See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Chapter 7

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

There was a brief moment in which Harry stepped into the room, staring with undisguised awe at the elaborate decorations put around the room, and then several blurs of colour came toward him, laughing. A black-haired blur embraced him tightly, a red-haired blur smacked him on the back cheerfully, and a brown-haired blur grabbed his hand and dragged him into the center of the room (They were, respectively, Sirius Black, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, of course.).

"Like the decorations?" Ron asked, grinning. "You owe me one, mate, I nearly tripped over the table there trying to get one of the banners up." The banner he was pointing to was a colourful, garish banner—against a background of red and gold, "HAPPY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY, HARRY!" was spelled across it in bold black letters.

"Like it?" Harry said incredulously. "Merlin, I love it! You really shouldn't have gone to all that trouble, you know—"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted him, raising an eyebrow, "we're only trying to make up for the Dursleys, really. A coin for Christmas, honestly!"

"Well, it wasn't like I was actually expecting anything from them—"

"We, as your friends, have the duty to make your birthday a good one," returned Hermione. "We go to all this effort and you try to say we shouldn't have?"

Harry laughed; he knew he had lost the argument, but he found that he didn't particularly mind at all. "You win, Hermione."

"Get the cake," Sirius yelled across the room. "Get the birthday cake for the birthday boy!"

Harry looked up into Sirius's face. His usually tired, shadowed countenance had utterly vanished, replaced by a laughing, smiling, Sirius who grinned down at him and said, "Isn't this the life, Harry?" Harry smiled back. He was seeing the Sirius Black who had been best man at his parents' wedding, and he rather liked him.

And then Sirius's face turned away from him. "Merlin, no! Molly, don't let Tonks carry it, she'll—"

The Weasley matron quickly plucked the cake from Tonks, whose hair was striped red and gold today, and who had nearly stumbled to the ground over one of the Weasley twins' joke boxes. "Get that out of the way," she said to one of the twins. "Really now, you shouldn't be leaving your things lying all over the floor."

"Why, Mum—"

"We didn't leave our box there—"

"Never on purpose—"

"How could you think—"

"Such a thing—"

"Of us?" finished George, and then he turned and yelled to Harry, "Oi, Harry, get over here and hurry up! Where's the cake, I'm hungry!"

Harry thought to himself, I could really grow to like this. No, wait, I do like it.

Several minutes later, the raucous chatter and movements had died down a little. Harry was seated at the long, rectangular wooden table, staring down at an enormous cake. It was chocolate, double layered with melted chocolate in between the layers, and a thick covering of white frosting and cream had been spread across the cake. The by now all too familiar phrase of expressing felicities for his birthday was written on the frosting in red lettering. Sixteen candles, all glowing with flickering, golden light, and somehow all managing to not fall off the cake, watched him expectantly, as did many pairs of cheerful eyes, waiting for him to make the first move. The room was eerily quiet.

"Make a wish, Harry," Sirius said, his left hand resting on Harry's right shoulder. "Go ahead."

Harry closed his eyes. What could he ever wish for, besides this? To be with his friends, godfather, and people who all cared about him…

He watched the candles for a moment longer, and then he thought, I want us to win the war, this war against Voldemort, without so many people dying, and that someone can stop all the bloodshed that's coming.

He leaned forward and blew fiercely on the candles. The puff of air from his breath flowed across the small flames, and most of the lights went out. One stubborn one remained in the middle, glaring defiantly back at him. But with the next breath, it flickered out as well, leaving sixteen small trails of smoke floating in the air.

Harry grinned at the cake and thought, I win.

Then, in the next few seconds, he plucked all the candles off the cake and set them on the table. Mrs Weasley pushed her way through, holding a knife. "Here, Harry, I'll be slicing the cake. If anyone else does it, who knows what will happen…"

Harry licked at the icing. "Who baked it?" he asked. "It's really good."

"Mum, of course." Harry turned to see Ginny standing next to him. She continued, "She wouldn't let me do anything about the baking, you know, but I don't blame her. I haven't got her talent for cooking. Give me a treacle pudding, and I'll make the stove explode."

