A/N: Thanks so much to Procyon Black not for just one beta, but three.

Chapter 16

Harry stretched sleepily and eased his head to face Severus's bed. It was empty.

He frowned but let the bleariness of gradual wakefulness ease his worry. The bed wasn't made (neither of their beds ever was), and as far as he could see, there was no note of any kind lying around. But Severus might very well have gone to work on the Dreamless Sleep Potion. He had muttered something about that last night, but Harry had been too concerned about… other things.

He rolled back onto his back and passed his hand in front of his face, and muttered, "Tempus." He was going to have to make do without breakfast, though he could always go to the kitchens… Vaguely, as he waved the glowing numbers out of existence and swung his feet out of bed, he wished Severus had awakened him; he would have liked standing next to Severus, listening to that low voice murmuring the theory behind each stir—and he would have been able to make sure Severus didn't get too suspicious about the near-perfect set of ingredients.

Momentarily he felt contentment decay. Ulterior motives, which he thought he had hardened his heart to, seemed so… filthy and dishonest and terrible when it came to Severus. Christolph was right, to a certain degree. No love could be built on suspicion and doubt.

But there were only two days left, and Harry felt his heart wrench with pain as he threw on his robes and went to search for Severus.

He found Severus half an hour later in the form of a piece of parchment stuck to the door of the Potions classroom. Frost (it had said), do NOT open this door. The experimental phase of the potion design requires more concentration than I can spare with you (something here was scribbled out very heavily) in my way. There was no signature, but the sharp, questionably legible handwriting was unmistakable.

For a moment Harry contemplated just opening the door a crack and slipping in quietly. But he could feel a strong locking spell the moment his hand brushed the doorknob, and he knew Severus was not jesting at all.

Reluctantly, Harry took back his hand and stared longingly, angrily at the door. Were they going to spend the last of their time apart with him loitering in the corridors and Severus slaving over the stupid potion? There were only two days left—two days! But, he told himself as he soothed his irritation, Severus would probably be done by lunch, and last night had been very… promising.

Suppressing the smile that was creeping to his face, Harry brushed his finger over the words Severus had written and left for the dungeons—and Christolph.

"Lumos Maximus," he muttered, and light flooded the Founder's Nest. Scrolls were still strewn all over the floor like a sea of parchment, with broken furniture bobbing like frozen ships. Blanketing everything was a layer of thick, muted dust.

"Scourgify," he said, sweeping his wand in a wide arc. The dust spread like ripples from a pebble thrown in a lake, lifting from the yellowed surfaces and disappearing like a breath of mist. Harry watched the ages of grime disappear, but averted his eyes from the untarnished surface of the mirror.

"Um." Harry frowned, trying to think of a spell that would sweep the scrolls back into the shelves lining the walls and straighten the broken chairs and tables. Well, he thought as his mind came up blank, I've had worse tasks to do…

"Wingardium leviosa," he said, twisted his wand to split the spell. The multitude of scrolls rose like birds and fluttered to the side. "Reparo," he muttered, and the chairs jerkily became whole once more.

A few minutes later, the Nest was nearly as clean as the first time Harry had seen it. The floor, made of the same grey stones that built the Hogwarts walls, was visible now, and suddenly Harry felt a flash of pain. This was one less thing he had to do, and he was closer yet to returning to the future.

Sighing, he set Christolph's dairy on the table where he had found the skeleton. Simon. For a moment Harry hesitated, but he shrugged and sat in the same chair the corpse had been slumped over in death. There was a parchment on the table, a letter by the looks of it—one that Simon had been working on before his death. But instead of recognizable letters, the parchment was covered with strange symbols.

More leverage with Christolph, Harry thought.

He opened the slate-coloured book, dipped his quill in ink, and began writing. 'Hello, Christolph.'

'Hello Jonathan Frost.'

How to breach the subject? Harry wondered. Well. Perhaps subtlety was overrated.

'I will need to leave this time soon.'

The reply came slowly, and Harry could almost hear it drawling with coldness: 'Indeed.'

'You understand, I'—think? trust?—'am sure. I must leave to prevent a paradox.'

'When will you leave?'

'In two days.'

Christolph did not reply for a long time, and Harry stared at those words he had written—In two days—feeling his stomach turn to lead. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay here, in this time, with Severus, this Severus. Here was the only place he was happy, that he had ever been happy in years. Here, he felt… content. And now he had to leave it for the future, to answer to his awaiting fate, to find the man he loved bitter and old. And I'll have to tell the truth, Harry thought heavily, the truth that Jonathan Frost never truly existed.

'And what will you tell Severus?'

'That the Dark Lord took my life.'

'You will destroy his life with that lie.'

Harry swallowed. Suddenly, he hated himself. 'I can't change what must be. It must happen, because it did.'

'Indeed. You don't seem too concerned.'

'Concerned,' Harry scribbled, almost illegibly. He could feel the quill cracking in his trembling hand. He stopped and stared. Full stop or exclamation mark? he wondered inanely.

'If you loved him, you would fight fate, not acquiesce so easily.'

'You can't fight fate,' Harry wrote tightly. 'Believe me; I've tried.'

'You don't deserve his love.'

'If you say so,' Harry replied, though his heart was clenching with anger and hate and— He took a deep breath. What this idiot said didn't matter. What did he know of Severus? What did he know of love—their love? It's not true, Harry told himself as calmly as he could. It's not true.

'I do say so. I see more than you think I see, Jonathan Frost. You know what your lie will do to him; you know that you are offering him to the Dark Lord. You know that the Dark Lord will lust after him and take him as his'

Harry shut the book. He felt sick. The silence of the Nest seemed to beat against his brain. His hands were clammy, and his heart was pounding like an inexorable drum.

Acting on impulse, he looked straight at the mirror. But the mirror only glowed blindly, revealing nothing—no cruel smile with twisted lips, no red eye staring knowingly, no glowing letters spelling out the unpalatable. Nothing.

Harry opened the book again. The pages were as blank the mirror. 'I need you to tell me how to return to the future,' Harry wrote, and waited.

'Do you expect me to tell you?'

'No,' Harry wrote honestly, 'but you'll tell me anyway, or I'll find out somehow, because I know I returned to the future.'

'How can you be so sure?'

Harry paused, thinking. Strangely, he found himself struggling to answer. 'If I stay, there will be some record of me. But there wasn't. Already I have made myself known in ways that might be mentioned in the future.' It was true, Harry thought.

