A/N: So I realized that, in my first author's note at the beginning of part I, I called Voldemort the
"Dark Load" . . . :s

Oh, and this chapter is dedicated to amberpire, whose unbridled zeal for this story has inspired me and humbled me. thank you so much :)

one last oh: have patience. I am working on the next chapter. More or less diligently.

feel free to freelance beta.


Part VI: Waning

The next day was as stormy and unforgivable as the one before. Even in his dungeon chambers, sitting by the hearth and drinking his morning coffee, he could hear the dull roar from outside.

Staring into the fire, he pondered the little blonde girl he'd left in the infirmary. He wondered whether or not she had managed sleep. If it had been troubled. Or if the storm had kept her awake, bellowed away her night-terrors but kept her from healing slumber, both guardian and jailer.

He himself hadn't dreamed at all. Though there had been images that kept chasing him about—fleeting, completely out of focus, more infused with feeling than clarity. It was the feeling of these unidentifiable images that clung to him in the first hours of his waking, clutching at his mind and his chill skin, taunting him. He couldn't help but think they were from her.

The Prophet that day was uninteresting. More about unearthing the corruption in the Ministry. An article about the headway made by the new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, as he tried to piece the government back together. An article with more speculation about Potter—accompanied by a photo shot at an awkward angle. As Severus peered at it, he realized that the picture was not one of Potter at a social function, but in Hogwarts – a corridor in the east wing, if he wasn't mistaken. He was standing in an archway, talking in a seemingly clandestine manner to another, slightly taller figure with platinum hair. . .

. . . an unnamed source claims that Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and the slayer of the Dark Lord, has been seen on several occasions conversing with the only son of convicted war criminal, Lucius Malfoy (now serving a minor sentence), Draco. While before nothing but animosity existed between the two young men, they appear now to relate to each other civilly, almost in a manner that could be considered as fraternizing. . . .

Unable to help himself, Severus sneered dubiously into his coffee. Circe. That boy was never going to be rid of the spotlight, was he? Setting his coffee down, he started to fold the paper up. Of all the gossip . . . and from a source within the school, as well. Apparently the de-bugging of reporters hadn't gone as well as planned. Minerva was definitely going to be delivering a speech about that. . . .

He was about to set the paper down and retreat to his private study when another headline caught his eye.

St. Mungo's Personnel Give More Aid to Hogwarts

Raising a crisp black eyebrow, he smoothed out the section to read, skimming over the words:

Since the Final Battle of Hogwarts, staff from St. Mungo's Magical Hospital have been ever-present at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, helping care for the wounded and gravely injured. It was only last week that the team was removed from the school . . . but as early as this morning, another team of experts—this time solely from the Department of Mental Matters—have been dispatched to Hogwarts yet again.

Though the broader purpose of this team is to give counseling and support to the traumatized students, they were initially called on case due to a student going rogue. In Hogwarts Hospital Wing last night, a female student who had been originally sent to the infirm for pneumonia, had what the experts are now describing as a "fit". Though no one will say outright, it is implied that the girl inflicted some harm upon herself, and that she trashed part of the infirmary in her so-called "fit". Experts will be examining her and several other students throughout the week to determine if any need further treatment in the private wards of. . . .

It went on, but the words were lost on him.

It took him all of a minute to get fully dressed and sweep out the door to the infirmary.


The Auror that had been standing guard the day before was not there; instead, he was replaced by two rather burly-looking men that Severus suspected were not Aurors, but brawny orderlies from St. Mungo's.

In any case, they were not so keen to let him pass. Which was a pity, because he was in no mood to be denied.

"You cannot go in at this time, sir," one told him.

"The hell, I can't," he spat, taking a menacing step towards the man, even though he was outmatched in height and muscle. At this point, he couldn't much care. He was worried, damn it and a worried Severus Snape was ten times as dangerous and nasty as an irritated one.

"Our orders are to allow no one entrance."