"Not only that," said Bill, his fang earring dangling from his ear as he reached out a hand for a plate of cake, "but she'll set the entire house on fire. Even Kreacher wouldn't have been as bad as that."

Harry and Sirius exchanged glances. Kreacher had mysteriously vanished from 12 Grimmauld Place, and whenever Harry tried to ask Sirius about the decrepit, annoying house elf, he changed the subject and started talking about other things.

Harry decided, sometime, that he was going to count all the house elf heads that were mounted on the walls before Lupin began to take them down. On the other hand, perhaps not—he didn't really want to bother with a house elf who had tricked him into thinking Sirius was in danger.

"Mm-hmph, Hawwy," muttered Ron through a mouthful of cake. "Whar you ta'ing fo' clas'es?"

"Huh?"

Next to Ron, Hermione opened her mouth as though she were about to chastise the youngest Weasley brother for speaking with his mouth full, but seemed to change her mind and, instead, she simply handed him a napkin, a look of resignation on her face.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ron said, his voice still a little muffled. He coughed once, twice, and then he asked again, "What are you taking for classes this year?"

Fred sidled up to them. "Did I hear right?" he said in tones of mock horror. "Ickle Ronniekins, asking about classes! The world has come to an end! Flee, all of you!"

Sirius laughed.

"You're being silly and melodramatic, Fred, stop it," said Ginny, and not so gently slapped him.

"Ow."

"Your fault, Fred."

"I haven't really thought about it," Harry admitted as he set down his already empty plate. "Definitely NEWT-level Defence—"

"No surprise there," Hermione said wryly.

"Definitely not," Harry agreed. "But I can't take NEWT-level Potions, which I need to become an Auror."

Ron looked incensed. "Why not? You've faced You—Voldemort so many times, why couldn't you be one?"

"Because I need NEWT-level Potions to be an Auror, and Snape doesn't let anyone into his NEWT-level Potions classes without an Outstanding. I won't be allowed in."

"Bloody Snape," muttered Sirius. "Of course he wants to make everything hard for you, just because he hated James—"

"You may be mistaken there, Mr Potter, Mr Black," said a stern voice, and Harry looked up to see Minerva McGonagall. She was dressed as usual, in dark red robes, and her dark, beginning to turn grey hair was pulled back into a tight bun. She adjusted the set of her spectacles and looked serious, as always. But she nodded to Harry, and said, "You see, Professor Snape is not teaching Potions classes this year."

"He isn't?" gasped Sirius. "What scared that bat away?"

"He isn't?" gasped Ron. "Yes, we're rid of him!"

"He isn't?" gasped Hermione. "But he's so good at Potions."

Ron groaned. "Oh Merlin, Hermione, you've got something wrong with your head. You need to go to St Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward."

"I shall be sure to pass on your flattering remark to him sometime," McGonagall said to Hermione. "And no, Mr Weasley, you are not rid of him. He will be teaching Defence."

Despite the fact that the room was full of laughter and conversation, for a moment Harry could not hear anything; it was as though the world had momentarily gone silent, what with his utter surprise. "Defence?" he said incredulously.

"Yes, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Mr Potter," McGonagall responded crisply. "You do know what that subject is, don't you?" she added tartly.

"But Snape and Defence? He's a—" Harry abruptly cut off his sentence.

"Death Eater," said Sirius, his mouth twisted unpleasantly, as though he had just swallowed a sour lemon in its entirety, peel and seeds and pulp and all, and it was presently churning in his stomach.

"Death Eater? Yes," said McGonagall, her voice nonchalant.

"And the jinx…" Hermione said, frowning.

"A ridiculous notion, of course," replied McGonagall. "The Potions Professor this year is Horace Slughorn—you remember him of course, don't you, Sirius?" she addressed Harry's godfather.

"Slughorn? Yeah, I remember him. Why's he coming back to Hogwarts?"

The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched with something which seemed to be amusement. "Horace is in dire fear of his life," she said, and swept off.

