of the basket Harry removed a flat, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper, held shut by a wax star-shaped seal with a dog's head in the center. From the weight and feel he knew at once what it was. "A book."

Hermione leaned forward as Harry broke the seal and unwrapped the papers.

"It's The Odyssey," she remarked. "My parents have got that. I read it ages ago. What a pretty bookmark." She stroked the small golden bells which hung between the pages. The bookmark was a burgundy ribbon with stars embossed on its length. "Gryffindor colours, too."

"He said he hoped it would be informative. Think he knows something I don't?"

"No doubt. May I?" Hermione took the book from his hands and opened it to where the bookmark lay. "Yes. This is the bit where Odysseus has to sail past the isle of the sirens, where a hundred ships before his have perished."

"Give it over. Maybe I can read it before I leave."

"Madam Pomfrey says you'll be all right for classes tomorrow. Oh, and I nearly forgot."

Harry was deep into his new book when Hermione dropped a thick load of papers on top of it. "What's all this?" he asked.

"I did all your homework assignments, in between--and I can't stress this strongly enough--researching my thesis, and doing your grubby-work on banshees. You can make it up me later. Oh, and you might better check under the parcel of Fizzing Whizbees." She smiled, showing both dimples. "You can make that that up to me later, as well."

Harry pushed through the cards and candies. Hidden in the corner of the basket was a hard bundle wrapped in a paper napkin on which Hermione had scribbled a note.

Found this in the greenhouse. Funny. Never took him for a smoker. Thought you might could find a use for it.

Inside was a gold cigarette lighter with a curious, elaborate monogram: two entwined S's.

* * *

Seated next to Ron in Potions the following afternoon, Harry read and reread the book Sirius had sent. It was all in verse and he had to keep flipping to the back to read the text notes, but he thought he finally understood what was going on. He was just on the part where the ship's crew was getting Tranfigured into pigs when Snape walked in, let the doors slam shut behind him with a customary bang, and without pausing marched to his place at the podium.

"I trust," he said, "that you are all prepared for the test."

A hand went up in front. "What test, sir?"

"The one you're about to take. Malfoy. Put on your gloves and use the tongs to pass out the phials here on the table, one for every two pupils. Pupils, take out your mortars and pestles, put on your work gloves and I hope you remembered them because I will not be loaning them out and for the love of God why is someone giggling?"

Snape wheeled around, brown cloak flaring, and descended upon a panicked Gryffindor seated very near the podium.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for Miss Hoeg's unreasonable sense of humour. What is wrong with you?"

Jenni Hoeg was turning from pink to purple. Her cheeks were puffed out, as if she were holding her breath, and her shoulders shook. Tears of laughter stood in her eyes, and as Harry watched one trickled down the side of her face. She was terrified, but valiantly choking back her laughing. By now even Draco Malfoy had paused in his work.

Snape clutched the corners of her desk and leaned over her. Any closer and his nose would have touched her forehead.

"I'm listening," he said with deadly calm. "What's . . . so . . . funny."

Jenni shook her head. She swallowed hard, seeming to cure her fit of giggling, but when she spoke it came out croaking, as if she were still trying to hold her breath and speak at the same time. "Nothing at all, sir."

"Twenty more points from Gryffindor, and unless whatever-it-is is humourous enough to make me laugh I suggest you keep any future jokes to yourself, Miss Hoeg."

Just as fast as he dropped upon her he spun away and stalked across the platform. Jenni gave a huge, spluttering exhalation, inhaled just as deeply, then melted into her pew, red-faced but breathing normally.

"Why am I not seeing mortars on desks and prepared students, hmm?" Snape snapped his fingers at Malfoy, who came back to life with a jolt, distributing materials to the last few pairs of lacking students. There was a general fumbling for pestles.

"What you have before you is a phial of distilled liquid from the root of the Siberian stramonium plant. It is highly concentrated, so the small amount you have should be enough for each of you. It is related to the rubber-tree plant and clings like glue to whatever it touches, making it doubly difficult to handle. I suggest you do not touch it with your bare hands, ingest it, or breathe in the fumes. I would also suggest you not shake the phial, Mister Weasley."

Ron, who had been turning their shared phial back and forth, immediately put it down.

Snape prowled the platform, hands clasped behind his back, casting the occasional glower on Jenni Hoeg as if daring her to contradict him. Jenni seemed to have lost whatever sense of humour she possessed and was meekly taking notes. Not for the first time, Harry noticed the worn grey grooves in the wooden platform where Snape's boots must have trod the same path a thousand times or better. One day the whole thing would collapse, professor and all.

"You will have also noted that the specimen I have given you is extremely cold. It is, in fact, approximately forty degrees below zero in a room temperature environment. Under proper circumstances, such as its natural habitat in northern Siberia, it can be even colder, close to three hundred degrees below. The liquid in those phials is not merely bubbling. It's boiling. But with the proper additions, it can be reduced to a dry, cool, sandlike powder called scalesafe, useful for treating severe burns and regrowing new skin over scar tissue.

