The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 9
Across the hall in the room Harry had shared with Ron the previous year, Moody finished laying out various bottles and potions on the table underneath the window. Outside, the night was dark and moonless, dotted with stars, and he worked methodically in the pale light of a candle on the window sill. Behind him, Snape lay swathed in bandages, in a sleep so deep it seemed he might already be dead.
Moody padded more blankets around Snape's feet, propping them up on pillows to aid blood flow, then sat on the edge of the other bed. He stretched his wooden leg out awkwardly, and watched his patient with almost predatory satisfaction.
At last he had what he had wanted for almost fifteen years: Severus Snape in custody. It was an annoying inconvenience that the man was currently in no condition to talk to anyone, but Moody was more than happy to wait. That there was still a Severus Snape to talk to was a tremendous relief, and a thorough examination downstairs had reassured him that apart from the devastation of his back, Snape was in perfect health and would make a full recovery. Extraordinary when you considered how thin he was; but any competent potion-maker could concoct a variety of vitalis elixirs and tonics, so that must have been what Snape had done. The real question, of course, would be why. Down in the kitchen, Lupin had fretted that the Death Eaters had attacked Snape, but Moody dismissed the idea almost without considering it. If Voldemort and his followers realised what Snape had really been up to all this time, the Order would have been identifying him by his teeth
No, Moody was fairly certain that the injuries were self-inflicted. But the immediate evidence was pointing him towards a possibility he would never before have considered in relation to a wizard. Shaved head, filfthy rags, and three signs of mortification of the flesh: starvation, scourging, and mutilation. Like a mediaeval penitent seeking absolution. Before going out to fight the devil?
Moody frowned into the darkness. No wizard he knew had ever needed to resort to such measures; all that nonsense belonged firmly in the muggle world. And the most logical conclusion anyone might draw from Snape chopping off his left arm was that he wanted to remove the only concrete evidence the Ministry had against him for being a Death Eater.
If, of course, you happened not to know that this was impossible. Moody remembered when they had caught up with Karkaroff. There were scars all over his arm where he had desperately tried to remove first the Dark Mark and then the whole arm, but to no avail. When the Dark Lord marked someone as his, it was for life; and after some of the things he had seen, Moody was prepared to bet that the last part of a Death Eater's body to decompose would be the arm with that mark on it. It would take power at least equal to that of Voldemort to remove it. Was Snape really that powerful? And if he was, why didn't he just challenge Voldemort himself and save them all this bloody trouble? Moody rubbed the bridge of his ruined nose and yawned. Another question for the list.
'Heaven forbid that I should come between you and your beloved,' drawled an ironic voice in the dark behind Moody, 'but Dumbledore has asked me to tell you that he will be arriving shortly.'
'This one's no beloved of mine, Phineas,' Moody growled, hauling himself to his feet and turning to face the painting. 'Let Dumbledore know his precious little spy will live, and that I'll be waiting for him in here.'
Phineas Nigellus Black sniffed and walked away out of sight. Moody waved his wand, allowing a little more light into the room. He would have preferred to use some other room to this, but the only person guaranteed to have time to keep a constant watch over Snape was the painting of the former Hogwarts Headmaster. Since Sirius' untimely death in the Department of Mysteries, Phineas Nigellus had shown little inclination to remain in any place but his portrait in the house in Grimmauld Street. Moody had occasionally glimpsed him in various pictures all over the house. Watching and waiting, for someone who would never come home again.
Moody reached for the scrawny wrist, checked the pulse was still even and regular, then went over to his trunk. Selecting a key from the collection, he opened it and withdrew a polished wooden box. He carried it over to the bed which would be his for as long as he tended Snape, and sat down, resting the box on the end of the bed. He stared at it for a while, frowning. Then he unlocked it and slowly raised the lid.
Dumbledore had naturally discovered by now that it was he who had alerted the Ministry to Snape's whereabouts, and would no doubt want to know why, and possibly how. Moody gazed into the box which had lain untouched in his attic until a fortnight ago and pulled out a fat scroll. He did not know if Dumbledore remembered the contents of his report of the attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom, but he would offer him the chance to refresh his memory with his own personal copy. He put the scroll on the bed and reached into the box again. The object he pulled out this time was small and soft, tiny in his large hands. A baby's teddy bear. He held it gently, and wondered if its original owner remembered it at all. He hoped not. He had found it abandoned in the Longbottoms' house, drenched in the blood which stained it now.
