FF.net note:  There was a smut interlude (very NC17) that occurred between this chapter and the last.  It is available to those of you who like that sort of thing on the Yahoo group site.  (See my bio page for the link.)  It was also posted on my Lj.  

You won't miss much at all if you don't read it, in fact, as far as the characters go, it's more of an emotional/character divergence than a continuation of the last chapter's end.  I like smut, so I wrote smut and it was a good spot to highlight a scene.  The only plot point that comes up is the question of what was Fred & George's 'stashed' birthday gift.  Either way, know that Hermione helped Harry celebrate a bit more after everyone else left and the next morning, there may be a few nods to that fact.  Read on!

Chapter 47.  Ponderings

"What are you doing?"

Hermione looked up from where she was crouched down on the stone floor of the basement kitchen and currently fussing with an old cauldron stand; one very old and rusty cauldron stand.  She hastily wiped a stray wisp of hair from her face and gloomily replied, "Trying to get this rusty old thing to work.  Help?" 

Harry was clad in his pyjama bottoms and a jumper and now took a spot on the cold floor beside her.  It was still morning and when he'd awoke, he'd vaguely remembered Hermione kissing him and telling him she was getting up.   He'd come down for whatever was still on for breakfast but now found himself wondering what on earth Hermione was doing with a smattering of old Potions equipment and just where everyone else had gone.  "You really haven't told me what you're doing," he said as he tried to make the rusting hinges of the cauldron stand open up. 

"I'm getting started on the potion to allow my parents to use the mirrors," she said as she searched through an old box filled with things that made a lot of clanging sounds as they were moved about.  "Dobby actually said he could get any ingredients I needed."  She looked up then at Harry and said, "Did you know House Elves have are allowed to go out and into Wizarding stores and markets?  He said most major merchants have special rear entrances for the elves and that a good elf is one who is never seen out." 

Her mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line after she spoke and Harry just knew Hermione was probably dreaming up a parade to celebrate the freedom she was determined to eventually shove down the throat of each and every contented little House Elf. 

"Well, I suppose they have to get food and stuff somewhere so they can cook it and serve it."  Hermione looked at him sharply and he smiled disarmingly, knowing he sounded like Ron now.  "Come on, it's what Dobby and Winky are paid to do.  Besides, if I could get around with no one ever seeing me, I'd do it too."

"Oh, I suppose," Hermione said as she grabbed the stand back from Harry and tried to force the hinges open.   It didn't budge. 

"What time did you get up this morning?" Harry asked as he watched her futile efforts.  "I barely recall hearing you.  Where is everyone else?"

Hermione didn't seem to be paying attention.  "I wish I had my stand but it's back at school.  Maybe I can Floo Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore before they leave..."

"Her-mi-o-ne?"  Harry waved his hand in front of her. 

"Hmm?  Oh, I was up early.  Seven.  You were fast asleep and mumbling about Bertie Botts Beans." She paused from where she was looking at the inside of an old, dented iron cauldron, looked down her nose at him a moment with one eyebrow arched and said, "You seemed to be having pleasant dreams." 

Harry grinned sheepishly at her. 

"I told my dad about Remus' work on furniture restoration.  They've been up in the attic since after breakfast.  Mum, too."

"Tonks and Andy?"

Hermione shrugged.  "If you can't hear Tonks, my bet is she's still asleep."  She pushed the cauldron away then and sighed heavily, saying, "This cauldron won't do!  It's filthy with who knows what on the inside and I need pewter, not iron."

Harry, feeling the cold of the stone starting to numb his cheeks, stood up and dusted himself off.  "I'm starved.  Can't you send Dobby out for some new potions equipment?  That stuff looks ancient."

"It's what was here in the house," Hermione said grumpily.  "And cauldrons this size are expensive."

"How does Dobby pay for things when he goes out?" Harry asked as he wandered over to pull out a covered pan from the warming oven. 

"I had to give him money for the ingredients I needed," Hermione said.  "Otherwise he says it just gets put on a tab.  I imagine it's a general cheque for headquarters that Dumbledore makes sure is taken care of.   Oh, guess what?  I told my dad about the mirror you gave to him and Mum and, well, I think he's definitely changed his tune about you."  Hermione smiled broadly as Harry pulled out a slice of toast and sniffed it experimentally. 

"He seemed in a good mood last night," Harry commented.  "Even got over the fact he had to wear a dress to fit in."

"Mm," Hermione laughed.  "I think he had a good time.  Better than you did for the most part," she added with a frown.

Harry sighed and threw the toast back into the pan.  "Yes, well, I should know better than to expect any gathering with every single Weasley to go smoothly, I suppose."  He pulled out the nearest battered wooden chair from the long worn table and sat down heavily.  "If nothing else, at least last night was eventful."  He looked up and gave Hermione a sly smile as he said, "Though, the end of the night did begin to make up for all the earlier dramatics." 

Harry knew if Hermione hadn't so completely taken his mind and kept it completely and utterly occupied with nothing but her, that he would have spent half the night awake and trying to sort out everything that had happened.  He still had to sort it all, though, but now at least, he had one very well rested night of sleep for perspective. 