"I am a professor here" (not true, but he'd play whatever cards he could) "Not some bloody reporter—"

"I am sorry, sir, but you'll have to—"

"I will NOT leave!" he roared. Within an instant, he had his wand drawn and raised, and he was about to hex these imbeciles into oblivion or stun them into the next century when a female voice rang clearly out over the rage thundering in his ears:—

"STOP!"

Never had the screeching of Madame Pomfrey sounded so musical.

The guards, who were about to draw their own wands (not quickly enough, Severus thought maliciously), halted at her voice. They turned to find that the double doors behind them had burst open to reveal the seriously irked, small medi-witch. She was giving them all a look of pure poison.

"Cease and desist," she bit out. "I will not have brawling, dueling, or fighting of any kind within a hundred feet of this ward. Severus!" she barked.

He lowered his wand.

Allowing herself to gift him with a withering look, she raised a hand and jerked her thumb to point behind her. "Come in."

As if sensing intrinsically that this was no woman to be trifled with, whether she had the authority or no, the guards stepped aside immediately, parting like the Red Sea. Severus just barely contained the look of satisfaction on his face as he passed them and strode into the ward.

He knew he would be in for a good lecture if he stood around, but he didn't want to give Poppy the chance. It would only waste his time. Before she managed to close the doors and lock them once again, his strides had carried him half-way across the infirm, towards the back where the private ward—where Luna—was.

He heard Poppy shout his name, but he paid her not an iota of heed; he only lengthened his stride, coming up to the door of the private ward, waving a cursory hand over it to dislodge any locking spells, and yanked it open.

If he had been any sort of calm, if he had the presence of mind to step back and survey the situation as it was, he might have not been so incensed by the scene that awaited him. As things were, he was neither calm nor omniscient-minded; and he could not help but be equal parts horrified and enraged at what he saw.

A medi-team of no less than three wizards was standing over the small bed that Luna occupied, whilst another witch stood back, making notations with an enchanted quill, looking over the situation skeptically. She was the only one who actually noticed Severus' entrance, and when she saw him her jaw dropped in surprise. Like Pomfrey, he paid her no mind, moving deftly past her to the men crowding around Luna's bed.

They were all talking in tense voices—mock-whispers, loud but hushed, talking alternately to each other and trying to calm down the girl struggling away from them on the bed. From where Severus was, he could see that Luna was in obvious discomfort: if the frown on her mouth was any indication, the sweat on her brow definitely gave her away, as did the way she wriggled away from any hand that tried to touch her. Unfortunately, the more tense she grew, the tighter her magical bonds became; as was, she was nearly splayed flat out on the bed, limbs only slightly mobile. He could see by her expression that she was fighting for calm—and losing it rapidly.

"Miss Lovegood—"

"—just trying to hel—"

"—please cooperate—"

"May need to sedate her—"

He was so angry he could feel the heavy thud of his pulse behind his eyes. It was by heaven's good grace alone that he still had the presence of mind not to start screaming his head off at everyone.

But, when one of the physicians put a hand on one slender leg, causing Luna to emit a strangled yelp, that good grace vanished.

"STOP THIS INSTANT! What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?! Take your bloody hands off her, you blithering idiot, or I will de-glove them!" he shoved the startled medi-wizards aside, using both brute force and magic, sending them sprawling backwards. He stood at the foot of the bed and whirled around to face them where they lay scattered on the floor, menacing.

One of the wizards, pushed himself up on his elbows, righted his askew glasses and looked up at Snape sternly. "This is outrageous, sir—we have every authority to be here—"

"Fuck your authority—"

Another wizard, youngish and blonde, had also pulled up to his feet; he now drew his wand and pointed. "Sir," he said levelly, "you are only aggravating the situation. We are only helping her, you hear? If you don't stand down, I will be forced—"

"Get out," Severus seethed, summoning his reserves. Energy started to crackle in the air around him, the way it always did when he was about to perform wordless, wandless magics. A tendril of blue light crackled before him, causing the wizards to blanche.

"Are you all deaf? OUT!" he bellowed, "Get the bloody hell out of—"

"SEVERUS SNAPE!"