Remus Lupin sat alone in the vast kitchen with his hands wrapped around a flagon of firewhisky. He felt physically drained and needed sleep, but after a restless half an hour of insomnia, he had decided that what he really needed was a stiff drink.
He had never seen anyone manage to summon two Patronuses in immediate succession before. Up until today, he would have said it was impossible. Most wizards would struggle to produce just one corporeal Patronus, and he himself had felt almost spent after doing so today. Yet Harry had done it OK, so he'd almost collapsed with exhaustion half an hour later, but he had resisted a large group of Dementors at close quarters and
Lupin took a deep swallow of firewhisky. No, that's not quite what happened, was it? He had got to the edge of the moor in time to see the Dementors close in on two people, one of whom he knew was Severus. Just before he Disapparated, he had seen the smaller of the two figures turn away and start walking towards the village, and as he unleashed his Patronus a moment later, there had been a blaze of light. He had chosen that moment to Disapparate, and there was a moment of blankness before he found himself next to the small figure which had turned out to be Harry. And Harry had been calmly walking away from enough Dementors to paralyse the happiest of people. Only after Lupin's arrival had Harry done his amazing magic. Why? How?
Lupin jumped as the kitchen door suddenly banged open; he had been thinking so deeply that, like Harry earlier, he had fallen into a waking doze. Then kitchen lights came up and he put his hand over his eyes in the unexpected brightness.
'Oh sorry, Remus,' said a female voice, and the lights dimmed to something more comfortable. Lupin took his hand away and looked round to see Tonks and Shacklebolt standing in the doorway. Shacklebolt's face was the expressionless mask developed by Aurors everywhere after so many years of service, but Tonks looked pale and and shocked.
'Is Professor Snape all right?' she said, her expression daring Lupin to tell her the worst.
'Yeah,' said Lupin, still blinking in the shock of the light. He sometimes wondered if photosensitivity was a feature of lycanthropy or if he would have suffered this much as a normal human. 'He's upstairs with Moody if you want to go and see him'
'Dumbledore and McGonagall have already gone up,' said Shacklebolt, 'They asked us to give them a few minutes. So Snape managed to keep his soul then?' And in the dark depths of the other man's eyes Lupin saw a flicker of concern. He nodded, feeling suddenly slightly drunk. Firewhisky on exhaustion and an empty stomach – maybe not the good idea it had seemed earlier.
Tonks gave a gasp of relief, and Lupin noticed she had tears in her eyes. He got up and drew her into a hug, and found he had done so as much for his comfort as for hers. Shacklebolt smiled, and conjuring two more glasses, poured them all more firewhisky.
'So', he said, 'what happened? Aberforth said he thought Snape did some kind of spell up there, something like the Patronum charm?'
'Dunno,' said Lupin as he and Tonks disengaged. She sat down next to him, wiping her eyes, holding his hand like a child. He took another swallow of firewhisky, and reached for the end of the trail of thoughts they had interrupted.
'It was really weird,' he said at last. 'Harry didn't react at all to the Dementors being there until I arrived, then he turned round and did TWO Patronuses. And Severus Severus just stood there and let them come.'
The jumbled thoughts were starting to fuse in Lupin's inebriated brain, and a connection he realised he had been trying to make since putting Harry to bed suddenly sparked a solution. But as he was about to explain, he was suddenly aware of the expectation in Shacklebolt's rapt expression and Tonks' distress. He hesitated. A promise he had made a long time ago suddenly came to mind, and he wondered if telling them what he really thought had happened would count as breaking it.
Then the kitchen door opened to admit Professor McGonagall, rescuing Lupin from his immediate moral dilemma. Tonks leapt to her feet, sending her chair flying back with a crash. McGonagall gave her a warm smile. 'Yes Miss Tonks, you may go and see him now if you wish.' Tonks' face lit up. 'But,' she said as the girl rushed to the door, 'he's been very badly hurt, so please at least try to be quiet!' Tonks grinned, and as McGonagall replaced the fallen chair and sat down next to Lupin, they could hear her feet pounding up the stairs.
'You seem a little drunk, Mr Lupin,' said McGonagall, delicately taking the glass away from him and frowing at Shacklebolt, who grinned. Lupin focused muzzily on her, trying to collect his thoughts.
'Yeah,' he said. 'I'm sorry, we'll have to discuss this in the morning, I'm shattered. G'night.'