Hermione walked over and, as she mussed up his already messy hair with her hand, took the chair beside him.  "I was determined that you'd be able to look back and think fondly on last night one way or another," she said with a puckish grin. 

"Well," Harry said as he turned to her.  "It worked.  Plans for today?"

"Well, I need to get this potion started since it will take nearly the remainder of our break to reduce.  Remus said the Inner Council will meet this evening after dinner—go over all the numerous stuff that's happened.  It'll include either Snape himself if he's able or at the very least, a report from him." 

Harry gave Hermione a dubious look; now that he thought on it, he was a bit surprised that Hermione hadn't been badgering him for details about all the things that had happened last night.   Snape arriving, his injuries and report on Voldemort's condition and doings, the talk with Ron that was, as far as Harry was concerned, a complete and total disaster...

"Remus filled me in on Snape somewhat," Hermione said as if she knew what he was thinking.  "And judging by the way Ron stormed out of the hall after talking to you, I'd say he didn't make amends very well." 

Harry just gave her a look that conveyed her last comment was quite the understatement and sighed heavily yet again.  He needed to get everything sorted out in his mind and soon.  There were so many things he had questions about and that he needed to think through. 

Hermione ran a hand through his hair then and said, "My parents are debating what they're going to do.   I promised them that I'd spend a good deal of the summer with them somehow in exchange that for the rest of the winter holiday, they just stay here."

"And after we head back to school?" Harry asked. 

Hermione bit her lip.  "We discussed a few options this morning but they all have drawbacks.  They could go off again to a remote location with Professor McGonagall acting as their Secret Keeper again."  Harry hadn't realized they'd been under the Fidelius Charm and Hermione nodded at the look on his face.  "I know--I didn't realize that was what hid the knowledge of where exactly they were.  Or," she continued as she rose and walked into the pantry, "they could try to resume living here in England and pick up with their practices again while we try to use Fidelius to hide the knowledge that they are my parents."  She came out carrying two blueberry scones and two empty mugs.  "It might make things weird for their old friends who my parents would be used to them knowing they have a daughter but," she sighed, "I think it's a small price to pay for their safety."  

"Why can't they just stay here?" Harry asked as he took a crumpet she offered. 

Hermione gave him a look.  "And just do nothing and never go out?  Harry, I'd think you of all people would see that's not an attractive option for anyone." 

"Well, where are they going to live if they stay in England?" he asked.  "I don't understand everything about the Fidelius Charm but it sounds like someone could still find out where a Dr. and Dr. Granger lived.  They wouldn't have to know they were your parents necessarily.  How often did Ron have Scabbers with him when we all hung out?  Plenty often for Wormtail to know all sorts of personal information about your family, don't you think?"

Hermione sighed as she poured them each a mug of coffee.  "Maybe.  I don't know."

"Well, they should know it's an option," Harry said.  "Staying here, I mean.  I'm sure Remus wouldn't mind and an extra person in the house here would probably not go astray." 

"We'll see," was all Hermione said before the topic changed to what they each had to get done before the end of break and what they might plan to work on together.  Dobby returned before too long with one magically enchanted bag that held over a dozen different potion ingredients and Harry then insisted that he go back out and buy a standard set of potions equipment for Hermione to use.  When Hermione tried to protest, he justified it as being something that the Order might someday need to have handy at its headquarters. 

While Hermione immediately began to immerse herself in preparing the ingredients for the enchantment of the mirror, Harry decided that voluntary potions work was just not his thing.  He headed upstairs with the intent of catching up on all the Order post that he'd missed over the past several days. 

He was heading down the hallway towards the second floor library when Tonks nearly ran him over as she came bouncing out of the drawing room. 

"Oi!  Har!  There you are!"  She said brightly.  She was wearing a sloppy old sweatshirt that read 'Oxford' and faded jeans.  "So, I've got this, er, to-do list from McGonagall.  She said I was to make sure you got it and—" Tonks stopped in mid sentence. 

"What?" Harry said as she just grinned at him.  "Oof!"  Harry was suddenly flung against the wall as Tonks leapt at him and clutched him in a furious embrace.  "What the...Tonks?" Harry said weakly as he tried to remain upright.

Finally she pulled back.  "Isn't it brilliant?!" she gushed as she bounced cheerfully.  "I knew there was something to you when Hermione called me about your hair!" 

She was on about the Metamorphamagus thing again and her exuberance was currently rivalling that of Lavender and Parvati's around the time of the Yule Ball.  Harry turned and tried to keep walking towards the library. 

"I knew it!  I should have seen it earlier," she was saying now as she followed him doggedly.  "I remember when Molly was trying to make your hair lie flat before your hearing last year.   You must have been doing that on purpose!  I understand and all, fancy the mussy look myself as you never have to work to get it right, but—"

"Actually, you're wrong," Harry said simply as he threw open the library door and walked in.  "I don't like my hair the way it is.  I have no idea why it is the way it is.  I certainly don't like it.  And if I'm supposed to be able to change myself at will and all, how come my scar's never faded?  You don't think I've not wished that away only a million bazillion times?"

