Chapter 8

By the time they had returned to the castle, Harry was feeling decidedly more energetic. As Snape, Lupin and Potter approached the front entrance, the boy was nearly ready to suggest going back for more magic testing.

Walking easily through the pleasant July night, Remus chuckled and spoke up first. "Feeling better, are you?" Harry looked at the man in surprise and nodded. "That's to be expected. You ended your trial on a positive note. We gave you a problem that you solved skillfully, and now you think you're ready for more. You're not. But you should remember the feeling. If you ever have to motivate someone else..." he winked slowly. "... you may want to use the same technique. Let your subject have a good experience to end with, and the lesson will be remembered positively."

"Bah," Snape's dissension was cold and filled with contempt. "Coddle your students and they will learn to work while being coddled. Push someone with challenges more and more difficult until they fail, and you will see which ones are strong enough to try harder, and which ones are pathetic enough to give up."

"Gods, Severus, do you actually send your students away from class each session with a failure as their last impression of their work?"

"Not all of them," Snape drawled with a pointed look at Harry. "And not any of those who do their class assignments correctly. Which is especially generous considering that completing those assignments correctly is a lot easier than it should be. I can only work with what I am given, Mister Lupin. If students come to my class unaware of the properties of magical ingredients, or..." another glare in Harry's direction. "... a complete ignorance of the concepts of magic theory, I must teach remedially before I may direct the students' efforts onward to more profitable exercises. Thus it is that in third year, we are still brewing Shrinking potions, which any competent first year should be able to complete by term's end. And in many cases, such simple concoctions are prepared so poorly that the resulting brew is a danger to man and beast. Not to mention the cauldron-killers that Neville Longbottom habitually cooks up."

"So," Remus pretended to consider Snape's answer with the pompous gravity of a man about to purchase a used broomstick. "You think we should have been out..." Snape's eyes flicked warningly toward the castle. Remus smiled and half-nodded in acknowledgement of the caution. "... out hunting Malfoys until Harry was so tired he collapsed? Perhaps we could have found whether he was strong enough to get up and go to work tomorrow morning." Harry looked at Lupin in shock. He had thought that everyone knew how dangerous it was to taunt Snape. His worry proved to be well founded.

Snape's eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. In a voice tightly controlled, he growled, "I do not appreciate being mocked, wolf. Especially when I have graciously submitted to the indignities of being a babysitter and dragging a boy along with me on Order business." Harry could hear the sound of the potions professor's breath, and saw that his fists were clenched at his sides.

Remus' smile disappeared, and he seemed generally remorseful. "I apologize, Severus, for..."

Snape cut him off imperiously. "Mister Lupin, have I ever been so inappropriately familiar with you?" The werewolf was genuinely puzzled. He looked a question at the other man. "Oh, don't play dumb!" Snape spat. "You have deliberately used my first name extensively since your return to Hogwarts. I appreciate that you are feeling more confident these days. I am sure that you have dealt with what muggles would call your 'neuroses.' But that excellent progress in dealing with your personal issues does not give you license to abuse me and my continuing tolerance of you."

"Professor Snape," Remus said humbly. "Please believe that I only used your familiar name in the spirit of friendship. I believe that we were working together effectively, despite the difficulties your summer's obligations have placed upon you. I hope for your good will, and failing that, would appreciate your continued tolerance. I am truly sorry if I have offended you."

Snape stared. He blinked, then stared again. Remus did not laugh, did not seem to be suppressing a grin, did not look toward the boy to share a private joke. Neither did he turn away, or scowl, or resort to an argument or an insult. Severus waited for some time for any of these things to occur, but somehow, surprisingly, none of them did. "Very well," he said brusquely. "Apology accepted. Please excuse me. I have work to do." He turned and walked swiftly... but particularly stiffly... toward the stairs leading down to the dungeons.

Remus turned to Harry with an unreadable expression. "I think we're all still friends, don't you?" the werewolf asked quietly. Harry simply shook his head, still trying to figure out what he had just seen. Snape had seemed sort of regretful over objecting to Remus' way of addressing him. He had, as Harry thought about it more, seemed almost embarrassed. The way he had accepted Remus' apology had sounded like an apology of its own. But coming from Snape, that was almost too much to believe. Remus broke the mood with a cheerful invitation. "Are you hungry? Why don't we get the house elves to bring us something in the dining hall?"

Harry shook his head. "You're a Gryffindor, aren't you? Let's eat in the common room. The hall is..." he thought about the long, empty tables in the room that so often rocked with childish rambunctiousness. "... too big," he finished, realizing that he had once again failed to convey what he really meant.

But somehow, Remus seemed to understand. With a smile, and a friendly arm around the boy's shoulder, he said, "I haven't been into the Gryffindor common room in quite some time. I'd love to have a bite there. Tell me, is the Fat Lady still guarding the portal?"

The two friends climbed the stairs toward that very portrait, guarding the entrance to the cozy, comforting atmosphere of the Gryffindors' favorite gathering place.

--- --- ---

The instant the house elves appeared, Harry realized he had missed an important lesson once again. How Remus had been able to send a summons to the elves was a mystery. And Harry had been right there and had missed it. He resolved to ask once the meal was over and the elves themselves no longer present.

Remus ordered a full and very detailed repast for himself. He sounded as though he were placing an order at a restaurant. Harry kept waiting for the elf to suggest an alternative choice, or say that the kitchens were out of some ingredient, but instead, the longer and more complex the werewolf's order became, the broader the smile on the elf's face grew. By the time Lupin had described his desired dessert, the elf was nearly dancing in place with enthusiasm. He turned to Harry with anticipation. "And what would Mister Harry Potter, Sir, like to have?"

"Uh...," Harry mumbled uncertainly, a bit put off by the elf's energetic manner. "Wouldn't it be easier if you just made two of whatever Mister Remus Lupin is having?" He could have kicked himself for reflexively falling into the elf's ultra-formal mode of address. His response had sounded mocking and snotty even in his own ears. But that was not what offended the elf.

"Easy is for little wizards who don't know their spellses yet," the elf sniffed. "We is house elves. We make the feastses for everybody."

Harry wasn't sure that what the elf had said really made any sense, but the little fellow certainly seemed to have taken offense, and Harry felt obligated to say something positive to help make up for that. "You... uh... sure do," Harry said, hoping his clumsy attempt wouldn't insult the elf any further. "I've loved them for five years, already. One of the first really great things I remember about coming to Hogwarts was the welcoming feast."

This apparently mollified the elf. "Good thing you remember. Welcoming feastses meant to calm and soothe, make little wizards feel at home - make bigger wizards feel welcome back."

Harry supposed this explanation was a peace offering of sorts, but he really wasn't sure. House elves were strange creatures, difficult to understand under the best of circumstances. And since Harry's introduction to them had been Dobby - who was strange even by house elf standards - the boy thought that he would never properly understand them at all. He took this one's expectant silence as a signal that he should order, so he asked for a meal that he had envied other children for all during his life with the Dursleys... a hamburger dinner. He really didn't know what a real commercially prepared hamburger sandwich was supposed to be like, since his aunt and uncle would never have considered buying him one, but he had heard kids at his elementary school describing them. So he ordered a 'hamburger,' and trusted the house elves to make something good. He asked for fried potatoes, and both a milk shake and a carbonated soda on the side, and since he thought he remembered something about lettuce and dressing being involved, he ordered a salad with thousand island dressing to begin the meal.

The house elf seemed pleased. "That's much better," he said with a sharp nod. "It is not for Mister Harry Potter, Sir, to be deciding what is or is not easy for house elves." He apparated away with a small pop, and Harry was once again amazed at how easily - and quietly - house elves could accomplish that particular piece of magic when compared to humans.

Remus had been pulling a small table and a pair of chairs together at the center of the room. As soon as the elf apparated away, he turned and saluted Harry. "You're making some progress," he said with a broad smile. "The welcome feasts are a particular point of pride to the Hogwarts' house elves, and so it was particularly clever to have brought that up when you did."