There was a crack and he Disapparated. Shacklebolt stretched comfortably and smiled at McGonagall. 'He was just about to tell me something interesting about Snape when you arrived,' he said conversationally. McGonagall raised an eyebrow.
'Yes, I gathered that,' she replied, 'only it appears you miscalculated the amount of alcohol.' She fixed Shacklebolt with a beady look. 'What was it you were hoping he would tell you that you didn't believe he would say if he was sober?'
Shacklebolt gazed down into his glass of firewhisky. 'I never knew Snape and Remus as students,' he replied quietly. 'They had just left the year I started, and Snape was never a friendly teacher, even to his NEWT students. However, there were always plenty of rumours, and it's surprising what you can learn by talking to the portraits and the school ghosts'
He raised his eyes to look at McGonagall. To his trained and experienced eye it seemed to him that she was holding her breath. A sign that he was heading in the right direction. But there was a definite touch of frost in her eyes as she said, 'Go on.'
'Once upon a time,' he said, 'there was a first year Transfiguration class in which two boys had a fight. One of them found all the spells easy, and seemed able to do anything. The other seemed to know an awful lot of magic, but had trouble actually doing any because his foreign accent made him mispronouce the words. The first boy made fun of the second, and the second lost his temper and, in an effort to prove himself as talented as the first, performed an act of incredibly powerful magic.'
'A lot of our students are very talented,' McGonagall said, 'and some of them have been taught by their parents before coming to Hogwarts. Sometimes they try to show off, as young children away from home for the first time often do, to gain attention. There is nothing remarkable about that.'
'How many of them could survive a Dementor's Kiss?'
'Mr Shacklebolt, why are you asking?'
'I'm asking because tonight a former Death Eater was found on a moor surrounded by creatures we know have joined You Know Who. Not only that, but he was up there with Harry Potter, the person You Know Who most wants to kill. And he was apparently Kissed by a Dementor – but he still has his soul.
McGonagall and Shacklebolt held each others' gaze, each trying to read the others' face, both failing. Shacklebolt decided to push a bit harder.
'It's one of two things, Professor. Either Snape has been lying to us and he's still on You Know Who's side. That would explain how he survived the Dementors tonight, and it might explain how he seemed to disappear off the face of the earth two weeks ago. Or – and I want to believe it, I really do – he's a much more powerful wizard than most of us realise.
'But the bottom line is this: if there's any possibility Snape's on You Know Who's side, then the Order have got to consider it. I mean yes, he's been very useful – but what proof do we have that he's not just feeding us the things they want us to know, setting us up?'
'We're not DEAD, Mr Shacklebolt, that's our proof!' McGonagall suddenly stormed. 'If You Know Who was using Severus to get to us, then you and I would not be having this conversation! I don't know what rubbish you may have heard while studying for your NEWTS, but if it came from paintings and ghosts, then it can hardly be regarded as reliable witness! But let me tell you this: I taught Severus and Sirius and Remus, and I have every faith that each of those extremely talented young men is entirely committed to the Order-'
'He was a Death Eater. He was there the night Frank and Alice were attacked – the evidence might plausibly suggest he was the reason they were attacked. Can you honestly say you haven't had your doubts?'
McGonagall bit her lip. No, she could not. Yet right now, at the challenge, she realised that despite all she had said to Snape two weeks ago, she believed with all her heart that he was innocent of Frank and Alice's doom. She looked at Shacklebolt, unruffled and inscrutable, and pursed her lips. 'Mr Shacklebolt, are you playing games with me?'
Shacklebolt gave a devious grin, but his eyes were serious. 'I wanted to know what you believed. Because after reading Moody's report this evening, I don't know what to think, and I really need to know.'
'In that case, I think perhaps I can help you,' said a calm voice.
McGonagall and Shacklebolt turned abruptly. Albus Dumbledore had entered the kitchen, accompanied by his brother Aberforth. Moody followed them in, and the door closed by itself behind them.
Across the hall in the room Harry had shared with Ron the previous year, Moody finished laying out various bottles and potions on the table underneath the window. Outside, the night was dark and moonless, dotted with stars, and he worked methodically in the pale light of a candle on the window sill. Behind him, Snape lay swathed in bandages, in a sleep so deep it seemed he might already be dead.
Moody padded more blankets around Snape's feet, propping them up on pillows to aid blood flow, then sat on the edge of the other bed. He stretched his wooden leg out awkwardly, and watched his patient with almost predatory satisfaction.