Sirius gave a derisive snort and turned to Harry. "Well," he said, smiling weakly at Harry, "look on the bright side. You can take NEWT-level Potions now, Harry—Slughorn absolutely adored your mother, she was great at Potions."

"Really? She was?"

"Really," replied Sirius. "Now let's open some presents, shall we?"

He gestured toward the large pile of presents near the fireplace, and led Harry to one of the nearby chairs, and then sitting down. "Well, well, look here," he said, grinning.

Harry looked, and saw a brightly coloured box, with "Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes" emblazoned across the front in lurid orange.

"That's our present," said George. "Will you do us the favour of opening ours first?"

"What do you consider a favour?" replied Harry pointedly, and undid the shiny red ribbon that was wrapped around the box. Pulling off the wrapping paper (which happened to be maroon; Harry wondered if the twins were poking fun at Ron's yearly Weasley jumper in his least favourite colour), his efforts revealed a large, bulky box that said Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes: Deluxe Edition.

"Oh, good Merlin," said Hermione wearily. "More prank items?"

"More items that may be of use when confronted with certain unpleasant people," Fred corrected her, and winked cheekily at Harry. "Snape and Malfoy," he whispered under his breath.

Harry chuckled and lifted the lid off the box. Inside rested several small packages of Canary Creams, Puking Pastilles, Nosebleeding Nougat, Portable Swamps—"Peeves sure gave Umbridge hell about that," said George, grinning—Headless Hats, and a few samples of what Fred solemnly informed him were brand-new products that "we haven't even released yet, but we thought you deserved them as our sponsor."

"Thanks, you two," Harry said. "I'm sure I'll be able to put them to use somehow."

"We've never doubted you, Harry," chorused the twins in unison. "Call on Gred—"

"And Forge—"

"Whenever you want!"

The next present was from Remus Lupin, a copy of The Auror's Guide to Dueling, a slim, blue-bound book, the corners of some of its pages creased. "Where did you get it?" Hermione asked. "I thought those were only reserved for Aurors and their recruits."

"Tonks helped me with it," said Lupin.

"Actually, I nicked it," Tonks cut in. Her red and gold striped hair momentarily darkened to the blue of the book's cover before returning to her former shade in Gryffindor colours. "Dawlish had a copy of his in his cubicle that he was going to take home, but I saw it and I thought you might like it."

"Wonder what Dawlish is going to think?" said Sirius, grinning.

"Dawlish?" Ron asked. "He's that bloke who tried to arrest Dumbledore, didn't he?"

"Yeah," said Tonks. "He's a decent person, except he followed what the Ministry said and did and didn't argue with it. I decided that his donation of a copy of that book would make up for his penance and forgiveness."

"I'm sure he agreed," said Hermione dryly.

"Of course he did!" Tonks replied, grinning. "How could he not? Contribute to the education of the Boy Who Lived…"

"Don't even start," Harry told her in a mock threatening sort of way. Tonks laughed.

A few of the other Order members had contributed some thoughtful, small tokens in acknowledgement of his birthday. Dedalus Diggle, Harry discovered with some amusement, had given him a box of Muggle fireworks (He promised Fred and George he would let them have some, under Mrs Weasley's glower.). Hestia Jones had wrapped up a box of Toothflossing Stringmints in a demure shade of brown (At that, Hermione said, "My parents would really like those for their dentistry practice."). Alastor Moody, as paranoid and cautious as ever, gave him a wand holster to strap to his left forearm, which made for an easy draw if he were in a fight, which he had very good chances of being so ("Constant vigilance!" he barked, all the while watching Harry with both eyes, ordinary and glass, and snapping at him about how to correctly put it on.).

Kingsley Shacklebolt's gift was a copy of a caricature of Dolores Umbridge an anonymous person, and obviously talented in the artistic zone, had put up in the Ministry lobby. Her face was distorted—if it were even possible, more than usual—a wide, pouting mouth and bulging eyes looking distinctly unbecoming upon her sagging face. Her skin had been coloured the shade of green that an ugly toad might possess, and a small line, starting from her mouth, led to a short phrase that was written all in capitals: "CROAK! LIES! LIES! LIES!" Above the not particularly flattering picture, a snake was flying down towards her, saying, "You have been such a great help, my dear!" There was the faintest trace of a skull set over the snake; the lines were still barely visible, even though the artist had evidently decided to erase it. "I thought you might find it interesting," said Shacklebolt, with the trace of a smirk.