"How do you know?" Harry asked. "About the feasts... how the elves feel... all of that," he finished lamely, wishing he could for once say what he meant without fumbling and mumbling a vague suggestion of what he had in mind.

"I talked to them," Remus said, watching Harry's reaction closely. As he had expected, Harry's face contorted in distaste at the idea of prolonged conversation with the elves. "You'll have to learn how to speak with people with whom it is difficult to communicate," Remus urged. "It won't always be just your friends..." he stopped speaking immediately as two elves popped into the common room, each bearing a platter of salad.

"Radicchio Rumble?" one inquired in a snootily detached manner. Remus raised a finger and the salad plate slid onto the table silently.

"And Thousand Islands Iceberg Delight!" enthused the other elf, placing the plate opposite Remus' selection with a flourish. Harry thought the elves were enjoying this whole scene as a kind of dress-up game. They were playing at being different kinds of waiters in completely different kinds of restaurants. Harry restrained himself from applauding the performance, but one of the elves caught his delighted expression, and shot him a sly 'you got the joke' look before he apparated away. Harry began to see how the house elves might be more interesting than he had previously expected.

The Gryffindor common room was furnished in what one student had described as 'early comfortable.' The chairs were, for the most part, very soft, and cushions covered nearly every surface that might conceivably have been used to sit upon. Remus had found the two straightest, firmest chairs to use at their dining table, and as he sat, he drew his wand from his pocket and laid it on the table, near the center. Harry, still dressed in his muggle-style attire that had served well for the magic practice session, could see that sitting for dinner with a wand in his pocket would be uncomfortable. As Remus took his seat, Harry drew his own wand and laid it gently across Remus' wand, forming an 'X' near the table's center. He sat, took a deep breath and picked up his fork to begin enjoying the salad course of his hamburger dinner. It was hard to explain, even to himself, but sitting down to consume this pile of iceberg lettuce and sweet dressing seemed as much a victory over the Dursleys' domination of his life as staying at Hogwarts over the summer. He had worked a full day, gone out for serious magic practice, come back to his beloved common room with one of his favorite men in the entire world, and was about to have a hamburger meal. As much as the Dursleys had denied him, they had ultimately been unable to prevent this from happening. After all this time, he had won. He looked up at Remus, eyes shining. An instant later, he was suddenly on his guard. Something was not right. What was he seeing in Lupin's face? Regret? Remorse? Disappointment? Harry was worried. He put his fork down, and said one word: "What?"

Remus smiled; a sad, wistful expression. "Thank you," he said simply, and fell silent for a moment, staring at the wands arrayed on the table. "I'm flattered." His eyes met Harry's and the boy could see a lifetime of loneliness reflected in them. "A man of my age hardly ever gets the chance to even discuss an offer this exquisite, let alone dine in such surroundings with the one who made it." He heaved a sigh and collected himself. "But there are considerations. Here - eat some salad and I'll tell you about them. The house elves will expect us to be finished with this course in about seven and one half minutes from the time they served it."

"You knew that... by talking to them?" Harry asked, confused about so many things he didn't know what to ask about first.

'Yes," Remus admitted, "and observing them closely. The large salad plates - which I have only seen served to an all-adult crowd - are left in place for nearly fifteen minutes. In those kinds of meals, however, the salad is frequently a main course. Those selections are often served at luncheons during which business is being discussed, and left on the tables even longer than a quarter-hour. The tiny plates, which are frequently served to the children in the dining hall, are expected to last for under five minutes. These, about seven and one half."

Harry stared dazedly at the man. "It's hopeless," the boy moaned suddenly. Remus' look of sympathy was heartbreaking. "All the observation you do... you and Snape both... you see artificial legs when they're hidden under robes, you see lovers breaking up when they think they're being secret about it... for God's sake, you time the average response patterns of house elves to various sized salad plates! What am I doing? I haven't learned to observe anything..."

"Harry," Remus interrupted sternly. "You are very mature for your age, and your potential is truly staggering. But there are things you will have to allow for. Things that impact your hopes and dreams, even as they impact the offer you made. Your age is one." Remus paused and showed Harry a blazingly bright smile that had as much pride in the precociousness of the cub as it did pure mischievous humor. "I'd not have thought you would be making such an offer quite yet. Despite my expectations, you seem to feel you are ready. But your age when compared to mine is an issue. As well as the fact that I was a teacher here... and I am, once again, in a sense, employed by the school... in the capacity of guardian to you. I am charged with keeping you safe, Harry. I think you can see how any fooling around of this particular sort would be inappropriate."

Harry had no idea what particular sort of fooling around was being suggested. He took a bite of salad and was completely distracted from the conversation for a moment. The cool crispness of the lettuce, the sweet tang of the dressing... this was great! It appeared that Remus was enjoying his own plate of bitter-looking greens, though Harry didn't understand how a sour and bitter salad could be enjoyable any more than he understood the conversation of the past few minutes. To cover his own cluelessness, he took another bite of his own salad. Wonderful.

"And, of course," Remus continued, almost as though he were lecturing about Defense Against the Dark Arts once again, "a great deal of a wizard's magic is tied to his sexuality - to his sexual experience, or his virginity, depending on the case."

Harry nearly choked on his salad. He stared at Remus, goggle-eyed. "Don't do that while I'm trying to swallow," the boy protested, then fought to regain his breath. "What does any of this have to do with sex?" Harry immediately regretted having said anything. Remus' face was pleasant, bland - and completely closed. Only moments ago, Harry had felt he able to read so much there. His lack of conversational ability had - momentarily - been ameliorated by the particularly personal and direct communication he had been receiving from Remus' expressions and reactions. Now, the werewolf's countenance might well have been that of a statue, for all the information it divulged.

"I do forget that you were raised by muggles," Remus commented lightly. "As such, you will have remained ignorant of certain social signals that form a very powerful language in the wizard world. As an example: a wizard's wand is always very personally matched to its user. I'll bet you tried out some wands that were completely inappropriate when you first shopped for your own, am I right?" Harry nodded, wishing that Remus would let his mask slip away again, and be as open as he had allowed himself to be mere moments ago. "You know as well," Lupin continued, "that most wizards and witches cannot perform magic at all without some magical focusing device, such as their wands. That is one of the many reasons your 'free-hand' magic so fascinates Professor Snape and me."

Harry nodded again, nearly screaming with frustration. Why wouldn't the man get to his point?

"So a wizard would have to be very comfortable - would have to trust whoever he was with very greatly - in order to put his wand on the table, as mine is."

Harry nodded again, urging Lupin onward with his explanation. What was this all about, anyway?

"And you can understand that any wizard who would put his own wand down on the table with the first one would also feel trust in his companion. Wands on the table mean mutual trust, relaxation, a certain ease in each other's company. But placing one's wand directly across someone else's... making that 'X' in the center of the table - just as ours are arranged now - has a particular, specific meaning to those familiar with wizard customs." Harry nodded, spread his hands, practically leapt across the table to strangle the man. What was the point of all this?

"Placing your wand in that way indicates your issuing an invitation to the person whose wand you have crossed to enjoy sexual intercourse at your soonest mutual convenience."

Harry's mouth hung open even as his eyes bulged. He felt his face flush hot as his mouth became dry. "But... but you're a man."

"Thank you for noticing," Remus replied gently with the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Harry felt stunned, detached from the scene, a slight ringing in his ears. He spoke quietly, but felt as though he were shouting down a long tunnel. "But you.... you're queer?"

Lupin was clearly amused. "I'm surprised you would ask. I daresay that was most of your classmates' first impression of me. 'The shabby queer who teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts.' I heard it more than once. Not precisely accurate, actually. Such childish jibes frequently miss the point. Once a month, I am completely, and aggressively, heterosexual. I would rut with anything female... so long as she were also a werewolf. The rest of the time..." He fell silent, quickly reviewing a lifetime of memories. "The rest of the time, I am mostly lonely. But I find men attractive, and I am quite interested in some of them."

