Author's note: Thanks for reviewing, Butterfly! I'm quite enjoying your comments on everything. It's also great fun to reply to them.

Chapter 16: To Know All The Answers

As you wish
For kingdom come
The one to know all the answers
You think you dwell in wisdom's sea
Still sweet ignorance is the key
To a poet's paradise
Challenge the Riddler and you will see...

—Nightwish: The Riddler

A Quidditch match was scheduled to take place a week after the Valentine dance. Hufflepuff would play against Slytherin.

Everyone was in high spirits as they headed for the Quidditch pitch. It promised to be an interesting game. The Slytherins might play unfair and thus score more often than the rather passive Hufflepuffs. Yet, it depended on who'd get the Snitch first. If the Hufflepuffs caught it before Slytherin was one hundred and fifty points in the lead…

"The little Hufflepuff—what was his name again?"

"Snatch," provided Harry.

"Thanks. Snatch will give Malfoy a run for his money, won't he?" said Ron.

"Yes, he very well could beat Malfoy," agreed Ginny. "He almost beat you to the Snitch, didn't he, Harry?"

"I must admit the little one is extremely good. But if he has the guts to fly the way he did against us when he's facing Malfoy and a horde of Slytherins about thrice his size…"

"Welcome to today's Quidditch match," Owen Cauldwell's voice echoed through the stands, magically amplified by a Sonorus Charm Professor Flitwick had cast on the student. "It's Hufflepuff versus Slytherin! And we'll show them, won't we?"

Cheers and applause from the crowd.

"I can't hear you!"

Even louder cheers and applause rocked the stands. If it had been any louder, Harry would have had to see Madam Pomfrey to have his ears checked.

"And here they come! The Hufflepuff team! Hey, good luck, guys! You'll show those big brutes—Sorry, Professor." He didn't sound sorry in the least. "Those er… well… Slytherins what it feels like to be beaten by a Hufflepuff! Well, there they are, lining up on their half of the pitch: "Branstone, Madley, Whitby, Derek, Moon, O'Leary and Snatch! William Snatch has already proved against Gryffindor that he's a force to be reckoned with. Aren't you, Will?"

Even from this distance, Harry could see that the small figure that was William Snatch was blushing deep crimson. It clashed horribly with his yellow Quidditch robes.

"Oh, and there's the Slytherins. No need to point out that Seeker and Captain Malfoy seems to have gathered the biggest—." Cauldwell didn't sound remotely as enthusiastic as he had when he had announced the Hufflepuff team. "Well, there's the Snitch. The Captains shake hands… Madam Hooch is going to start the game… And off they are."

The Slytherins were really about twice the size of the Hufflepuffs. Especially little Will Snatch looked even smaller than he actually was when he swerved past one of them on his Firebolt II.

Malfoy had risen high above the pitch and flew in circles, scanning the area for a glimpse of the Snitch. As of yet, it was nowhere to be seen. The February sun didn't make it very much easier either. Everywhere there were sparkles from the watches and glasses of students and teachers.

"Oh no! That must have hurt! Whitby can hardly stay on his broom there as he loses the Quaffle to Yagher—and O'Leary's hit by a Bludger as Miles enters the scoring area… Slytherin scores. 0-10."

Still no sign of the Snitch. Harry watched the Seekers closely. Both were circling the pitch high up in the air on opposite sides.

"And Slytherin scores again—That was foul play, Madam Hooch! That goal mustn't count!" And it had indeed been foul play. Hufflepuff were awarded a penalty and scored. It was now 10-10 and Cauldwell said so.

After that, the Slytherins' foul play became a bit less obvious but nonetheless very effective. They stole the Quaffle from Eleanor Branstone as she dodged a Bludger, hit the two Bludgers at Moon who could hardly avoid the first one and was slammed into by the second one, thus dropping the Quaffle. On and on it went that way. The Hufflepuffs were flattened; they didn't stand a chance.

Cauldwell's magically amplified voice sounded less and less enthusiastic and more and more agitated about the fact that his house team was taken apart.

After only slightly more than fifteen minutes, the score was 20-140. A hopeless score. Only catching the Snitch in the next few minutes would save the Hufflepuffs. And there was still no sign of it.

"20-150," Cauldwell sighed. "Don't go down without a fight there! Come on, don't make it that easy for them!"

But they couldn't stand up against their opponents. Another goal. 20-160 it was now.

"Rather pointless now," Hermione said. "One more goal from the Slytherins and it won't matter who catches the Snitch. They might as well end the game right now."

"'Mione, those aren't the rules," Ron pointed out.

"I know that, Ron. Stupid rule, really. When there's no way for one team to catch up on the other anymore. This could get on for days."