"I think I do," replied Harry, and smirked back in acknowledgement of their mutual distaste for the unpleasant woman. "It's a very good likeness of Umbridge."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, that just spoiled my day," she complained. "Seeing Umbridge's face again… open my present, Harry, it's a picture too. I thought it up, but Dean helped with a lot of it, he's good at drawing like that." She handed Harry a rectangular, thin package. Harry unwrapped the gift, and his green eyes went a little wide at what he saw. "Good Merlin," he said. "It's Hogwarts."

The others leaned over to see the painting as well. It was a magnificent rendering of the British school of magic during the winter, subtle shades of red and brown blending into each other upon the building, darkly haunting grey and white dotting the faraway tops of the Forbidden Forest. It was inanimate, but Harry found that, in a way, that only made the painting even better. It was like a picture frozen in time, capturing that one ethereal moment when a person looked out across the landscape and saw the essence of beauty. Delicate frostwork spun its way between dark boughs of trees, stark and bare, with light, ethereal warp laid upon the dark woof. "Wow," he breathed again. "Thanks, Ginny."

Ginny shook her head. "Don't thank me, you ought to be thanking Dean. He was the one who painted most of it, I just did the sketching of the outlines."

"It's still great," Harry said. I am going to need to write a thank you note to Dean, he thought.

They all looked a moment longer at the painting, and then Harry set it aside gently. Turning to a smaller gift—in fact, it was about the size of a pocket Sneakoscope—he picked it up and shook it to guess at what might be inside.

"That's mine," said Hermione. "But now that I've seen Ginny's present, I feel inferior." She grinned at Ginny, a teasing tone in her voice.

Harry opened the small box, and lifted out a finely wrought golden chain, from which dangled a small object. He frowned, and brought the chain closer to his eyes, making out the charm. It was a simple, flattened piece of gold, roughly shaped into a triangle with the peak attached to the chain. Just one word was written on the flat golden triangle: Eihwaz.

"Eihwaz?" Harry asked, a little bit confused.

"It's a rune meaning defence," Hermione said. She looked somewhat embarrassed. "What with Voldemort and the Death Eaters… I thought you might need it…"

Harry stared at the golden chain. "Yeah," he said. "I think I definitely need it." He pulled it over his head so that it rested against the hollow of his throat. "Thanks, Hermione. It was really practical of you."

Hermione smiled back at him, but her expression was tempered by a bit of sadness, her face dark with her thoughts. "Yeah, I think you do," she said.

Ron pushed his present into Harry's hands. "Dad helped me with this," he admitted. "We based it on that clock we have at the Burrow."

It was a small round platinum pocket watch, with the initials "H. P." etched into it. Harry flipped the watch open; instead of telling time, there were several clock hands with names written on them. Harry rotated it in his hand. Ron, Hermione, Snuffles ("I had to put Snuffles because you really can't have Sirius's name on the watch, can you?" said Ron.). The words around the edges were sleeping, eating, in class, mortal peril, and travelling.

"You can add more things onto it," said Ron. "You say 'Clocca adere' to add a hand or a mode, but there's a maximum of… I think seven hands and seven modes."

Is there supposed to be something odd about the fact that my two best friends' presents to me deal with the war and what's happening to them? Harry wondered. He grinned at Ron and said, "Thanks, mate, I really like it." He paused, and then with some effort attached the pocket watch to the golden chain around his neck. "There, now both of them are together. I won't lose either of them, they're great."

Lupin smiled; then he got up and excused himself. "Someone's calling me," he said, and strode off through the milling crowd of people in the room.