Harry's shock was wearing off. He felt sorry for Remus, living a life he had to describe as 'mostly lonely.' But he was curious, as well. "Who... um... do you find... you know... attractive?"

Remus allowed some of his defensive expressionlessness to drop away. "Ah, the beauty of youth is in its resilience," he sighed. "Eat your salad. Elves will want to clear it away soon." He took a bite of his own and chewed in silence for a moment before offering, "Most of the men I would cite as examples to answer your question would be unknown to you. Muggle movie stars, or television actors, music performers... these men are most often too pretty to be attractive to me. Which makes sense. If one is making a movie, or a television show, or a record, one wants the maximum possible audience to be attracted to the entertainment. In pursuit of this goal, one of the entertainment producer's best allies is the adolescent girl. Girls spread positive word of mouth more effectively than do boys. And since boys - generally - want to date girls, they will be interested in knowing what the girls are interested in. So actors and singers, especially, are given opportunities based on how attractive they will be to adolescent girls."

"And gay men don't like those guys?" Harry was very curious. He followed Remus' explanation closely, trying hard to understand as much as possible.

"Actually, I prefer 'queer,' Harry," Remus corrected gently. "Queer refers to that which is unusual, and remarkably so. I turn into a wolf every full moon. If I don't qualify as 'queer,' I can't imagine who would. But to answer your question: homosexual men prefer just as wide a range of qualities as do any men. Which strikes me as rather ironic. Over the last forty years or so, heterosexual men have been stereotyped rather viciously by the entertainment, fashion, and even the medical industries. 'Real men' are supposed to be attracted to tall, skinny women with huge breasts, long legs, big eyes and tiny chins. Even the producers of commercial pornography went along with that prejudice for a while, though they quickly found that, in order to keep as much money as possible coming in, they had to offer their heterosexual male fans images of actresses who were fat, or short, or small-breasted. Different men like different things. Different gay men like different things. It really does make sense. Eat your salad."

Harry speared some more lettuce with his fork. "I thought you preferred queer."

"I do. Many others don't. Different things. There is one attractive man I can talk about that you do know. I will thank you for not reacting negatively until I have had a chance to explain what I am talking about. The attractive man I mean is Professor Severus Snape."

"Eeuuu."

"Finish your salad. The elves will be clearing away soon. Harry, why do you think Professor Snape frightens his students so?"

"House points," Harry said sourly. "And failing grades. And harassing us while we're trying to work. And he threatens us, as well. We know he can't hurt students, but last term he made Neville feed a potion to his toad, expecting the toad to come to harm. When nothing bad happened to Trevor, Snape took points away from Gryffindor!"

"Really?" Remus said thoughtfully. "And if the Professor were present, would you have given that example?"

"It's true!" Harry insisted, but he checked over either shoulder for a lurking Snape even as he did so.

"I'm sure it is," Remus conceded. "However, I don't believe it's house points and grades that are so frightening about Severus. I do believe that it is his force of personality that terrifies so many - within his class as well as without it. He is very serious, but extremely dull men have been very serious. He is highly dedicated. His life as a spy has been very dangerous, very painful, and - I believe - permanently scarring to him. I would not have you forget that he was not motivated to follow that life by the promise of reward. If you asked him, I'm sure he would tell you something very intellectual about doing what is right, and what a man's obligations are to his society. But he has suffered the difficulties of being a spy in a very evil wizard's court over the course of many painful years for the benefit of every student who walks Hogwarts' halls. But just as there are dull serious men, there are plenty of very boring dedicated men. The first clue you might have to the real Severus Snape is in his voice. Commanding. Demanding. Unforgiving. Why, when he harasses you while you work, do you not tell him to go away? I have heard students say such things and worse to Professor Flitwick. And Professor Binns hardly even recognizes the insults he receives so regularly these days. But Professor Snape? No one says 'buzz off' to Snape, and don't tell me it's fear of losing house points that keeps them silent. The man's presence, his assuredness, his authority - those keep the insults from being voiced."

"So, it's personality more than looks that attracts you?"

Remus grinned. "Personality is more lasting and makes a greater impression. And it overrides more petty concerns when the attractive person is dirty, or tired, or ill... or, as in Severus' case, has deliberately adopted certain affectations in his appearance to help keep him distant from others. I have good reason to believe that the greasiness of his hair actually requires quite a lot of work to maintain. But it helps keep the idly curious at arm's length, which is good for a spy... as well as for a man who does not wish to waste his time with fools. Ignoring the hair, I would have to say that there are many attractive features about Professor Snape. I like his nose, for example. His long fingers and trim frame are very attractive. But I have known men with features such as those who were repellently boring after only a few hours. Severus - despite his lack of interest in me as a potential lover - is still fascinating to me, and I still quite enjoy his company. And I have every reason to believe that I will continue to do so for years to come. Ahhh... that was good. Did you enjoy your... what did they call it? Iceberg Delight?"

Harry was wrenched back to the present by the question. He had been trying to imagine Snape as a sexually attractive person and failing miserably. "Yeah, it was brilliant," Harry said brightly, hoping it was not so very obvious how preoccupied he had been.

As he finished his statement, two elves popped into the room and took away the salad plates. Within seconds, two more had arrived with the main dishes.

Harry's eyes popped. Dimly, he thought that if his face ever froze like this, it would hardly make any difference, since he was looking shocked so often. But the dinner - while not on such a massive scale as the dining hall feasts - was so beautiful that he could hardly believe it. Remus' plate held a tiny rack of ribs, the bones sticking up into the air. That was accompanied by tiny red potatoes shining with hot butter and dusted with flecks of green herb, a dab of green jelly off to the side, and a sprig of something green that looked more like decoration than an actual part of the course. Harry noted what his dinner companion had ordered, then turned his attention back to his own plate. The sandwich was huge. Ground meat, flame-charred on the outside, dripped dark juices onto a thick bun. An even thicker top bun was covered in sesame seeds. Between the top bun and the meat were grilled onions and melted cheese. There was a thin slice of tomato added, and the insides of the buns had been dressed with some sort of relish. All together, the creation smelled like an entire meal put together into a single unit that could be picked up all at once. The smells of the food were carried aloft by the steam that rose above both plates, the aroma of grilled onions in particular tickling Harry's nose. Beside his hamburger, there were potatoes that had been cut into long, thick planks and fried until their outsides were crisp. Harry had enjoyed chips before, of course. Hardly any English boy could have grown up without sampling them, especially as a side dish to fried fish. But these golden, steaming chips were so fresh from the oil they were still too hot to touch, and alongside them, there were several cups of dipping sauces with which to anoint them. He recognized the mayonnaise immediately. He was looking forward to trying out the others. He picked the hamburger up and was confronted with a dilemma. "It's too big to get into my mouth."

For some reason, this struck Remus as particularly funny. The man laughed aloud and Harry thought he could see Remus relaxing again after their unfortunate misunderstanding at the beginning of the meal. "You could put it down on your plate, slice a bit of it off with your knife, then spear the fragment with your fork and eat it daintily," Remus suggested. Harry began to replace the sandwich on his plate when Remus continued, "But only a ponce does that. Grab on, put it up to your face, and bite it, boy."

Hesitantly, Harry did so. And as his mouth flooded with the rich juices, hot cheese and tangy onions, he forgot to worry about how sloppy he might look. Chewing comically on a bite nearly too big to manage, Harry was so clearly enjoying himself that Remus ignored him to sample his rack of lamb. Exquisite. The Hogwarts house elves were masters of the culinary arts. Especially considering that their palates were not even human, they prepared particularly subtle flavors and textures to please the human taste. How they managed to accomplish this was a mystery, but that they did was a fact established over generations of human experience.