At last he had what he had wanted for almost fifteen years: Severus Snape in custody. It was an annoying inconvenience that the man was currently in no condition to talk to anyone, but Moody was more than happy to wait. That there was still a Severus Snape to talk to was a tremendous relief, and a thorough examination downstairs had reassured him that apart from the devastation of his back, Snape was in perfect health and would make a full recovery. Extraordinary when you considered how thin he was; but any competent potion-maker could concoct a variety of vitalis elixirs and tonics, so that must have been what Snape had done. The real question, of course, would be why. Down in the kitchen, Lupin had fretted that the Death Eaters had attacked Snape, but Moody dismissed the idea almost without considering it. If Voldemort and his followers realised what Snape had really been up to all this time, the Order would have been identifying him by his teeth
No, Moody was fairly certain that the injuries were self-inflicted. But the immediate evidence was pointing him towards a possibility he would never before have considered in relation to a wizard. Shaved head, filfthy rags, and three signs of mortification of the flesh: starvation, scourging, and mutilation. Like a mediaeval penitent seeking absolution. Before going out to fight the devil?
Moody frowned into the darkness. No wizard he knew had ever needed to resort to such measures; all that nonsense belonged firmly in the muggle world. And the most logical conclusion anyone might draw from Snape chopping off his left arm was that he wanted to remove the only concrete evidence the Ministry had against him for being a Death Eater.
If, of course, you happened not to know that this was impossible. Moody remembered when they had caught up with Karkaroff. There were scars all over his arm where he had desperately tried to remove first the Dark Mark and then the whole arm, but to no avail. When the Dark Lord marked someone as his, it was for life; and after some of the things he had seen, Moody was prepared to bet that the last part of a Death Eater's body to decompose would be the arm with that mark on it. It would take power at least equal to that of Voldemort to remove it. Was Snape really that powerful? And if he was, why didn't he just challenge Voldemort himself and save them all this bloody trouble? Moody rubbed the bridge of his ruined nose and yawned. Another question for the list.
'Heaven forbid that I should come between you and your beloved,' drawled an ironic voice in the dark behind Moody, 'but Dumbledore has asked me to tell you that he will be arriving shortly.'
'This one's no beloved of mine, Phineas,' Moody growled, hauling himself to his feet and turning to face the painting. 'Let Dumbledore know his precious little spy will live, and that I'll be waiting for him in here.'
Phineas Nigellus Black sniffed and walked away out of sight. Moody waved his wand, allowing a little more light into the room. He would have preferred to use some other room to this, but the only person guaranteed to have time to keep a constant watch over Snape was the painting of the former Hogwarts Headmaster. Since Sirius' untimely death in the Department of Mysteries, Phineas Nigellus had shown little inclination to remain in any place but his portrait in the house in Grimmauld Street. Moody had occasionally glimpsed him in various pictures all over the house. Watching and waiting, for someone who would never come home again.
Moody reached for the scrawny wrist, checked the pulse was still even and regular, then went over to his trunk. Selecting a key from the collection, he opened it and withdrew a polished wooden box. He carried it over to the bed which would be his for as long as he tended Snape, and sat down, resting the box on the end of the bed. He stared at it for a while, frowning. Then he unlocked it and slowly raised the lid.
Dumbledore had naturally discovered by now that it was he who had alerted the Ministry to Snape's whereabouts, and would no doubt want to know why, and possibly how. Moody gazed into the box which had lain untouched in his attic until a fortnight ago and pulled out a fat scroll. He did not know if Dumbledore remembered the contents of his report of the attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom, but he would offer him the chance to refresh his memory with his own personal copy. He put the scroll on the bed and reached into the box again. The object he pulled out this time was small and soft, tiny in his large hands. A baby's teddy bear. He held it gently, and wondered if its original owner remembered it at all. He hoped not. He had found it abandoned in the Longbottoms' house, drenched in the blood which stained it now.
Remus Lupin sat alone in the vast kitchen with his hands wrapped around a flagon of firewhisky. He felt physically drained and needed sleep, but after a restless half an hour of insomnia, he had decided that what he really needed was a stiff drink.
