The days passed easily enough at Hogwarts: Harry, Ron and Hermione saw little of Sirius, and had to content themselves with their own company. There was no homework for Hermione to do and no Slytherins to avoid; this made for a highly entertaining time as they decided – when no one was looking – to make the most of the Marauder's Map and explore the castle grounds. Ron, in particular, had seemed to decide that he wanted one up on Fred and George: now that he had access to two of the original Marauders, he felt that he had an advantage.
"Where d'you think this one goes?" he asked one day, about two weeks after their arrival. He, Harry and Hermione were lounging in the Gryffindor common room, plates in front of them piled high with food pillaged for them from the kitchens by Dobby, the house elf with an inordinate fondness for Harry and, since the gift of a large maroon jumper which he usually wore as an apron, for Ron.
Hermione wiped a finger round her now empty plate of what had been a delicious chocolate cake before sucking it clean, and peered over his shoulder. Ron was pointing a sugar quill at what looked like a tunnel: it led to the lower dungeons, and its entrance was marked as being – directly next to Snape's office.
"I have no idea," she replied. "And I don't want to know. Honestly, Ron. Why pick that one? Of all the possible secret tunnels there you have to go and pick the most dangerous one. Typical."
Ron pretended to look affronted. "Scared?" he said.
Hermione looked completely unabashed. "Of course I am," she retorted. "Anyone in their right mind would be. We always manage to get in enough trouble as it is without you going looking for it."
"But this is an ideal opportunity!" protested Ron, looking to Harry for support. Harry shrugged. "I'll bet you anything you like Fred and George haven't ever tried this one. Who knows what could be down there?"
"Fred and George have some sense, then," muttered Hermione. "I don't want to know what's down there, Ron. For all we know, it could be where Snape keeps all his frog liver. It's right next to his office. Why don't you just ask Sirius where it goes? Or Lupin. By the way – " Hermione turned to Harry, " – Where are they nowadays? I haven't seen either of them – or Snape – for days."
"Then Snape can't be in his office, can he?" said Ron triumphantly. "It would be a perfect time to go and have a little snoop."
Harry wasn't sure how Ron had managed to persuade him, still less Hermione, to sneak out of the Gryffindor common room, down the staircase and into the passageway that led to Snape's office. It certainly wasn't something he would have ever done out of choice: quite apart from the fact that it was twelve o'clock, he was tired, shivering and Hermione had not stopped talking about being expelled for the last half hour, Harry didn't even want to think about what might happen if Snape happened to visit his office for a late-night whatever it was Snape did there. They had stopped outside a horrible portrait of a goblin, that wouldn't stop shaking its head menacingly at them. Harry scowled at it.
"Right," said Ron, business-like. "Have you got your Invisibility Cloak, Harry? Just in case…"
Hermione frowned at him. "Just in case what?" she snapped in a whisper. "Just in case we get attacked by whatever it is down there? Because there's bound to be something, knowing our luck."
Ron shrugged, looking a little bit sheepish. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Nothing'll happen… what could go wrong? We're at Hogwarts. You-Know-Who can't come here – you heard Dumbledore. We might find something interesting."
Harry couldn't be bothered to argue the definition of interesting. Ron had been talking about this trip all day: it was as if he had the idea planted in his head and watered so much it had grown out of control. He'd become obsessed with it – and it was proving slightly worrying. Harry decided he would borrow one of Lupin's Defence Against Dark Arts books tomorrow and look up the side-effects of a fight with a Brollachan… just in case.
Harry sensed that Hermione had just come along to do her best to keep himself and Ron out of trouble, and he was grateful for it: Ron had also been acting strangely around Hermione lately but Harry suspected this was absolutely nothing to do with fighting monsters and more to do with growing up. One minute he was almost embarrassed to talk to her and the next he was busily engaged bickering with her like one half of a married couple: and Hermione, Harry had noticed, was acting rather oddly whenever he mentioned Ron to her as well.
They had entered a long, narrow and exceedingly dark passageway. The Marauder's Map had instructed them to tap on the left-hand eye of the painted goblin with a wand and it had swung open like a door: they were dependent on the somewhat wavery light from a candle they had borrowed because one of Hermione's conditions on accompanying them was that, beyond getting into the tunnel and the use of the Marauder's Map, absolutely no magic was used whatsoever ("It's the holidays, Ron! What would Dumbledore say?")
And so now they were traipsing along a corridor they would never have even suspected existed: Harry wondered where it led. All the Marauder's Map had shown them was the tunnel disappearing somewhere underneath the dungeons that laced the lower floors of Hogwarts: descending a long flight of stone steps and falling painfully into Ron's back as he did so, Harry felt the sense of foreboding that had been lying uneasily in his mind grow rapidly.
"Ron," said Hermione suddenly, "I don't like this. I think we ought to go back… I think…"
But they never got to know what exactly Hermione thought. Two things happened at once: firstly, the battery in Harry's torch faltered and the light flickered out pathetically; secondly, and perhaps more worryingly, a very, very pale figure had begun to glow in front of them, too faint to see any features but just visible enough to know that it was there. It stood facing them, hazy golden aura as dim as the dying sun – and then it spoke.