Tonks had stopped and was looking at Harry curiously.  "You did grow your hair back at least once, didn't you?"

"Yes," Harry said through clenched teeth and with a loud sigh.  "Once.  But I looked hideous before it grew back.  You don't understand how much my aunt and uncle hated—still hate!—my hair."

"So, they never liked your hair how it was?  All...untamed?" Tonks asked with narrowed eyes. 

Harry was barely listening.  "They're always going on about how I look like a hooligan and that it's a disgrace.  I must have had half-dozen haircuts for every one my cousin ever had!"  Harry shook his head and reflexively ran a hand through his hair.  "They were always trying to make it change and lay flat.  Aunt Petunia even said my dad fooled about with growing his back to rile my mum."  He stopped then at the look on Tonks' face. "What?"

Tonks was grinning smugly at him with her arms crossed over her chest.  "So," she said slowly, "your relatives—they tried to get your hair to change?"

"Yeah," Harry said warily as he scratched behind his ear.

"Tell me, Har," Tonks said as she propped herself up on the small table.  "Would pleasing your fine excuse for an aunt and uncle and conforming to how they wanted you to look have been something you'd want to do?" 

"Huh?"

Tonks waved at his head.  "Yeah sure you wish your do was perhaps neater and more tidy.  Not so—" she waved again— "all over the place.  Which, by the way, might I add that that look's something an awful lot of witches happen think is dead sexy?  But besides all that—isn't it safe to say that generally making those insufferable muggles you lived with happy by changing yourself is something you would not have wanted to do?"

"Well, I guess so," Harry conceded.  There had always been something to be said for at least knowing his mere existence irritated the Dursleys as much as they'd always irritated him. 

Tonks smiled broadly.  "And wouldn't you say that if you'd have gone and gotten your hair cut and come back looking like some swot your relatives would have been right chuffed?"  She clapped her hands and grinned as Harry nodded, still a bit confused where she was going.  "Too right! Well, there you have it!"

"Have...have what, exactly?" Harry asked thinking perhaps Tonks was still a bit off from drinking some of the twins' special Butterbeer.

"The reason you did want your hair to keep growing back and look just like it had before!"  She grinned and winked while pointing a finger as she said, "You liked driving your aunt and uncle nutters with your hair!  You must have wanted your hair to finally look a bit different when you let it get trimmed this summer."  

Harry had to laugh at this.  Maybe...

"And," she went on as she swung her legs that hung down from where she sat upon the table, "if you say your dad could do it, too, then there you go.  I told you the ability to transfigure yourself was born and not learned.  You got it from your dad!"

Harry turned and felt the need to sit down.  The nearest thing was the raised hearthstone.  It was a bit dizzying to go from being annoyed at having yet another thing that made him special, to knowing it was actually a skill he'd inherited from his father and would have had even without the Boy Who Lived nonsense.  And yet, even though he now knew this, it didn't mean Ron wouldn't sneer or look at Harry like he was yet again getting another break. 

"You all right?" Tonks asked as she sat down beside him.  "Are you thinking up what you want to change first?"  She pointed a finger at him and sternly said, "Now don't go getting a--, er, ahead of yourself.  There're three levels of training you'll need to go through.  You should be capable of everything eventually but the degree of your natural ability will determine just how much of it comes easily to you and how much of it you'll have to work at."

"How much could you do when you first started?" Harry asked her; his interest picking up now.

"Me?  I was pretty good.  I breezed through the basic and mid levels without blinking an eye and, well, anyone would have to work a bit at the advanced level—that's where you put together morphing more than one tissue set to do things like create a different body shape all together.  That takes some practice.  But after you get the hang of it, it's second nature.  Hair, as it's constantly growing –or should be—all the time, is one of the easiest things to do."

Tonks went on to explain that the most basic, beginner level of skills to be mastered by a Metamorphamagus was the ability to morph persistently growing tissues such as skin, hair, nails and also the ability to direct simple glamour type illusions to effect changes in the color of skin, hair, eyes and such. 

"Eyes?" Harry said.

Tonks nodded.  She screwed her eyes shut tight and looked to be concentrating real hard and then opened her eyes.  Shocking violet eyes fluttered back at him.  "As there aren't a whole lot of us metamorphs out there, there isn't all that much known.  I had to learn mostly from a book and that bloody well stank.  But from what I read, there seemed to be some debate on whether one could really make their eyes change color or if it was just a magical illusion of sorts.  This one bloke who wrote a book thought the whole ability to change shape was an illusion, but, well, I know he's off the mark because if I change these—" Tonks puffed out her chest and Harry couldn't help but notice as her small pair of breasts beneath the sweatshirt suddenly swelled to a gigantic bosom that rivaled Madame Rosmerta's.  Tonks grabbed them through her sweatshirt and grinned as she said, "See?  You can go on and feel that these aren't some silly glamour!" 

"No, thanks!" Harry said in a high voice as he abruptly stood up. 

Tonks laughed and said in a pouting tone, "You're no fun, Har.  You know how many guys would kill to have a girl who could be whatever they wanted?"  She waved at him dismissively.  "Oh, go on, I'm just teasing." 