Sirius picked up a box from the rest of the presents and gave it to him. "I found it in my vault," he said quietly. "I remember that it was my present to James for his wedding to Lily, but he asked me to put some stuff in my vault, just in case. I thought—you might like it…"

The box was made of cherrywood, of a simple design. In the middle of the lid there was a carving of a large, blooming lily, and along the sides small stags pranced and tossed their antlers about. Harry felt his throat closing up. He lifted the lid. A light, lilting voice suddenly sounded from the box. It was a woman's voice, and she was singing in a beautiful, high soprano.

"Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,
By, by, lully, lullay.

"O sisters too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day
This poor youngling for whom we sing
By, by, lully, lullay?

"Herod the king, in his raging,
Charged he hath this day
His men of might, in his own sight,
All young children to slay.

"That woe is me, poor child for thee!
And ever morn and day
For thy parting neither say nor sing,
By, by, lully, lullay.

"Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child,
By, by, lully, lullay."

"What is it?" Harry asked, his voice a little breathless and quiet, as the lingering notes of the melody died away—yet the notes still seemed to hang in the air, hovering and ringing faintly. The others remained silent, watching the box.

"The 'Coventry Carol,'" said Sirius, still staring at the box. "It was one of Lily's favourite songs. The box was a musical recorder of sorts, she sang and it recorded the songs and she could play it back. I didn't think he'd put that in my vault, but then I found it and I knew you had to have it…"

Harry looked at his godfather. "Yes," he said. "Thanks, Sirius."

The returning smile was brilliant and dazzling and infinitely wistful.

oOo

"Excuse me," Remus said apologetically. "Someone's calling me." He got to his feet and made his way to the door. He had purposefully not said who was calling him, because he had the distinct feeling that neither Sirius nor Harry (nor anyone else there, for that matter) would take kindly to the fact that Severus Snape was there, at Harry Potter's birthday party. By using some Legilimency when Remus's eyes had gone to the door for a moment, Severus had bluntly told Remus that he would have to cut himself off from the little party that, as Severus had put it by amazing polite words (though not tone), Potter is presently enjoying right now.

Remus edged out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him. "Yes, what is it, Severus?" he said pleasantly, and then looked with scrutiny at Severus's appearance. His eyes widened. "You cut your hair," he said in surprise.

"Very smart to realise that," was Severus's acidic response. He leaned against the wall, arms folded neatly, a stack of books resting on the ground beside. Remus realised that they were probably from the Black family library. He turned his head to look at Remus, and a strand of black hair fell across his forehead. "I've come to bring some news for you, Lupin, though I doubt you'll like it." He pulled his wand and flicked it smoothly in a practised way; vaguely, Remus felt silencing wards settle around him—Severus always did that, it had become a regular habit of his when holding conversations involving sensitive information.

Remus tried hard to suppress his sense of foreboding that the world was coming to an end if Severus had cut his hair (Severus with short hair, who would've thought it, he wondered, and then wondered again why he hadn't noticed it at the last Order meeting, and if anyone else had—No, he had stayed in the shadows…) and instead replied, "Well, then what's wrong, Severus?"

"Everything," said Severus dryly. "What do you think? Never mind," he said irritably as Remus opened his mouth to ask as to what he meant, "just know this and you can go back to your favourite pastime of watching Potter open presents. You won't be getting the Wolfsbane potion this month."

"What?" Remus blinked. When Severus had said he wouldn't like the news, he had expected a new Ministry restriction on werewolves or something like that, not this. "Why not? You're a brilliant potions brewer."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Lupin," Severus said. "You won't be getting the Wolfsbane potion this month, or the next month, or the month after that. Suffice it to say, after a while, the potion won't make a difference."

Remus blinked again. "How could it not make a difference?" he asked quizzically. "It preserves my mind during the full moon—"

"It won't anymore, not if you take it for too long," Severus interrupted. Seeing the stunned look on Remus's face, he rolled his eyes with exasperation (Well, I'm sorry, thought Remus, but you haven't explained anything) and said, "Look here, Lupin. In Johannesburg, a contact of mine gave me some information about lycanthropy and the Wolfsbane potion. The effects of the potion are vanishing after a period of taking the potion. You take it for too long, you'll still go crazy at the full moon and some idiotic sod will get hurt. Or someone who's been told to go where," he added pointedly.