"Malfoy would only catch the Snitch if it flew directly into his sleeve. Deliberately, mind you," Ginny said. "So I'd say that Slytherin win, but Snatch—."

"Wait a second. There's the Snitch," Harry said at the same time as Cauldwell's anxious voice could be heard saying the same. "And Snatch has seen it."

"Go, Will, go! Catch it now! Come on!" The Snitch was hovering in the middle of the pitch, hovering a few feet over a Hufflepuff Chaser who was hit by a Bludger aimed at him by Goyle. The Hufflepuff dropped the Quaffle and it was immediately taken by a Slytherin who then went off in direction of the hoops.

Malfoy—just like Snatch—was speeding towards the little glint of gold. It would be a close shave. That much was obvious. Both on Firebolts, they were equals. But Snatch was smaller and lighter, too, and thus a bit faster than Malfoy. It might just be the crucial bit…

The small yellow blotch that was Will Snatch was closing in on the Snitch.

Harry moved the Omnioculars to his eyes. They were best to use when you had a point to concentrate on. And now that point were the two Seekers, soaring about the Quidditch pitch at breakneck speed.

The crowd had gone all quiet, watching expectantly how the Seekers moved in on the Snitch. Even Cauldwell held his breath whereas tiny Professor Flitwick clambered onto his seat to see better since the people in front of him had stood up. Over in the Hufflepuff part of the stands, Professor Sprout had done the same, cheering on her house team's Seeker. Professor Ravon watched the Seekers rush past the Slytherin stands. So did Snape, although the expression in his face wasn't anywhere near the excitement that lingered on Professor Ravon's.

The Seekers reached out—.

"Snatch's got the Snitch! I don't believe it!" Owen Cauldwell yelled exuberantly. "That makes the total score 170 to 160. Hufflepuff win! Hufflepuff defeat Slytherin! Hurrah! That'll teach you not to mess with a Hufflepuff!"

It was unbelievable. For a moment, stunned silence hung heavily over the Quidditch pitch. It was as if time had stopped completely. Then, very slowly, someone started clapping, others joined in, and in a couple of seconds the stands rocked with applause… Well, three fourths of the stands. The Slytherins were in a state of shock that was, however, quickly replaced by the anger they usually reserved for the Gryffindors.

"And what a close shave that was, Will. Did you do that deliberately? A few seconds longer and Pritchard would have surely scored once more! Whoohoo! What a catch! Oh happy day!"

Professor Sprout was jumping up and down on her seat. If she hadn't climbed onto it, Harry would only have seen the tip of her hat when the Professor jumped up, clapping and laughing as though Christmas and Easter magically had happened to be on the same day. She was surrounded by equally happy Hufflepuffs who were also jumping and clapping.

"Professor Sprout's happier than the whole Hufflepuff team put together."

"It's not every day that Hufflepuff defeats Slytherin," Ginny said. "That confirms it. We'll get the Cup again."

"Hasn't happened since 1946—and that was only because Slytherin had to forfeit," Hermione said.

Ron looked at her in awe. "Miss Granger, you never cease to impress me."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley, that was exactly what I intended. I swear I'll never confuse a Wronski Feint with a Wonky Faint or something like that again."

"I should hope not," Ron winced. "That would be too much to take."

"Let's go back into the castle. There'll be a party in the Great Hall, I'm sure. And it'll soon be lunchtime, too," Ginny said.

"It'll be one hell of a party," Harry said.

Hand in hand they walked slowly back towards the castle, Ron and Hermione trailing after them, still talking about the look on Malfoy's face when he had realized that Pritchard hadn't yet scored when Snatch had caught the Snitch.

Oh yes, Malfoy would be exceptionally furious. Not to mention Snape. The man might be used to losing against Gryffindor by now… But being beaten by a Hufflepuff—that must be exceptionally hard to take.

For Harry it would have been.

And sure enough, at entering the castle and heading for the Great Hall, the Slytherin team rushed past them to sit down at their table, and Malfoy muttered through clenched teeth, "Defeated by that little Hufflepuff brat who can hardly mount a broomstick properly. I don't believe it. He'll pay for this. One day he'll pay."

"What's up, Malfoy? Can't stand losing, can you?" Ron asked, a satisfied grin on his face.

Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the Gryffindors, Crabbe, Goyle and the rest of the team behind him.

"Ron, don't. I don't think this is a good idea right now…" Hermione tried to hold him back. Malfoy was not in a state to be messed with right now. He was boiling with anger and humiliation.

But Ron took too much pleasure in having one over his archenemy to shut up now.

"Better get used to it," he said. "We'll wipe the smirk off of your face even more thoroughly when you're up against us."

"Then you'd better watch your back, Weasley. How would you play if you were… for example… one Keeper short?"