'What if you hid yourself instead of traveling through time?'

'I would not have done nothing if I had not gone forward in time,' Harry wrote, though some part of him tensed with foreboding. He had thought it impossible that he would do nothing for twenty years, that he would let his parents die, let Sirius die, let Ron die, let himself suffer all the torture, let Severus turn into a hateful and broken man. But—perhaps—it was possible…

'Even if you know that you are fated to wait and do nothing, even as the world rages about you?'

Harry waited, a feeling of apprehension slowly stirring at the pit of his stomach.

'There is no way to travel into the future.'

Harry stared for a moment. 'You're lying,' he wrote shortly. He fumbled in his robes for the bone-carved rose and gripped it in his hand. 'Say it again.'

'There is no way to travel into the future.'

Harry waited for that instant conviction to tell him that it was a lie, that Christolph was merely hiding the truth, but his mind was blank as a wiped slate. Harry sneered and let go of the rose. 'You did something to this so-called lie-detector, because you must have been lying. I am not as stupid as you believe.'

'Very reasonable of you to think so, considering that I said I was born more than eight hundred years ago, while Yeats was alive only a century ago. But I am not lying. There is no way that I know of that can take you to the future.'

'Then how did you yourself travel into the future as you said you did?'

'I don't know.'

He might be telling the truth, Harry thought. He swallowed back the memory that he himself didn't know how he had been sent back in time; it was not impossible that Christolph would not know either. But—to say there was no way to travel into the future— 'What do you mean that traveling into the future is "impossible?"'

'I suppose you have done very little research on the theory of time travel.'

'You suppose correctly.'

'Traveling through time requires immense power, especially over great lengths of time. For us and the magic we use, time does not exist continuously, but in whatever present we are in. Yet the power needed to travel into the future is far greater than what is needed to travel into the past, for the past has already been decided and come to pass. The future is nebulous at any given point in time, and you must force it to come into being before its time in order to reach it.'

'But you managed it, or someone managed it for you.'

There was a pause. 'To this day, I am still unclear of what happened. However, I can show what I remember.'

Show you… The memory of Riddle's diarycrept into Harry's mind. 'Very well,' Harry wrote, and bent close to the page.

The crisp paper wrinkled, and suddenly the white darkened to grey and black. Harry felt himself falling, almost as though he had touched a Portkey, but there was no jerk at his navel, only the sensation of tumbling through emptiness and time…

Harry looked up and stared.

Colours drenched the night sky, green and blue and red and gold, shifting and rippling in their breathtaking dance, painting the darkness with brilliance. For a moment Harry could think of only one thing: that this had to be Severus's soul, that he had seen only one thing as incredible and achingly beautiful, and that had been Severus's soul… But then he realized that it was an aurora filling the northern skies.

Someone was walking in front of him, dressed in a strange garb that reminded Harry of the tapestries hanging on Hogwarts walls. Harry followed, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light and the fantastical colours. Is that Christolph? he wondered, quickening his pace so that he could examine the other man's profile. Ah, thought Harry, smiling slightly at the sight of the hawkish nose and sharp eyes. Must be.

The ground was covered with snow, shimmering with reflections of the sky, and the horizon stretched untouched for what seemed like eternity. Harry glanced around; where were they? There was nothing—tree, mountain, hill—for miles and miles around. There was alone in a vast tundra, trekking somewhere underneath the aurora.

Finally Christolph stopped walking and looked around. Then he sat on the snow and lay there spread-eagled.

Harry blinked. That was rather unusual. But as he followed Christolph's gaze to the shimmering heavens, he understood. He felt somewhat like a ghost as he sat down and lay on his back on the snow, the only sound in the entire world that of Christolph's breathing, and his own breath, unheard.

Harry turned his head. So this was Christolph, Severus's ancestor… There was indeed quite a resemblance. But Christolph had a faint smile on his face, as though his mind was wandering a pleasant memory from far away, and Harry could not remember Severus ever having worn such an expression. His clothes, Harry thought suddenly. I know where else I saw similar ones—on that corpse in the Nest, on the man named Simon…

The light reflecting off Christolph's face seemed brighter, shifting from red to blue to gold to green. Harry felt a sudden chill race down his spine—it was the same green of the Killing Curse. He turned his head to the sky just in time for him to see the aurora dip down, almost unnaturally bright, blooming like a rose, then—

Harry heard Christolph let out a cry of astonishment. One limb of the aurora seemed to have fallen like an enormous petal, and Harry shut his eyes as the blinding light seeped through his eyelids and poured into all his senses until the world was white, blank, empty…

Harry blinked and lifted his head from the paper. It was wrinkled where he had gasped his breath, and words in Christolph's handwriting appeared slowly across the page. 'That is how I went forward in time.'

Harry picked up his quill and wrote shakily, 'But what happened?'

'I can only surmise that it was an anomaly, an unexplainable freak accident. Auroras themselves, just like the rest of wild magic, are full of power, but the wild magic would almost certainly not interfere with mankind the way it took me. It is wild—free, untamed, uncontrolled.'

'You mean to say that a pure magical accident of unexplained origins sent you into the future.'

'I do. There was nothing in the nineteenth century magical world that could help me understand what happened, though I did learn how to travel back in time.'

'Tell me how to do that.'

'The answers are all around you. The knowledge of traveling back in time has been documented for millennia, but nowhere will you find any concrete information on traveling ahead in time. Believe me; I've tried.'

Harry felt a spike of annoyance and amusement at this last comment. Disregarding it, he wrote, 'Well, I might figure something out that you didn't.'

'Good luck,' Christolph replied, and Harry could almost hear the disdain, the same condescension Severus could ooze with a mere glance, a single word.

Harry shut the book and stood up, glancing swiftly at the rows and rows of parchment. So what if nobody before him had managed to travel forward in time? He had Voldemort's power within him; he might be able to do it after all—

His eyes fell on the mirror, flashing blankly, and suddenly, the determination vanished. A queasy feeling crawled up his throat, gripping his mind with something akin to panic. Was there truly no way that he might return to the future? No way at all?

How can I have stood by and let everything happen? Harry thought incredulously, looking down at the small grey book in his hand as though answers would form by themselves. Did I simply not do anything? I can't have, can I?