And once again, it seemed that all one needed to commandeer a situation of shouting men was one shouting woman.

All the medi-wizards, as well as the dumbstruck witch, turned immediately to the figure of the infirmary's matron standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, red-faced and fuming. Severus looked to her as well, if for no other reason than being startled to hear his name.

The abrupt quiet was broken by a thin gasp, and they all turned to see Luna Lovegood laying board-straight on the bed, hands spasming as she hyperventilated.

Immediately, one of the medi-wizards (the only one who had been more or less silent) gravely pulled out his wand and waved it gently over Luna, murmuring. Instantly, her body relaxed, and her breathing evened out. Within moments, she was fast asleep.

The stern look that Poppy gave them all was clue enough. They all trooped out of the private ward single-file, Severus bringing up the rear. He spared another glance back at the now peacefully sleeping girl before the door closed.

In a very tight voice, Poppy told the "gentlemen and lady" that they could go and come back later. Severus gave them his best glare as they trooped out, and they avoided his eyes like frightened schoolchildren. Once they were out of sight and earshot, Pomfrey turned to him.

The look on her face was not the visage of irritation and outrage he was expecting. Actually, her face as she turned back to him possessed next to no heat or annoyance. It was simply grave. Sad.

Craning around, he looked at the door again.

"Severus."

He turned back, with effort. He needed to be in that room—which was a ridiculous sentiment to feel because the girl was bloody sleeping and he couldn't do anything for her, but—

Poppy sighed.

"I promise to let you in later if you come with me now."

It seemed that was all the encouragement he needed. Without another word, he followed her lugubriously to her office.

Madame Poppy Pomfrey's office was not like that of a teacher. Hers was neat and orderly, uncluttered by papers and miscellaneous items, impeccable in its cleanliness and tidiness. But none of this to the point of being unwelcoming; on the contrary, the architecture and color scheme both seemed to be especially designed to emit soothing overtones. He got the feeling that there were many tear-stains on the chair in which he sat.

"Minerva should be the one telling you this," Pomfrey was saying as he shifted in his chair.
"But she's away on business. And, somehow, I doubt even she would think this entirely appropriate."

He narrowed his eyes.

Moving around her desk, she sat down across from him. she sighed.

"Firstly, and before you ask, I didn't call the people from St. Mungo's. Their coming here was in accordance with the law; if a student at Hogwarts appears to be mentally unstable as to present a danger to herself or her peers, specialty personnel will make a mandatory checkup.

"Secondly . . . this is technically none of your business." She raised a hand when his eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to retort. "Again, I say this from a legal standpoint. You are not kin. You are not a concerned fellow student. You are not a guardian. Since you are no longer on staff as a professor, you don't even possess any in loco parentis liberties. You cannot dictate any actions concerning the welfare of Luna Lovegood. I will talk to the medi-wizards and smooth things over, but if you violate their domain again, you will be breaking the law."

"So what?" he was surprised, after his dutiful silence, at the sudden and heated outburst. "If they find her mentally incompetent—and they will, believe you me—she's simply to be carted away? Have you seen the residents in the Mental Matters ward?"

It wasn't a question. He knew she had. The hard cast that her eyes took on was proof enough.

"They will decide what they think is best for her."

"They will commit her. Maybe permanently. Do you think she should be committed?"

"I don't have the expertise to—"

"That isn't what I asked," he snapped.

She gave him a long look. Finally, she said, "No."

"Exactly—"

"Severus, it really isn't your place." Her mouth was hard, and her words were sharp. "The girl lost her mother when she was nine. She just recently lost her father. Her whole world was turned upside-down by the war. . . and then there's the fiasco at Malfoy Manor. I know you're concerned for her; I've seen it. But it simply isn't appropriate—it's potentially confusing. She has no loving parental figures in her life now, and you showing her any compassion—"

"I am the farthest thing from a father—"

"You know perfectly well what I mean! For Merlin's sake . . . she's a teenage girl, Severus!"