"Is that a threat, Malfoy?"

"Malfoys don't utter threats. They make vows."

"Then that's not much of a problem. You break your vows all the time, don't you?"

"Don't you have places to be?" Professor Ravon had arrived, sounding not pleased. If that was because Slytherin had lost or because she wanted to interfere before the situation escalated and hexes were being hurled through the Hall, Harry couldn't tell. "I heard a rumour about celebrations and what do I see? Quarrelling Gryffindors and Slytherins. Some things never change, do they? And you're blocking the doorway," she stated, suspiciously eyeing the two rival parties and glowering especially at Malfoy whom she—mildly spoken—didn't like very much. In fact, she had been displaying an immense dislike towards him ever since he made her lose it, and even before that, she hadn't seemed especially fond of him—which was rather strange, considering that Professor Ravon was a Slytherin, too.

"Now get to the places you belong before Professor Snape sees you loitering around here. He's not pleased with the current situation. Not pleased at all." She looked pointedly at Malfoy who cringed a bit, although he was taller than Professor Ravon. "So if I were you I'd get lost as soon as I hear his footsteps, which is what I most certainly will do—for the time being. I advise you to do the same—Gryffindors and Slytherins alike… And Mr Malfoy, there are to be uttered no threats towards other students in here. As if the circumstances weren't grave enough outside these walls…" She suddenly looked like Professor McGonagall did when she was particularly agitated. "And only because of a lost match! As if there weren't more important things aplenty to occupy your minds with!"

Professor Ravon exhaled sharply. "Neither of you will be taken away any points as it wouldn't be punishment if both of your houses lost the same amount, now would it?" she said, looking over her shoulder as happily chattering voices could be heard. "And now make some room for the Hufflepuffs."

She turned to walk past them but stopped and looked back once more. "If any news about an incident involving a few serious duelling hexes hitting, say, for example, certain Hufflepuff or Gryffindor students, reaches my ears, I'll know who it was; and the respective person will be collecting Bubotuber pus for the rest of their education here—same goes for anyone who should try and provoke a Slytherin to do what's necessary to earn his or her detention. And I tend to keep my vows."

With that, she swished away towards the high table, whereas the assembled students, finally overcoming their stunned silence, went to sit at their respective tables, as the jubilant Hufflepuff team entered the Great Hall, carrying little Will Snatch—who was blushing deeply crimson but smiling all over his face—all the way to his seat.

Among shouts of applause and praise and pats on his shoulders that almost made him fall over, the small boy finally managed to sit down. There hadn't been so much laughter at the Hufflepuff table since the day Cedric Diggory had been chosen as Hogwarts' Triwizard champion.

And Professor Sprout who was already sitting at the high table had drawn Professor Ravon into a conversation. Both of them were gesturing wildly and—strange enough—laughing and smiling, although Professor Ravon should have been a Slytherin supporter, shouldn't she? Well, Harry supposed, that she could take a fair defeat better than certain other people… One of which was just entering the Great Hall through a hidden entrance behind the high table.

Professor Snape. Stony-faced and silent as he sat down on his seat next to Ravon who noted his presence curtly and greeted him before returning to her lively conversation with Professor Sprout, who excused herself after another few minutes to chatter away with Dumbledore who had arrived in the meantime.

That left Professor Ravon free to talk only to Snape, which she did. A quite polite conversation it looked like, rather stiff, almost staged, as though every word had to be carefully considered—which they probably were.

Hadn't Professor Ravon said something along the lines that she'd rather avoid Snape when he was in his current moody state? Yet they were conversing civilly—quite an achievement when one had seen or heard them arguing about Merlin knew what. The most recent fairly agitated discussion that had been overheard had been about whether fluxweed was best picked on the first night or the second night of the full moon. Harry couldn't see what difference that could possibly make—but apparently, it did make a difference.

Anyway, they never seemed to be of the same opinion, always discussing—if they talked to each other at all… And although they were both wearing expressions on their faces that could hardly be read, it was clear that for once they weren't arguing…

The two Professors must have agreed on some sort of a truce. Harry idly wondered if Dumbledore had something to do with all of this—of course, he would.

~*~*~

"I can't believe it," Severus muttered. "Beaten by Hufflepuff House. That hasn't happened for decades."

"We almost won, Professor Snape," Sariss said, emphasizing his name as they officially weren't on a first name basis. "A few more seconds would have been enough for a draw and then…" she trailed off. "The little one was just faster. He almost beat Potter to the Snitch. What made you think that he couldn't beat Malfoy, too?"

"Slytherin never lost against Hufflepuff when playing Quidditch. We had to forfeit once or twice in history because of circumstances beyond our control—but something like that never happened before. I could—."

"Calm down. It's only a game."

