See Ch. 1 for disclaimer. Thanks to my reviewers!

Chapter 2

They sat across from each other at the rectangular, sandalwood table. One man was tall, lean, his face angular, his body angular, sharp high cheekbones with dark eyes set in a craggy countenance. His hair was cropped short and neat behind his ears, straight black strands falling across his forehead like a raven's wing and tinted brown from exposure to the sun. His tanned skin was stretched taut across his lithe, sinewy body. His eyes were dark as ebony, smooth and polished and reflective.

The other man was tall as well, and just as wiry. But his skin was sallow and pale, and his straight greasy black hair fell to his shoulders, obscuring some of his face. He watched the other with interested dark eyes.

Both were called Severus Snape, and both of them were the man.

"You look different," the pale Severus remarked.

"I know," the other said. "I had to, in order to stay alive. Good thing you're unconscious—I can finally have a decent conversation in your mind." He paused. "Looks as orderly as ever. How's the storeroom?"

"Fine condition," replied Severus. "What happened? And… and how did Albus die?"

"Well," said the other Severus. He leaned back in his chair and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. Severus stared. "You smoke?"

"Yeah," said the other. "It helps me not think about things. All right, then. I used a Time-Turner to travel back in time. Usually, it's only supposed to be for several hours, and if the period of time is any longer, the body disintegrates—it can't hold itself together. But the spirit lingers slightly, and so when you passed by Albus's office, I took the chance and jumped into your mind."

"On such a flimsy premise?" Severus asked.

The other one looked at him. "I think you'll understand," he said, "once you hear what I have to say."

Severus sat back, and waited.

The other Severus let out a long breath, coupled with a cloud of smoke. "So," he said, "tonight Potter and Granger tried to draw Umbridge into the forest. They succeed, the centaurs come on, and they're saved by Hagrid's half-brother."

"What?"

"Hagrid's half-brother, the giant Grawp," said the other Severus. "So Potter and his friends go off to the Department of Mysteries to save Black. But Black isn't there. It's a trap that the Dark Lord put into his mind—you know the connection that they have." He tapped his forehead. "They go—they find the Hall of Prophecy."

"Oh Merlin," said Severus.

"My sentiments exactly," said the other one. "Potter, being the inquisitive, nosy boy he is, picks up the prophecy. And the Death Eaters appear out of nowhere and demand it. Bellatrix is there, and Lucius, and Antonin Dolohov…" He shrugged his houlders. "All the rest. And they fight. The Order comes, and Black is killed by Bella. Potter tries to Crucio her."

Severus raised a surprised eyebrow. "Wouldn't think he had it in him."

"Neither did I," replied the other Severus. "Didn't work anyway. The prophecy breaks, and the Dark Lord comes, along with Albus. They duel. The Ministry people come in, and they finally admit the Dark Lord's back."

"Fudge," said Severus, "is such a sad idiot."

"We all know that," said the other. "Well, the school year's over and I go back to Spinner's End. Then Narcissa and Bella come visit me. They want me to make an Unbreakable Vow, and I have to make it to escape suspicions. To protect Draco Malfoy. The Dark Lord gave him a task to do. And that I do it if he can't."

"What is it?"

"Kill Albus."

Severus jerked in his seat. The other Severus watched him steadily. "You killed him," Severus said in horror.

"He told me to, so I killed him. You would have killed him."

Severus wanted to shrink back into his chair, to escape the words that stung and tore and jabbed at his heart. Now he scrutinised the other one closely, and saw the sharpness, the emotionless eyes. But for a moment, the dark eyes flashed with something approaching grief. And he felt the coiled, tight emotions that were hidden and shuttered and stored in the other's mind.

"Long story short," said the other. "Albus dies, I run for my life. I'm a fugitive, a murderer." His voice twisted bitterly on the last word. "The Order collapses, the Ministry's destroyed, everyone's dead, Potter died."

"Potter died too?"

"Yes. I didn't see it, but he died. So…" his voice trailed off, and he looked away. "There's no-one to talk to, except for Hogwarts. She is sentient—she kept me sane. Otherwise…" He made a vague gesture with his hands. Severus knew what he meant—his mind would have fallen apart with the bottled-up emotions.