"But I will tell you this—I only ever met one other metamorph and he was an old ex-Auror, about a hundred and forty when I met him a few years back when I was first began my training.  The only advice he over tried to give me was to make sure I never forgot who I really was.  Well, that and he mentioned something about never trying to morph your pink bits and then use them because it was apparently what got him stuck with an early retirement.  That warning may be better served to you than it was to me, I'll tell you.  Though I don't think I've heard Hermione complain...in fact, if I've heard anything, it's been a few sounds of—"

"Oo-kay!" Harry said abruptly stopping Tonks before she could possibly make him turn an even brighter shade of red.  "So where is this list McGonagall gave you, hmm?  Or, better yet, why don't you give me a chance to catch up on my post.  Maybe go help Hermione in the kitchen?"

"Aww!" Tonks sprang up and lunged to ruffle Harry's hair.  What is it with everyone doing that today?  "Am I annoying ickle Harrikins?" she said in a singsong voice. 

"Gerrof!" Harry said as he swatted her hand away. 

She laughed at him and harrumphed as she fixed him with a mock glare.  "Fine.  I'll leave you to your post.  But I'm off the rest of the week on holiday still and Mum's willing to stay here so I can help you train up on this.  I'll give you today off, but you best be ready to do some work with me tomorrow.  Happy?"

She grinned cheekily at Harry and he, not cracking any sort of smile whatsoever, just raised an eyebrow and said, "Thrilled.  I'm absolutely thrilled."

~

~

Harry spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon cloistered away in the library, sorting through the various post and compilations of reports that Remus had put together.  So much for not working a few days for the holidays, Harry thought.  Remus had obviously been putting in long hours sifting through the reports from various Order contacts and putting all the information together. 

Harry found clippings from that very morning's various muggle newspapers.  He read them all with a sickening disbelief as they each detailed various theories of the strange new plague that was sporadically popping up around the country and reaching alarming, epidemic proportions.   

One paper was dead set on believing it was a killer fungus imported from the last excursion humans had made into space.  Another article suggested it was the work of militant terrorist cells attempting to make political statements.  And one paper had a four page spread on the whole ordeal and tried to point towards the proclivity for these outbreaks to occur in densely populated, 'poorer' communities as evidence that it was all part of an elaborate government scheme to trim down the population that was a current 'burden to the national economy'.  

Dementors.  These are the Dementors feeding, Harry thought disgustedly.  It was infuriating to know that the Wizarding community and Fudge especially had no real motivation to be concerned about these deaths caused by Dementors, much less even expend resources to try to put a stop to them.  

He certainly didn't agree with it, but Harry could still understand at least some of the logic that was behind this stance.  Since Dementors feeding off of muggles at least did not result in an increase of the number of Dementors like it would if they fed off of magical folk, most Wizarding world people would see the loss of muggle lives as preferable to attacks on wizards and an increasing population of Dementors.  The fact that Voldemort had the Dementors going after muggles seemed like he was almost thumbing his nose at any wizard who noticed.  There was nothing they could do to stop it without making it worse. 

Unless we found a way to destroy Dementors, Harry thought for not the first time.  There's got to be a way... 

Harry also read a summary that detailed a varied list of muggleborn wizards and witches who had been attacked on the night of the winter solstice.  There were well over three dozen separate instances of the Dark Mark being fired up into the sky and nearly thrice the number of reported deaths and sudden 'disappearances'. 

Remus had already tried to categorize them by location and victim profiles.  He'd also already started a list of brainstormed possible motives that applied to all the various victims.  Muggleborns who married muggleborns, all worked jobs that were directly in the wizarding world, nearly all had young, not yet school age children, were just some of the observances that had been listed on one parchment. 

Harry didn't stop going through the various parchments, charts and maps until Remus came in and, after hearing how long Harry'd been in there doing nothing but reading over depressing reports, insisted he take a break for the rest of the afternoon. 

Harry, who actually felt like he had more questions than answers now as his mind had been wandering for the last half hour while he'd read the same things over and over, left with the promise that he would do something relaxing.  Instead, he found himself writing furiously in his journal to get all his questions and thoughts down in ink.

All the various happenings of last night's Celebration were swimming about in his mind and demanding attention.

Things I need to do:

Research methods to destroy or contain Dementors.  (Check information on Lethifolds?)

Figure out what my constant projection is for Occlumency and decide on an eye trick to use.  Is it strictly a thought projection or is it actually a sort of glamour bit? 

Love versus Hate.  What the HELL does this all mean?

This last entry had spurred at least two pages of rambling questions and dead-end theories. 

Love and hate are opposites.  Opposite emotions.  Opposites tend to counter each other in magic.  Voldemort suffers--what?  How does he suffer?  When I feel strong emotions that are something like love, he suffers something.   

Ok, I've suffered pains in my scar and visions of what he's doing when he's strongly felt anger--no--hate.  Hate--it must have been hate. 

Hate--if that's the prerequisite emotion behind the Killing Curse just like the required desire to cause and enjoy causing pain for the Cruciatus, then does that mean that love can be used to counter the killing curse? 

