Author's Note: A big thank you to all my reviewers! :)

Chapter 27

The Return of the Potions Master

The hours that Tuesday night went by agonisingly slowly and Harry lived through them as if in a trance, scarcely noticing what was going on in the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione had dragged Ron to the library to do some studying, believing that Harry was still in detention with Snape, and none of the relatively few other students who were there seemed to notice that there was anything amiss – thankfully; Harry didn't want to talk or explain things to anyone.

He went to bed early, mainly to postpone the moment when he would have to tell Ron and Hermione about Snape's departure – somehow telling them would make it all final; when he had told his friends, his father's absence would be much more real, much more tangible. He fell into exhausted sleep and didn't wake up when Ron came in.

In the small hours, Harry dreamt about his father. He dreamt of Snape, in his travelling cloak once again, but this time Harry was going too. They both took Floo powder from the jar Tonks and Shacklebolt had been holding in Dumbledore's office, and in the dream, Harry heard himself say 'Knockturn Alley!' Of course – they were going to Snape's flat! Harry felt a jolt of happiness: finally he was going to find out something about his father outside of Hogwarts, he was going to know something about Snape's personal life.

The flat was not the way Harry would have imagined a flat in Knockturn Alley – it wasn't dark and dingy; it was clean and bright yet cosy, a bit like the rooms at The Leaky Cauldron. The room they came to had stone walls with beautiful, embroidered tapestries; there was a couch and several armchairs and tables, and a large bookcase at the far end of the room. Beside it there was a door.

Soon Harry would sit on the sofa, talking to his father – perhaps they would have a cup of tea. Harry was hungry; he could feel his stomach rumbling. He hoped there would be something good to go with the tea. But first Harry would have to go through that door.

Harry reached for the door-knob, his hand shaking. He'd rather stay in the room, but ... but ... he had to ...

He had to go, he had to go through the door. He turned the doorknob.

There, on the other side, was Snape, looking at him, just looking, and then, turning ...

Harry took a step closer and looked where Snape was looking – and screamed.

'Harry – Harry!' Ron was shaking him hard, and Harry heard himself scream as if at a distance.

'Ron, Ron, they've got him! It's Voldemort, the Death Eaters, they've got my father!' He was shaking all over, his pyjamas soaked with sweat. 'Quick, Ron, get McGonagall, they've got him! Get McGonagall, Dumbledore – anyone!' He found that he was holding Ron by his pyjama shirt, shaking him, and realised that he'd have to let go if he wanted Ron to do something for him. He quickly released him, almost pushing him away, and hissed, 'What are you waiting for! Go!'

But Ron just looked at him, bewilderedly, almost pityingly. 'Harry, what are you on about?' he asked. 'How could You-Know-Who or the Death Eaters have captured Snape – he's here at Hogwarts!'

'No, no! You don't understand, he left today, he's gone – and they've got him!'

'But Harry, even if he's somewhere else you shouldn't be having visions!' Ron looked at him imploringly. 'There's the shield, remember? Please, Harry, calm down,' he added quietly.

Harry just sat there, staring at Ron, realising, slowly, that he was right. This dream hadn't been like a vision. This hadn't been a Voldemort-induced illusion (and even if it had, thought Harry, it wouldn't have meant it was true) – it had been an ordinary nightmare. It had felt like one. Harry gave a sigh of relief and looked up at Ron, who was standing there, a concerned, puzzled look on his face.

'You OK?' he asked, finally.

'Yeah.' Harry nodded, feeling slightly dizzy.

'Snape – your dad –' Ron said, 'is he... Has he really gone away again? Or did you just dream that?'

Harry let out a near sob, but quickly controlled himself, wondering, briefly, why he should react so strongly now, when Snape most likely wasn't in as much danger as he had been only a few weeks ago. When he talked again, he sounded perfectly composed. 'He had to go on Lupin's mission,' he said. 'He was the only one who could.'

'Oh no, you're not serious...' Ron looked at him 'And he only just got back from the last one! When will he be back though?'

'They don't seem to know, but I think it might take a few months.'

'What! A few months – but Harry, are you sure?'

'No, what do you think – you know they never tell me anything. But from what they said ... or hinted ...' he sighed again.

They didn't go back to sleep that morning, but went downstairs to the common room and – when Hermione got up – went for a long walk, just the three of them. The Quidditch finals were nearing and Ron and Hermione did their best to cheer Harry up; his playing hadn't been great lately, and Snape leaving once more wouldn't help, of course. This Saturday they were going to play against Hufflepuff and they needed to win, or else they might lose the House Cup to Slytherin.

That day went by, and so did the rest of the days that week, Harry going from one class to another, then to a meal, to Quidditch practice or to bed, all in the same indifferent, mechanical way. He did his homework, he answered questions in class, and he joined his classmates' conversations in a way that did not show anybody but his closest friends how worried and depressed he really was.