"What about the centaurs? How did you learn the language?"

"From a book," replied the other. "And talking to Lahir Cahadhwy, when he was captured and brought in. Before he died. He recognised that I wasn't like the others. We talked, sometimes. Until he was killed."

Severus closed his eyes. "Merlin," he said again.

"I know," the other said. "That's why I came back. To make sure it doesn't happen." He stood up from his chair. "I was thinking of blending our minds together to become one."

"I'll go insane," said Severus.

"No, you won't," replied the other. "I haven't, not yet." He perched on the table, his cream-coloured shirt and black pants contrasting with Severus's robes. "And our magic, combined together—it'll be amplified. Easier to do magic."

Severus stared at him. Finally, he said, "All right. For Albus's sake."

The other Severus nodded. He said, "The moment it happens, raise your shields, as fast as you can. I don't want to risk anything, and I don't want anyone else knowing. If the magic might get out…"

His outline was growing faint. He leaned over to Severus and seemed to pass into him. And now Severus's mind was struggling with the memories, and his body was struggling with the magic—

Your shields!

It was Hogwarts who cried it out to Severus, and he slammed them up into place, turmoil boiling inside him, keeping it from escaping, even as he gasped in pain.

Black spots danced in his mind, his pools of quicksilver rushing up around him, keeping the magic in, his mind sane…

oOo

"I am sorry I did not tell you sooner," said Albus, looking over his golden-framed half-moon glasses at the black-haired boy sitting in front of him. "But I hoped you would not have to always think of such a burden upon you. It—is hard."

"I suppose so," said Harry Potter. His face was pale and drawn, but there was a faint blaze of determination about him. He knew, now, what he had to do. "So—the prophecy. I kill him, or he kills me?"

Albus nodded.

Harry slumped down in his chair. "Well," he said weakly, "that explains why he went after me in the first place."

"Yes," Albus said gently. "If you don't mind—what happened tonight?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I've been having dreams about the Department of Mysteries for a while," he admitted. "And tonight I dreamt of Sirius being captured by Voldemort. So the others agreed to keep Umbridge away while I contacted Grimmauld Place.

"When I asked Kreacher about it, he said Sirius wasn't there. I thought he must be held by Voldemort, or something. But then Umbridge pulled me out of the fire. Malfoy and the Inquisitorial Squad was there. She called Professor Snape in and demanded Veritaserum, but Snape said he didn't have any available at the time."

Albus chuckled out loud.

Harry blinked, but he continued, "Umbridge got really angry, and she tried to cast the Cruciatus on me—she gloated about it, said she was the one who sent the Dementors and everything, and she was going to torture me to find out where you were."

Albus was no longer amused. His face was frozen with a sort of cold, burning anger. So the Ministry sought to meddle with Hogwarts and my students that way, he thought. Unforgivables and Dementors. When I have a chance to speak with Cornelius again…

He will have much to explain. Very much.

But he shook his head, and cleared his mind of his thoughts. "Continue, Harry," he said in a pleasant way. "You were saying…"

"Then I said to Snape that he's got Padfoot, he's got Padfoot at the Department of Mysteries. And he looked at me and said he didn't know what I was talking about. At that time I was so angry, I didn't think…" Harry's voice trailed off, a tone of shame in his words. "I was stupid, wasn't I?" he asked suddenly. "I should have asked Snape right off. It's just that he was so mad at me after the last Occlumency session."

"Professor Snape, Harry. Yes, you should have spoken to him—he is an Order member here, and I trust him. And you shouldn't have looked into his memories…"

"I know." Harry looked rather embarrassed. "But anyhow, Hermione started pretending to cry, saying something about having a weapon in the Forbidden Forest that, uh, you wanted, and Umbridge ordered us to take her to it. She pulled Hermione and me out to the forest, but then the centaurs saw us and surrounded us. Umbridge started shrieking about half-breeds, so they were angry about that. But then they started getting mad at us too, about how we were using them as tools to do what we wanted them to do. They were arguing about it when Professor Snape came. He started speaking to one of them; he was a brown-haired centaur, and he called him something like Lahir Cahady, I'm not sure."