"Your test today will use the information gleaned from your notes to reduce your sample to its powder form. Begin."

Snape sat down and crossed his legs as students began filing toward the herb closet for components. Harry touched the small lump the lighter made in his sleeve, watching Snape all the while. The man's face seemed to be less deadpan, more thoughtful than normal. Harry considered dropping the lighter into the Lost Articles box at the head office, but dismissed the idea. If there would ever be a for a man-to-man talk with him, it was now, while time and evidence was on Harry's side.

The test went well, with only one pair of students completely failing to turn their liquid stramonium to powder and a single person being sent to the hospital wing with frostbitten fingers. The thirty points lost by Gryffindor was reduced to ten as Robert MacGowen and his Gryffindor seatmate received credit for finishing the test first. Harry waited until nearly everyone had gone, then shooed Ron out.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Student-teacher conference. I'll catch up with you in Dark Arts." Harry bundled Ron out the door.

Drawing a deep breath for courage, Harry headed down the center aisle. His steps rang very loud on the shallow wooden stairs, and the acoustics of the lecture hall, perfect for amplifying Snape's sharp voice, threw echoes off the walls. Snape stood at the main table, stuffing the day's notes into his dark brown horsehide bag. He paused and looked up, following Harry with his eyes, and spoke not a word until Harry was less than a yard from him. From this distance Harry knew what Jenni Hoeg had been holding her breath against, and what had made her laugh. The strong odor of oil of cinnamon was all over Snape, incompatible with his smoldering demeanour.

"Is there a problem, Mister Potter?"

Without a word Harry reached into his sleeve pocket, extracted the lighter, and tossed on the corner of the table. The single clack it made was very loud indeed. He matched eyes with Snape and stood, waiting.

Snape's mouth twitched, which with him could mean dismay or amusement. His face was unreadable, but by the torchlight his eyes held a dark, cold glitter. He picked up the lighter, turned it over in his hands before muttering something. The lighter vanished--no doubt Apparating to a more secure spot.

"May I ask where you found this, Potter?"

"In the greenhouse. Where you dropped it."

Their eyes locked. Harry didn't even dare to blink. He felt strong and very cold inside, too cold to be affected by anything Snape could say or do to him. For the first time since they had met, Snape was finally against a wall.

"Thank you," said Snape, "for returning my property. Now if you will excuse me, Potter, I would like to go record your grades."

"Professor, I think . . . you could use some help," Harry said weakly.

"The day I need your help will be the day hell freezes over." Snape gave him a cold, formal nod. "Good afternoon."

He closed his satchel with a sharp click and tried to move around Harry, who did not give an inch.

"You told Dumbledore you were retiring, Professor," Harry said rapidly. "Was the look on his face everything you hoped it would be? I'm sure you'll be glad to get away from us students, you never know what we'll get into. Maybe then you can even disenchant your rat."

Snape's whole face contorted as if he'd been slapped. Just as quickly it reverted to a smooth scowl, the dark brows lowering, the lines in his face looking deeper than ever. His arms folded across his chest. "If this is some childish attempt at blackmail, Potter, I assure you it won't work."

In Harry's mind some thin string of control fissured with an nearly audible snap. His blood boiling, he blurted, "It's just like you to think of blackmail first off, isn't it? I mean, what kind of sewer do you have for a mind? I came here to help you, you toad, because I think there's something wrong going on, and I could never blackmail you because there's not a thing in this world that you have that I could ever want. What kind of a kid do you think I am, anyway?"

"Your father's son," said Snape. "And it's not a bad thing."

The quiet certainty of those words left Harry disarmed. He felt like all the wind had just been punched out of him. He took a step back, one hand over his pounding heart. Of all the professors on Earth, he'd just popped off to the most dangerous one.

Snape nodded toward the classroom doors, which swung shut and bolted with a thud of finality. Harry searched for an escape, but the only other egress was the narrow barred windows at the peak of the dungeon-like ceiling, and his mouth was so dry he couldn't have gotten off a loud whistle, much less an Apparation spell. He turned, only to come face to face with Snape who planted a hand on his chest and drove him stumbling backwards into a hard high-backed chair that slid across the floor to receive him.

Snape sat back in his own chair, fingers laced. "All right, Potter. For the next fifteen minutes you have my undivided attention. Only take care to remember that I am still your professor, so kindly refrain from calling me a toad."

He actually smiled. Harry had to make himself look elsewhere while he did.

"Well," Harry began. "We found out about you and Professor Evensong."

"Who's 'we'? Never mind, I know. The Fiercesome Trio. You should take care to scatter your associates, Potter; they do tend to define one. May I ask if this information has traveled beyond the three of you?"

"No. We knew about the Nettlesby Ruling. We didn't want you dismissed."