Drinks arrived as the first bites were taken. There was wine for Remus, and Harry's soda and shake. The first of Harry's beverages was bubbling with carbonation around clinking ice cubes, the second was in a tall glass with a long, silver spoon, whipped cream topping the whole thing, with a maraschino cherry at the peak of the cream. Taken together, it was quite a lot of food, but when the meal was finished, Harry realized that he had eaten every bite, and while he was full, he was not uncomfortably so. The elves had done an amazing job of estimating exactly how much to serve. As Harry munched his last chip, and Remus returned his final lamb bone to his plate, two house elves popped into the room and began to clear.

"Are you ready for dessert, yet, Sirs?" one asked as he collected Remus' plate and glass.

"Not quite," Remus demurred. "Please bring me a brandy before dessert. Anything for you, Harry?"

The boy was about to shake his head when he decided to be a little different this evening. The entire meal had been rather foreign in influence, so he asked for "Tea. Iced, please. With lemon."

Two discreet pops later, the dishes were gone, tea and brandy were on the table, and a house elf was looking at Remus, waiting for instructions. "About five minutes, I should think," he said with a very contented, relaxed tone. The elf nodded and popped away, and Harry squeezed lemon into his drink, stirring the tea and listening to the unfamiliar sound of ice cubes in a beverage he had enjoyed hot all his life.

"What about you, Harry?" Remus asked companionably. "What do you find attractive?"

For a moment, the boy was stumped. Remus had been so lyrical about his own preferences that Harry felt completely tongue-tied. But he took a sip of tea and thought about it and decided to be as honest as he could. "You know who I was really interested in was Cho Chang. She's pretty." Harry thought about describing what features he found 'pretty,' but realized he didn't have the words to describe Cho's exotic, almost other-worldly face and sleek, supple figure. He went on, deciding that if Remus were interested, he would ask. "She's a good quiddich player, and a Ravenclaw - really smart. I wouldn't want a girlfriend who would embarrass me by being stupid."

"Especially after being friends with Hermione Granger all through school," Remus grinned.

"Oh... yeah. Can you imagine? I introduce a girl to Hermione and she comes off all dumb? God, I'd never hear the end of it." Harry did imagine the scene, which he could visualize all too clearly, and shuddered. "Anyway, I thought Cho was great. But she was, like, Cedric Diggory's girlfriend. I think they were kind of serious. And every time Cho saw me after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, all she could think of was her boyfriend dying. So, we never... uh... I mean, we spent some time together, and all she did was cry. So... nothing."

"Do you have a girlfriend, Harry? Or a boyfriend? Or someone you're working on?"

"Nah," Harry said, trying to be casual, but his dismissal came out bitter. "Boy Who Lived, you know. Everybody expects me to be really strong, or totally great, or super smart, or all-wise or something. They're disappointed the first time I make a mistake. It's like, anytime I don't live up to their expectations, I betrayed them, or did something bad to them. You don't make many friends that way. Then a lot of people wonder why I haven't killed Voldemort already, if that's what I'm supposed to do with my life. It's like they think I'm milking the legend for all it's worth, getting some kind of benefit from being famous. So those people don't trust me, and you don't get girlfriends by having them start out not trusting you. And then there's a bunch of people who think the whole 'Boy Who Lived' legend is a crock, and that I'm putting on airs and that I'm full of shite. Bad way to start out. 'Oh, yes, Potter. You're the bugger who thinks he's better than everyone 'cause of some bullshite legend.' It goes nowhere fast. You know why I've been friends with Ron for so long? Because he gets totally ticked off at me. People say that's the reason I ought to stay clear of him. But they've got it all wrong. I like that about Ron. It's the closest to normal anyone has ever treated me. I mean, he overdoes it, and there have been times I want to smack him one for being a git. But at least he doesn't give me the old 'Boy Who Lived' bollocks."

"Mmmm," Remus hummed thoughtfully, making no comment on Ron either way. "And how is his sister?"

Harry's shoulders dropped. "You aren't still on about Ginny, are you?"

Remus shrugged. "I am curious. There seems to be something more than meets the eye going on there," he said with a questioning eyebrow raised.

"And what does your wolf side think?"

Remus narrowed his amber eyes. "What makes you ask that?"

"Just a hunch. But you called me James' cub, and I thought it was kind of important."

"You're right," Remus admitted. "The Wolf is very perceptive. It... oh, just wait a moment."

Harry was surprised to see Remus literally sniffing the air, then concentrating as though trying to remember something from long ago. Finally, the man said, "I'd have to have Ginny here in person to be sure. But from what I can recall... the Wolf thinks the idea of the two of you being romantically linked is absurd."

"Thank God someone does," Harry grumphed. "It doesn't seem that mysterious to me. Would I like a young, pretty, red haired girl to be excited about me? Yes. Would I like to date Ginny Weasley? No."

Fortunately for the conversation, which had slammed into a dead end with Harry's last emphatic statement, the desserts were served at that very moment. Remus had some sort of delicate meringue arrangement that came to the table with flames licking over its surface. The fire went out in seconds, and the aroma of warm, sweet meringue filled the air. Harry, having had ice cream with his meal, had asked for cake, and the cake that arrived was exactly what he had been hoping for. The cake was a rich, spongy chocolate, so dark it seemed nearly black. It was divided into several layers. Between each layer was a ribbon of deep, chocolate icing. The outside of the cake was covered in a light, whipped chocolate frosting. Despite having had a big dinner only minutes previously, Harry's mouth watered, and he found himself craving cake as though he had been starving all day. The elves popped away, and both diners applied their attention to dessert.

After a few bites, Harry looked seriously at Remus and told him, "I had thought that the best... really, the only... place to learn about wizard culture was here at Hogwarts. Tonight, I really embarrassed myself." He saw Remus start to protest, and cut the man off. "No, don't excuse me, and don't pretend it wasn't embarrassing. I love you, and I don't care who knows that. I especially want you to know that. But I'm not interested in having sex with you, and I did exactly the wrong thing in that respect."

Remus was deeply pleased. "And I love you, Harry," he said sincerely.

Harry was a bit thrown off by this. "Right. Well. Uh, good. I mean, I'm glad." He collected his thoughts and began again. "What I'm trying to say is that I've been here for five years, and I never understood there was any kind of 'code' with wands. And somebody last term said that my hair was 'right for a surviving son.' I never got to ask her what she meant by that, but she sounded like she was quoting some set of rules I had never heard of. My best friends at school are a muggle-born and Ron... and his family is not too traditional. The most traditional wizard family I can think of are the Malfoys. And they're... well, we're not friends, are we? How am I ever going to learn any of the things that are too delicate or too adult to bring up as part of class?"

"I've been thinking about that tonight. I will be asking a good friend for some advice. By the end of summer, I'm sure we'll have some help for you." They finished their desserts, and Remus excused himself, bidding Harry a good night. The long day and the rich meal finally hit Harry all at once, and he dragged himself up to bed just in time to pull his clothes off and fall on the mattress before he started drifting off to sleep. His last thoughts before slumber took him were that he could have been here with Remus instead of all alone. There were confused images of the werewolf beside Cho Chang, who was not crying but laughing with abandon, the way she often did while playing quiddich; and then Remus was moving easily next to Hermione as she walked down the Gryffindor Tower stairs; and then the man was standing calmly, trying to placate Ginny, who was furious at being ignored all summer. Then Harry fell fully into sleep. His dreams were particularly colorful that night.

--- --- ---

Remus walked down to the dungeons, and as he had expected, he found Snape hard at work. The potions master was quite aware of who was approaching, and as Lupin turned in to the classroom, Severus called out, "Did you enjoy your dinner with the boy?"

Remus refused to be baited. "Yes, I did," he replied easily. "And during our meal, something occurred to both of us. It constitutes a problem to which I cannot see a solution."

"What?" Snape sneered. "The perceptive Lupin cannot see the answer? Perhaps we should consult Professor Trelawney, and have your leaves read."