"It's not only a game. You do realize that for quite some time Slytherin won't see the end of this? It's a matter of dignity."

Sariss had the nerve to chuckle at that. "Dignity. It most certainly has nothing to do with dignity. It would if you'd accept a defeat as well as a victory—which you don't. I'm not sure if I've ever seen a worse loser—or winner for that matter—than you. Why might that be?"

"I can't stand losing. Least of all when I expected a glorious triumph."

Sariss raised her eyebrows. "Glorious triumph? I'd rather call it a bloodbath, considering the fact that the whole Hufflepuff team have been hit by either one of the Bludgers and roundabout all Slytherin broomstick handles numerous times—and you enjoyed every single time that happened."

"Don't tell me you didn't. After all, it gave us an advantage," Severus said simply, "and it wasn't even against the rules… At least not explicitly—although some other things were."

"Like smashing into your opponent and then claiming he had appeared out of thin air, for example?" she drawled, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Severus smirked. "Something like that."

"And it worked too. A poor but nonetheless very effective excuse. Remarkable how we Slytherins always manage to wriggle out of it, isn't it?"

"Quite so. But we lost anyway."

"Well, there's at least one other person who took it even harder than you… Who will indeed not see the end of this for quite some time."

"If I'm not mistaken, you're talking about Mr Malfoy."

"Indeed, yes. He's in a particularly vindictive mood, even more than usual. I could sense him even though there was a bunch of people standing around him. I almost thought he'd draw his wand and hex Mr Weasley."

"Weasley? Doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, does he?"

"The boy doesn't get one over Malfoy often. Have you never noticed that Malfoy knows exactly where to aim to hit his fellow students hardest when he feels like doing so? I can't seem to understand why he does that. In every human being, there should be at least a tiny spark that decides between what's acceptable and what's not. In general, that's called a sense of decency. But I've never heard something helpful or even friendly coming from a Malfoy. So why are you so… er… so fond of the boy? That's something I can't tell."

"It's good to have connections. Being on good terms with the Malfoys under the current political circumstances could prove useful."

"You realize that, when that family falls—and I'm saying when not if, mind you—they'll take with them a great part of wizarding society?"

"Yes," Severus said slowly.

Careful. She's heading for something she shouldn't be heading for.

"You also realize that it could prove to be a mistake to be on such good terms with that family?"

"You never liked them, did you?" He tried to sound casual. This was not a safe topic for conversation.

"I never had a reason to. Never received a single nice word from them—how about you?"

"No nice word."

"Then why are you trying so hard to be on good terms with them?" she asked.

Severus hesitated. Yes, why? He could hardly tell her it was a necessary evil for keeping up the pretence, could he? How was he to express it in a way that wouldn't mean lying to her and yet avoid telling the truth?

"Information," he said finally. "It's good to know what's going on. And they know."

"Of course, they would. But why would they provide you with information… unless—," she broke off. "Professor, you're not… not… a…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. He almost had to read her lips to understand. "You haven't joined the Death Eaters again, have you? Please tell me you haven't."

She was looking at him as if she thought he'd get very, very angry, bracing herself for what she feared would be coming from him, what he'd say or do—or in her case, even feel. And Severus's first thought was indeed to refuse to answer, to shout at her to keep out of things that weren't—at least not directly—her business. But she was looking at him with bated breath, unblinking. "Please," she mouthed.

"I'm not a Death Eater, Sariss," he replied gravely. It was no lie, not really; and he deliberately used her first name, although he never used it in public when they might be overheard by students with 'connections'. Hidden by the tablecloth he reached for Sariss's hand. It was much colder than it had been down at the Quidditch pitch. "I am not a Death Eater," Snape repeated and added, "Just trust me."

"I trust no one, Severus," she sighed and shook her head. "It's safer not to. Not even myself. I'm sorry." She made to slip her hand out of his, but he wouldn't have that.

He could have stood up and left when she said she didn't trust him. In most cases, he would have. But not when there was so much despair and sadness in her voice. After all she hadn't said, 'I can't' or 'I don't trust you.' She simply trusted no one. Perhaps it was better that way…

"Considering the time you grew up in and the things you've seen, I can hardly blame you," Severus said softly. "It might save your life one day."

"But I can try," she whispered, squeezing his hand briefly, before quickly drawing it away, since Dumbledore was coming towards them, smiling broadly.

"What a game that was!" he exclaimed. "Very exciting!"

"Rub it in, please," Severus muttered sarcastically.