"Obviously," Harry said out loud to himself.  "I'm alive, aren't I?"  Hedwig hooted in agreement from her perch near the window. 

But where does he suffer any pains (if he suffers pain at all)?  He doesn't have a scar.  Where?  How? And when I've occasionally suffered these pains, I've seen visions through his eyes.  Does he see through my eyes when I get these, he paused here and finally just wrote, feelings?  Can he see what I see then? 

Ok, Voldemort was said to have killed twice that night last week when I felt my scar wake me up.  I remember two sharp pains in my scar.  Sharp.  Not dull and just aching like it has been in the past.  If he used the Killing Curse then he'd have, Harry borrowed some of Dumbledore's words from the previous night then, felt a tremendous burst of amplified hate when he cast it. 

Harry recalled Dumbledore explaining not too long ago that what made the Unforgivable Curses so unforgivable was the prerequisite emotions behind them.  That other spells might be used to cause someone pain, kill or control another—however, it was the matter of the emotional intent of these spells that made them classified as unforgivable.  It was unforgivable to hate another human so much that you could end their life with two mere words and a wand.  It was unforgivable to so want to cause another person complete and total pain and to take pleasure in their pain.  And it was unforgivable to want to strip a person of their will, their self-identity and take control of their own body and actions.  The fact that no known counters to these spells existed only made them that much worse. 

But they're not completely unblockable, are they? Harry asked himself. 

He recalled flashes of green light striking tombstones as he'd fled from the graveyard after Voldemort's rebirth.  He recalled a stray blast of green light striking and obliterating a wooden desk as it missed its mark when Voldemort was fighting Dumbledore in the Ministry's Atrium.  He recalled an animated golden statue charging forth to take a blast of green light and shield Dumbledore.  And there was Fawkes, who flew right in to intercept a Killing Curse, swallow it whole and was then reborn after accepting the death.  Certainly there were things that could block that spell.  Not to mention my own status as the Boy Who Everyone Wonders How I Ever Lived, Harry thought to himself.  

It seemed there were three very different ways then that the Killing Curse could be avoided.  There was outright dodging and a misfired spell that never hits it mark.  Then there was something, living or solid, that intercepts the line of fire and thereby shields the intended target while absorbing the blow. And finally, there was the issue of how Harry survived—love, at least as Dumbledore would simply have it. 

What about the other two Unforgivables?  Certainly one can fight off the Imperious but is that just a matter of will power versus will power?  And what about the Cruciatus?  The opposite of pain was...pleasure?  Could someone who enjoyed feeling pain actually counter the Cruciatus then? 

A vague and still-painful memory of Bellatrix Lestrange laughing as she threw off Harry's curse that night at the Ministry played through Harry's mind.  It was still playing through his mind when he was finally broken from his rambling thoughts and writings as Hermione knocked on his door and told him he was missing dinner.  He hadn't even gotten to all the questions he'd wanted to think over; he had yet to even address the entire topic of the sword that only seemed to pop out at odd times. 

"Come on," Hermione said, shaking her head at him.  "Remus said you've been in here all afternoon.  I thought you must have been taking a kip but you've been working?" 

Harry stretched and ran a hand through his hair as his stomach growled loudly.  

Hermione laughed and said, "I'll take that as a yes. Come along." 

~

Throughout dinner, Harry's thoughts kept refocusing themselves on the hope that Snape was healed enough to show up in person for the night's meeting.  No, it wasn't that Harry wanted to have to see the greasy git; it was that Harry had a number of questions that only Snape, as one who might have witnessed Voldemort at some of these key times, could answer. 

In fact, he'd been distracted so much by this and running through all the things he wanted to be sure and ask, that he was actually startled when, as a whole, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Moody and Snape (healed) all entered the basement where only Harry, Hermione and Remus had remained.  

"Severus," Remus said in greeting.  "So glad to see you back to your usual...lovely self."

Snape sneered perfunctorily and said, "Lupin, be a good mutt and fetch me some silverware."  Snape then froze, and like an animal sensing the scent of prey, he inhaled deeply and turned his head unerringly towards the corner where Hermione had set up her now softly simmering cauldron. 

Whatever had been causing Snape to limp the day before had obviously been healed as the git stalked off towards the corner now. 

"Don't touch that!" Hermione said at once as she leapt from her seat to stand. 

Snape stopped abruptly, only a few paces away from her cauldron, and turned back to sneer at Hermione.  "And what harm, pray tell, Miss Granger, do you think I would suffer upon your—" he inhaled yet again, this time so deeply that his nostrils flared.  His eyes sprung open then and he directed his narrowed glare back at Hermione.  "Sanguineford Solution?"

Harry was certainly a bit impressed that anyone could identify a potion merely by scent.  But then again, he thought, no one else has quite the conk as Snape. 

"What would you," Snape hissed as he now walked back towards the table, "be doing brewing a potion known as a Squib ameliorative?  Hmm?"

"What?" Hermione said, bristling defensively.

"Tell me, Granger, just how often have you ever brewed a potion that includes your own blood as an ingredient?"  Snape's eyes were glinting cruelly now. 