As though Snape had made no comment at all, Lupin explained, "I think you might agree that, of all people, The Boy Who Lived should understand something of the culture which surrounds wizardry. Actually, given his potential..." Snape flashed a warning look to which Lupin nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "... I think that Harry's ignorance of our customs - the rules of our polite society - pose as much a threat to him as his lack of knowlege regarding magical theory."

"Are you telling me that you want to send the boy to charm school?" Snape asked with distaste.

"Or something," Remus confirmed. "Charm school isn't really the answer though, is it? Harry can learn all the rules of etiquette at Hogwarts. He needs something more... in depth. The things a traditionally raised wizard would know. The kind of thing one of us might not even realize Harry could possibly remain ignorant of. And other things, as well. Negotiation skills. Making a good impression. How to be taken seriously."

Snape leaned back in his chair, ignoring his work for a moment. He stared at Lupin, studying him intently. He came to a decision. "I know someone who could help us. Engaging her aid will pose several problems, however. Tomorrow night when we go out on patrol, I'll discuss it further with you. Until then, I shall need to contemplate some things. By tomorrow evening, I should have some answers. For now, I am busy." He turned back to his labor, apparently ignoring the man standing in his doorway.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Remus said quietly. "I knew I could count on you." He disappeared down the corridor, leaving the potions master lost in thought.

--- --- ---

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. Harry dragged himself out of bed to get to work on time, feeling as though he had overextended - not his muscles - but his magic. Which, he supposed, he had. So it wasn't so much a mystery as just very, very odd. When the boy went out toward the greenhouses, Remus followed at a discreet distance. Snape was already absent from the castle.

--- --- ---

When his knock on the modest home's door was answered, Snape made a semi-formal half bow and intoned, "Good morning, Narcissa."

The woman looked more irritated than surprised. "Merlin, Severus!" she scolded. "You're in full robes, right out on the street. What will people... oh, come in!" She stepped back and ushered her visitor into her new home.

Seemingly apropos of nothing, Severus casually inquired, "Have you had your house blessed, yet, Narcissa?"

"Blessed?" Narcissa scowled. "If you've come all this way just to irritate me with nonsense riddles, you've wasted your time. I'm well beyond irritation already."

"Nothing of the sort," Severus dismissed her protests contemptuously. "I am merely pointing out that, to many of your new neighbors, neglecting the accepted religious ceremonies associated with moving into a new dwelling is much more shocking than wearing unusual clothing. To any of your neighbors who might have noticed, I am nothing more than your loyal clergyman, taking time out from his many Sunday duties to visit your new home. And, presumably, to bless the abode. If you'd like, I could stand outside and make prayerful gestures at the entryway in order to cement the impression."

"No, Severus," Narcissa repled firmly. "I am trying to begin my residence here with as little drama as possible. The last thing I need is for you to put on a mime show for the neighborhood. Why do you have to be this way?" Impatiently, she pushed a stand of hair out of her face.

The gesture caught Severus' attention immediately. "Hmmm," he murmured noncommittally as he stared into Narcissa's eyes, then flicked his gaze quickly over her from head to toe. "Laudanum, Narcissa?"

"Yes, laudanum," she snapped back, then turned and led her guest into the sitting room. She gestured vaguely toward a chair without voicing an invitation to sit. She remained standing, herself, the wide window's closed drapes at her back. Quite a lot of light came flooding in through the light-colored window coverings, and with her back to the window, her face was shadowed, hiding some of the strain that showed in her features. Severus remained standing as well, still looking expectantly for a fuller answer to his question. With an irritated sneer, Narcissa elaborated. "I indulged last night. Happy Saturday for Ms. Black. A soothing dose of chemical sympathy for a shattered life, a lost fortune and a husband awaiting execution. Do you blame me?"

"Yes," Severus replied matter of factly. "You're hurting yourself."

"Oh, thank you for your concern," Narcissa returned nastily. "I certainly wouldn't want to do myself harm. Who could have possibly have put such temptation in my way? Could it have been, oh, Severus Snape, for instance?"

"Of course I obtained your laudanum for you," Snape said stiffly. "Opiates - especially the old-style preparations such as laudanum - figure in to the brewing of many potions. I could obtain the substance without involving muggles, or their tiresome drug laws. I have known you were a user for many years."

"Delicately put," Narcissa sniffed. "I was a 'user.' Nicely insinuating of you. I admit I enjoyed getting high enough to hallucinate on the stuff from time to time. But somehow, I never developed a habit, did I? I could do without for years at a time, then indulge heavily, then forget all about it again. Right now, I need a crutch. I fully expect to be able to heal, and to throw the crutch away. But for the moment..."

"And how many nights have you indulged in the opiate during the two weeks since I last saw you?"

"Five," Narcissa declared defiantly, then remembered what day it was. "And Friday... and last night... makes seven. So... yes, about half the time. But it's only been two weeks, Severus. I'm on the run, nearly out of money, and Lucius is sitting in jail. He has not even been put on trial yet, and the dementors are already lining up anticipating the execution."

"If the Ministry were to set him free today," Severus said in sad sympathy, "you wouldn't want him back."

"You mean I wouldn't run to him like a schoolgirl, take him home, make love with him and joyously plan our next adventure. That's correct, as far as it goes, but you've missed some very important points in your analysis of my life. You're very smart in many ways, Severus, but an awful lot of life is less about the brain and more about the heart. I was married to Lucius for nearly two decades. I lived in his ancestral mansion, spent his money, slept with him and somehow managed to survive his political aspirations. He's the father of my son. And now he sits imprisoned, waiting to die. I can take no joy in that. You and he were rivals. For a while, it seemed you were enemies. You may feel some kind of triumph, or at least relief, now that he's going to be killed. I cannot.

"Lucius was vicious, and extremely selfish," Severus insisted.

Eyes half-lidded, Narcissa swayed slightly as though to music audible only to herself. A slow smile crept across her face. "That's what made him a good lover," she purred.

"Are you still under the influence of laudanum?" Severus said impatiently.

"No. The prudes always lump sex and drugs together. Really, they're very separate things. I always had my best sex while sober. And as long as I had good sex, I never even thought about taking drugs. But one of my biggest regrets of the last few years is that Lucius was too busy with his great plans to be... selfish... with me, anymore. I don't know if he presumed I would take a lover or whether he just didn't care. Either way, it's painful for me. Being married was important to me, my husband's intimate interest and excitement was important to me. It hurts to be ignored, or considered superfluous. That is like denying the importance of my entire life. When Lucius and I were in school together, my biggest hope for success was to make a good marriage. I knew that from the time I was about nine years old. And when I grew up - what a pleasant surprise! I was pretty. I had a few other things going for me. Had I been either rich enough that I had not needed a good marriage, or so hopelessly poor that there would have been no chance for one, I could have done well enough for myself. But I was just well-off enough to be able to marry up, and lo! I was pretty. So that became my major field of study. Makeup, hairstyles, clothing. Parties, social graces, clever conversation. And sex. I particularly liked sex. And I was good at it. I would exhaust boys and then beg, 'just a little more, please.' Damn if I didn't get it, most times. Or leave the ones who couldn't deliver ashamed of themselves - and desperate to please next time."

"I'm shocked that the scion of the Malfoys would have negotiated an alliance with such damaged goods."

"I wore white at my wedding. And no one breathed a word about any impropriety, even though the audience was filled with men who, as boys, had fucked me until they could no longer move. I like to think that they were all jealous of Lucius. I think I saw that in their faces. But they all knew my requirements, and they all knew that, as rich as they all were, none of them were rich enough. Lucius was."

"So the prize fuck of wizard Britain went to the highest bidder."