Albus frowned. Severus knew who the centaur leader was? He had only found out from Firenze; the centaurs were very secretive about matters like that. But then again, Severus made regular forays into the Forest for Potions supplies; no doubt he had picked it up sometime. "I believe his title is Lahir Cahadhwy, but no matter."

"Er, well, in any case, he must have persuaded him to leave us alone, because the centaurs left. And then he checked with you and he was going to take us back, but then he collapsed."

"He what?" Albus leapt to his feet. "You didn't tell me this sooner?" He could not stop a note of worry from entering his voice. What did Severus do? He wouldn't collapse like that, especially not in front of Harry. Unless he was really in pain, or exhausted… "He's in the hospital wing?"

"Er, yes, Professor Dumbledore," said Harry guiltily.

Albus blinked. He realised that it must have seemed rather strange, the normally unruffled headmaster so concerned about a professor that many students disliked. Only because he wants them to, because being a suspected Death Eater and being nasty may turn the students away from Voldemort. I daresay he enjoys it. But he squashed that thought, and strode toward the fireplace. "I'll take you back to Poppy, Harry," he said, holding out a pinch of Floo powder to Harry and dropping it in his outstretched hand. "Hogwarts infirmary!"

With a whirl of green flames, he emerged from the infirmary fireplace, Harry stepping out after him—or rather, stumbling ignominiously and tripping on the ground. Albus normally would have turned to offer him a helping hand, but he was bending over Severus, who was lying in one of the nearby beds. The other students in the hospital wing were asleep. Poppy came out of her office. "Oh, Albus! What is it?"

"How's Severus?" Albus interrupted. "He doesn't faint like this, not unless something's wrong."

"Yes, well, he's a stubborn idiot," Poppy replied tartly. Then, after looking at Harry, who seemed amused that the menacing Potions Professor Severus Snape had just been called an idiot by the hospital matron: "Just like Mr Potter here, always refusing medical aid. Well, Mr Potter, you sit down right here and go to sleep, you are not about to go traipsing back out, not when you've just gotten out of the Forbidden Forest. Here," and she pushed Harry down upon the bed next to Severus's. Tucking him in with practised skill, she came over to Albus and said, "I've been monitoring him. His heartrate went up about five minutes ago, suddenly. He's better now, but I've got Dreamless Sleep potion right here. I don't know what he's been doing, speaking to the centaurs about having to rescue students, but it mustn't have been good for his health. But he never cares about his health, even though he gets tired all the time, just stays locked up in his rooms and reads books and says nothing all the time… Oh dear, I'm rambling. Sorry."

"Quite all right," Albus murmured, running a diagnostic spell over Severus. It brought up no serious injuries, except for perhaps a bad headache. Headaches don't bring him down like this, thought Albus. He always has tension headaches, but they don't leave him this way.

Suddenly Severus let out a sigh that sounded more like a moan, and turned his head to the side. Albus watched his colleague's face anxiously. But Severus had become more than a colleague, over the many years; he was Albus's protégé, his friend, his confidant. They plotted together about how to evade Voldemort's Legilimency and keep Severus alive, and more than once they had spent pleasant evenings vividly imagining ways to attack the incompetent Ministry. Not that Albus ever admitted it to Cornelius, of course. But he worried every time Severus was summoned, and breathed relief every time he came back. Sooner or later, he knew, the game would end, and Severus would suffer.

"Professor Dumbledore?" That was Harry's voice, quiet, hesitant. "Is he going to be all right?"

Albus turned to smile at Harry. "I think so," he said, his voice more sure than his thoughts. No, Harry, he thought to himself, Severus will never be all right, not as long as Voldemort is alive. When he is destroyed… perhaps he will. Another reason that Harry must win.