"Really? Thank you. Discretion is a rare quality in a boy your age. And so by your earlier stream of direct quotes I may assume that Yvaine and I were followed. Prompted by concern for my well-being, I imagine. For how long?"

"Since just after lightning hit the oak tree." His heart was thudding now, and he swallowed with a dry click. "I'd been looking for you in Hogsmeade, but the rain started up again and I was almost struck myself. I hid in the greenhouse, but I didn't know you would be there."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Thank heavens for small favours. I was afraid you'd come in earlier. And?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. After this point the black spot began and he could see neither through nor around it. "You two were talking. You promised her you'd leave Hogwarts. She said she was cold, and you went back to her--no, that was before. She was . . . crying . . . no, it wasn't her who was crying . . . it was you, you were crying . . . or maybe it was me. I don't know. It's all in the black spot."

Blackness in the air, and a low hum like a cello, a sound like heaven weeping . . . .

Snape had gone very still, all expression fading from his face. Harry clenched his fists, eyes still closed. Every word had to be wrenched out, like teeth being pulled. Whatever had happened swam around in his mind, and if he could just close his thoughts around it, he would have it.

"No!" he cried in triumph. "She was singing. Not crying at all. It was you that was crying. Me, too. I kept hearing . . . I thought I heard my mother. Singing to me. And when I heard you, I came to see what was happening, and there was all this stuff like a shadow in the air, and she was swallowing it up like water. And then . . . ."

But it was slipping away; he was losing it again. The memory sank into the black spot once, the way a dream did. He had no idea what he had just said, only that it had been true.

"The reason I collapsed in the library was because I got in the way of a curse," Harry said. "Either you cast it that night, or Professor Evensong did. Now which was it?"

Snape stood, hands folded behind his back, and said nothing. His look was one of grave pity.

"Look, your stinking curse bounced back on me and all I want to know is who to blame for it, her or you."

Any further comment withered under Snape's bitter gaze. The professor turned his back to Harry and began putting used phials into the washing-up pile, talking at Harry rather than to him.

"I've listened to you, Potter," said Snape, "and now you must listen to me. In the past six years I've cashed in a number of favours for you. I won't say how, and I won't say with whom. I will mention that one of them was with Sirius Black, if that means anything to you. All were to insure your continued safety. And all I ask is that you kindly keep yourself out of my personal affairs."

Harry managed a stuttery laugh. "Isn't it only an affair if one of you is married?"

"You might want to take a lesson from Miss Hoeg. Don't make jokes in front of me unless you're certain I'll find them comical."

"But she was draining something out of you. Your life, your soul--something."

Without warning Snape threw down one of the phials. It shattered in a starburst of glass at his feet.

"Did you think I didn't know that, Harry Potter?"

Looking into Snape's face, too scared to blink, Harry saw something dreadful there, something old and very tired and almost totally without fear.

"You're a coward," Harry whispered. "You're trying to commit suicide. You're just afraid to do it alone."

Snape picked up his satchel again and looked once more on Harry. "Your fifteen minutes are over, Potter. Best run along."

Through some method Harry didn't understand he was suddenly outside of Potions hall, face to face with the double doors, with his books in his arms and his dragon hide gloves draped over the back of his hand. He took off down the stark corridor, hugging his books to his chest, and didn't stop for the stitch in his ribs until the Fat Lady's portrait closed securely behind him. He leaned against the wall of the unlit portal, breathing deeply, listening to the crackle of the fireplace and the murmured conversation of his housemates. Safe in his own place, safe in Gryffindor.

The brothers Weasley sat at the corner table. George--or possibly Fred--was a picture of despair as he totted up figures on the flyleaf of his Magical Creatures book, while Fred--or it could have been George--sat on the floor with an abacus and a small fortune in Knuts and silver Sickles.

"Hullo, Weasleys." It was best to refer to them this way, as they got furious when people mixed them up. "Turfing going well?"

"The worst year ever," said Fred. "We've paid out close to fifty Galleons."

George crossed out his figures with a flood of black ink. "No luck on anybody turning up in the infirmary from Hagrid's class, nobody been caught in the top floor of main hall, nobody's found Roddy Gorman yet in the cloakroom with Parvati Patel's sister, the Holyhead Harpies are on a losing streak, the Queen and the Pope are still alive, and everybody was so far off on Evensong leaving that Fred and I seriously considered poisoning her ourselves."

Harry's hand closed on the handful of loose Galleons jangling in his pocket. There were ten of them. He laid them on the table in front of George.

"Consider this my donation to enterprising young entrepreneurs. Ten Galleons on Evensong falling off the face of the earth within the next week."

"Are you joshing? This late in the game Evensong's got odds of a hundred twenty to one against."

"No fair poisoning her," warned Fred. "Or pushing her off the roof. Or sneaking off to the internet cafe outside Hogsmeade and doctoring up photos of her and Dumbledore in compromising positions."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Harry. To his surprise his voice had a convincing, natural indignation. "Who'd want to do a thing like that?"