But another voice replied: yes, it is possible, very possible; and he remembered those sleepless nights tossing and turning among twisted, sweaty sheets, wishing that it was all over, that the war had ended, that he could simply die… Yes, the voice whispered, it was possible, very possible, almost simple. Hadn't he wished it never mattered to him? Hadn't he wished he was no longer Harry Potter, that the prophecy no longer tangled his fate? And now, now he could do it—

"But Severus," Harry whispered.

Severus.

Shakily he picked up Christolph's dairy and glanced around once. He hesitated at the sight of the letter Simon had been writing; he meant to mention it to Christolph, but he'd forgotten, and now he didn't feel like talking to Christolph.

I'll do it later, Harry thought, leaving the Nest and descending the staircase that would lead him to the library. I do wonder, though, what the weather is like in Timbuktu. I might as well visit if I've got twenty years of spare time…

Harry was sure someone was following him by the time he reached the second floor. He'd begun to suspect the moment he stepped out of the library, but now he was certain. Not Severus, Harry knew; the footsteps, though soft, scuffled too quickly and without that sharp grace. Nor was it Lestrange…

"Petrificus Totalus," Harry hissed, whirling around and jabbing his wand in the direction of the footsteps.

There was a moment of silence before Harry heard the loud thud of a petrified body falling onto the floor. Briefly a pair of shoes were revealed, as well as the rim of a black cloak, before they vanished once more.

Harry relaxed and flicked his wand. "Accio Invisibility Cloak!" The garment slid through the air and into his arms, revealing Potter's immobilized form, his wide brown eyes darting about, every so often focusing fearfully on him. Clutched at his side was a crumpled piece of parchment.

"Finite Incantatem," said Harry, and Potter coiled his body and immediately winced, reaching a hand to the back of his head.

"Ouch," he muttered, rubbing his head and peering up at the Slytherin.

"Petrificus gives the body some degree of rigidity," Harry said wryly, crossing his arms with the Invisibility Cloak dangling from one hand. "Otherwise, your skull would have cracked open."

"It still hurt," Potter complained. Then he smoothed his hair in an automatic gesture and gave Harry a nervous look, inching the piece of parchment behind his back.

"Yes?" Harry prompted, shifting his weight to one foot and adopting a pose of nonchalance. "Are you going to explain why you were following me around under your Invisibility Cloak?"

"Er—"

"And I see you have a rumpled bit of parchment in your hand, Potter."

"Uh, yeah, I do," Potter muttered. He had surreptitiously taken out his wand and seemed ready to wipe the map clean. But then he hesitated, and a look of determination crossed his face. "Here," he said, voice louder and clearer as he took a few steps forward, "this is the map. You know about it already."

Harry held the familiar piece of parchment and pretended to examine it. It was just as he remembered; only, the names on the roving little dots had changed. Almost automatically, his eyes swept down to the dungeons and he saw a small dot hovering in the Potions classroom, labeled 'Severus Snape.'

"Brilliant," Harry said, and without exaggeration. He scanned the rest of the map quickly and found the three names he had been looking for: himself, standing next to the 'James Potter' dot, his name a mere smear; Matellan, her name the same as she paced in her office; and Lestrange, though only his first name was a blur. "How did you manage this?"

Potter had a pleased smile on his face. "My grandfather had some of the architectural plans of Hogwarts, so we started from there… Then we had to research to find the spell—it took us most of fourth year, though we made the actual decision to make this thing in third year, and we finally managed it in the last half of fifth year. We've got all Hogwarts plotted"—Potter's voice became more than slightly boastful, and the smile edged into a smirk—"even the secret passages, here, see? And we even got the dormitories and common rooms of all the other Houses…"

"Very interesting," Harry said, unable to help from sounding dry.

"Wicked, isn't it?" Potter continued with a conspiratory smile, almost as though he hadn't heard Harry's comment. "This is our pride and joy, this. We've called it"—he tapped it smartly—"the Marauder's Map."

"An apt title, I'm sure," Harry drawled. Neither Lily nor Severus had been lying when saying that James Potter could sometimes be very self-absorbed.

Perhaps Potter cottoned on at last, for he gave one last radiant smile and folded the map, then put it back into his robes. "So."

"So," Harry said, rather amazed at how self-assured Potter was sounding; it reminded him almost of Lockhart, "you've not answered my question yet: why were you following me?"

Potter cringed slightly and deflated. "Erm. Mind if we go somewhere… where we won't be overheard?"

"Lead the way, Mr. Potter."

They entered a nearby classroom, with Potter holding the door open politely for Harry and closing it afterwards with a firm thud.

"So," said Harry, leaning negligently against the blackboard. Potter, on the other hand, flattened his hair again and lingered near the doorway. I'm almost nothing like my father, Harry thought suddenly.

"I—I wanted to thank you," Potter said awkwardly, "for helping Sirius. Pomfrey hadn't been able to cure him, for some reason, but you managed it."He smiled winningly—a nervous gesture, Harry recognized. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Harry said formally, waiting.

Potter fidgeted some more. At last Harry took pity, and said, "Does this by any chance have to do with Lily Evans?"

Potter started, blinked, and then nodded sharply. "Yes," he said, sounding almost relieved. "Are you and Lily—really not going out?"

Harry smiled dryly, but he felt an unhappy twist in his chest. "We're really not going out."

"Oh," said Potter, for a moment seemingly taken aback. Then, a relieved grin took hold of his face, which he transformed with effort into a nonchalant look.

"You've been spending a lot of time with her lately," he remarked. "Has she… mentioned me to you?"

Harry considered his words carefully. "She has. She says you're rather immature, and you don't often fulfill your Head Boy duties." Potter deflated. "I think she's rather frustrated with you."

"Frustrated?"

"Mm-hmm," said Harry, noting how Potter seemed to cling hungrily at every word Harry said. He could almost feel the strings of fate connect. "You went out with her for some time, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Potter, "before—" He stopped.

Before I came along, Harry completed the thought. "I think she wants you to be more mature, less arrogant and childish."

"She always says that," said Potter, his tone becoming irritable and frustrated. "What should I do? Never pull another prank? Apologize to everyone in front of the whole school? Turn in my Head Boy badge? I've hardly played any pranks this year, and none on the teachers!" He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked at Harry helplessly. "What does she want me to do?"

"Perhaps everything you suggested," said Harry coolly. "I assure you, getting drunk as you did yesterday did not endear you to her. And there is a terrible threat to her kind, my kind." His voice became grim, and Harry saw a sudden matching grimness in the lines about Potter's mouth. "There's no more time or space for pranks. People are dying."