For perhaps the umpteenth time, he lifted his face up slightly to contemplate the scenario before him—or so it seemed. He saw Severus's sharp, bright, intelligent face before him, cunning and sarcastic and darkly amused, a Slytherin student who had just escaped death, a werewolf nearly mauling him and who now sat in his office, saying with astonishing nonchalance, "I think that's probably convinced the Dark Lord that I hate Gryffindors in general, Professor—don't you believe that too? And," he would add with sly impunity, "don't give me that look. I haven't insulted you, sir, you were a Ravenclaw."

Everyone always asks why I trust him, Albus said to himself. It is because we have worked together for so long, more than twenty years. He was my friend even before he left Hogwarts, and he has always stayed that way, despite the accusations and insinuations and constant danger.

If that is not pure Gryffindor bravery and courage, what is?

oOo

Severus opened his eyes, and saw light. The rays of golden sun streamed through the ripple-textured infirmary windows, casting dancing iridescent beams upon his bed, bars of light and darkness alternating along the sheets. He turned his head to the side, and his heart nearly stopped.

Albus sat in a chair, head dropped down on his chest, his spectacles slipping down his crooked nose, breathing lightly in slumber. He felt a feeling of jubilant triumph rise within himself, and he just as ruthlessly suppressed it. Don't break out into song right now, or he'll think you've gone insane.

But it is good to see the old man again.

Severus felt nearly like crying. His memories warred within him: that of the older one, who had last seen Albus's broken body laid to rest, from the shadows of the Forbidden Forest at his funeral, and the younger one, who had only seen him about a week ago. But he calmed down and drew in a deep breath.

The headmaster opened his eyes with uncanny timing, and said, smiling, "Severus, how are you?"

He turned to look at Albus. "As good as I'll ever be," he replied, smirking back.

"I was wondering when you'd wake," murmured Albus. "You're tiring yourself out, Severus, you ought to rest every once in a while. You're killing yourself."

No, I don't. I feel more alive than ever. Even as Albus spoke, Severus felt his heart twinging with barely concealed happiness, and he already knew that he couldn't keep his emotions to himself around Albus for the rest of the summer. My Occlumency shields aren't enough. Every time I look at him, I'll think of him dead, and then how will I speak to him without flinching? He could already feel his magic begin to stir within him, reacting to his tumultuous feelings, and he squashed them down forcefully.

So he merely nodded, and closed his eyes again. He felt Albus shifting next to him, standing up from the chair, which gave out a long-suffering creak; heard him say, "Rest, Severus," and move off to do whatever work he had left undone. Hah, Umbridge, even you can never drive off Albus from Hogwarts. And then he thought a very uncomplimentary word about her, starting with the letter "b."

Albus, of course, being the old, nearly one hundred and fifty year old wizard that he was, and thus still holding somewhat of a Victorian view upon language and swearing, would have said, "Language, Severus," in a chiding tone, but then he always said that when Severus got started on a tirade against the Ministry. To which Severus always replied, "Well, you know it's true."

Then Albus would smile innocently, and cheerfully deny any such thoughts.

The curtains had been drawn around his bed, and now he became aware of a soft talking, which had died down when Albus left, now starting up again. He frowned slightly, trying to place the voice.

"…So it was Voldemort who was putting the visions in your head?" said a female voice. "I told you that you should have been learning Occlumency, but no, you wouldn't give up your pride and go back to Snape for lessons!"

Granger, of course. The bookworm and prospective scholar.

"Not like I was learning anyway," muttered a sulky boy. Potter, no doubt.

"You still shouldn't have invaded his memories," snapped Granger. "Bad manners, the lot of you."

"We can't help it!" said another boy indignantly. Severus knew it was Weasley, because where Potter went, Weasley and Granger were sure to follow. "We're boys!"

The reply was a disgusted guttural sound of disbelief and exasperation. Severus tried hard not to smirk at Weasley's antics. He almost pitied Granger at times, having to deal with them both.

He was released later that day, despite Poppy Pomfrey's protests that he ought to stay in the infirmary. Sitting in his rooms, he wondered how he was going to get out of Hogwarts. I need time away to think, he knew. Otherwise, I won't be able to stay calm, not when Hogwarts is whole and Albus is alive and everything is still all right.