Remus involuntarily flinched at the reminder of the Whomping Willow incident. Really, now, it had been so many years ago, yet Severus continued to insinuate things about that and how Sirius was trying to murder him. Remus supposed Severus, after the so called prank, had hated them even more for that. With an effort, he wrenched his mind back to the words before. "So… the potion isn't working?" he asked hesitantly.

"Are you deaf, Lupin? Did I not say that already? Yes, the potion will stop working. Not only that," said Severus, "but evidently, lycanthropy isn't a disease."

"What do you mean, it isn't a disease?" Remus said incredulously. "It was transmitted to me, for Merlin's sake, and you say it isn't a disease?"

"It's not a disease," said Severus snidely. "It's an organism. A soul, so to speak, twisted out of recognition by Dark magic experimentation centuries ago, I suppose, and which happens to go through the bloody process of reproduction during the full moon. Congratulations, Lupin, you're the carrier of a parasite. Happy tidings."

Remus stared at Severus for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, and the first thing that came to mind and became vocalised was, "Severus, you have such great tact." His words were sardonic and dripped with sarcasm.

"I tell the truth," replied Severus blandly. "The lycanthropy is constantly adapting itself to whatever circumstances it encounters. The Wolfsbane potion kept it at bay for a while, but now it's evidently found a way around it, so it won't work if you take it for too long. So I'm not making it—that would be a waste of potions ingredients."

"But I haven't been taking it periodically," said Remus. "I was gone for most of the year, trying to track down Fenrir Greyback, I haven't taken it much—"

Severus shrugged. "So? It will cease to work after a while, so you might as well get used to having regular monthly raging fits once again."

Remus narrowed his eyes. Why, you smug bastard, you like seeing me this way. For an infinitesimal moment, the world seemed to close in on a small point of anger, and then the world spread out again and Remus looked up and saw Severus watching his face closely, in a scrutinising way. "Fine," he said tiredly. "As you say."

Severus smirked. Then his face grew more serious. "There's another reason anyway," he said. "My contacts and I are working on an agent to actually get rid of lycanthropy, and I don't want the Wolfsbane potion possibly dulling the effectiveness of that." Seeing the spark of hope and longing in Remus's eye, he quickly added, "And you'd better not tell Black or Potter, or anyone else for that matter," he said warningly. "Not even Albus."

"You haven't told Dumbledore about this?" Remus was stunned.

"I have only told him that I am working on a variation of the Wolfsbane potion. I don't want to burden him with more things to worry about," replied Severus curtly. "This is between you and me and my contacts, no-one else."

"And why shouldn't I tell Sirius or Harry? They deserve to know—"

"Lupin," said Severus, "you seem to be surprisingly ignorant of what your companions' reactions will be. Black will threaten to throttle me, whether or not the cure will work. Potter will know, and then he will let the Dark Lord know, and then I will have to justify my actions to the Dark Lord as to why I kept the information about lycanthropy from him." Severus fixed Remus with a glare which made Remus feel curiously small, and said, "Though I suppose I shouldn't have had such high expectations from you, Lupin."

Remus sighed. "Well, thank you for telling me," he said. "But what about my transformations? Sirius will be able to tell when I'm injured—"

"You will be using the Shrieking Shack again," said Severus flatly.

"Come again? The Shrieking Shack?"

"Yes, the Shrieking Shack. I'll be observing you." Remus's alarm must have showed on his face, because Severus snarled with irritation, "Not in person, how idiotic do you think I am, Lupin? Magical means, of course. You may console yourself with the belief that you are contributing, if you need to be consoled."

Remus decided not to bother to retort or argue; instead, he nodded slightly, then said, "Well, I hope you and your informants are successful with the project."

Severus only sneered, and turned to leave. "Hope?" he said over his shoulder. "Don't bother hoping, Lupin, I only do what I have to." Then he was gone.

