DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, I just play with them.
A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews!
Chapter Three: A Birthday RiddleNeville was sitting on the porch of his Gran's cottage when Blaise arrived. He didn't see the boy at first – the plant he was tending was temperamental at best and vilely cranky at worst. He needed all of his concentration to make sure it took its feed and kept it down.
When he looked up, he smiled. Blaise's short-sleeved shirt was red, like the color of a stormy dawn. The Slytherin sidled up to Neville, his hands hidden behind his back.
"Hello." Neville hadn't had the chance to see Blaise for a week. The larger boy had been taken by his parents, all four of them, Neville couldn't help thinking with a mental laugh, to the shore for a holiday.
"Hello." Blaise sat on the worn stones next to him. "I have something for you."
"Really?" Neville wanted to kick himself for the breathy wonder in his voice. He coughed and looked away. "You – you didn't have to. And I don't have anything for you, either."
"Nonsense. It's your birthday." Blaise pulled his hands forward and handed over a present wrapped in dark green paper. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Neville's lips. "I hope you like it."
Neville knew his face was turning a fine shade of red. Blaise had never dared to kiss him before, at least not on his Gran's own porch. He knew the older woman was inside, making a dinner for his birthday. He turned the small box over in his hands and tried to stop blushing.
Blaise touched his cheek and chuckled. "Did I embarrass you too much?"
"What? No!" Neville looked up. "I – thank you. I didn't say that did I? I'm sorry. Thank you."
"For what? The present or the kiss?"
Neville felt his ears go warm. He shot a look into the house, but couldn't see his Gran anywhere. "Both," he said, his voice soft.
The look in Blaise's eyes was hard for Neville to read. "Open your present."
Neville turned the box over in his hands and felt for the edges. He slid a thumb under the tape and tried to pull it off so that it didn't rip.
"What are you doing?"
He looked at Blaise. "Opening it."
"Aren't you going to rip the paper? I always did. Made the mothers furious sometimes, with all the scraps. But they liked it too." Blaise leaned his shoulder into Neville.
"I," Neville's hands stilled on the box. "I, we…"
"Oh for heaven's sake boy, rip it open!" Gran's voice from the kitchen made them both jump.
Neville took a breath, grabbed the edge of the silky green paper and tore it with a wince. The first was the hardest, and the longest. The smooth, wooden box underneath the paper was unveiled with a few sharp tugs.
He couldn't find the seam on the box. He spun it around, raising it to his eyelevel. "Where's the opening?"
"You have to figure it out."
He sent Blaise a look. "I'm not good with puzzles. You know that."
The other boy just smiled at him. "You'll figure it out. And you are good with puzzles. You should have more confidence in yourself."
Neville frowned at him, but turned back to the box. His thumb stroked across the top and he felt something. He did it again, peering at the fine grain of the wood. Just barely he could make out the thin line of a seam. He pushed the wood to the right and the top gave, sliding with ease to reveal its prize.
The box was empty. Neville cocked his head to one side and peered into the shallow depths. "More riddles?" He asked.
Blaise shook his head and took Neville's hands in his own, box included. "This," he licked his lips. "This box is made for a certain purpose. It's a – it's a kind of riddle in its own way, but I'm not sure if your family carries the tradition or not."
Neville looked down at the box in their hands and studied it. He had seen something like this before but…He blinked. "You're asking me to marry you?"
There was a crash from the kitchen. The tip of Blaise's nose and ears began to turn red. "I," he looked away. "So you do know what it is."
"Well, I think so. I mean, my mother had a box like this in her things, but…" Neville blinked again. "You are! You're asking me to marry you!"
Blaise drew his hands from Neville's. "Well, I know we're young. And it's really more of a promise. A – a type of, well, I mean…it's not like an engagement promise or anything. Just…sort of a…well…a pre-engagement promise?" He was fidgeting with his cloths, pulling the collar of his shirt away from his throat. He cast a look at Neville.
Neville looked down at the box. It was still empty. "Where's the pin? Or is it a ring? I – I'm not sure how this goes."
"It's a pin." Blaise clasped his hands together. "Like a broach." He was staring at the ground now, the blush fading. "I…It's in my pocket. I didn't know…" He blew out a sigh and drew a small, round pin. It looked silver, though Neville doubted it was. It was in the shape of a woven knot, with writing that was too small to read inscribed all along the rim.