With a barely perceptible sigh, he reached for a copy of the summer edition of the Eurasian Journal of Potions Research. He flipped to the contents page and ran a critical eye down the list of articles. He quickly picked out the names of prominent Potions researchers, such as the famed and eccentric German research wizard Friedrich von Kulp (improvements upon sleeping draughts and aphrodisiacs, his mind supplied dutifully, and married five times, all to the same woman). Severus thought that the German wizard must have made good use of his research, a hypothesis which he felt was obviously proved by the fact that von Kulp had eight children.

There was also the fiercely patriotic Potions Mistress from Poland, Halina Laczniczki, known for conducting a study into the effects of pain potions (a subject on which Severus had rather a lot of knowledge, having learned through first-hand experiences what it could do to a person). She was famed for publicly speaking out against the oppressive Polish wizarding government during the 1980s, which retaliated, so to speak, by kidnapping and torturing her before it collapsed in 1991. They said she had never been the same since, being somewhat sporadic in her conversations. But she still had a brilliant mind, and Severus respected brilliant minds.

Then, of course, at the pinnacle of her famous two decade long career, the efficient, forceful, and influential Wang Qin, who had managed to completely overhaul Potions education in the Wizarding People's Republic of the Middle Kingdom, better known simply as China (or Zhong Guo, in Mandarin Chinese), and who now turned out Potions researchers at a phenomenal rate. Her ambitious students worked hard to meet her insanely high standards, which Severus greatly admired; she had also invented some new potion barely a month ago, which she made sure to keep secret, making only the most oblique references to it. Severus's interest was undoubtedly piqued.

There were other well-known names revolving in the sphere of Potions research. Severus himself had made several contributions to the journal, but in collaboration with others, and his chief claim to fame was attaining the mantle of Potions Master at the age of nineteen.

His eyes landed on a notice at the back of the journal. Annual Potions Convention, it read. June 22 through July 20, 1996, in Johannesburg, South Africa. Conferences, lectures, and a presentation of the Goncourt Magos Prize to the Researcher of the Year. The Goncourt Magos Prize, Severus remembered, was one of the most prestigious Potions awards. Louis Goncourt had been a nineteenth-century French researcher who had revolutionised the field with his use of different types of caldrons and stirring sticks. Before then, it hadn't mattered; nowadays, the chemical compound of the material was commonly known to affect potions, and Goncourt's name was known around the world.

I haven't been to a potions convention in a long time, he realised with a sudden jolt. The last time was… 1989, maybe? I think it was in Montreal.

Well, Johannesburg was suitably far away. He could meet some more Potions researchers, and talk about a purely academic topic. Much better than constantly waiting at the Dark Lord's beck and call.

Picking up an eagle feather quill, he dipped the tip into red ink and firmly drew a circle around the date. He would have to speak to Albus about it. But a month away from the fast-gathering storm about to break over the wizarding community of the United Kingdom… It seemed to be a very appealing option to Severus.

oOo

"BLOOD TRAITORS! FILTHY MUDBLOODS, HALF-BREEDS, HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH MY HOUSE!" Within the dark and dank house of 12 Grimmauld Place, the portrait of the deceased Mrs Black was making a racket as usual, and Severus idly wondered if an Avada Kedavra would silence her. With a rather disappointed sigh, he decided not to and instead pulled at the curtains. "Good day to you too, you rabid witch."

"At least we agree on that," commented a voice from behind him. Even before Severus turned to see the speaker, he already knew who it was. Black stood there, glaring daggers at the covered portrait of his mother. "What are you doing here, Snape?"

"She's like you," said Severus. "Only you're worse. And I really don't see why I should justify my actions to you, Black." He spoke blandly, which only seemed to infuriate Black even more, especially with his unfavourable comparison to his mother. But as Black tried to think up a retort, Severus had already brushed by him to enter the kitchen.

Lupin sat at the table, gazing contemplatively into his cup of hot cocoa. Severus ignored him and started making some tea.

"Snape, what the hell are you doing here?" Black stood in the doorway, glowering. He's in a really bad mood, thought Severus. But then again, he usually is. Probably because Potter's back with his horrible relatives.