Or rather, it laughed. The voice was deep and rather hollow-sounding: the laugh, though it had been soft, resonated around the room they had found themselves in, bouncing off the stone walls like some haphazard, crazy ball the figure had thrown. One minute the voice would seem to be coming from behind them, the next it sounded as though it was to their left, and all of a sudden there it was, laughing harder than ever – straight in front of them.
Harry acted quickly. He didn't know what instinct urged him to; but as the figure – whatever it was – in front of them drew an almost silent breath he charged into Ron and Hermione, bringing all three of them crashing to the ground in a bruised heap.
"Illuviate!" cried the voice, at the same time, and from where he now lay on his back on the ground Harry could see a blinding flash of light fly over their heads and into the wall behind them. But the invisible owner of the spell had lost his or her advantage: Harry whipped out his own wand – but before he was given the chance to try a hex there was another flash, this time a paler, less violent one, and whatever it was that had been there was gone. Harry picked himself up.
"What was that?" asked Ron, shaken. He helped Hermione to her feet, and brushed feebly at his clothes. "And what did it say? 'Illuviate'? What's that mean?"
Harry and Hermione shook their heads.
"Come on," whispered Hermione. "Let's get back. We shouldn't have come here in the first place."
Harry agreed, and led the way quickly back through the tunnel to the secret entrance by Snape's office. They were so intent on not being caught up with whatever had been in the stone room that they hardly paused for breath: up the stone stairs they went, back along the corridor in the pitch black and somehow, finally, into the tunnel that led to the goblin portrait.
But instead of carrying on, instead of running back through the painting and up to their nice, safe Gryffindor dormitories, their eyes were alerted to a dull square of light that looked like it came from a distant doorway. Harry frowned: he hadn't noticed it before.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing: and then, as he realised that the others couldn't see him do this, he began to describe it. But there was no need.
"I dunno," said Ron, interrupting him. "Let's go and find out, shall we?"
"It's in the same direction as Snape's office…" warned Hermione, rather nervously. "Do you think we ought to…?"
But Ron was gone, and Harry with him. Hermione followed.
They found themselves standing in a small room lit by one candle, and it seemed to be an annexe of Snape's study. It was full of jars of pickled things (Harry didn't dare imagine what) and bats. He moved over curiously to one and poked it, but it didn't move, and Harry decided that it was stuffed.
"Hey!" said Ron. "Look at these! Letters!"
"Ron," hissed Hermione. "We shouldn't be looking at his letters… they might be personal." But she took them, nonetheless.
As she read down the page, her face reddened and reddened in the soft candlelight until Harry wondered if maybe this wasn't some kind of trick letter of Snape's to turn her into a kind of vegetable or something – perhaps a beetroot – but eventually she put the letter back down onto Snape's desk and covered it with a heavy cauldron he obviously used as a paperweight.
"Well?" asked Ron, impatiently. "What does it say? Hermione?"
Hermione still looked embarrassed. "Let's just say it starts 'My dearest love'…"
"Oh my God!" exclaimed Ron, dancing round her to try and grab them back and being rewarded with a sharp poke in the arm from Hermione.
"And ends '…Forever yours, Severus,'" she finished. "And I'll leave the middle bit to your imagination."
"Severus. What an unromantic name," mused Ron. Harry raised one eyebrow at him.
"Well – " he began defensively, before it could suddenly occur to Harry or Hermione to ask him what exactly he considered a 'romantic' name – "I mean… Percy always signs his letters – I mean, I don't read them, I – "
The other eyebrow flew up, and so did Hermione's. Ron's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"OK so I do. That's not the point. The point is that he signs his to Penny at least Perce, or sometimes 'fluffy-bun' or 'pink-cuddly-rabbit' or… what's the matter? Why are you laughing? What have I…" Ron trailed off as Harry and Hermione clutched at each other, helpless with laughter at the image of the prim and proper Percy referring to himself as the 'pink-cuddly-rabbit' and trying desperately not to make too much noise as they did so. Ron joined in the laughter, but only after he had carefully detached Hermione from Harry.
"Thing is… Snape hasn't really got a name you can shorten, has he?" asked Harry. "I don't really think I can picture him signing a letter the 'pink-fluffy-potions-master'. I mean – how can you make 'Severus' easier to say?"
"Sever," said Ron at once, making an abrupt chopping motion with his hand.
"Severe," corrected Hermione. She gave a mock and extremely severe glare: Ron winced at the likeness.
"Sev?" suggested Harry.
"Sevvie!" giggled Hermione, and all three of them once again dissolved into fits of laughter, only too pleased to let some of the tension that had been building up slip out. It wasn't until someone swung the goblin's portrait open and light flooded through to them, and they turned to find out who that they discovered Professor Snape was standing by the door, listening to every word they'd said.