Potter nodded slowly. We aren't the only children to have grown up too early, Harry thought, watching the youthful resolve on Potter's face. They did too. Potter. Black. Lily. Severus. "You're right," Potter said, no levity in his voice. "Absolutely. All of it." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You're… right. I'm…"

"She does—love you, you know."

Potter looked up sharply, hope shining reluctantly, disbelievingly in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes," said Harry. "All you have to do is prove that you deserve it."

Potter nodded once more. "Right," he said, a serious, thoughtful look on his face that Harry had never seen before. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," said Harry. And duty, he thought.

"By the way," Potter said, looking somewhat hesitant, "I think you ought to watch out for Lestrange."

Harry stiffened, but he froze his face into a bland, inquiring look. "Why, what makes you think so?"

"Well, W—Peter kept noticing Lestrange staring at you and Snape. Personally I didn't notice it much, but Peter did, and he's better at… well, seeing things, usually. 'Course, I don't know a thing of what goes on with you Slytherins"—at this, Potter smiled and shrugged—"but you might want to watch out…"

Harry smiled thinly and nodded. "Yes, he has been…" He sighed. "Lestrange has many enemies, even in Slytherin. But thank you."

Potter left with a last, hesitantly friendly smile.

Harry spent the rest of the day in a restless limbo. He passed the Potions classroom once after his conversation with Potter, then once after lunch, then once after a stint doing Transfiguration in the library, then, because he thought he would go mad if he waited any longer, he stopped resolutely in front of thick oak door and banged it.

"Severus!" he called, pounding again. "Severus!"

There was no response.

Harry felt his heart tighten. Had something happened? Even Potter had warned him to look out for Lestrange; how could he be stupid enough to let Severus be alone for so long, totally unaware of the terrible danger he was in? How could he be so stupid?

"SEVERUS!" he roared, taking out his wand and fumbling with the layers of locking spells Severus had woven—

"What?"

Harry sighed with relief and leaned against the door, feeling the parchment press against his fingers. His heart was hammering a hole through his chest. "Severus?" he said again. "Are you—"

"Go. Away."

Harry floundered, momentarily taken aback. "Severus?"

The door swung open, and Severus glowered in the doorway, a look of supreme impatience on his shadowed face.

"What's the matter, Frost?" he demanded, glancing quickly at one of the many cauldrons brewing behind him.

"Er—nothing," said Harry, "I just— Did you eat anything at all today?"

"Yes," Severus said, crossing his arms and drumming his slender fingers on his forearm.

"Oh, good," Harry said with relief, "because I didn't see you at breakfast." Or lunch, or dinner, thought Harry, and I had stayed in the Great Hall almost the entire time they were serving food, hoping you'd appear. "Wait, when did you eat?"

"Between lunch and dinner."

"How did you get food? Did you go to the kitchens?"

"Frost, how do you think I got—"

"What do you have to tickle to get into the kitchens?"

"I haven't any time for your idiotic questions—"

"You didn't eat, did you?" Harry said accusingly. "You're lying."

Severus sneered. "Are you quite finished? Now, if you would kindly remove yourself from my presence and let me finish incorporating the hellebore into the potion, the results so far are most promising—"

"You still have to eat!" Harry exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "And anyway, you've been in there long enough, you've been doing nothing but that for the whole day—" Harry felt his voice suddenly catch in the knot that had formed in his throat.

Severus gave him a strange look. "I'm not about to starve, Frost," he said dryly, "and the potion is coming along much better than I'd expected, I hadn't thought about Jobberknoll feathers soothing agitation of the soul, but I think it just might work—"

"But you can't stay in there all day," Harry protested. "Anyway, the potion isn't that important." Not now, not when we've only tonight left, and tomorrow… He wished he could seize Severus and smash their lips together right then and there, wished he could whisper those words over and over—I love you, oh God I love you so much, you are mine and no one else's, forever and ever, do you hear? and I will find you in twenty years because you are mine—

Severus's face hardened. "Not important?" he said, tone cold and disdainful. "Then you can go do what you think is 'important.'"

Harry winced. "No! That's… that's not what I meant." He bit his lower lip, and thought perhaps that the stoniness of Severus's face softened. "I just… Can't you work on it—later?" Harry berated himself mentally; he sounded so childish and whiny.

"I would much rather not procrastinate," said Severus coolly, "and I can't see why you insist on sticking your nose in my business."

"Because I—" care about you! Harry nearly shouted, but somehow, the words couldn't come out. Not here, minutes before curfew, not with Severus distracted by the bubbling potions behind him; not even when only one day and night were left— Harry cursed himself. Was he such a coward that he couldn't even make out those words? He opened his mouth, but Severus cut him off.

"I know," he said quietly, eyes on the ground, a blush on his face, and Harry thought: he does know. He does know. A warmth pooled through Harry's body, and he smiled. "But I am strongly convinced that I have found the correct approach," Severus continued, "and I really must continue this train of thought."

He raised his eyes. It's everything to him, Harry realized suddenly. The possibility that he might do something that nobody had been able to do before, not all the greatest masters of the past… It matters to him.

Harry nodded and stepped back with a terrible reluctance.

"You've classes tomorrow," he said.

"I know," Severus said, and Harry looked up, wondering if the soft, fleeting tenderness had only been his imagination.

"Then I'll—see you," Harry said, lingering.

Severus nodded.

"Good night," said Harry.

"Good night," Severus said.

"Try to—"

"Good night, Frost," said Severus, his tone more than slightly impatient.

Harry smiled a strained smile. "Night," he said, and turned, hearing Severus's door close behind him.

There's still tomorrow, Harry thought, later that night while lying in bed. Tomorrow.

And then? And then what?

Harry turned over in bed, wishing with drowsy desperation that sleep would come. If only this night could last forever, so that tomorrow would never come, and he would never have to leave and hide for twenty years. Twenty years! I'm only twenty myself, thought Harry, staring up at the ceiling. I'll have to wait an entire lifetime, doing nothing, letting Voldemort kill Lily and James, make their son's life unbearable, take Severus…

He clenched his fists at the thought. It was utterly absurd that he should fall in love in this place and time, and with the most unlikely of people. Impossible, even. But it had happened, and he didn't want it to end, not now, not so soon…

But will it last twenty years? a voice whispered in his mind. Will it still be there when you return for it? Things change; Severus will change, change utterly and terribly. And you…

No, Harry thought, squeezing his eyes shut. No, no no no. It was unbearable, the thought that it would end like that, dwindling away like an old man clutching to life until it was no more than ashes of time. It was unbearable that he would spend twenty years of solitude without anything to live for, with memories that amounted to nothing. No.