"I have things to do," he answered. The teapot rose up in the air and poured some tea into a cup. He frowned at it and summoned two lumps of sugar, which he dropped into the hot drink. "I'm sure you will be as overjoyed as me to learn that I'm leaving for a month. No more suffering idiots for me, at least."

"Where are you going, Severus?" That was Lupin speaking, polite and neutral as usual. But then he was always that way, as though he did it on purpose to counteract the raging part of his character that was locked away within him and released every full moon, even if the Wolfsbane potion had now brought it under control. Black simply looked surprised, and then sneered a little, his emotions showing blatantly on his face. "Don't bother asking, Moony, it's probably Voldemort's lair."

"I highly doubt the Dark Lord has his headquarters in South Africa," was Severus's acidic response. "I don't think he would fare well in the sun; his skin would probably burn up."

From the looks on the other two men's faces, Lupin had realised that Severus had just made fun of Voldemort, and smiled. Black's face was blank.

My god, has he totally lost his sense of humour? Severus felt disinclined to be in their presence anymore, so he exited the kitchen, leaving the uncomfortable silence behind for the Black family library. He had planned on taking along some academic texts and other writings to read during his leisure time.

Both the Dark Lord and Albus had agreed that he could go to the South African city of Johannesburg. Of course, their reasons were quite a bit different. The Dark Lord had proceeded to fix his gaze upon Severus and say, coldly, "I shall still expect you to be in contact with Dumbledore and pass on any information."

"Of course, my lord." And then the Dark Lord imperiously gave his permission.

Albus, on the other hand, had simply twinkled at him (Severus, though, avoided his gaze, and consequently didn't see the somewhat worried look in his bright blue eyes). "Of course you can!" he said enthusiastically. "Go have a good time—I have a surprise for you when you come back. I think you'll like it."

Severus wondered what the surprise was, but decided not to bother asking. He would go off to Johannesburg, and then he would come back and start plotting about what to do with Draco's dilemma. He was sure that the Dark Lord would still give the task to Draco; he had been far too displeased with Lucius's failure at the Department of Mysteries break-in to not give him a punishment. And the Dark Lord always said that love was a weakness, and that emotions were useless—they could be manipulated to suit his ways, no matter how twisted that way might be, unfortunately for his victims.

I pity you, Draco, thought Severus as he picked out Alric Aranærdin's The Character and Natureal Essence of Wild Magic, Herz Baustein's Upon the Realm of the Mind, and the Mysteries Therein, and, after some thought, An Accounte of the Wizard's Glass, or, The Most Lamentable Tragedie of Susann and Rolande by Stevenson Rey, one of the wizarding literary classics. You shouldn't have to make a decision like that: kill, or have your family be killed.

I am sorry for him too.

Severus jerked slightly at the words in his head; Hogwarts generally stayed quiet, unless there was something important or threatening about to occur.

I promise you, Hogwarts, he silently replied to the castle, it will never happen. I promise you that, if nothing else. I swear it by Merlin's name.

There's no need to do that, came the answer. I know you will do what you came back to do. Have you remembered to speak to the Sorting Hat?

I haven't had a chance, Severus said. Albus is always there, and he would ask why I wanted to talk to the Hat.

I can distract him, offered the castle. Have something suddenly occur that demands his attention, when the two of you are talking.

All right. Thank you.

You shouldn't have to thank me, Hogwarts said, rather solemnly. We both want to prevent the same thing, after all.

I know, said Severus, and reached for a copy of Ellis Graveworthy's Two Kneazles.

oOo

"Have a sherbet lemon, Severus?"

"No thanks, Albus," replied Severus. Albus's obsession with sweets was legendary around the school, both for his offerings and his passwords. Severus could just imagine the Dark Lord standing in front of the gargoyle, thinking up candy names.

The password this week was "Skiving Snackboxes." No doubt the Weasley twins—terrors, rather—would be greatly amused by this. Although he hated to admit it, they were creative geniuses.

Albus shrugged. "Well, I wanted to talk to you about your trip," he started, and then Phineas Nigellus was saying down from his portrait, "Dumbledore, Peeves is causing a spot of trouble in the Transfiguration classroom, and the Bloody Baron is asking for you."