"That's what everyone thought," Narcissa admitted with a shrug. "It was obvious from any distance that he was rich and I was pretty. But if people presumed I was a whore, at least I was a very expensive one. And that changes people's attitudes very radically. If I had been middle class, I would have been 'Cissa the Slut.' As it was, I was 'Lady Malfoy.' But people were wrong about Lucius. He wasn't just rich. He was a powerful wizard. He could use magic with ease and grace. He was creative, as well. He could cast a binding spell... just after we were married, I squirmed in one for hours while he toyed with me. I had expected him to laugh or mock me, but he didn't even do me the courtesy. Instead, he made demands of me, as though my being bound before him while he relaxed was the most natural thing in the world. He did a lot of things like that, and I loved it. You might not understand that, Severus. But my first few years of living with that man were heavenly because of those very things that most people would call grounds for divorce. But in the last few years... If I did not have my son, I might not believe I ever did have sex with my husband."

"Where is Draco?"

"Bicycle trip," Narcissa shrugged. "He's following a muggle trail called the 'Tour de Force.' It should be safe enough. Mostly muggles, so it's unlikely he'll be recognized, and they have something called the 'hostiles' to keep order. Any police force that can earn that title must be rather serious, don't you think?"

Snape ignored the question. "Where on Earth did Draco Malfoy get a bicycle?"

"From a girl he met at the Xenophon course."

"Xenophon?" Severus pounced on the assertion suspiciously.

"Public day," Narcissa assured him. "We're not trying to sign up for the Club quite yet. He met a girl, and called her a 'brilliant flier.' Naturally, I was suspicious, but Draco usually doesn't lie about anything having to do with flying. Actually, I think he was a little disappointed. The girl seemed to be more interested in impressing the other girls than she was in him."

"Did this brilliant flier have a name?"

"Something Greek," Narcissa said, becoming annoyed.

"Katymedes?" Snape prompted.

Narcissa looked at him with her eyebrows drawn together in a puzzled scowl. "No... something different..."

"Mantsaris?" Snape asked again.

"No, definitely not. Severus, what is..."

"Themyscira?" Snape demanded relentlessly.

"Yes, that's it. Something mythical for a first name. Diana? Persephone? No. Artemis. Artemis Themyscira. Why?"

Because there are some French wizard families of Greek extraction living in this area that might be very beneficial to become involved with, even if only on a casually friendly basis. The Katymedeses or the Mantsarises could be a natural ticket back into polite society for the Blacks. The Themysciras, however, are rather common. Which is not what concerns me. What does concern me is the fact that in Draco's fourth year, the visitors to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons included a French girl with a Greek name: Artemis Themyscira. So either Draco has made up his meeting with the brilliant flier, and used a name he remembered from school in order to sound plausible... or he has been discovered."

Narcissa's voice was quiet, but powered by fury. "He didn't lie... about that. Not about the girl. He met her, I could tell that." She stood motionless, her body tensing, muscles clenching harder and harder until Severus could hear her teeth grind. "Damn," she barely whispered. Then, "Damn," she said out loud. Then, "Damn!" she exploded. "I left the country! Country? Hell, I left the entire British Isles! I changed my name! I moved into this!" She spat the last word while waving her arm in a half-circle to indicate her new home. "I ran! I hid! I said 'I give up!' And in less than a week... on the fifth bleeding day here, he gets discovered! Oh, bloody hell, Severus, he's probably been arrested already. He left Friday midday. He's... he's..... Aaaugh!" She collapsed into an armchair, wishing she could cry, trying to force tears to come, hoping for the simple release that weeping could bring. Instead, her mind raced, and she began to plan.

"You said he's following the Tour de France?" Severus interrupted her thinking.

"Yes, he... what did you say?" Narcissa asked with dawning hope.

"I believe I repeated what you told me regarding your son's plans," Severus said ascerbically. "You said he was going to follow the muggle race course called the Tour de France..."

"Hah!" Narcissa barked in triumph. "The lying little shite. He couldn't even get the name right. He claimed he was going on something called the Tour de Force. There's no such thing, is there? Do you know anything about the Hostiles?"

Severus grinned wickedly. "It sounds as though he was trying to tell you he was planning to stay in Youth Hostels. Frankly, I can no more imagine Draco Malfoy sleeping on the rough wooden floor of a shelter for lazy - and poor - young adults travelling the continent than I can picture him peddling his way around the countryside alongside the aspiring athletes of the muggle middle class."

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa chanted quietly to herself. "I learned a lot about punishment from your father. You have quite a surprise in store when you arrive home..."

"Seriously, that may not be the best course of action," Snape interjected calmly.

"What? Severus Snape goes soft?" Narcissa mocked. "I don't believe it."

"Soft has nothing to do with it," Snape countered with a moue of distaste. "Punishing him may provide a momentary satisfaction. But you want to know what he has been up to.

"Veritaserum," Narcissa snarled.

"Please," Snape said disdainfully. "Is that the best you can think of? Remember, it is not only what you learn from your son, but what lessons he takes from your actions that is important."

"There are plenty of lessons to be learned from veritaserum."

"But not the most profitable ones in this particular case," Snape insisted.

"Locator spell!" Narcissa fumbled for her wand. Snape held out a restraining hand to stop her, reaching nearly far enough to actually touch her.

"I'll cast. You're upset." He drew his wand smoothly and began the incantation. By the time he had spoken only a few words, his wand hovered in midair, its center fixed in one place, the length of it twisting lazily on the gentlest of air currents. "If Draco is anywhere in France, this spell will point him out to us."

Narcissa watched the gently drifting wand as she waited. And waited. She looked up at the puzzled face of the potions master. "Severus?"

"A moment," he said distractedly, and cast a different spell. The wand turned to point west, and Snape watched carefully for the color and intensity of the glow at the tip, which would indicate distance. He scowled, checking his own mental arithmetic, then checking it again. "He's in England."

Narcissa turned pale. "He has been arrested."

"No. Listen to me. I have good information on this. The Ministry is not looking for either of you. But Albus Dumbledore is. He has all of his minions... including me, ironically... out searching all of England for the missing Malfoys. He is convinced that Draco means to inherit Voldemort's operations. If it were not pathetic, the misconception would be amusing. Everyone that Dumbledore has tasked with locating you has insisted that you cannot possibly be anywhere in Britain. Dumbledore counters that you are English nobility, and would not abandon your country. Therefore, the entire Order of the Phoenix is supposedly searching England for you and Draco. However, since no one in the Order believes that you are there - suggestions for your actual location have ranged from America to Australia - I don't believe anyone is actually paying any attention. In a practical sense, we do not want to have Draco followed by minions of Dumbledore. But - unless he has committed some new crime on his own - he has not been arrested."

Narcissa sat back in her armchair and let herself go totally limp. Her face sagged with weariness, her shoulders slumped, her flesh seemed to be trying to melt away from her bones. For an instant, Severus felt a stab of an unfamiliar emotion. Seeing Narcissa so utterly weary, he felt a deep, insistent compassion for her. As the feeling hit him, he felt the urge to reach out to her, to comfort her, to reassure her. The moment passed, and once again, he could see a woman who had very nearly measured up to the enormous challenges of her life, only to fall short at the last, giving in to the weaknesses of love for an evil man and a spoiled boy, a taste for the expensive life of the aristocracy, and the arrogance of the beautiful.

"I can find him," Snape told the exhausted looking woman.

"I suppose you can," she responded dully. "And I would guess you could probably get him out of the country safely... again. And I know that I would owe you - again - a debt that I have no way of repaying."

"And there, you are wrong," Snape said gently. Narcissa looked up suspiciously, unable to divine what the man might mean. "You have knowledge and skills that few possess. And, you have spent years learning how to communicate with others. I have need of your assistance, and if you would consent to provide that assistance, I will consider your debts to me satisfied."

The change in the woman was nothing short of amazing, Snape thought. She had, only moments ago, been lying helplessly, a puddle of unmotivated flesh, despairing and defeated. Without perceptible transition, she was once again energized, alert, ready to bargain. "What would you have me do, Severus?"