At Quidditch practice, however, his state of mind greatly influenced his performance on the pitch. On Friday night – the last day before the match against Hufflepuff – he failed to catch the snitch altogether, and in the end Ginny flew after it instead and Katie Bell, the team captain, was furious with him and said that if he messed things up tomorrow he'd be off the Gryffindor team faster than he could say 'snitch'.

The sun rose on Saturday morning, Harry watching it from the common-room window; he'd risen early as he had done the whole week. He'd wake up at five or even four and feel happy, sometimes, only after a while realising what was wrong, and at other times he'd wake up knowing something was amiss, but not quite what, lying in bed, blinking, then remembering that his father was gone again.

This morning, Harry for the first time didn't feel completely indifferent to everything that happened at Hogwarts. He thought about the match, and realised that he did care; he did want Gryffindor to win ... And besides, he didn't want Snape to come back and hear that Harry had performed abysmally in basically everything he had undertaken.

When would Snape come back though, Harry wondered. How he hated never knowing where his father was, or when he'd be back – or when he'd disappear again, having to go on some mission or other. But this was the way it would be, always; Snape had said it and now the true meaning of it suddenly struck Harry. It would be like this all the time, Snape would be risking his life over and over again, unless – unless Voldemort were gone. Voldemort ... Harry's eyes narrowed. How he hated him. But there would be no change ... What was it his father had said? 'As long as he is alive we have to do everything to fight him, no matter what sacrifices we have to make.'

Harry suddenly heard the those condemning words from the prophecy again, loud inside his head, said in that eerie, harsh voice of Professor Trelawney's ... either must die at the hand of the other ...

He rose abruptly. He had to see Dumbledore. Why hadn't he done this ages ago? Why hadn't he talked to Dumbledore earlier? Because he treated you like dirt all last year, a little voice whispered inside his head; but he quickly shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory.

At the stone gargoyle he hesitated, but only for a moment; then he used the password he had heard McGonagall say on Tuesday night and went upstairs. He knocked on the door and went inside without waiting for a reply. Dumbledore was alone and seated at his desk, looking at Harry as if he had been expecting him.

'Ah, Harry,' he said amiably, 'do sit down.'

'I – I wanted to talk to you about the prophecy,' Harry stammered without even saying hello.

'I see,' said Dumbledore, looking at him gravely. 'Yes, I thought you might want to discuss it with me.'

'I – why haven't we done something about it?' Harry blurted out. 'I mean ... as long as Voldemort's around my father will always have to go on dangerous missions, won't he? And so will everyone else, everyone in the Order. Why aren't we doing something? I have to ...' he hesitated '... kill him ... don't I, so why aren't you telling me how? Why aren't you teaching me?' He looked accusingly at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore lowered his gaze for a moment before answering, looking almost guilty, Harry thought. He then looked back up at him. 'Your question, Harry, is entirely justified.' He sighed heavily. 'I'm surprised you didn't seek me out earlier – at the beginning of this school year even – to find out about this. But you had other things on your mind then, I daresay.'

Harry snorted. Of course he'd had other things on his mind. Why – why – could Dumbledore never get to the point? 'So can I learn it now, Professor Dumbledore?' he asked. 'Whatever it is I need to learn.'

'I'm afraid not, Harry,' Dumbledore said quietly. 'Some things, of course, you are already learning, but there are other things you need to know in order to be ... in order to have a chance against Voldemort. So why have I not begun training you yet, you ask?' Dumbledore's eyes met his for a second, an intense blue stare, mesmerising. 'As you know, Harry, it is at the age of seventeen that wizards come of age. And there is a reason for that – seventeen was not a random choice. Wizards gain certain abilities around that time in life, abilities which make more advanced magic possible – forms of magic which you will need in your fight against Voldemort.'

'What are you saying?' said Harry incredulously. 'Do you mean to say that I'll have to wait that long before doing anything? Before I can even begin to learn?'

'I'm afraid you will have to wait even longer, Harry – on your seventeenth birthday, we – the Order – will be able to tell you exactly what it is you need to know. Then it will probably take you some time to acquire the skills, the magic you need. I expect everything to be ready for a confrontation – a final battle, if you will – at the end of your seventh year at Hogwarts.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unable to believe what he had just heard. 'The ... the end of my seventh year? But that's – more people may die! How can you say that? How can you sit there calmly and say we'll wait a while longer – a year longer, just like that, while practically everybody's in danger?' And Snape most of all, he added quietly to himself.

Dumbledore looked at him sadly. 'Harry, believe me, I wish there were a way we could do this earlier. Believe me, I really do – but surely you see it is of paramount importance that you succeed in defeating Voldemort. If, God forbid, something should happen to you, all would be lost.'