"Mr Snatch—what appropriate a name, by the way—Mr Snatch shows quite some talent. Another year and the Hufflepuffs will have Charlie Weasley and Harry Potter combined. Merlin knows that house deserves it, subdued as they had been ever since the death of Mr Diggory. They'll be celebrating all afternoon in here and if I'm not mistaken their party will surely go on in their common room. I really should inform the house-elves to prepare some extra food. They'll sneak into the kitchen anyway… Isn't it nice to have everyone in high spirits?" Dumbledore smiled kindly down at Sariss. The old man cared so much about her. Severus idly wondered if she was aware of that.

"Very," Sariss smiled back. And it was a real smile, despite the fact that Slytherin had lost. Her loyalty towards her former house apparently didn't include the Quidditch Cup—or the House Cup, for that matter. It was a completely new experience for Severus that a Slytherin didn't care about things like that, didn't care about the obvious, about what was visible to others, the surface…

She's not as superficial as one might think.

I don't know what she is. I think I'll never understand her. I'll never understand why she wants to be with me as much as I want to be with her. I'll never understand what makes her who she is.

You don't even know who she really is.

Want me to let you in on something?

Yes, please.

Frankly, I can't seem to care about who she is, anymore. She is who she is—and she's here.

You're quite right about that—. Are we heading for something along the lines of 'A rose by any other name still smells sweet' or so?

Comparing her with a rose might just be appropriate…

Why is that?

She's exactly like a rose, now that I think about it… And she certainly does have thorns, too. Razor-sharp ones if she wants them to be that way…

Interesting assumption.

I think I'm in love.

Quite understandable. Quite a lady you've caught yourself there… But, now that I've had some time to think about this whole situation, I don't think it's a good thing anymore. And I've been telling you this for weeks!

You didn't. At least not recently.

Damn it! Why can't you listen?

I did. You simply stopped reminding me. On the contrary.

It's not good for you to fall in love with anyone—.

I don't care anymore.

This will end even worse than the last time you fell in love.

I'll take the risk. And it doesn't have to be that way every time. It simply cannot. Not even for me. Not even Severus Snape could be so unlucky.

I can only hope you're right.

Me too.

~*~*~

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom looked quite different, when the seventh years entered it for their lesson on the Thursday after the match. Harry noted that the desk had been pushed back not quite against the walls so that they formed some sort of a half circle. There was still room to sit behind them, which the students did after having exchanged some glances with their friends.

Professor Ravon must have done that because she needed room for her lesson. Would they be revising something today or would it be another wandless magic or duelling lesson?

"Let's sit down, shall we?" Hermione said. "Looks like Professor Ravon's a bit late."

But they had hardly sat down when Professor Ravon swept into the room, carrying a large box that looked quite heavy—in one hand. She set the box down in the middle of the room.

"Today's lesson will be a revising lesson. As you're going to leave school soon, I thought it appropriate to brush up on the Boggart lesson with you to make sure you can take care of that problem should you be moving into an old magnificent house and find one of the little fellows lurking in the cupboard or under the staircase. They like dark and cosy places," she explained and patted the top of the box. "This one wanted to take permanent residence in a kitchen cupboard. The Elves were terrified. You have no idea what and which people they're afraid of…"

Then she walked back to her desk, sat on the edge of it and cleared her throat.

"You should be able to face a Boggart rather effortlessly by now. Of course, it depends on what your greatest fear is. But you should have encountered them around your second or third year and be prepared for whatever they turn into when you face them—unless, of course, your fears have changed since then. You never know…" she trailed off. "Does everybody remember what to do when facing one?" Some of the students nodded slightly; others didn't react. "Well then, would one of you be so kind as to tell the others: What are you supposed to do when you come across a Boggart?"

Hermione's hand shot up—as always. So did Harry's. And Ron raised his hand too. Even Neville…

Ravon scanned the assembled students. "Yes? Mr Pierson?" she said.

"When it turns into something that it knows will scare us, we must imagine something funny happening to it and use the Riddikulus spell."

"Very good. Take five points for Slytherin for this. It's always a good idea to make fun of something that's by no means something to laugh about should you face it in reality, isn't it? Improves your self-confidence. Now let's start the practical part of the lesson. I think the Slytherins should go first."

She opened the lid of the box and then quickly retreated, so as not to let the Boggart see her, Harry assumed.

"One by one, please, so it doesn't get too confused—yet. Miss O'Hara, if you'd be so kind as to begin?"

Reluctantly, the girl stepped forward and the Boggart jumped out of the box. It had turned into a masked man holding a Muggle gun. Many wizards feared Muggle weapons. Actually, all those who had ever seen those weapons in action feared them. They killed faster than a spell.

O'Hara steeled herself for a moment and then shouted "Riddikulus!" Harry wasn't sure if it had worked. The figure's appearance hadn't changed at all.

And then it pulled the trigger…

But instead of a big bang and a bullet, a little flag came out of the barrel. It said 'BANG!" and the figure looked around in confusion.