I love him, Harry thought. I don't know why, but I do, right now, at this moment.

He swallowed and turned. Even if it's on my own, he thought, I love him.

---

When Harry's eyes slowly opened, the first thought that entered his head was that Severus was snuggled in bed, his shoulders moving gently with every breath.

Then Harry sat bolt upright and cursed. "Tempus," he hissed. Thank goodness, they hadn't missed all of breakfast yet.

"Severus!" Harry barked. "We're late!"

Surprisingly, Severus stirred and rolled over onto his back without a noise. It usually took shouts of greater volume to awaken him, and even then, he usually stayed motionless while making drowsy sounds of annoyance.

"Breakfast will be over in ten minutes," said Harry, pulling on his trousers, "and—"

He stopped. Severus had looked at him blankly before his eyes focused and he moved like a machine to fumble for his clothes.

"Severus?" said Harry. He sighed. "You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"

Severus, his haggard face reminding Harry uncomfortably of the Snape of the future, gave a weary but lighthearted sneer. "The potion," he said, then paused with an air of mock melodrama, "is a success. It works. Or it should work, but we'll see when we test it."

Harry blinked. "Oh," he said. He wanted to say congratulations, or at least smile, but all he could think was that this was one less thing that bound him to this time, one more broken chain.

Severus's face fell. It was only a fractional change in the eyes and mouth, a tightening of the thin lips and a darkening of the eyes, but Harry saw it with painful clarity. "No congratulations?" Severus said mockingly. "You seem almost disappointed."

"I'm not!" Harry said immediately. "Really. Um. Congratulations. Really, really good job, you've proved yourself smarter and—and better than all those Nicholas Flamels and Rosemary Paeans and—"

"Flamel wasn't a potions master," Severus said dryly. "He was an alchemist."

"Well you still managed to do something he didn't," Harry said stoutly. It was easy to feel happy for Severus, to feel his heart lifting with the wan smile on Severus's face; but the sadness was still there, almost palpable in the dimly lit room. I'm such an idiot, Harry thought. Severus just made one of the greatest accomplishments in the history of potion-making, and all I could do was think of myself. And I say I love him. Christolph is right. I don't deserve him.

"It's still untested," Severus said.

"You got it, though. I'm sure of it." Harry smiled, trying to make it as genuine as possible, but found some part of himself unable to. "Well, we have class in, what, seven minutes? Unless you want to plead sick and actually get some rest—"

"I'm perfectly fine," Severus interrupted.

"All right," said Harry, draping his school robes over himself, "hurry up then, today's Monday, we've got Potions…"

But Harry soon found out that Severus had yet to acquire his future self's ability to survive after not sleeping for an entire night. While making that day's assignment, a tricky Glamour-Stripping Potion, Severus did the unthinkable: he almost made a mistake.

"You're going to catch some sleep right after class ends," Harry said firmly, after taking a sample of their nearly-ruined potion for Camentum's inspection.

Severus was staring blankly at their empty cauldron. "The Chinese Chomping Cabbage," he muttered, "I nearly added an entire leaf…"

I wonder how he manages to stay alert later, thought Harry. Maybe he never does get used to it, and uses Energizing Potions… But that wouldn't be right. Harry skimmed through what little he could remember of the future Snape. Energizing Potions cause an eventual collapse if overused, but Snape never collapsed, did he? Harry felt a pang in his heart. He didn't want to think of the future.

"I'm fine, Frost," Severus snarked, as Harry prodded him into their dormitory. "I refuse to miss class just because you have some foolish notion about my needing rest."

"Sleep as long as you need," Harry said, unperturbed, "I'll get you food if you miss dinner. After all, I, unlike you, actually know where the kitchens are, and how to get inside." With his hands firmly on Severus's shoulders, he steered him to the bed and pulled back the covers.

"How do you know where they are anyway?" Severus asked irritably. "You've been here for – what? – one month only?"

Harry drew the covers up to Severus's neck. "Don't say anything." He waved his wand and the flames dimmed to embers.

"Frost? Frost, what are you doing?"

"Go to sleep."

Severus sat up, annoyed. "It's the middle of the day! And if you're really that tired, why don't you crawl to your own bed?"

"Come on," Harry said from Severus's side, reaching up in the dark to pull Severus down, "just… go to sleep…"

"It's lunch!" Severus snapped, his voice rising with unease.

Harry sat up, the covers pooling at his waist. "So?"

"And you're in my bed, uninvited," Severus snarled, swinging his legs out of the bed. He was about to stand up and leave, but Harry swiftly reached out his hands and yanked Severus back down onto the bed.

"Frost—!" Severus hissed, writhing in Harry's grip, but Harry was clutching the other man's arm as though he would die if he let go.

"Please," Harry whispered, his voice breaking.

Severus stopped. The light of the embers had faded until their faces melded in shadows. They were silent save their breathing, murmuring like the wingbeats of heavenly creatures in an eternal darkness.

"Frost…"

"Shh. Just go to sleep." Harry pressed his face into Severus's upper arm, feeling the warmth of the flesh against his lips, separated only by a thin layer of cloth. "Just—go to sleep."

Severus sighed lightly. Minutes later, as the embers dwindled into bare glints of red, his breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling in a gentle cadence.

Harry opened his eyes. Severus, it seemed, was truly asleep. Harry gave a shuddering sigh and shut them tight, burning everything into his memory: the warmth of Severus's body, the slope of the bed, the rhythm of Severus's breaths, the feeling of his body touching Severus's, the aching contentment as Severus quietly slept…

Severus muttered, pulling slightly at the grip Harry had on his arm. As softly as a dream, Harry let go and slipped out of the bed. Severus mumbled, and one hand almost seemed to grope in a vague, unhappy manner at the empty space beside him.

The stone jutted against Harry's knees as he kneeled before the bed. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay, to bury his face in Severus's chest and somehow ease the horrible pain in his throat. He wanted to cry. He had no appetite, and the thought of masquerading happily in class made him sick. But he could count the hours before the time would come. Why? Why did he have to leave just when he had found what he thought he would never, ever find— why?