Harry stood there quietly for a moment. As much as he hated to admit it, Dumbledore was right; if something happened to him, there was nobody else who could do it – there was nobody else who could kill Voldemort. He shivered. 'I see,' he said flatly after a little while. 'I understand.' He looked at Dumbledore, who suddenly seemed to have the air of a very old man. 'I – I'd better get going.' He turned around and, without another word, swept out of the room.

The Quidditch game that afternoon was a disaster so far as Harry was concerned. He hadn't been playing well this term at all, but during this game his performance seemed to have reached an all-time low – he did even worse than during the practice session on Friday night. The weather was good, but Harry's vision was blurred as though it were raining heavily, and he didn't catch sight of the snitch even once. He flew around on the pitch aimlessly and once he nearly got hit by a stray bludger which had approached him from the front, clearly visible. In the end, the Hufflepuff seeker, Susan Bones, caught the snitch at the other end of the pitch and Harry didn't even see her do it.

'Thank God we've got Weasley,' Katie Bell said acidly as she went past Harry after the game without even looking at him. Ron had saved practically every goal, so it was thanks to him that Gryffindor had managed to scrape a narrow victory after all – 180 to 170. It made Harry feel even more useless; not only was he unable to defeat Voldemort, but he couldn't even play a decent game of Quidditch anymore. That night he went to bed as early as he could without attracting too much attention.

On Monday morning he went to the Potions classroom with a heavy heart. Somehow the Potions classes made Snape's absence much harder to bear – Harry briefly considered skiving off this class, but Hermione seemed to have noticed something and didn't let him escape, so Harry ended up going down to the Dungeons with her and Neville.

They had waited outside the classroom for a few minutes when a black-clad, bat-like figure swept past them, and Harry's heart leapt with joy. Snape was back! Harry fought hard to restrain himself from smiling as he went to his usual seat and didn't quite succeed, but bent down to look at his book, closely, in order to hide the silly, happy expression on his face. Snape was safe. Nothing bad had happened to his father...

The lesson went like a dream; Harry finished his potion first of all, and was the only one besides Hermione who succeeded in making it correctly. He half expected his father to put on a performance like he had the last time, but nothing happened; in fact, Snape ignored Harry almost completely, only giving him a snide remark or two. Harry didn't mind though; this time he wouldn't wait for Snape to give him detention, but go and see him in his study no matter what anyone said. So long as he was careful, nobody would know.

'A couple of months, eh, Harry?' Ron said, grinning, at the Gryffindor table at lunch. They looked up at the High Table simultaneously, all three of them, but Snape wasn't there yet.

'Well, my dad made it sound like he'd be away for ages,' Harry said apologetically and began shoving Yorkshire pudding onto his plate, grinning back at the two of them. Only now did he realise how happy he was that his father was back, out of danger once more.

After his last lesson, Harry decided to venture down to the Dungeons at once. This time he would talk to his father; nothing was going to stop him.

A group of third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws came towards him on his way down; they came from their Potions class, no doubt, and Harry heard one of them complaining about the class and about Snape himself. As he passed the Hufflepuff boy, Harry met his gaze for a short moment and flashed a sneer at him, making him shrink back in surprised discomfort. Serves him right, talking like that about my dad, Harry thought fleetingly, walking on in the direction of the Potions classroom. He assumed Snape would still be there tidying up.

As he rounded the corner to the Potions corridor, he noticed with satisfaction that it was nearly empty; only at the far end there were two giggling Ravenclaw girls. The classroom door opened and Snape came out, not noticing Harry at first.

'Hello!' said Harry quietly, smiling at his father.

Snape turned to look at him. He said nothing.

'You're back early – I thought it would take longer,' Harry went on, only now becoming slightly puzzled at Snape's reaction – or lack of it, for Snape still didn't answer but stared at Harry as if he were insane. At this moment Anthony Goldstein came round the corner into the Potions corridor, walking resolutely towards Snape.

'Anything on your mind, Potter?' Snape said coldly.

Harry could do nothing but stare. What had he done? Had he, Harry, done something to offend Snape? 'I ... er ... I wanted to come and see you' he stammered. 'Since you're back again ...'

'I am aware that I am back, Potter,' Snape sneered, 'so, unless there is anything else you wish to tell me – something I don't know – I suggest you get back to Gryffindor tower.' He gave Harry a cold, disdainful glance. 'I daresay you need to work on your Potions essay, lest you fail it as usual. Yes, Mr Goldstein?'

'I wanted to ask you something about my Potions essay, sir,' said Anthony, sounding slightly nervous.

'Very well then, come in,' Snape snapped, and slammed the door shut behind Anthony, giving Harry a look of heart-chilling resentment as he did so.

Harry was left outside alone, a look of incredulous confusion on his face, utterly unable to understand what had just happened.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading – now please give me a moment of your time and review.