"I'll be there," replied Albus in a resigned fashion. "Sorrry, Severus, if you'll be so kind as to wait a moment…" his voice trailed off as he hurried from his office, flashing blue robes and all.

The moment that the door closed with a click behind the headmaster's receding figure, Severus got up from his chair and strode over to the Sorting Hat. "Lo, Hat," he murmured as he put it on his head.

"Hallo, Severus," the Sorting Hat said. "I've been speaking to Hogwarts. She's been informing me of what you want."

Severus frowned. The castle hadn't mentioned that she had already told the Hat about him. "I suppose you want to look in my mind."

"You think I don't?" replied the Hat snidely, almost worthy of a Slytherin retort. "I don't blame you, of course—what a horrible time you must have had, and—By Merlin! I couldn't have been that bad-looking, was I?"

"Unfortunately, you were," replied Severus just as snidely. "Consequences of being left by oneself for several lonely years without even the sight of a house-elf to dust you."

The Sorting Hat shuddered, a long shudder, and said, "Horror of horrors."

But Severus recognised that the Hat, in its own way, was being deliberately flippant so the impact of his memories would be lessened, and so he said nothing.

"Well…" said the Hat. It hesitated, then said, "I see that your magic's been amplified."

"The results of merging two cores of magical energy innately the same," said Severus.

"You ought to experiment with it, then," said the Hat. "I know you've always been talented at magically difficult spells, and the non-verbal spells as well. Do you think it's possible that you could be able to perform wandless magic?"

Severus blinked. "Don't you think that would involve me expending too much magic?"

"Too much magic!" The Sorting Hat chortled. "Magical energy is the least of your worries, my dear boy. You've got a lot of magic locked up inside you right now. In fact, I do think it might be more than what Albus has. You need to practice with it though; all that magic shielded won't be healthy, it wants to be used. And with so much energy, you need to get familiar with using it."

"The problem is," said Severus testily, "I don't want to flaunt my magical prowess and let everyone know that something's wrong."

"You'll still need to practice it anyway, even if you won't do it in public," said the Sorting Hat. "And it'll be helpful in duels. It's a good thing you're off to Johannesburg for a month—you can use the time there."

"Mm," said Severus.

"And if you're going for the element of surprise," the Hat said, "I suggest Muggle weapons. Do any of your pureblood acquaintances know the least bit about Muggle weaponry?"

"No," Severus said. "I highly doubt they even know what a gun is."

"And you do."

"And I do. I am literally a half-blood, after all."

"And you know how to use one."

"Vaguely."

"Well, then take that advantage. Muggle guns will work in Hogwarts, it's purely mechanical, not running on electricity—that's the type of stuff that goes haywire, not guns. Really, it's not that huge a leap of reasoning—you could've figured that out beforehand."

"Perhaps," Severus snapped back, "except I've had to reinforce my Occlumency shields every single damn morning, and I haven't had time to go out to Muggle stores and buy something like that. I know what a gun is, but I hardly know what type."

"Fine." The Hat sounded sulky. "See if I ever help you again."

"You will," said Severus blandly.

The Sorting Hat huffed. "What about knives?"

"Are you trying to throw out the name of every single physical weapon you can think of? When I asked for help, I was imagining something more helpful."

"Well, I am sorry," came the sarcastic reply. "Greasy git."

"Stuck-up Sorter," said Severus. "Don't bother trying to insult me; I've got skin thicker than a bicorn's, and that's saying something. Figuratively, of course."

You two are so silly, said Hogwarts. I ought to bang both of your heads, except Severus wouldn't care, and the Hat doesn't have one. Albus is coming.

Severus whipped the Hat off his head. "Thanks anyway," he said perfunctorily. "I'm sure your advice will be of great aid to me."

"For Hogwarts," the Hat said.

By the time Albus Dumbledore entered his office again, the Potions professor was sitting in his straight-backed armchair again, staring at nothing in particular.

"Ah, Severus."

Severus turned his face slightly to face his friend. "Albus, what did Peeves do now?" He put the required amount of exasperation in his voice. "We really ought to exorcise him, you know."