He swallowed painfully. Perhaps it would be better if he just left now, a parting without words or lies. It would be either now or tonight, he knew, and why not get it over with sooner? Why not leave when their last memory would be of peace and, if not love, then contentment, with as much truth as any parting could contain?

This will be the last time I see this face, he thought, his mind suddenly and strangely calm, as though he were floating apart from the terrible pain in his heart, the throbbing sickness of his soul. I might catch a glimpse of you from time to time, but for twenty years, I will not see you again.

Twenty years.

He opened his mouth and the name came out only as a choked whisper. "Severus. Severus." For a moment Harry thought that perhaps Severus was awake and had heard his words, or heard them somehow in his dreams. But the other man was utterly still, save for the gradual rise and fall of his chest.

Harry stood, turned, and left the room.

---

He cursed himself for the bad timing. The trip to the Founder's Nest, carried out in a nauseating daze, was uneventful but it was just his luck that he finished rearranging the Nest exactly the way he'd remembered the moment classes let out.

But it hardly mattered. He was leaving, and none of them had the power to keep him here…

"Jonathan!"

Harry stopped, feeling his heart sink. "Hello, Lily."

Lily hurried up to him, shifting her stack of books into one arm so she could check her watch. "We've not much time," she said, trying to balance the books on one knee as she fumbled in her bag, "but I need to talk to you about that thing you told me—"

The books slipped and cascaded onto the floor. Harry watched impatiently at Lily piled the books back into her arms.

"Sorry," she muttered, smiling apologetically, "but about the ritual you found on being the High Priestess—I researched it, and there were a few things that I wanted to ask you."

Harry nodded tersely. "Yeah."

"Well"—Lily pulled out the sheet of parchment—"first, it says that the ritual to make one the High Priestess requires land that hasn't been touched by the hand of man, so that'd mean we'd have to go into the Forbidden Forest, behind the Hogwarts wards."

"Yes," said Harry, "we"—you—"would."

"But do you even know where the Hogwarts wards end?" She bit her lower lip. "It's probably really deep in the Forest… If one of the teachers found us, especially McGonagall…"

"They won't," Harry said, and then quickly made his voice less brusque, "don't Potter and Black always go into the Forbidden Forest when they're not supposed to?"

"I suppose," Lily said, frowning, "but that's not the most difficult bit." She moved her finger to point at a line further down the parchment. "See, here, it needs two people, but the second person must 'be wedded with the Wild.' And I can't find any reference in anything about what that means."

Harry frowned, looking at the line she was pointing at. "This isn't the original," said Harry.

"Yes, because the instructional part was written in the language of the La Tène people, even though the introduction wasn't. And this word—saecant—most directly means 'wedded,' though it also implies… giving, taking into possession, the way a bride is given to the groom."

Harry frowned. "So does the Wild have power over this second person, or does the second person have power over the Wild? And how is either possible?"

"You managed it, I think," Lily said suddenly, turning her green eyes upon him.

"What?"

"I should have thought of it earlier. Remember that ritual we did while, uh"—she looked around slightly—"we had the absinthe?"

Memory dawned. "Oh—that. I remember. So…" Harry stopped, his mind leaping ahead. "But how can you be sure it's not the Wild that's supposed to have power over the second person? How do you know it's supposed to be the second person having power of the Wild?"

"The Wild is always referred to as a woman," Lily explained. "So the Wild would be the bride."

My bride, thought Harry. So I would have to stay.

The longing surged in his heart. He stamped on it, stifled it, tried to crush it before it could overwhelm him. He shuddered and dug his fingernails into his palm as he clenched his hands into fists.

"But if someone else"—Harry stopped and cleared his throat—"if someone else, like Potter, did the ritual, then he'd be able to help you too, would he?"

Lily's face fell. "Well, yes… But I thought"—she stopped, looking apologetically embarrassed—"I thought that you wouldn't mind, as I really would rather have you helping me, but I completely understand if you don't want to… break anymore rules, or anything like that." She took a deep breath, and looked about to continue, but Harry blurted out before he could stop himself,

"That's not what I meant. I'm not—unwilling to help you." He could feel his heart pounding under his smile, its thuds echoing in his mind like a nauseating drumbeat. "I didn't mean it… that way."

"Oh," said Lily, and then giving a little laugh. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Harry said automatically.

"Well, I'm glad." She smiled. "We'll have to wait a week or so. The ritual only works on the full moon."

Harry felt his heart skip a beat as he nodded vaguely. "Right," he croaked.

"We're almost late," said Lily, shifting the stack of books in her arms, "I'll see you at dinner. Bye!"

Harry gave her a sickly smile and hurried in a daze to Arithmancy.

The next hour was a total waste. He felt feverish the entire while, and he was sure he failed the test Professor Vector gave. But he found that he didn't care. Nothing mattered now; everything had changed; he was going to stay, for at least another week, another precious seven days, and perhaps it would actually be a month, a year, many years before he would have to leave and face the desolation of solitude; but for now, he needn't leave—he could stay, stay with Severus—

Still, a nagging dread needled his mind, gnawing away like a poisonous rat. Staying meant that he was going to be summoned to Voldemort, and there was no way he could refuse, no way he could accept. Tonight, he was going to meet the monster that had killed his parents, shadowed his entire life, forced him to murder his best friend, tortured him until he nearly broke—

He shivered. He hadn't been this terrified in a long time.

Would the summoning come right after dinner? before? Harry wondered, trekking down to the dungeons. He avoided looking into the other Slytherins' eyes. Who knew who he might find in Voldemort's circle, eyes glittering with hate behind their white masks…

He pushed the door open and saw Severus sitting in upright in his bed, the sheets pooled about his waist.

"It's dinner," said Harry, walking in and dumping his school things into a disorganized pile. He walked halfway across the room and stopped, waiting.

"I'm not hungry," said Severus.

"You just woke up."

Severus gave him an irritated glance. "Yes, I noticed that too."

The fireplace smoldered in silence, giving off barely enough light to see the ceiling, veiled as it was in shadow. Severus pushed aside the sheets and quickly threw on his robes.

"I'll be going somewhere tonight," Harry said.

Severus continued, as though unperturbed. "Drinking again with Evans?"

"No," said Harry. "I just wanted to tell you, in case you wanted to know."