Blaise tipped the pin into Neville's hand and looked away. The metal was warm from the other boy's body heat. Neville stared at it.
"You're mad, you know that?" Neville shook his head and Blaise jumped and spun to look at him. "Why in the world would you want me? You have a family name, you'll need heirs." He closed the box, but held the pin tight in his hand.
Blaise moved around so that he knelt in front of Neville. "I don't care about heirs. Mother's pregnant again. Twins this time, they say. They can continue the line, not me." He slid his hands onto Neville's knees and looked into his eyes. "We're young, yes. That's what the promise broach is for. Pin. Whatever you want it to be. But," Blaise's eyes shone. "But I do know that you are everything to me. And I do not want to be parted from you. Ever."
Neville swallowed and reached out to touch Blaise's face. "You're mad," he said again, his voice breaking. "Yes. I'll accept it. Broach, pin, stampeding hippogryphs. I don't care what it is."
Blaise's face broke out into a smile. He cupped Neville's face and kissed him, pressing his body close. Neville wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders and closed his eyes.
"Achem." The sound of his Gran's voice drew them apart. The older witch stood in the doorway, her apron dusted with flour and spots of oil, a wooden spoon clutched tight in one hand. Her arms were folded across her chest. "And when did you think to ask for permission for this, young man?"
Blaise drew back and met her stare. "No permission is needed for a promissory gift. But I'll ask for your permission to marry him now, if you like."
She studied him, not smiling. "You're right. You are young. Too young for marriage, that's for sure. You're both just sixteen. A lot changes between now and twenty."
"Twenty?" Neville looked up at his Gran.
"It is the age in which same sex wizards are allowed to marry."
"But…" Neville looked at Blaise. "Couples marry after seventh year all the time."
Gran made a face. "Those are the so called 'normal' couples, Neville." Her eyes still hadn't left Blaise's face. "I'll give my consent to this, boy. But," she pointed the wooden spoon at Blaise. "If you so much as make him cry on purpose I'll rip out your heart myself, is that understood?"
Neville gaped at his Gran. He hadn't thought she'd actually say yes. But she did, she did! She turned to look at him and smiled, but the expression in her eyes was…sad. Then he blinked and she was gone, whisking away into the kitchen, her voice trailing behind her.
"Now both of you go wash up. Dinner's almost done and it seems we have more than one thing to celebrate tonight."
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The boy was out in the yard again.
Rayne leaned up against the wooden fence, watching Potter work. The boy moved slow, too slow for a fifteen year old. He's almost sixteen, he reminded himself. Wizards are always affected when they come of age. Centuries ago, sixteen had been the age when the students in Hogwarts had graduated. They took their place in society for better or worse and most often to marry. Especially, Rayne wrinkled his nose, the pureblood houses.
Rayne remembered the summer he had turned sixteen. He had been moody, short with everyone and full of magic. All children were. But Harry, he sighed and lifted the latch on the gate. The boy looks ancient already.
"Potter?" He was almost on top of the boy.
Harry spun, hands spread on the dirt, his face white. He stared up at the Auror, his eyes wide and glassy. He doesn't see me, Rayne felt a cold shiver of fear spread down his spine. "Harry," he said, crouching down so their heads were level with each other.
Harry's eyes didn't move. "Ravens reeling in the sky. But they're not ravens. They're carrion crows." He blinked, inhaled a shuddering gasp and reached out. "Down by the sea. There's blood. So much blood."
Rayne swallowed down a mouthful of saliva and took the boy's hand. Flesh to flesh contact seemed to shock him out of his trance. Harry flinched, one hand coming up to his eyes as he tried to pull away.
"Hey, Potter. Harry. It's me. Auror Rayne." He kept his voice soft, soothing. "C'mon, lad. There's a boy. Focus on me now."
Harry didn't drop his hand from his eyes. "Rayne. Auror Rayne. Privet Drive. Dursleys." Rayne watched him swallow and shuffle away, this time letting go of the small hand in his grip. The boy wiped at his face and looked up.
"Merlin, Potter!" The boy had blood on his face. Rayne fumbled for his pockets. "Just hang on a minute. I'll take us to St. Mungo's."
Harry reached out, his thin hand clamping around Rayne's wrist. "Don't," he said. "It passes. It's all right."
"Are you mad? You're bleeding from. The. Eyes, Potter! That's not normal!"
"It's…it's from the potion I took." Green eyes rimmed in red met his gaze, too bright and too old for a boy so young. "Don't. It'll just raise a fuss."