"Blood?" McGonagall said.  "Severus, what are you on about?  I'd think Miss Granger would have sense enough to know—"

"I'll bet your favorite hat that that potion over there is pure Sanguineford Solution!" Snape shouted as he pointed a long sallow finger towards the offending cauldron.

"All right now," Dumbledore said, holding his hands up, palms out, as if to persuade them all to settle down.   "We've got a fair bit to cover tonight," he said as seated himself and looked expectantly at the others to do the same.  "Severus?" he said when Snape still remained standing, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

"I know what it is I smell, Headmaster.  And if I'm not mistaken, Miss Granger's muggle parents are currently visiting.  I think it would be prudent if perhaps someone told her the penalty for use of this potion to give non-magical beings magical powers."

"They're people," Remus said through clenched teeth. 

"I would assume," McGonagall said as her spine straightened and her lips thinned, "that any professor of Potions worth his salt would have been sure to have instructed their students on the penalties and ramifications of using human blood in potions!" 

Hermione was glaring at Snape and after McGonagall spoke, she said, "Not that we've ever been told in class, but I am aware that although the use of such a potion is prohibited to empower another person, it is not illegal to use it to enchant an object!"

Snape nodded then with a sickening smile.  "Oh yes, well, as long as it's not illegal then."  He threw up his hands and looked down his long hooked nose at McGonagall and said, "Your very own Gryffindors using the Dark Arts."  He clucked his tongue and made of show of sitting down gracefully.  "My, my, what has this world come to?"

"Can we get on with this?" Remus said exasperatedly. 

"Wait," Harry said, frowning and rubbing the inside of his elbow.  He looked sideways at Snape and asked, "What's the deal with using blood in potions?  What ramifications?"   Snape's arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as he stared back at Harry.  "Well?  You've never told us in class—what's the deal?"

Moody exhaled loudly and started pulling out his parchments as he muttered, "We'll be here all night at this rate.  Let's get on with Order business shall we?  Some of us would like to get home at a decent hour."

Harry sat back, irritated now, and looked pointedly at Snape as he said, "I have a whole list of questions for you."  Snape merely arched an eyebrow as Dumbledore cleared his throat to begin. 

Even as Remus began with his reports, which Moody had been helping him put together, Harry couldn't help but begin to wonder if his question had been about Order business.   One more question for Snape, he resolved as he checked his mental list. 

As they went over the same reports that Harry had spent the greater part of morning and early afternoon perusing, Snape was able to fill in some small details about various things.  He didn't know the specific names of the Death Eaters who had taken part on the attacks but he was able to link together several attacks as having been done by a common group of attackers.  He was also able to confirm that, for an unknown reason, there was a small number of live captives taken; the names and location of which, he had not a clue.

"I've familiarized myself with your interrogation report, Alastor," Snape said as he displayed his common behavior of never choosing to directly address Harry or Hermione.   "Unfortunately, only the two most incompetent and ignorant fools were snagged.  I assure you, had at least one of the other members of this team been captured, your reap of information would have been ten-fold."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.  The mere fact Harry even spoke to Snape seemed to make the man bristle.  In Harry's mind, it was all the more reason to ask these questions.  "If you know that," Harry continued, trying to sound logical, "then how is it you yourself do not know this information that might have been reaped?"

Snape refused to look at Harry directly as he answered archly, "I don't have to know what it is someone knows to know that they know something, Potter.  Any one of the Dark Lord's servants can tell you, however, which other servants are known to frequently meet with the Dark Lord himself.  There're only two reasons a servant meets with the Dark Lord: either for the imparting of information and a just reward for news that pleases our Lord or, the imparting of information and a swift punishment for the failure to please."  Snape smiled unpleasantly.  "If it's the latter, the silencing spells are cancelled so as to be sure all present can surely be reminded of the reward for failure."

"Speaking of which," Remus said.  "Are you going to tell us what lead you to show up looking like you did last night?" 

Snape's glare was as icy as it had ever been.  "In case it has failed to catch your notice, Lupin, the nature of my duplicity requires that, in my role as a servant to the Dark Lord, I cannot always be...pleasing."

Harry almost snorted out loud at the thought, when is Snape ever pleasing to anyone?   But he realized that of course Snape meant something other than his personality and the gravity of that was sufficient enough to help Harry's face remain impassive.   He cleared his throat.  "So, did Voldemort see you then through me?  When you were here last week?  What does he believe then?"

Snape was still cringing from the name, even after Harry had finished his question.  He then carefully examined an edge of a parchment sheaf and said, "Yes, he did.  However, I was able to convince him that I was merely answering a prearranged summons to meet here at the Order's headquarters and had kept the appointment to ensure the Order was not suspicious of any impending attacks or my absence.  The overall inadequacy of the Ministry's Auror forces was, thankfully, consistent with my expectations.  The near unilateral success of each of the Dark Lord's attacks surely helped to convince him I had not tipped anyone off.  The tip I did give, of course," he nodded to Moody here, "was one which I had discovered with the aid of some items provided by the Weasley twins."  Snape sniffed disdainfully.  "It was not known that I could have tipped off anyone towards that. 