"Next, quickly!" Professor Ravon shouted.

For Crabbe, it turned into a zombie, then it became a large dog, looking similar to a grim, but growling and charging, blood dripping from its lips.

Then it was a Harpy for Pansy Parkinson, then a Manticore, then a Chimaera.

Millicent Bulstrode made a swarm of vicious crows that wanted to peck her eyes out lose their feathers so they fell to the ground helplessly. They turned into a swarm of very large hornets next, and then assembled themselves back into one single shape.

A Runespoor was raising its three heads high over the assembled students and at the shout of "Riddikulus!" the heads turned to each other and started to argue about whether they should eat now or later—of course, only Harry could understand what their conversation was about.

Professor Ravon smirked. One could almost get the impression that she understood it, too…

"Mr Malfoy, would you be so kind?" Ravon gestured.

Malfoy slowly sauntered towards the beast.

"Get a move on," the Professor hissed—the air was prickling again—thus wiping the smirk off his face.

As the Runespoor-Boggart laid its six eyes on Malfoy, it began to shrink in size. Its three heads disappeared, and soon enough a figure every one of the assembled people knew fairly well stood in the centre of the room.

Mad-Eye Moody. In all his splendour.

And he pointed his wand at Malfoy.

Why would he be afraid of Moody? Harry asked himself, puzzled.

But there was his voice (and it too sounded like the original), "Want to play the bouncing ferret again, do you?" it said, and Malfoy blanched as the Moody-Boggart's wand sent a curse in his direction. The boy wasn't quick enough. He was hit by the curse. Harry almost expected to see the bouncing ferret performance again—and the priceless look on Malfoy's face clearly displayed that he, too, had feared exactly that—but it wasn't possible. A Boggart couldn't perform any real spells. It had no magic of its own save for the ability to change shape.

Malfoy must have realized that too since he overcame his initial panic rather quickly—and Ron cursed under his breath, saying something along the lines of, "Dammit! I'd so have loved to see it again."

Well, if Ron wanted to see a ferret, he got his wish—although it was not Malfoy who became small and hairy. It was Moody-Boggart who had to see the world from a completely different point of view. The ferret point of view.

It ran in circles, looking around in confusion, unable to decide whom it should scare next. "Miss Granger, would you take over, please?" Professor Ravon asked, backing off a little or so it seemed. It was as if she avoided the Boggart's line of sight…

"And quickly."

Hermione took over, clearly remembering the last time she had faced her worst fear: that Professor McGonagall told her she'd failed everything. Harry wondered if she had already an idea how to make the strict Professor look funny.

And sure as that, as Hermione stepped forwards, drawing the Boggart-Moody's—or rather the Boggart-Moody-ferret's—attention on her, it changed into Professor McGonagall with a loud crack and began telling Hermione that she was absolutely not talented and couldn't do any proper magic if her life depended on it. Somehow, this was more terrifying than Harry had thought it could have been. But fact was that everyone saw exactly what Hermione must have seen in their third year exam: A Professor McGonagall who threw all the things in her face that poor Hermione had always dreaded. It was so very unlike Professor McGonagall.

But apparently, Hermione had steeled herself, since she shouted, "Riddikulus!" and McGonagall's wand, which she'd been waving around and gesturing with it and doing perfect transfigurations, started emitting smoke and showered violet and golden sparks; it looked like a Dr Filibuster firework.

The Boggart-McGonagall turned away and Hermione stepped back again, receiving a nod from Professor Ravon.

"Well done, Hermione," Ron said and Hermione smiled at him.

For Lavender, McGonagall turned into a rat, and then a bloody eyeball, staring blankly, and after that it was a rattlesnake that was soon replaced by a bloodstained and bandaged mummy that entangles itself in one of its unravelling bandages as it made for Parvati, thus falling forwards and hitting the floor with a great thud, its head rolling off.

Then it turned into a woman with floor-length black hair and a not exactly healthy colour of skin. As she opened her mouth wide, the unearthly wail of a banshee filled the room, making Harry's hair stand on end. Thankfully, Seamus made her lose her voice fairly quickly.

Then it was something fairly small again. A severed hand, crawling over the floor like a crab, leaving a trail of blood behind. It got caught in a mousetrap.

Then it was Ron's turn. Harry knew what was supposed to come now. None of the fears had changed since Professor Lupin's lesson. That's why Harry assumed that they'd get to see another impression of Aragog, the giant spider. And he was not disappointed. The spider was huge, six feet tall, very black and very hairy. The girls started screaming and even Professor Ravon gulped at the sight of its clicking and slobbering pincers.

As Ron yelled the incantation, it lost its legs again so it couldn't creep around anymore. It was the way spiders moved that Ron couldn't stand.

"Mr Longbottom. Please."