"A fuss?"
"Yes, a fuss, one we don't need. If St. Mungo's finds out what I've taken," Potter swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "They'll put me in Azkaban."
Rayne sat back on his haunches. "No they won't, Potter. You're the…"
"Savior of the wizarding world. I've heard that line before and seen all the nonsense that went with it." Potter's hand was still tight around his wrist. "Please don't."
It was the please that got to him. The boy's voice had cracked halfway through the word, spiraling him back years until all Rayne could see was a helpless child who knew that there really were monsters under the bed and that everyone he knew hated him.
He closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine, Potter. No hospital." He opened his eyes in time to see the boy sag with relief. "But," he said as he freed his wrist. "You are coming away."
Dark brows drew together. "But you can't. Take me away, that is. It's not safe."
"Potter, if you knew how many wards were on the Black Manor, you wouldn't say that."
The boy looked away. "Have they petitioned yet?"
Rayne blinked. "Ah. Well, I don't think anyone told them to do so, what with the Headmaster…"
The dark head bowed. "It's all right. They're busy."
Some spark of rage bloomed in Rayne's chest at the soft answer. "Bollocks it." He stood, dragging the boy up with him. "All your things packed?"
"What?"
He placed steadying hands on the thin shoulders. "I said…"
"What are you doing, Rayne?"
His partner's voice dragged him away from the mad plan he had concocted in his head. He turned to see Daniel at the garden gate, eyes furious and his mouth set in a grim line.
"Look at the child!" He moved out of the way so Gest could get a better look. "Does he look fine to you? The Minister's blathering is a pile of lies! We have to get him out of here!"
"If you don't leave that yard and get back on this side of the fence, Rayne, I'll take you in myself. You know we're not supposed to breach the wards! Just seeing the boy could mean our jobs! And now you – ever since that time you crossed the wards weeks ago…"
"Dan, shut it!"
"Please." Harry's voice had gained strength. He pushed at the Auror. "Go. Don't lose your job over this. I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just please. Go."
"Potter. Harry…"
The green eyes stared up at him. He could have sworn some sort of darkness spiraled out of the boy's pupils, obscuring the iris. "Everything happens in its own time, Auror Rayne. I will make it to Hogwarts this year, this much all futures show." The darkness vanished and Harry blinked. He drew away, shaking his head. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Rayne!" He could hear Daniel's patience coming to an end.
"Your letters." He fished around in his pockets for the crumpled notes. The boy took them, still not meeting his eyes. Rayne turned and crossed the wards. Gest took his upper arm and began shouting in his ear, the words so familiar he knew them by heart.
He kept his eyes on the boy instead, watching as the child flipped through the notes, scanning the names. He watched as the narrow shoulders drooped and his head bowed.
Rayne's rage simmered under his skin. He narrowed his eyes and turned away, allowing Gest to drag him back to Diagon Alley. I think, he blinked as they vanished away. I do think that I have a plan…
qpqp
Professor Snape,
It has come to my attention that young Potter has had some reaction to one of the potions that was sent to him. As I am bound by duty and Ministry order to never return to the Dursley household, I thought one of his professors should be made aware of this development. There are, of course, restrictions placed upon visiting young Potter, placed by the Minister himself…
qpqp
Black,
Get your bloody godson out of the Dursleys now if you love him.
-Rayne
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When the letter came to the Black Manor the family was, regrettably, out.
They had gone down to the shore for the weekend. The large muggle city of Brighton was a handful of kilometers from their bed and breakfast. There was a small wizarding community on the coast and all of the inhabitants had welcomed the Black family with open arms.
Ginny thought her bathing suit was silly, but it had been the only one she and her male kin had been able to agree on. The one piece had small, tight shorts and a pair of tiny sleeves that hid her shoulders. It was pale lavender, the only color that had been in her size for the style of the suit. She hadn't minded the shade, but the fit…
"Bloody thing itches." She rubbed at her hip and considered the task before her. The soft sand of the shore made walking with a cane difficult, if not impossible.
"Gin?" Sirius put an arm around her shoulders. "Want some help?"
She gave him a look she'd copied from Remus. "I can do it," she said, sliding out from under his arm. "Or die trying," she added under her breath.
The first step had the cane sinking into the soft ground. She planted her good leg and pulled herself forward. She saw Bill start for her, but Remus held him back. She gave the werewolf a nod and turned back to the task at hand.