"Alastor, your idea to portkey them to your own secure location and keep all Ministry records clear of the event was a wise move.  The anti-truth serum draught each servant is secretly given results in instantaneous death upon the ingestion of Veritaserum.  Only the specially designed version of Veritaserum that I gave to you would have been properly prepared to allow the truth serum to work before triggering the toxic effects.  The fact that there were no reports of any captured Death Eaters made the Dark Lord assume that the Ministry Aurors panicked when their interrogation turned into a sudden case of double-murder.  Hmm, I should also say that the death and loss of Norman Goyle and Morrie Sprague was most upsetting to our Lord.  It seems to have upset his current research focussed on locating his lost servants, most specifically.

"I was able to speak with young Gregory Goyle and I daresay he was quite pleased to see a familiar face.  After his father's death, he was moved from working with Wormtail to some other group of servants."  Snape sighed tiredly and said, "I believe he's now been replaced by his friend Vincent."

"Crabbe?" Harry blurted out.  He never could keep those Slytherin idiots straight. 

"Yes, Potter," Snape said.  "Crabbe."

Dumbledore, who'd been contemplatively silent through most everything, now said, "Now we've been of the belief that young Goyle and his father were somehow being used in experiments to test the Mark's ability to aid in tracking those who bear it, yes?"  Snape nodded twice.  "Hmm, and since young Crabbe's father is one of those who we currently have safely...hidden away, might it be a safe assumption that Voldemort's progress in using the Mark is sufficient to now use it directly?"

Snape vacillated before answering, "There aren't many options as far as who can be used for this work.  It requires two bearers of the Mark who are closely related by blood," he sneered at Hermione as he said this, "and I believe I've heard that the process is still quite unstable and possibly dangerous.  There may be a few other servants who have been used in these experiments but as for those who could help locate his missing and most loyal Death Eaters?  Only three of those servants have close enough blood relations that would work—Crabbe, Nott and Malfoy. 

"My Lord asked me a few days ago to summarize each of their sons' academic strengths.  Crabbe, quite unfortunately, has few to none.  His schooling has now thusly ended and I myself saw him take the Mark."

"Did he bring in many other new minions?" Moody growled. 

"A fair number from what I gather—I was in little condition to count when I saw them."

"What is that supposed to mean, Severus?" McGonagall asked, voicing Harry's immediate thought. 

Snape rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb before saying, "He...I was exposed by the Dark Lord.  In a way.  He held a very large gathering—the largest I've seen yet since his return, and exposed my identity to every one of them.  He announced to them all that I am his plant within Hogwarts and within the Order of the Phoenix.  There isn't a Death Eater alive now that does not believe that I am loyal to the Dark Lord.  However, he also ensured with this move that they would each be watching me and for any possible slip-ups I might make; there would be a handsome reward for anyone uncovering a traitor. 

"Then," Snape continued.  "He read off a list of every known member of the Order of the Phoenix—and it was more complete and accurate than I would have thought—to all of them and announced that he would reward any and all servants who could give information, surveillance, observances—anything, on those identified as members of the Order of the Phoenix.  He's planning the systematic execution of everyone he can get to."

A long minute of silence followed this announcement and the only sound was the crackle of the fire and Fang's snoring from where he lay sprawled out on the hearthstone. 

Finally, Remus was the first to speak, "What do you mean that his knowledge of the Order's members was more complete and accurate than you would have thought?"

"I mean," Snape said.  "That several names of the Order's most recent inductees were read off."

"That's impossible!" Hermione said at once.  She'd made sure that everyone, at the last induction night, had passed through the only doorway into their meeting room.  The doorway that she and Moody had charmed and jinxed several times over to ensure that if anyone did ever betray a secret of the Order that had been imparted to them while they were in that room, that Hermione and Moody would promptly know about it and know exactly who did it. 

Snape sneered at her.  "Your little jinxes are not all-encompassing you know.   There are...other ways the knowledge could have been found out."

"He's right," Remus said bitterly.  "I've thought about it a few times.  If someone even mentioned in passing that they knew any other known member, they might be suspected.  If someone was heard saying they were doing their part to stand up to Death Eaters, they might be suspected.  It only a takes a few of these casual observances to lead to a sound conclusion.  We do go to some lengths to—" he stopped abruptly.  "Damn!" 

"What?" Harry said. 

"Hestia," Remus said vaguely. 

"Start making sense, Lupin," Moody barked. 

"In her work on the Floo Panel, she always made sure to go through recordings of fire calls to and from Order members and was ensuring any containing information of any kind were not kept in the Ministry's archives."  Remus turned and looked wide-eyed at Dumbledore.  "I assumed she destroyed them somehow but what if she kept them?  What if she kept them at home and they were found in the attack on her house?"

Dumbledore, with his hands steepled before him, only nodded.  "Possible, yes, possible..." 

"The jinxes wouldn't work then," Hermione said absently to herself. 

Snape shifted uncomfortably and finally said, "I'm quite sure that was not how they found out."

"Why not?" Remus asked at once.