Crack! There was Professor Snape standing in the middle of the room—and he looked really angry.

Neville gulped, but then he gathered his courage and stepped forwards, like a true Gryffindor. "Riddikulus!" he yelled in a voice as firm as ever possible. And Snape-Boggart was forced into Neville's grandmother's green, lace-trimmed dress and the infamous hat with the stuffed vulture on top.

The whole class burst out laughing—all except Neville that is. But since even Professor Ravon was highly amused at that and sniggered behind her hand, Neville relaxed a bit. As she lowered her hand, she pressed her lips into a thin line and tried to apply a serious expression to her face again, which was not quite as serious as it was supposed to be. "Mr Longbottom," she asked in-between small giggles, "does Professor Snape know about this?"

Neville coughed and shuffled his feet uncomfortably, but smiled nonetheless because of the Professor's apparent amusement. "Er… unfortunately he does."

"I can quite understand why you're still scared of him then," she said, successfully suppressing another fit of the giggles. "Next please. Mr Potter?"

Harry stepped forward and the Boggart turned its attention towards him, eyeing him for a moment and then it slowly grew in size until a black-clad hooded figure stood in the middle of the room.

A Dementor.

Coldness penetrated Harry, the voices of his parents becoming audible again. The other students had retreated and pressed themselves to the walls, some of them sinking to their knees at the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. The fake Dementor was as bad as a real one…

Professor Ravon had not moved an inch. As she had been leaning casually against her desk, it wasn't even possible for her to retreat discreetly. She had become very white, every bit of colour that had graced her cheeks moments before was gone. The blood had drained even from her lips. The smile that had tugged at the corners of her mouth had completely vanished. She seemed unable to breathe properly and she, like everyone else, stared at the thing, shaking.

Harry searched his brain for a very happy moment… and found Ginny. Ginny as she'd blushed, when they had kissed under the mistletoe; Ginny as she'd thrown her arms around him when he had asked her for a date; Ginny as she smiled up at him, her hair spread all over the pillow, gleaming in all shades of red and gold and copper, when they had made love for the first time…

Ginny.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted, and a strand of silvery mist emanated from his wand, taking the form of a magnificent, silvery animal, a stag, James Potter's Animagus form.

It reared and charged at the Boggart-Dementor that then bowed its head and turned away from Harry in fear, hurrying towards its box.

"Beautiful," Professor Ravon said weakly, still looking much shaken at the experience with the Dementor.

Harry's Patronus hadn't yet dissolved. It just stood there and looked at the Professor who was staring back.

Weird.

She took a few steps towards it, reached up and touched the stag's head almost as though she wanted to stroke it. Her hand passed through it since it wasn't solid, but silvery sparkles danced over her as she stared at it in awe. The Patronus took a step backwards, seemed to tilt its head as though it wanted to take a closer look, then it shook its head and returned to Harry's side where it dissolved into thin air again.

Professor Ravon had a look on her face like a child in a toyshop, a broad genuine smile on her once more pink lips. Then she clutched her head for a moment, massaging her temples. After having taken a deep breath, she was all business again. "That was quite a Patronus," she said softly. "Awesome, Mr Potter. You must have had a very good teacher—and a very happy memory…"

The Boggart meanwhile had become very dizzy and began to change shape randomly, not knowing which monster he should turn into.

Heading towards her desk where she began rummaging around in a drawer, Professor Ravon asked, "If you would like to finish the Boggart off, Miss O'Hara?"

"Riddikulus!" the girl shouted and the Boggart exploded into thousands of pieces that dissolved into little wisps of smoke.

Some of the students looked still a bit shaken because of the Dementor that had suddenly stood in the middle of the room. Professor Ravon pulled a large bar of Honeydukes chocolate out of one of the drawers in her desk and began handing out pieces of it to everyone. "No one shall say I didn't take care of my students. Least of all Madam Pomfrey. There you are, Mr Zabini. Miss Brown? Here's a very large one for you. You look like you could use it," she said and then had her own chunk of chocolate and munched vigorously.

Especially Ron looked a bit green around the gills although that may only have been because of his typical Weasley complexion. "You could have warned us before you faced that thing, Harry." He shoved the chocolate into his mouth. "Nex' 'ime you 'ave 'o fashe a Boggar' make sure I lef'." He swallowed the chocolate. "Got it?"

"Sorry, didn't think of it," Harry muttered apologetically.