Really, he's being so morbid and cynical, thought Remus as he returned to the birthday gathering. No, that's too hard on him. He has to do so much… I doubt he has time for anything else. Certainly not birthday parties. It's a good thing he's so brilliant—otherwise we would be in dire straits for sure.

oOo

Severus sighed and wearily rubbed the back of his head. The recalcitrant object in front of him was adamantly refusing to cooperate with him. He glared venomously at the gun, as though it would get up and do his bidding.

You are too stressed, sometimes, said Hogwarts.

With good reason, Severus returned, and pointed his wand at the gun; or, to be more precise, a group of small bullets next to it. "Boulet Siolfor!"

One of the bullets seemed to shiver, and a faint sheen of silver appeared on its surface.

Are you supposed to be doing this? Hogwarts asked with some trepidation. You know that the Ministry has that Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department—

They won't be able to detect what I'm doing, not with all the magic around here. Severus repeated the incantation. "Boulet Siolfor!"

His Dark Mark twinged slightly on his left forearm. Severus quickly looked down to see the Mark momentarily darkening, dark against his skin. "Must be the Dark Lord summoning the others," he muttered.

Supposedly being the Dark Lord's spy within Hogwarts, which was practically a bastion of people against the Dark Lord, Severus had unusual leniency from the Dark Lord. Often, if others were summoned for some raid or attack, he was not. Granted, he knew he had that reprieve only because of the delicacy of his situation; in the Dark Lord's eyes, it was best not to lose the one firmly entrenched spy he had in Hogwarts by summoning him and perhaps causing suspicion to center around Severus. Severus wondered what the reason was for the Dark Lord to call most of his Death Eaters to his side.

Do you think this would be effective enough? He asked Hogwarts, his mind on the silver bullets.

There's still not enough silver on there to fight off a werewolf, the castle replied. Look, Severus, you haven't been using all your magic.

What do you mean—oh.

Severus had, over the course of the last few months, been suppressing his magical energy, which had been amplified by the merging of his two minds. He had needed to do so, because so much magic would have been extremely noticeable, and would have made others wary of his power. Now, he felt the slight boiling in him, the desperate need for the magic to be released and flow freely. And how will I shield it from others… ? he asked pointedly.

I will do it, said Hogwarts confidently. I'm the castle, of course I can shield your magic from letting anyone else feel it.

Fine, then. Severus paused, and then began to remove the safeguards, the blocks to his magic. It wasn't so much exhausting as it was exhilarating; the magic moved within him, rising up, and he could feel the sparks dancing off of him. He lifted his right hand, and, pointing at the bullets, he thought, I want a silver coating over all the bullets.

The bullets lightened to a bright shiny silver colour.

Severus stared in astonishment. "Merlin," he murmured. "That makes it wandless and non-verbal and no incantation needed."

You're still holding back, said Hogwarts disapprovingly. Let go.

Severus shivered, and raised the last shield.

The magic roared out from him, lethal, raging. He gasped and stumbled, falling to his knees as black fire flared in the room. It spread over the walls, flickering and jumping from point to point. It hissed, snarled, and then coalesced into the form of a phoenix. The magic was a coldly burning black conflagration, reveling in its newfound freedom.

It sang in his veins, it throbbed in his head, it danced before his eyes. The magic he held was free, and it was ruthless.

Severus tried to rein it back in, and found that he could not. A vague sense of panic came into him, and as it did, the magic shrieked and lashed out at everything.

No! Stop!

The fire died away; Severus knelt on the ground, breathing heavily. He ran his tongue over his lip, and tasted the coppery taste of blood. He had bitten his lower lip in his agitation, and he could feel the fast racing of his heart, still beating furiously. Too much, he said. Too much.

The magic was still there, Severus realised. Hogwarts was keeping it down. With a wary carefulness, he began to pull it back towards himself, an endless flow of fire, and set the metal bars around them again. Letting out a long breath, he said, That was too much magic for me.

You have to learn how to control it, said Hogwarts fretfully. You have to. Perhaps you could practise with part of it at a time, you know. You could try that.