It took almost half an hour to get to the spread of towels and umbrellas her new family had set up. The part of shore they were visiting had been sculpted by wizards, so that the harsh rocky coastline had melted away for a softer, sandier spread. Once closer to the edge of the hard sand, the going had gone easier for her; the firmer ground held under her cane and she found her feet did not slip as much. Still…
"You can carry me back," she informed Bill once she reached them. She threw down her cane and plopped onto a large towel. "I'm not doing that again."
Remus put a large, frothy drink next to her elbow. It was pink and smelled of strawberries. "What's this?"
"A margarita for young ladies." Remus smacked Sirius when the animagus opened his mouth.
She eyed it. "It's not got that nasty stuff in it that the yellow ones do, does it?"
Remus paused, put down the plate of sandwiches the house elves had prepared for them and looked at her. "And how, pray tell, do you know what the yellow kind have inside them?"
Ginny blushed, looked at Bill and then beamed her best smile at the werewolf. "A brilliant guess?"
The werewolf was not amused.
She wilted under the stare. "There was a man in the library that offered me one?"
Sirius' head went up and his eyes narrowed into slits. "Young lady, are you saying you took liquor from a stranger?"
"He offered me one and pointed to the bartenders who were making them!"
The combined stares of all the men were beginning to unnerve her. "And, do tell, did you accept this drink, Ginevra?" Remus' voice was as close to a growl as she'd heard it all summer.
"Of course not!" She tossed her hair over her shoulder and swept them with her own brand of glare. "The stuff smelled simply awful. I threw a book at him and called for the clerk to take him away!"
There was a moment of silence before Sirius began to howl. "Now that's my girl! The Black genes through and through!" He chortled, falling back onto the sand, his hands holding his stomach.
She sniffed. "All you adults are so silly." She took a sip of the frothy drink, smiled and cradled it close. "May I have a sandwich please? One with cucumbers. I like them best…"
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Harry was digging through the trash. His aunt had started taking measurements of the contents of the refrigerator, much to his annoyance. The bits of food he'd managed to slip himself during breakfast and dinner were just enough, but they often did not ease the hunger completely.
Aunt Petunia though, he'd found much to his delight, hated cooking from tins that had been dented. She'd made Harry throw them all out at the end of the day, muttering about how his freakishness was spoiling the good food she had bought for her family. If she had noticed that the only tins that had been dented were ones that could be consumed cold, she made no fuss about it. But he had taken particular glee in smashing a good portion of the pantry one empty afternoon. No magic had been needed at all.
The ancient tin opener he had stashed under the pansies was clean enough. He had snuck out while the family had gone to the living room, to be engrossed in their programs. He knew he wouldn't be missed for an hour, two at the earliest.
He pushed himself between the garden hose rack and the tiny shed for the heat pump. It gave him a view of the back porch where his aunt would not be able to see him from the window. He put the can of tuna between his knees, lifted the rusty opener and started the long process of prying his prize open.
The dreams were getting worse. His hands were shaking almost from the moment he woke to the moment he slept. He knew he needed help, but he didn't know who to go to. He'd finally written to Sirius asking, pleading, his smarting pride had sneered at him, to be taken away. He needed Pomfrey. He needed Snape, as much as he was frightened to admit. And he wanted his family, a warm bed and a pair of arms to collapse in when he needed it. But it had been a week since he'd seen Auror Rayne and the letter lay at the bottom of his trunk, unsent.
He wanted Draco too, in a way that made his stomach twist to think about. He missed the blond. He missed the heat at his side, a presence that had been there so often he hadn't know how much he'd been needing it until it was gone.
There you go again, said a small voice in the back of his mind. Being selfish. Haven't you put him through enough? Haven't you tormented the boy to his end? If it hadn't been for you…
He smacked his hand on the ground. It made the voice quiet to a small murmur. The voice had come with the dreams. He didn't know if it was his own fears talking or someone else. He'd begun to hear voices while awake, sometimes soft sighs or rampaging war screams. Ghosts of pasts so layered they were hard to tell apart often marched through the yard while he was gardening. He knew they were ghosts, muggle ghosts. They never talked to him, though some watched him all through the day.
There were a few in the yard, watching him eat. One looked like a serving girl from one of the portraits at Hogwarts. She had crept over the lawn until she was a few feet from him, crouched down on her hands and knees, her eyes glowing pale blue in the dark.