The sneer, almost invisible in the dim light, seemed to say that no, he did not want to know, but Harry hardly noticed it. His heart was clenching in his chest, gripped by trepidation. If only he hadn't been so blinded by his pain and his grief, for this was a mistake, letting Severus sleep during the day. What if Severus followed him—to Voldemort? He felt fear claw through him like a vast beast. Just minutes ago he had been nearly mad with a nervous happiness, but now, all he felt was a vague, unremitting dread.

Severus strode out the dormitory and into the bathroom, splashing water on his face before he came out.

"What happened to you today?" he asked, eyeing Harry critically.

"Nothing, really," Harry said. "Failed an Arithmancy test."

"Ah. Didn't study enough?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose so."

"You seem more at loss than usual."

"I'm not," said Harry. Then he forced a bit of life into his voice and added, "Are you saying that I usually look like I'm at loss?"

"Very good, you can understand English. Now go gorge yourself. I don't want your late-night friends to suffer from the sounds of your stomach."

The sound of students' voices in the Great Hall rose like a dull roar. Harry seated himself on the bench, careful not to glance in Lestrange's direction. Food appeared on his plate, but Harry found his appetite lacking after only one spoonful.

"I thought you liked steak and kidney pie," Severus said, frowning.

"I do, I'm just not hungry," Harry said, smiling weakly.

Severus set down his fork and took out his wand. "Rescisco." Harry felt a tingle of magic wash over him, skimming down from his head down to his legs. Severus frowned. "You're not sick. You're not terribly fatigued either. But you are—preoccupied about something." He looked up at Harry's face, dark eyes narrowing.

But before he could say anything, the tone of the crowd changed. Harry quickly followed the gazes of the other students and found himself looking at James Potter standing on top of the Gryffindor Table.

Harry couldn't help glancing at Severus. Though the other Slytherins were muttering to each other at this strange occurrence, Severus did nothing more than stare fixedly, a stony look on his face. On impulse Harry reached under the table, and, still facing the Gryffindor Table with a neutral expression on his face, laid his hand on Severus's knee.

Potter tapped his throat with his wand. "AHEM." His voice exploded through the Hall, rattling the plates like an earthquake. He quickly tapped his throat again. "Sorry," he muttered, voice less magnified, as the students cautiously uncovered their ears.

"So, uh, I'm sorry I'm interrupting dinner," he said, and sent a quick, apologetic glance to the Head Table, "but I'd like to say a few things for everyone to hear." He took a deep breath. As he did so, Harry glanced at the Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew, and found puzzlement on all of their faces.

Potter spoke brokenly. "I would like to apologize for all my actions that resulted in any member of the student body or the staff feeling uncomfortable or unhappy. And yes," he added, sounding a bit more at ease, "that includes all the pranks I pulled. Or helped pull."

A surprised murmur rose through the crowd. From the corner of his eyes, Harry noticed students glancing at each other with bemused expressions, but his gaze rested on Potter, and he caught the almost imperceptible motion he had expected: the slight glance to Lily Evans's startled face.

"In particular, I'd like to apologize to—a certain Slytherin, who was the butt of many of my pranks." There was a struggle, Harry noticed, going on at Potter's feet. Black had pulled out his wand, but Lupin seemed to be attempting to stop him. Harry felt his heart harden and the old hatred return when he saw the look of utter disbelief on Pettigrew's face. "I admit that I doubt I'd ever truly—get along with… this certain Slytherin, but I hope we can let bygones be bygones. So." The charismatic smile appeared once again on Potter's face. "Thank you."

Harry turned to Severus, but stopped his movement halfway when he noticed almost the entire school doing the same thing. Harry edged closer to Severus and began to eat his dinner with careful nonchalance. I wish they'd stop staring, he thought furiously. He squeezed Severus's knee underneath the table, but Severus only shifted away. Harry let his hand drop.

Malfoy leaned across the table. "Potter apologizing?" he drawled. "How ever did you manage that, Snape? Hmm?"

A few Slytherins sniggered.

Harry set down his fork with a loud clink. "If I were you, Malfoy, I'd be more concerned about your face. I heard it melted and had to be remelted so you wouldn't look like Yorkshire pudding." He let a sneer cross his features as Malfoy stiffened. "That's a very Muggle thing to do, you know. It's called plastic surgery. See, when a Muggle think that his nose is too large, he goes to a Muggle hospital and ask a Muggle doctor to perform surgery—"

"Shut up, Frost," Malfoy hissed, "you were the one who made the cauldron explode. I should tell my father about this, he'd make sure you were—" Suddenly he stopped in mid-sentence. He turned, gave Lestrange a bewildered glance, and then paled. "I'll have you later, Frost," Malfoy muttered, hate glinting in his eyes.

Harry ignored Malfoy, looking instead at Lestrange. Lestrange smiled back, almost lazily, tilting his head questioningly in the direction of the Great Hall entrance.

For a moment, Harry froze in indecision. He was seized by the urge to feign ignorance and pretend that he didn't know what Lestrange meant, to merely look away as though he had seen nothing at all. But instead he gave a terse, slight nod.

At that moment, a crash sounded from the Gryffindor table. Harry turned instinctively. It seemed that a plate of food had somehow fallen on top of Black's head. Harry returned to his steak and kidney pie. I'll have to remember to remove that curse before I leave, he thought detachedly, and brought another tasteless morsel to his lips.

Dinner ended soon afterwards.

"I'm heading to the library," Harry said, setting down his fork. The empty plate disappeared with a faint pop.

Severus nodded wordlessly, breaking a roll of bread and taking a bite.

Harry paused, for a moment wondering if there was anything more he could say. I'll be fine? Don't worry? "I'll see you later, then," he said at last, getting up. Severus made no response.

Harry left the Hall for the dungeons, making his way quickly to the dormitory he and Severus shared. As he paused in the middle of the room, he felt suddenly that this, here, the dim-lit quarters beneath the castle, was more of a home than anywhere else.

"Dormir Diuturnitas," he said, pointing at Severus's bed. It would be best this way, that Severus would sleep deeply for at least seven hours upon touching the bed. He mustn't know, not now, Harry thought fiercely as he wandlessly cast a Notice-Me-Not Spell and crept up to the Great Hall. Not now. But when? a whispering voice in his mind asked. The future could be delayed, day by day, week by week, but like death and parting it was inevitable…

Still, Harry thought with a rush of hope, whatever time I have is precious.