"What you should understand all too well," Snape drawled, enjoying the lively suspicion for his offer that sparkled in her eyes. "Let us call it assistant to the kingmakers. The actual kingmaking will be done by myself and my close associates. Your job will be to groom the king-to-be, instructing him in all of those things you studied when you were a youth: hair, clothing, polite conversation, social interaction, negotiation... things a king needs - and which this particular candidate for the throne does not possess."

"What about Voldemort?"

"He has failed. I believe you have known that for years. Even Lucius must see it now. The Lord's program was always too extreme. The constant punishments, the tortures and the killings... they missed the point. Intelligent, talented Death Eaters - the important ones, those upon whom any government of a conquered world would have to be built - joined the organization for strength and discipline, not mad violence and random, destructive tantrums. Voldemort seemed to understand that during the first war. Once he lost that conflict, however, he lost his own ability to decide what was important and what was frivolous. He keeps his followers by fear, now, whereas the veterans of the first war followed because of faith. Few beside the very stupid believe in his program any more. He has admitted to us that he is not attracting the youth of the wizard world. If he is not defeated, his organization will age, and eventually die. His time is over."

"So you're grooming a new candidate for Minister of Magic?"

"No. The current Ministry is totally corrupt. There hasn't been an honest or accurate ballot count in any of the past half-dozen elections. Fudge is not only an idiot, he has surrounded himself with idiots dedicated to his personal brand of idiocy. They are prepared to defend their asylum of a government with violence and the aggressive manipulation of public opinion. In this last regard, they have the full cooperation of the popular media. To date, they have been remarkably successful. That must change. What I intend is nothing less than taking over both the Ministry and Voldemort's organization, and putting my champion at the head of what will be publicly perceived as the government. With the public face of authority presented by this particular wizard, I should have enough freedom to actually run the country without undue interference from well-meaning meddlers and violent revolutionaries."

Narcissa nodded slowly, considering the ramifications of what she had been told. "Better you than Riddle or Fudge," she agreed. "What about Dumbledore?"

"He has been the stumbling block for many years," Severus confirmed. "He will not allow anyone to properly control the nation. He will interfere, and thwart any worthwhile plans, and eventually seize power for himself. He must be defeated. I now have a champion - our figurehead - who is powerful enough to defeat him."

Narcissa smiled. "Sounds good. Do I know this mighty champion?"

"That is one of our main advantages. I think nearly everyone knows him. He is the Boy Who Lived: Harry Potter."

Narcissa appeared to be trying to back away from Snape, pushing herself deeper and deeper into the cushions of her chair. Her head turned from side to side in a repeated attempt to negate Snape's words. "No, Severus. Oh, God, no. Not... not him. Not... Potter," she said as though the name were a curse.

"Yes, Narcissa. Harry Potter. The question surrounding him for the past decade and a half has been whether he is powerful enough to stand against Lord Voldemort. I have discovered that the boy has a reserve of power that will enable him to defeat Tom Riddle, and Albus Dumbledore, and the entire corps of aurors. Deposing Fudge and his Ministry will require some public relations work before the actual seizure of power. But with the magical talent I have seen in that boy, Narcissa, Potter could take - and hold - the entire United Kingdom by himself. It will simply be more practical to have a public ready to be led by the champion who defeated Voldemort rather than have to suppress all resistance by force."

"And I am supposed to make him palatable to the world... and believable as a world leader?" Narcissa asked sarcastically.

"He is young, and often foolish. Your practical advice regarding everything from speaking to important people to good grooming will help us accomplish what we need to accomplish. He must be made presentable. He is the key to our ambitions."

"Great Mordred's Ghost, Severus!" Narcissa protested. "Have you seen his hair?"

Snape willed his face into immobility. It would not do to grin in triumph. Narcissa might take it as an insult, and Severus wanted her to be fully involved, and committed to his cause. "One of the things that convinced me your assistance was absolutely necessary was his unruly locks, Narcissa. The quaint glasses may already be too well associated with him to be readily replaced. But that, too, I leave to your superior judgement."

"If I am going to be an advisor at this stage of the game, I would want some sort of assurance that I will continue to be an advisor once the plan is put into action."

Snape nodded, almost bowing to concede the demand. There would be some further negotiation before he was finished here today, but his mind was at ease on one point: Narcissa Black was on board with his program, and was at least tentatively interested in seeing it through to its conclusion.

--- --- ---

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, surrounded by a decorator's nightmare of kitschy little knickknacks. There were the kissing children, the wood-sawing dwarves, the drinking bird, the tiny train on its circular track, the spinning windmill and a widely varied collection of snow globes. Like most of what Dumbledore did, however, there were hidden layers of complexity beneath the surface of these items. Concealed within their brightly painted shells was magical detection equipment, as versatile as it was powerful. Most of the knickknacks could be set to any one of a score of different tasks, and all of them had a range that easily covered the entire country. Albus was relaxing, idly using the drinking bird to check for unauthorized dragon flights over Scotland, when his attention was suddenly drawn to the kissing children. There had been some indication that his quarry was found. He watched carefully as the bashful boy blushed a bright red and leaned forward. That meant Draco Malfoy was in range of the detector, and finally away from the powerful masking spells that had hidden him from the headmaster for the past couple of weeks. Reading magic so automatically that he was barely aware of using the spell, he concentrated on the shy girl of the kissing couple. She would reveal Draco's location. The girl turned, puckered her lips and leaned forward. Reading the magical signs, Dumbledore saw that Draco was hundreds of miles to the south. In moments, his exact location would be determined. Albus leaned over his desk, expectantly staring at the device. Suddenly, both of the kissing children reset themselves to their search mode, cheeks losing their blush, postures returning to a relaxed upright. It was as though Draco had suddenly disappeared. Had he gone back under his protective spells? Had he been apparated far away? Had he died? Or had the device malfunctioned, giving a false alarm after picking up some indicator that had nothing to do with Draco Malfoy? Dumbledore sat staring at the uninformative pair of sculpted children, drumming his fingers and wondering what had gone wrong.

--- --- ---

Draco Malfoy considered himself to be a wizard of action. He was a scholar, an athlete, and a true English gentleman. He never hesitated to challenge the gits at school, and he had always felt he would continue his ways once he was an adult in the wider world of wizard Britain. But now, he had been presented with a mystery, and instead of confronting it head-on, he had retreated and held himself aloof from the situation. This made sense, he told himself, since he was trying to remain discreetly undetected in England, while he was supposed to be on a bicycle trip through France. It also made sense to think before acting, and what he had seen required a lot of thought. But now that he had applied quite a lot of thought to the matter, he only had one conclusion that he felt he could count on: if Professor Snape, Werewolf Lupin and Harry bloody Potter were conferring so seriously as they had been in the Weasleys' joke shop, the Weasley twins were definitely a part of whatever was going on. Snape, especially, would not be a customer of the Wizard Wheezes shop, and Lupin was a highly unlikely patron of the place, as well. The two of them - separately or together - might have followed Potter in. But rather than leaving immediately, as Snape would have demanded, and Lupin probably would have agreed, they had stood there, not looking at shelves, not asking for help with merchandise, not paying any attention to the shop itself at all. Which left the shop's proprietors as the most likely reason the trio had been there.

The problem was that Draco had no idea what sort of thing those five people could possibly be cooperating on.

He tried to figure out the common elements between the five apparent conspirators. Four Gryffindors and a Slytherin. One teacher, one ex-teacher, one student, and two graduates. So Hogwarts was a common factor, but without any consistency of age or situation to bind the five together. Had it been three other people Draco had recognized from Hogwarts, he probably wouldn't have thought twice about it. But when his own Head of House was conspiring with the disgusting Potter, something was dreadfully wrong. He simply had no idea what it was.

So the thing to do was to march into the Weasley shop, confront the owners and tell them he knew exactly what they were doing. Even if they eventually figured out that he was bluffing, they would be more likely to reveal something if he acted as though he already knew what was going on than if he were to ask politely.