"But then who would provide our comic relief?" came the reply. "He gathered several buckets of muddy lake water," said Albus, "and dumped it all over Argus Filch while he was cleaning the Transfiguration classroom, and the Bloody Baron had a huge headache about it."

"Never knew ghosts could get headaches," Severus said.

"Neither did I," Albus replied, smiling at Severus. "I've arranged all the transportation for you, Severus, and I do hope you have a pleasant time."

"Hopefully," said Severus. "I think it must be my first vacation in quite a while."

"1989, to Montreal, yes," Albus said. "I'm sure you'll be happy when you come back—Merlin knows you're irritated by your students."

"Almost all the time," Severus sighed. "Potter's annoying, Weasley's brainless, Granger's a show-off of her knowledge, Draco has his grievances, and Crabbe and Goyle are idiots—but I have to keep those two in Potions, or otherwise their parents would have my head. We seemed to have forgotten that an unfortunate side effect of being a spy is that I'm expected to show favouritism to the Death Eaters' children, who don't particularly deserve it and who haven't gotten any more intelligent than their parents."

"That is unfortunate," said Albus. "I really do think that you deserve a break from Potions, you know."

"And then who would teach Potions?" Severus said archly.

"Imagine," Albus continued, "if you were to teach some other subject, in which there is no favouritism, no doubt you would have some relief from those you dislike."

"I happen to dislike a great deal of the students here," said Severus. "I've pretended to dislike them for so long that I do dislike them. Can you blame me?"

"No," said Albus.

"And what about the Defence teacher this year? I suppose you could ask one of the Order members, like Shacklebolt—he's at least a reliable candidate, much better than that Umb—"

"Language, Severus."

"I was going to say Umbridge, Albus, although you know as well as I do that she deserves a worse name. Do you want another Death Eater or idiot in the position? I swear, the Dark Lord was a sly little thing when he put that jinx on the position. No-one decent has bothered to apply for it."

"I think you're quite decent, Severus," Albus said. "And you apply every year."

"Only because the Dark Lord wants me to." Severus got to his feet. "Well, Albus, be careful. Now that the Ministry's admitted the Dark Lord's back, he won't be quiet anymore."

"I know, Severus." Albus reached into his robes and handed him a round, flat stone, an elaborately carved "H" etched into its transparent green surface. "That's the Portkey, and the activation word is 'Johannesburg.'"

"All right." Severus stepped back from the desk and picked up his small trunk, packed with his necessities and nothing extraneous (except, perhaps, for a small bundle of books). "Goodbye, Albus. I'll see you in a month."

"The same for you, Severus."

Severus nodded, and raised his head to look Albus straight in the eye, fixing the image of him, standing tall and strong beside his Headmaster's desk. "Johannesburg!"

And his surroundings blurred into a mass of brown and red and silver and gold green blue oh god I hate Portkeys they make me sick brown grey black white brown brown brown brown—

He landed deftly on his feet, swaying slightly as he fought to get his bearings on his new location. A young clerk at the desk in front looked up and flashed him a bright smile (evidently a requirement of clerking at travelling desks was that all of them should be annoyingly cheery, thought Severus). The clerk stacked a pile of papers to the side, then turned his full attention to Severus.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to Johannesburg!"

oOo

I had a great time making up the characters of the famous Potions researchers. Friedrich von Kulp, I assure all, is not based upon anyone I know. The name of Halina Laczniczki is a tribute to the laczniczki, the young girls who ran under fire to deliver important messages and died in the hundreds during the Warsaw uprising of 1944 against the German occupation (not the ghetto one; the later, less well-known one). And the character of Wang Qin is based upon one of my best friends, who is as efficient, as smart, and as determined as they come—my mother.

"Magos" is Latin for magic, I believe.

The books Snape picks up in the Black library: Stevenson Rey and his book is, obviously, Steven King's Wizard's Glass, part of his Black Tower series. Ellis Graveworthy's Two Kneazles is a nod to Samvimes's Cartographer's Craft, although I'm not incorporating any of his backstory into my fic.

Review, please. :)

Talriga