There was one last thing he had to do before he left. He turned his wand to himself and probed at Dumbledore's tracking spell. It prickled gently under his touch. Crabbe's still here, Harry thought, having heard the Slytherin belch loudly just moments ago, but perhaps he'll be going to Voldemort's little rendezvous as well, and transferring the spell to him would be useless…

Harry looked at the canopied bed before him and wondered if he could transfer the spell to a thing, rather than another human. He'd never even considered it; but now, being as powerful as he was…

He pried at the spell and guided it with the tip of his wand to the bed's headboard. The spell hesitated, threatening to burst like jelly and vaporize, but Harry clenched his magic around it, forcing it to ease into the wood.

I did it, Harry thought, feeling a strange freedom as he stepped back and looked at his handiwork. Dumbledore has almost no power over me. But, a voice reminded him, bringing up the memory of Lestrange's threat, what chance does Severus have if Dumbledore should bend his anger towards him?

The entrance to the Great Hall was empty. Harry leaned against the doorway, watching idly as the remaining plates on the four tables vanished like snowflakes on water.

"So you're here, Frost," said Lestrange.

Harry turned, hiding his surprise. He hadn't felt Lestrange approaching, and he could usually sense others' magical presence quite easily. "Yes, I am," said Harry in a calm, polite tone.

"Very good," Lestrange said, smiling again that impenetrable, satisfied smile. "Come with me then."

Harry followed Lestrange out onto the grounds. The sun had set, but the sky was still a glowing reddish violet. The eastern horizon had deepened so that it seemed a blackness was rearing out before them, arcing across the sky above the castle.

They approached the castle gates, and Harry drew in a sharp breath. An elegant coach was waiting at the gates, entirely black except for the hubs of its wheels, which were a cold silver. Drawing it was a team of neatly groomed thestrals.

"Lovely creatures, aren't they?" Lestrange said conversationally.

"Yes," Harry said in the same, expressionless tone. So Lestrange can see them too, Harry thought. I wonder whose death it was that he saw. Ah, another voice added regretfully, but now he knows that I can see them too.

Lestrange opened the door to the coach and levitated out an ornately carved chest. "Before we get in, though, there's something we must do—"

Harry whirled around. "Stupefy!" he snapped. "Reveloso!"

Severus materialized, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground like a discarded garment. Harry's heart froze; his mind balked, and some part of him cried out, No! No—not like this, not yet! But he did nothing, could do nothing, only stand there and stare.

"Hmm," Lestrange said disinterestedly, "I see we have a follower."

Before Harry could intervene, Lestrange had pointed his wand at Severus and incanted, "Enervate!"

Severus groaned and pushed himself into a crouched position, his hair falling down in a curtain around his face. Don't look up, Harry whispered in his mind, but Severus lifted his head, and the confused expression on his face flattened immediately and became inscrutable.

"Why, Severus," said Lestrange, "did you want to join us?"

Severus quickly got to his feet. He glared stiffly at the coach, his eyes not registering the thestrals as he surveyed the scene before him. He avoided looking in Harry's direction.

"In case we were wondering, we were about to pay a visit to an extremely interesting being." Lestrange smiled. "The Dark Lord."

Severus's eyes snapped to Harry's face. They darted to Lestrange, but slid back slowly to meet Harry's eyes. "Really," he said slowly, carefully.

Harry nodded. He felt numb, as though he had fallen into a vat of ice. Dimly, he was aware of his heart pounding frantically in his chest, but he could do nothing, say nothing. It seemed to him that there was a clamp gripping his throat.

"So would you like to join us?" Lestrange asked.

Severus crossed his arms stiffly over his chest, and nodded.

"Excellent," said Lestrange, sounding politely delighted. "Now, as this is what my Lord considers to be a special occasion, he has decided to hold a masquerade ball."

Severus snorted, but Lestrange seemed not to notice. He opened the chest that had been in the coach, and took out a strange hat Harry remembered seeing on Trelawney's tarot cards.

"I shall be a jester," he said, donning the hat so that it tilted at an angle.

"Very flattering," Severus sneered under his breath.

"And with this façade"—Lestrange took out a red-coloured mask, and swept it over his face—"I am complete."

His student robes had become a jester's stripes, and in his left hand was a staff at the end of which hung ribboned bells.

"Now, for you," Lestrange said, bowing to Severus. It was somewhat disturbing, Harry thought, how quickly and easily Lestrange was playing his role as jester. Who was this Lestrange, truly? he wondered, watching Lestrange reach into the chest with the wide, absurd movements of a jester. Who, and what?

"This, I think, would fit you sir most splendidly," Lestrange said, flourishing a mask that sent chills down Harry's spine. It was a Death Eater's mask.

"What is this supposed to be of?" Severus asked, hesitantly taking the proferred item.

"The eternal face of eternal knights, servants of Walpurgis," Lestrange answered, his voice taking on a singsong tone. "Surely you have heard of the Knights of Walpurgis?"

"Yes, I have," Severus said acidly, and flipping the mask onto his face.

Harry shuddered. Severus's student robes became a deeper shade of black, and the mask seemed to grow into his skin, sliding down his neck until he was nothing more than an extension of the mask.

"Frost?" Severus said, an odd note in his voice. Harry shook himself. It was only a mask, only a masquerade, even if it was Voldemort's magic. Harry swallowed, wishing that he could leap forward and tear the mask off Severus's face. I wonder if the Dark Mark forms on his arm, Harry thought.

"And last of all, this princely face for you, dear sir," said Lestrange to Harry, bowing low as he held out a strange, gold and silver mask.

Harry took it gingerly. He felt nausea building in his stomach. This was something Voldemort had touched, enchanted; he wondered if the darkness and malice he felt were merely his fear and imagination.

"No other costume will do, kind prince," Lestrange said softly, his eyes set within that macabre face suddenly more alive than Harry could remember.

Harry set the mask onto his face. Instantly he felt the magic pour over his skin. His robes became heavier, his shoes changed, and he felt his hair lengthen to his shoulders, set in place by a circlet around his head.

"And now, at last, we are ready," Lestrange said, and Harry stiffened; there was more Lestrange in that tone than the jester.

"Please, sirs," Lestrange said, holding the coach door open and bowing with exaggerated politeness.

Harry climbed in first. The seats, he had to admit, were soft and enchantingly comfortable, and suddenly the space seemed very small when Severus moved to his side.

"Here we go!" Lestrange cried. There was the lash of a whip, and the coach began to move.

A/N (10/12): 'tis my birthday, and, you know, it's always polite to give a few constructive gifts. (Looks pointedly at the review button.)