"You can't have any." He pulled the tin close to his chest, using his fingers to scoop the meat into his mouth. The ghost barred her teeth at him and scuttled forward. "You don't scare me. You can't even talk." He kicked out at her, spraying her image with dirt. She opened her mouth, showing rotted teeth and charged him. He turned his head, feeling the cold sweep over him. Then she was gone.
"Stupid. I know scarier ghosts than you." He shifted, rubbing his shoulder against the wood siding of the house. "The Bloody Baron would laugh." He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, quelling the laughter that wanted to spill out. His throat ached, but he pushed the hurt to the back of his mind. He'd run out of the potions Snape had sent him.
The night pulsed around him, the shadows growing deeper. He paused in his inhalation of food, eyeing the movement. When the Morrigan appeared, he blinked.
"Dream child." She had a streak of…something decorating one cheek. She stood over him, her form black against the night sky.
He held the tin out to her. "Tuna?"
She knelt down and plucked a piece from the tin. She made a face and spat it out. "It's oily."
He shrugged. "It's the only kind Aunt Petunia likes."
The Morrigan studied his face. She reached out and touched a pale cheek. "You are not well."
Her fingers were hot against his skin. "I'm fine. Just sore."
Her dark eyes did not blink. "You need a healer."
"There aren't any that can come here."
She turned her head and looked towards the open door of the house. "These humans are hurting you?"
"No." And it was true. Vernon had not touched Harry all summer and his cousin had been leery of Harry ever since the episode with Auror Rayne.
Her mouth was set in an unhappy line. "I do not like that you are here, child. You should be elsewhere. In a warm bed, with warm food." She moved closer to him, scooting next to him against the side of the house. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, her heat soaking into his bones. Harry felt a lump form in his throat and tried to swallow around it.
"Sirius will come and get me soon. The Minister can't stall forever. And the Headmaster will do something. I know he will." It had become a familiar saying, one he had repeated to himself every morning and night. He wasn't sure if he believed it.
Soft lips touched his temple. "Would that I could take you away from here."
He stiffened and looked up at her. "Can you?"
Her dark eyes met his. "No." She looked away. "The Otherworld…" She sighed and brought a hand up to smooth his hair. "My place in the Otherworld is dark and violent. I have no home but the fields of war and the skies above them. They are no place for a child."
The hope went out of him. "That sounds gloomy." There was just a bit of tuna left in the tin. "Can't you build a house for your own?"
She laughed, the warm chuckle jarring his frame. "Now there is a thought."
"Well, can you?"
She tilted her head to one side. "I suppose I could at that." Her gaze focused on something that was not in the shadowed garden. "Though the very idea would put all of my kin into a shock that I have not seen for millennia."
"Then you should do it." Harry nodded and put the tin to the side. He drew his knees close to his body and wrapped his arms around them. He stared out into the dark with her. "Doing what people think you should do is boring."
He felt her sigh. "You are angry."
He rested his chin on his knees. "Not at you."
"But at your kin. This godfather of yours."
He drew in a breath to retort and then let it out. "I shouldn't be." He blinked away the sting of tears from his eyes. "He's doing all he can I'm sure. I am mad at the Minister. And all of the people who think I need to be locked up or something." He scratched his nose. "I mean, what did they do to stop Voldemort?" The anger inside him rose, spinning like a horde of bees under his skin.
The Morrigan went still at his side. "You have much anger inside you. It is not good to push it away."
Harry made a face. "Then what am I supposed to do with it? It's not like I can yell at them, can I? I can't be mean to my relatives because they'll be mean back to me. So what do I do?" He shrugged. "I have to push it away. I know it's not good, but there's nowhere for me to vent it. I do it here, and Uncle Vernon might put me back into the cupboard."
"You are too young to be so wise." They sat in silence for a long moment. The summer night was warm, but there was a bite on the air. "Fall is coming."
"I know."
"You are sixteen now."
"Yes."
"Most wizards come into their powers at sixteen."
He turned his head to look at her. "Really? No one told me that."
Her hand carded through his hair. "I remember from the Before. Such celebrations you mortals would hold on those nights. Bonfires would be lit, feasts eaten. And the child would come into their power under the light of the moon."
"But there was no moon on my birthday."
She nodded. "Yours was a night of darkness. It was good luck in the old times."
Harry felt his brows go up. "Really?" He sat up a bit. "What kind of good luck?"