He had never seen anyone manage to summon two Patronuses in immediate succession before. Up until today, he would have said it was impossible. Most wizards would struggle to produce just one corporeal Patronus, and he himself had felt almost spent after doing so today. Yet Harry had done it OK, so he'd almost collapsed with exhaustion half an hour later, but he had resisted a large group of Dementors at close quarters and
Lupin took a deep swallow of firewhisky. No, that's not quite what happened, was it? He had got to the edge of the moor in time to see the Dementors close in on two people, one of whom he knew was Severus. Just before he Disapparated, he had seen the smaller of the two figures turn away and start walking towards the village, and as he unleashed his Patronus a moment later, there had been a blaze of light. He had chosen that moment to Disapparate, and there was a moment of blankness before he found himself next to the small figure which had turned out to be Harry. And Harry had been calmly walking away from enough Dementors to paralyse the happiest of people. Only after Lupin's arrival had Harry done his amazing magic. Why? How?
Lupin jumped as the kitchen door suddenly banged open; he had been thinking so deeply that, like Harry earlier, he had fallen into a waking doze. Then kitchen lights came up and he put his hand over his eyes in the unexpected brightness.
'Oh sorry, Remus,' said a female voice, and the lights dimmed to something more comfortable. Lupin took his hand away and looked round to see Tonks and Shacklebolt standing in the doorway. Shacklebolt's face was the expressionless mask developed by Aurors everywhere after so many years of service, but Tonks looked pale and and shocked.
'Is Professor Snape all right?' she said, her expression daring Lupin to tell her the worst.
'Yeah,' said Lupin, still blinking in the shock of the light. He sometimes wondered if photosensitivity was a feature of lycanthropy or if he would have suffered this much as a normal human. 'He's upstairs with Moody if you want to go and see him'
'Dumbledore and McGonagall have already gone up,' said Shacklebolt, 'They asked us to give them a few minutes. So Snape managed to keep his soul then?' And in the dark depths of the other man's eyes Lupin saw a flicker of concern. He nodded, feeling suddenly slightly drunk. Firewhisky on exhaustion and an empty stomach – maybe not the good idea it had seemed earlier.
Tonks gave a gasp of relief, and Lupin noticed she had tears in her eyes. He got up and drew her into a hug, and found he had done so as much for his comfort as for hers. Shacklebolt smiled, and conjuring two more glasses, poured them all more firewhisky.
'So', he said, 'what happened? Aberforth said he thought Snape did some kind of spell up there, something like the Patronum charm?'
'Dunno,' said Lupin as he and Tonks disengaged. She sat down next to him, wiping her eyes, holding his hand like a child. He took another swallow of firewhisky, and reached for the end of the trail of thoughts they had interrupted.
'It was really weird,' he said at last. 'Harry didn't react at all to the Dementors being there until I arrived, then he turned round and did TWO Patronuses. And Severus Severus just stood there and let them come.'
The jumbled thoughts were starting to fuse in Lupin's inebriated brain, and a connection he realised he had been trying to make since putting Harry to bed suddenly sparked a solution. But as he was about to explain, he was suddenly aware of the expectation in Shacklebolt's rapt expression and Tonks' distress. He hesitated. A promise he had made a long time ago suddenly came to mind, and he wondered if telling them what he really thought had happened would count as breaking it.
Then the kitchen door opened to admit Professor McGonagall, rescuing Lupin from his immediate moral dilemma. Tonks leapt to her feet, sending her chair flying back with a crash. McGonagall gave her a warm smile. 'Yes Miss Tonks, you may go and see him now if you wish.' Tonks' face lit up. 'But,' she said as the girl rushed to the door, 'he's been very badly hurt, so please at least try to be quiet!' Tonks grinned, and as McGonagall replaced the fallen chair and sat down next to Lupin, they could hear her feet pounding up the stairs.
'You seem a little drunk, Mr Lupin,' said McGonagall, delicately taking the glass away from him and frowing at Shacklebolt, who grinned. Lupin focused muzzily on her, trying to collect his thoughts.
'Yeah,' he said. 'I'm sorry, we'll have to discuss this in the morning, I'm shattered. G'night.'
There was a crack and he Disapparated. Shacklebolt stretched comfortably and smiled at McGonagall. 'He was just about to tell me something interesting about Snape when you arrived,' he said conversationally. McGonagall raised an eyebrow.
'Yes, I gathered that,' she replied, 'only it appears you miscalculated the amount of alcohol.' She fixed Shacklebolt with a beady look. 'What was it you were hoping he would tell you that you didn't believe he would say if he was sober?'