Severus eyed the gun, which was resting on the table. Very well, he replied, and one steel bar disappeared from the magic's container. It cautiously nosed its way out like a curious badger, reaching out for what it had had a moment ago. You will not be running around like a ridiculous, mindless delinquent, snapped Snape, and he willed it to take shape, to become a black fiery cloud that floated toward the gun. Silence it, thought Severus, and the gun rattled with a croaking noise before falling silent.

Well, said Hogwarts, at least that worked.

Nearly half an hour later, Severus had finally succeeded in charming the gun so that all the bullets would automatically replace themselves. He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, and said, What time is it? I don't really want to do any target practice right now.

It's nine o'clock at night already, answered Hogwarts. Are you going to go to sleep?

Severus felt very much like doing so, but he shook his head and replied, No, I have some other matters to attend to. He glanced over at the neat stack of ancient tomes he had nicked from the Black family library (after all, he had rationalised, Black certainly didn't want them.). He thought about reading through them, but his eyes burned with the exertion of the past half hour. No, he decided, I'll send some of them to Wang Qin and Ming-yue. They at least have the time to research this information.

Are you sending it right now?

I suppose so, Severus said. Might as well take it down to the Great Hall fireplace to send it to them. He rummaged through many of the miscellaneous items on one of his bookshelves, finally emerging with a large, slightly creased envelope—but appearances were deceiving, because the envelope had an expansion charm on it so it could hold more than it appeared to. Severus slipped the books in and firmly sealed the envelope.

Severus flung his thick black cloak over his shoulders, so that it stayed close to his thin frame. He left his rooms and strode through the corridors to the Great Hall. The sounds of his shoes slapping against the stones echoed around the empty spaces, and he felt suddenly alone.

You're not alone, Hogwarts said cheerfully. I'm right here.

Well, of course, I'm literally standing in you. Severus walked into the Great Hall, heading for the fireplace. Before he even came up to it, a fire had already sprung up in the fireplace, waiting obediently for him (no doubt, it was Hogwarts's doing.).

Severus took a pinch of silvery powder from a small crockery pot, painted silver and azure, and threw it into the fire, which wavered for a moment before fading to the colour of silver.

This was the nice thing about Hogwarts being a school, Severus thought. You didn't have to pay a fee to use the International Floo Mail Express—as a public institution, Hogwarts received the service as free, without any of those ridiculous fines and such.

He tossed the package into the fire and said, "The International Chinese Potions Institute of the Middle Kingdom, Jiaojiang, China."

The package vanished silently. I hope they find those of use, thought Severus as he went to the entrance door and wrenched it open. Because they definitely have more time than me to work on it. His Dark Mark twinged again, and Severus frowned down at his left forearm.

Don't catch a cold now, said Hogwarts as Severus stepped outside. The night's biting wind struck hard against Severus's face; his wand moved and he cast a warming charm on himself, alleviating his discomfort. Then he started walking towards the Forbidden Forest. He had promised to meet again with the centaur leader Lahir Cahadhwy, and tonight was as good a night as any.

oOo

Kingsley Shacklebolt was sprawled out in an armchair in his flat, reading a novel by Dorothea Wyatt. It was the sort of sordid romance story that Mrs Weasley would never have allowed any member of her family to read, but Dorothea Wyatt was a popular writer. Shacklebolt enjoyed her books thoroughly, although a cynical person would have questioned what he liked about them: the plot or the more physically explicit scenes…

The flames in his fireplace flared green, and Kingsley started up from his chair with surprise. "Ah! Oh, lo, Beckett."

The haggard face of Beckett Sumner looked back at him. "Kingsley!" he gasped. "It's an emergency! Get to the Ministry right now!"

Kingsley was already throwing his book to the side. "Why? What's happening?"

Beckett Sumner's face was pale. "Hogsmeade's under attack!"

oOo

And thus the chapter ends... Thank you to all my reviewers.

If anyone has picked up on the words of the "Coventry Carol"—Voldemort, much like Herod, went after little baby boys (Harry and Neville) and tried to kill them.

Boulet Siolfor: "Boulet" is French for "small ball," "Siolfor" Old English for silver.

I can appreciate nothing more than reviews. Praise and concrit welcomed.

Talriga