"Alright then. House points!" Professor Ravon announced. "Five points for everyone who faced the Boggart and defeated it. And an additional five points for Mr Potter, who showed us the most beautiful Patronus that I've ever seen, and five points for Miss O'Hara for finishing our late wardrobe occupant off. And also an additional five points to Mr Longbottom for improving the mood in here considerably by having such an entertaining greatest fear—." She grinned suddenly, but quickly plastered the usual serious expression on her face again. "Well, at least until we had a look at fear itself… I'd like you to write an essay on your greatest fear and either how you'd overcome it when facing it in reality, or how it came to be your greatest fear and/or how you faced it. Twelve inches should do, but don't write too large—or else." At that, she threw a glance at the students. Ron quickly looked away. "Class dismissed. See you again next Monday."

"Professor Ravon, why didn't you face the Boggart and finish him off yourself?" Stella O'Hara asked when she passed Professor Ravon's desk. Some students, including Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped to listen to her answer. "What would it have turned into for you?"

"You don't want to know. But I can assure you: You wouldn't find any sleep tonight if I had faced it. That's why I let you take care of it, Miss O'Hara. You did very well."

"Thank you, Professor… But… what would it have been?"

"You are a curious lot, aren't you?" she asked. Then she grew very serious. "Imagine the worst nightmare you ever had. Then multiply it numerous times with itself. My greatest fear is the greatest evil the wizarding world has seen in a hundred years. And the effect of it isn't cured as easily as with a piece of dark chocolate."

"Voldemort?" Harry asked without thinking.

Professor Ravon looked directly into his eyes with those strange eyes of hers. Harry blinked a few times. Something still seemed not quite right. They weren't supposed to look like that, were they? Definitely not. Something wasn't right… That feeling had grown stronger each passing lesson.

Their colour! That was it. It had puzzled him all this time. He knew instinctively that her eyes were supposed to look different from what they did actually look like, but what they were supposed to look like or why he knew that… he had no idea. It was a thought even more elusive than a dream you have when you're already awakening.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Lord Voldemort—or at least I believe it would turn into him. I can't think of anything that would scare me more than that pair of red eyes staring back at me. Not even the Dementor."

The few students who had stayed behind were totally silent as though they didn't even dare to breathe too loud in case the Dark Lord would materialize right in front of them. Twice his name had been mentioned. The name no one dared to utter, no one with the exception of a few people.

"And I'm afraid I can't find anything remotely funny about that thing that the Dark Lord has become—not even if he wore Granny Longbottom's mint-green dress," she said, sarcastic.

That was something Harry could very well understand. He had faced the Dark Lord several times already and none of it had had anything funny about it. One could simply not laugh at Voldemort. And if you tried, you'd choke on that laughter.

"Well, go on. Out. You'll be late if you keep loitering around here," she said lightly, but Harry could hear that it cost her quite much to sound remotely that way. "Have a nice day." She ushered them out of the classroom as though they were fourth or fifth years.

When they were walking away from the classroom, Ron asked, "Have you ever seen something like that? What happened when she touched Prongs, Harry? What were those sparkles?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "No idea. Strange, wasn't it?"

"I think I'll—," Hermione began.

"Stop. Let me guess… Go to the library? Again?"

"Sure. I mean there certainly are books about the Patronus spell there. It should be possible to find a book about strange events that can occur when a Patronus touches someone who has… I don't know… special abilities or characteristics."

"Special abilities or characteristics? Please!"

"One word: Inkbottle."

"But that happens to us all sometimes."

"But not like that," Harry joined the conversation. "The ink was boiling. That's what made the glass shatter. I saw it. It didn't just explode all of a sudden. It was a chain reaction."

"And the candles flicker when she walks past, haven't you noticed?"

"I always thought that was just because of her habit of… well… kind of swishing through the corridors."

"Possible. But it's strange nonetheless. I mean when Snape rushes through the corridors with billowing robes, it doesn't happen. At least they don't flicker that badly. And his 'swishing' as you put it is worse at times—well, when he's not moving so silently that he's suddenly breathing down your neck."

"And her hands are so cold. Not just cold—icy. When she handed me my essay the other day, I accidentally brushed her hand with my fingertips and she was so cold although the fire was burning high, almost a little too hot for my taste. That can't be normal. I mean I could almost feel the warmth seeping out of me."

"If you need me…"

"Library," Ron and Harry said as one.

"You do realize, that sometimes the answer cannot be found in the library, do you?" Ron asked.

"And you do realize that sometimes the answer can be found in the library?" Hermione asked back. "Do I have to point out the many occasions when—?"

"I don't want to intrude here," Harry began. "But can the two of you for once let a day end without arguing?"

"We weren't," Hermione said.

"Yeah, we just had an intense conversation."

"A discussion."

"A discussion that got a bit out of control."

"A rather heated discussion then?" Harry provided with a grin tugging at his mouth by now.

"Yes," they said in unison.

Next chapter:

Severus takes Sariss down to the dungeons, a lot of snogging, a lesson in Portkey-making and a few suspicions…