Shacklebolt gazed down into his glass of firewhisky. 'I never knew Snape and Remus as students,' he replied quietly. 'They had just left the year I started, and Snape was never a friendly teacher, even to his NEWT students. However, there were always plenty of rumours, and it's surprising what you can learn by talking to the portraits and the school ghosts'
He raised his eyes to look at McGonagall. To his trained and experienced eye it seemed to him that she was holding her breath. A sign that he was heading in the right direction. But there was a definite touch of frost in her eyes as she said, 'Go on.'
'Once upon a time,' he said, 'there was a first year Transfiguration class in which two boys had a fight. One of them found all the spells easy, and seemed able to do anything. The other seemed to know an awful lot of magic, but had trouble actually doing any because his foreign accent made him mispronouce the words. The first boy made fun of the second, and the second lost his temper and, in an effort to prove himself as talented as the first, performed an act of incredibly powerful magic.'
'A lot of our students are very talented,' McGonagall said, 'and some of them have been taught by their parents before coming to Hogwarts. Sometimes they try to show off, as young children away from home for the first time often do, to gain attention. There is nothing remarkable about that.'
'How many of them could survive a Dementor's Kiss?'
'Mr Shacklebolt, why are you asking?'
'I'm asking because tonight a former Death Eater was found on a moor surrounded by creatures we know have joined You Know Who. Not only that, but he was up there with Harry Potter, the person You Know Who most wants to kill. And he was apparently Kissed by a Dementor – but he still has his soul.
McGonagall and Shacklebolt held each others' gaze, each trying to read the others' face, both failing. Shacklebolt decided to push a bit harder.
'It's one of two things, Professor. Either Snape has been lying to us and he's still on You Know Who's side. That would explain how he survived the Dementors tonight, and it might explain how he seemed to disappear off the face of the earth two weeks ago. Or – and I want to believe it, I really do – he's a much more powerful wizard than most of us realise.
'But the bottom line is this: if there's any possibility Snape's on You Know Who's side, then the Order have got to consider it. I mean yes, he's been very useful – but what proof do we have that he's not just feeding us the things they want us to know, setting us up?'
'We're not DEAD, Mr Shacklebolt, that's our proof!' McGonagall suddenly stormed. 'If You Know Who was using Severus to get to us, then you and I would not be having this conversation! I don't know what rubbish you may have heard while studying for your NEWTS, but if it came from paintings and ghosts, then it can hardly be regarded as reliable witness! But let me tell you this: I taught Severus and Sirius and Remus, and I have every faith that each of those extremely talented young men is entirely committed to the Order-'
'He was a Death Eater. He was there the night Frank and Alice were attacked – the evidence might plausibly suggest he was the reason they were attacked. Can you honestly say you haven't had your doubts?'
McGonagall bit her lip. No, she could not. Yet right now, at the challenge, she realised that despite all she had said to Snape two weeks ago, she believed with all her heart that he was innocent of Frank and Alice's doom. She looked at Shacklebolt, unruffled and inscrutable, and pursed her lips. 'Mr Shacklebolt, are you playing games with me?'
Shacklebolt gave a devious grin, but his eyes were serious. 'I wanted to know what you believed. Because after reading Moody's report this evening, I don't know what to think, and I really need to know.'
'In that case, I think perhaps I can help you,' said a calm voice.
McGonagall and Shacklebolt turned abruptly. Albus Dumbledore had entered the kitchen, accompanied by his brother Aberforth. Moody followed them in, and the door closed by itself behind them.
Dear, lovely people, thanks a lot for all the reviews! How my starved ego loves you dearly! Warm fuzzies all round!
Geministaz: You're dead right, although I'm just copying the way published books do it. I do feel some guilt over starting sentences with "and" and "but" though.
Barbara Kenedy: Interesting idea, but I'm going in a slightly different - although arguably related - direction. Hope you like it!
Snape Coolgirl: Thanks a lot, I was very fond of that bit. More on the ghost coming up, though possibly not for a few chapters
Melissa: No slash, although some sex coming up... which I'll have to think carefully about, unless I want to lose my PG-13 rating... And definitely a bit more angst. In fact I changed the description of the story from romance to angst as the secondary keyword, as I'm finding it's taking longer to get to the passionate romance than I originally planned. Never mind though!
Lilith11: Does my sense of guilt reflect my generous nature or an ego going berserk? Hope you're having a great holiday!
Everyone else: I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you