Her laughter was a soft huff on the night wind. "It depended on the wizard."
"But," Harry's interest poked at him. "I haven't felt anything. You know. There wasn't any accidental magic on my birthday night."
"Yes there was, my dream child." Her dark eyes met his. "And you know it."
He swallowed down a sudden chill. "You mean my dreams?" She nodded. "But…" He blinked and thought about it. "I guess they have been getting stronger."
"The darkness in your blood lingers. I do not think it shall ever fade." She traced a finger along the side of his face. "It has become a part of you. You should embrace it, not push it away."
He turned his face away from the look in her eyes. "But…I took the potion to help defeat Voldemort. It was never a part of me before that."
"Not so."
"You mean the visions I used to have? I thought they happened because I was connected to Voldemort."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Sometimes the magic chooses the gifts it brings to witches and wizards, sometimes it is the family blood that decides." She moved against him and there was warmth as her cloak inched around his shoulders. He curled into the space at her side, a strange wonder moving through his chest.
"So the magic decided I was supposed to see the future?"
"Perhaps it is not done yet." She tucked the cloth around his knees and settled back. "Wild magic does its will in its own time. Not even the gods or Dagda or Danu can change it."
Harry could feel a tendril of hope swirl into his chest. "So maybe I haven't come completely into my powers?"
"I think, child, you are tremendously gifted as it is. You should honor that."
He snorted. "Some gift it's been. I can't even leave the house."
Her dark eyes glittered in the night. "All things happen in their own time. You know that." She drew him closer. "Now, let us sit for a while. Can you name me the stars? I would know what the humans are calling them these days."
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Severus Snape stared down at the Headmaster, his arms folded across his chest and a thunderous look of wrath on his face.
"Do read the letter, Albus. The boy is bleeding from the bloody eyes." He lost control of his voice and began to shout. He leaned over the desk, planting his hands on the worn, smooth wood. "We must get him out of there!"
Dumbledore sighed and set down the letter. "It is impossible, Severus. The Minister has decreed that young Harry is to stay with his relatives for the whole summer. I received word that the Blacks…"
"Oh yes, now the mutt speaks up."
The Headmaster favored him with a sharp look. "Sirius has sent his formal protest to the Ministry. They will discuss the matter, but I fear it will be of no use. Minister Fudge has ever been able to carry a grudge past the point of sense."
"Then he should be put out of office!"
"Time will come for that, Severus. The vote for the Ministry is almost upon us. Cornelius is using Harry to win over the public. If he can win the sympathy of the public by keeping Harry in his loving family's arms, then he wins the vote."
"The Dursleys are anything but the loving family Fudge has made them out to be."
Dumbledore sat back in his seat with a sigh. "I know that, Severus."
"Then we must get him out!"
The silvery eyebrows rose. "And then do what? Aurors will be upon us the moment we step over the wards. The Unspeakables have changed what protections I put on the house; they will be alerted the moment we appear on the street. Then we would be detained, if not taken to the Ministry for questioning, and what then?" He spread his hands. "How would you get the child from his veritable fortress?"
"By appealing to the gods, of course."
The new voice made them turn. The Morrigan was seated on the blue sofa, her arm thrown across the back, her legs crossed. A chill began to fill the room. She was not smiling.
Dumbledore rose. "Morrigan."
"Headmaster Dumbledore." Her eyes swept his frame. "I would have thought such an esteemed person as yourself would have had more influence on the public at large."
"I do not know what you mean."
"She means you should be thinking like a Slytherin instead of a Gryffindor, Albus." Severus folded his hands into his sleeves. "Have you seen the boy?"
Her eyes flicked to the Potions Master. "He is not well. As I am sure you know, the boy's sixteenth birthday has come and passed."
They nodded.
"He has not had an Awakening as most others have had." She pushed off the sofa. "But the wild magic runs strong around him."
The Headmaster made his way around his desk. "What do you mean?"
Her smile was sharp as a blade. "The boy dreams, mortal." Her eyes flicked to the letter on the desk. "And he is not well. He is mine," power skittered around the room. Severus shuddered as it brushed past him. "And I will not see what is mine suffer so."
"Then what do we do?" Severus took a step towards her.
She held out a hand to him. "Do you trust me, Severus Snape?"
He studied her. "No, I do not."
"Smart boy." The hand reached out, fisted itself into his robes and they disappeared.
End Chapter Three