Snape pursed his lips and went back to creasing a very sharp edge of folded parchment.  "Because I was part of the team sent to her home."

"You..." Harry couldn't find the words.  How very...Voldemort.  Send the spy you're never quite sure about to go execute one of the very people he might be working with.  It struck Harry then that Snape must really be challenged to prove his loyalties to Voldemort far more than any other Death Eater.  Harry'd known for some time now that, with the nature of Snape's role as a spy, it was impossible for anyone but Snape to truly, truly know his true loyalties until it would likely be too late for whomever it was he decided to betray.  Voldemort must also feel the same way and if nothing else, wanted to ensure Snape was known to be guilty of crimes so as to never be able to walk away free. 

"Was that when you failed to succeed?" Hermione asked quietly. 

"No," Snape snapped as his lips pursed together tightly.  He exhaled.  "In a way.  Sort of.  Well, yes."  He sighed and did the thing where he rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb again.  "Obviously, the assignment was completed.  I succeeded in my given task.  However, it was apparently a failure to not bring back this known Order member alive so as to ensure she might be harvested for all possible information.  The Dark Lord said he also would have liked her as a learning tool for some of his newer recruits to practice upon.  My just reward was to serve in her stead...as their...practice victim."

Harry felt both Hermione, on one side of him, and Remus, on the other, wince at Snape's words. 

Snape seemed highly uncomfortable in the resultant silence and spoke harshly towards Dumbledore, who was currently giving him the most sympathetic of looks, and said, "If that is all I am needed for?  I do have places to be."

Dumbledore cleared his throat.  "Not yet, dear boy.  Not yet."  He turned towards Harry and said, "I think I've figured out a possible motive for Percy Weasley's premature notification of your Order of Merlin."

"What?" Snape cut in; utterly disbelieving. 

Dumbledore went on despite Snape's unflattering astonishment.  "Mm, yes.  It seems Percy has a deadline to meet for completing his report on the clean up and aftermath of the entire affair about the Department of Mysteries break-in last June.  He came to see me this very morning at Hogwarts and was very insistent that I help him to ensure he comply with his end of the year deadline.  He was looking for names of each and every student who was present that night and, most insistently, he was trying to recover the contents of one very elusive prophecy."

Harry's mouth was open now, just as Snape's still was and Hermione spoke up to ask, "You didn't give him any of that information, did you, Professor?"

"Oh, no, no," Dumbledore said with a laugh.  "I told him that as it all occurred while the students' care was entrusted to Hogwarts, I could not divulge that information of who had been off the grounds and who had served any time in our hospital ward.  He was...most disappointed.

"And as for the matter of the prophecy, well, as I'm sure both of you know," he nodded to Harry and Hermione, "a great deal of recordings were destroyed that night.  However, the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy keeps a record of its own of the contents of each recording.  These records were quite sufficient enough to recreate all but one of the destroyed prophecies.  The one of course that was not recreated, is the one Lord Voldemort seeks.  Percy felt compelled to inform me that there seemed to have been a break down in the keeper's records for there was no back up record of the contents of this one prophecy.  He was gravely concerned about the whole thing and I admit, I might have also have been concerned—"

"You're not concerned?" McGonagall said at once, looking pale and anxious. 

Dumbledore just smiled.  "Oh no, no, Minerva.  For it was I myself who made sure that record was destroyed long ago.  I also, of course, refused him outright upon his request for me to recall what I heard that night."

A bit stunned, but not so much at Dumbledore's actions but more at the notion that all their efforts to conceal the prophecy might have been outdone by Percy snagging a copy of a back up record, Harry asked, "But what does this have to do with the Order of Merlin?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, nodding at Harry.  "The keeper of the Hall of Prophecy was able to deduce that since you or Voldemort are the only ones who could have lifted the recording from its shelf, then you were most likely to have touched it and taken it.  Well, you were at least the only one they might dare to approach and ask about it.  Percy was not aware that it had broken and I am quite sure, believed you at least knew its contents and possibly even had it in your possession.  I think he was looking to get to you to grill you on what you knew.  I assured him it had been destroyed that night without anyone hearing it and suggested politely that he not bother you, Harry.  I imagine he was acting upon Cornelius' orders and it's quite possible that Cornelius himself may press the issue whenever it is he sees fit to return from holiday." 

"Oh!" Snape said, sitting up sharply.  "I've just remembered!"  Harry had never seen Snape as unreserved as he was now; his hands moving as he spoke and looked up into the air, focussing distantly as he recalled, "It was something I overheard last night before I finally managed to leave.  There was a pause in the, er, activities and, it's a bit hazy, but I am quite sure I heard Igor Karkaroff's voice report to the Dark Lord that he had succeeded in his mission but that they had not located some book.  Gringotts—he mentioned Gringotts and I most vividly remember the mention of Fudge along with a number of derogatory names—all correct, of course, and then—then the Dark Lord raised a toast to Cornelius Fudge.  He said, I'm quite sure now, 'May the dragons of Gringotts roast you alive if you shall ever find wit to escape your prison.'  They all toasted the Minister then.  The last thought I recall thinking was that the Minister was as good as dead."

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