So he put on his new robe from Madame Malkins', made sure his wand was within easy reach and could be swiftly drawn from the right side pocket, and stalked into Weasley Wizard Wheezes on Sunday morning - fortunately for him, the slowest part of the slowest business day of the week. He strode purposefully to the counter, where a girl stood behind the register. She was cheerfully smiling, and rather dim looking. "May I help you?" She asked in a bright, friendly tone that Draco found vacuous and repellent.

"No," he stated flatly. "I have business of a personal nature with Fred and George Weasley. They were supposed to be here." He stood looking down his nose at the counter girl in a conscious imitation of the posture his father used to intimidate the lowly.

"The owners are always here, Sir," the girl piped up brightly, not taking the proper measure of his stance at all. "Wait here a moment, please, and I'll..."

She was moving toward a door behind the counter. Draco decided to take control of the situation rather than being forced to wait for the Weasleys. "I'll find them," he barked, walking around the end of the counter and toward the door, intending to brush past the girl on his way. Instead, to his shock, she stepped directly in front of him. He walked directly into her and lost his balance, stepping backward to keep himself from falling.

"No, you won't," the girl told him cheerfully. "You will wait here a moment. Or, I'll heave your skinny bum out into the street. Which will it be?" She turned a beaming smile upon him as Draco stood there, outraged, effectively blocked from making progress toward the office.

The standoff lasted only a second or two before the office door flew open and the Weasley twins rushed out.

"Draco Malfoy!"

"What a surprise!"

"You've not been a regular customer yet -"

"Shame on you for that -"

"How are we going to grow bigger than Zonko's..."

"If the richest joker in wizard Britain doesn't patronize us?"

Draco stood there stolidly, face unreadable. "Office?" he suggested coldly.

"Oh, you bet."

"Right behind the counter."

"Nothing like an office for getting paperwork done."

"And no better place for one than immediately to hand."

"Wouldn't be without it."

Draco curled his lip contemptuously. "May we... please... go into your office to have our discussion?"

"Were we going to have a discussion?"

"I hadn't planned on that."

"You're lucky to have caught us in, Draco."

"You might have had to deal with Charlotte, here."

The counter girl grinned mockingly at Malfoy as he stood with lips pressed together, waiting for the torment to end and the twins to invite him into their sanctum.

"Well... we are here."

"And Charlotte can handle any customers we get."

"So why don't you come in to our office, Mister Malfoy?"

"We can have a discussion there."

Silently, Draco walked into the office and took a chair facing the wide double desk. The twins closed the door and walked solemnly to their seats behind the desk. They sat with their hands folded, staring seriously at their visitor.

"Is it a big order, then, Draco?"

"Anything small you could have picked up off the shelf."

"Or a special order?"

"We are developing some wickedly fun items that you could be the first to use."

Draco stared at the pair with his most intimidating glare. "I know what you're up to."

"We are in business."

"And we do intend to make a fortune at it."

"So having you come in off the street was a stroke of luck for us."

"We would like to sell you a truckload or two of our most expensive merchandise."

Draco sneered his most finely-honed sneer. It veritably radiated contempt. "Not that," he spat. "I'm not interested in your pathetic Wheezes. I'm talking about what you're up to. With Snape, and Lupin, and... Potter." He leaned back in his chair to relax and wait for them to beg for his silence.

"You do?"

"You know?"

"About Snape?"

"And Lupin?"

"And... Potter?"

"Please Draco. I'm begging you, now. Please. Tell us." Both twins leaned forward, elbows resting on the desktop, expectant looks on their faces.

Draco turned his nose up at them and sniffed haughtily. "You think you were so secret. But I have seen you plotting together. An unlikely alliance, isn't it? You thought no one would suspect. But you weren't quite as discreet as you thought you were."

The twins looked at one another and sat back in unison. A slight shrug from one and a slight nod from the other was the only visible communication between them.

"Draco, when you come to bluff someone, you have to have something. Some little item of information - even a hint or a guess or a clue - that suggests you know more than you really do."

"Otherwise, it's not even any fun. Part of the joy of a good bluff is trying to figure out how much the bluffer really knows."

"When the bluffer obviously knows nothing, there's nothing to work with."

"You can't hint around to get clues about what cards he's really holding."

"You can't mislead him with information that seems to go along with what he already has."

"Worst of all, you can't totally exaggerate the one thing he may actually be aware of in order to make it sound like some insanely big deal, when it's really only an insignificant side effect of the real scheme, whatever it is."

"In short, Mister Malfoy, your bluff wasn't very good. It wasn't fun, and it really wasn't worth our time."

"If there's nothing else...?"

Draco leaned forward, nostrils flaring. "Now wait a minute. Potter and you two... with Lupin? And Snape? That's sick. It's unnatural. Just having the three of them together with the two of you is damning enough. You can't possibly be up to anything you would want made public."

"And Draco Malfoy is going to 'go public' with... what?"

"What are you going to tell the 'public,' and who would possibly care?"

Thrusting out his chin in his best belligerent pose, Draco made a wild guess. "Dumbledore."

The twins looked at each other, smiled and nodded.

"Oooh, that's scary."

"The Headmaster is really going to be furious about this one."

"A teacher... wasting time in a joke shop."

"With a student."

"Who is on summer break."

"And an ex-teacher."

"Who's not even on the payroll any more."

"Maybe you can get Snape fired."

"Though I guess that even a teacher is allowed some free time."

"Especially between terms."

"He might even be on holiday."

"It is summer, after all."

Draco stood stiffly, eyes flashing. "Fine. Don't admit to what you're doing. You simply force me to find out for myself."

"Oh, don't be like that, Malfoy."

"Sit down, take the stick out of your bum."

"Are you really interested in what we're doing with the mysterious three?"

Draco stared suspiciously at the twins. Oddly, they seemed to be genuinely curious as to his attitude. With a start, Draco realized that this was exactly the opening he had been hoping to get when he came in here, bluffing. The twins were offering it to him of their own free will. He distrusted that immediately. "Yes. I am interested. Snape is my Head of House, my best teacher and... so I thought... a family friend. So... yes. Yes, I am interested."

"Well, then. We can give you a chance to earn your knowledge."

"We'll take you to a significant location, and let you inspect the site."

"But we won't explain it."

"Take your time to think about it. Go home, sleep on it, whatever."

"If you can tell us what it means, we'll give you another clue."

"If you can't, you get a choice."

"We can stop the game right there, no more clues, no more information."

"Or, you can do something to help us out."

"What you do to help us will be another clue."

"And if you can figure that one out, we'll give you another for free."

"If you can't, you get the same choice again."

"Stop the game, or help us out."

"And so on."

"Could be fun."

"And if you flunk out, you can always, as you say, find out for yourself."

Draco nodded cautiously. "Deal."

"Good. For the first clue, we'll have to apparate. Do you mind?"

Draco took offense at the implied insult to his courage. "No."

"Good. One of us will take you."

"The first location is our warehouse."

"It has some powerful warding on it."

"You're not wearing a... pacemaker or anything, are you?"

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Certainly not."

"Good. 'Cause the wards on this place are really serious anti-magic shields."

"No one is tracking you, right? Nobody keeping tabs on you from a remote location?"

Draco raised one eyebrow. "I'm on my own."

"Good. 'Cause once we take you in to the warehouse, any tracer on you is going to go out like a lumos spell getting noxed."

"Come on, we'll go from here. I'll take you."

Draco tried to look nonchalant, but realized that he was putting himself into the arms of an apparator who was not necessarily his friend... and who did not seem to be mentally all that stable. He shuddered as he approached the redhead, but managed to stop trembling by the time the Weasley put his arms around him. There was a sudden crack, and only one twin was left in the office.

Far to the north, Dumbledore's kissing children lost interest in their kiss and returned to search mode.