She might as well have slapped him full across the face. He didn't know how to reply or what to say. All he could do was try his best to ignore the look Poppy was giving him—something torn between sympathy and you-ought-to-know-better. She was, of course, absolutely correct in everything she had said; in this situation, he had nil power—legal or otherwise—to effect Luna Lovegood's fate. He could testify to the St. Mungo's team on her behalf, vouch for her . . . but she wasn't even a member of his House. Up until a month or so ago, they hadn't even spoken to one another. Whatever statement he made wouldn't be valuable; and they probably already thought he was a raving lunatic. . . .

Realizing that he had drifted off in thought, he looked back up to find Poppy still giving him that same odd expression. A wave of annoyance flickered to life inside of him, and he scowled deeply.

Pushing his chair back, he abruptly stood up. From his imposing height, he looked down at her with more disdain than was warranted, and replied not-quite-graciously, "But of course. How foolish of me to think that I could make a difference. I shall show myself out." He gave her a swift, curt nod. "Good day, Poppy."

And, in a whirl of black robes, he stalked out of the infirmary.


He stomped around the castle for approximately an hour afterwards, fuming, thinking furiously of ways to insinuate himself into the situation properly, to help the silly girl. He made an entire circuit of the castle's east side, only refraining from venture into the courtyards for the rain, which pounded heavily against the walls and roared with dull intensity over all of his thoughts. The predominating emotion that weighed him down was anger, though concern and embarrassment were chief players as well. He kept kicking himself mentally, looking back on the situation he'd left in the infirm and feeling somewhat mortified. Merlin, he'd behaved like a complete psychotic headcase—in front of professional medical personnel, blundering and indelicate idiots though they were. Albus would doubtlessly be scolding him severely right about now—

He stopped himself when he began to think about Albus. It was just one more thing he couldn't bring himself to properly face; not yet. The memory of his actions was still too fresh in his mind. and whenever he did think about it—about his part in the entire sordid affair, his pliancy, his submission and status as a pawn—he felt like a monster.

More so than he felt normally, anyways.

Except in the presence of Lovegood, ironically.

Stopping in the middle of a corridor, Severus blinked in surprise, mulling over that last thought more carefully. This was a new development, it seemed—or at least, it was something he'd not recognized before. But it was true: around Lovegood, he did not feel monstrous, or condemned, or worthless. Whatever Luna Lovegood was, she certainly held his every attention, leaving him little time to dwell on his own tormented person.

Picking up his pace again, Severus finished the length of the corridor and made a sharp turn, deciding that he'd had enough of his own aimless wandering. It was time to return to his chambers, maybe even get some work done; do something useful for a change.

Perhaps he couldn't do anything legally to ensure Lovegood's safety and peace of mind. But he'd find a way to help her, Merlin damn him. He would find something. It was the least he could bloody well do.

And he'd go back tomorrow. He would hold his head high and march into the infirmary—and maybe hex anyone who tried to stand in his way—but he would not lose his temper. He would demand to see Luna calmly, and he would sit with her, and never once would he raise his voice or show himself to be angry. Hell, he would even refrain from snarling at the medi-wizards if they were present. He would behave like an adult, be stable and even. For the girl who was constantly floating high above in the clouds, he would be her solid ground to walk upon.

If only for an hour.

When Severus awoke the next morning he realized, to his disgruntled dismay, that he had slept past eight—uncommon for him, and utterly lazy in his opinion. Although, he thought grimacing as he slowly sat up, peeling away from the book his cheek had been plastered to, much of that could be attributed to the fact that he'd slept very little. Sitting upright in the hard wooden chair in his lab, he scanned over the text he'd been sleeping on; the last thing he remembered was reading this particular page twice over, unable to make proper sense of it due to drowsiness, and that had been around three-thirty in the morning. . . .

So, all in all, he'd had about four-and-a-half hours' worth of shut-eye. Enough to complete three full REM cycles, and that was it. Thankfully, his exhaustion had been so complete that said cycles had progressed unfettered by dreams of any sort. Thank Circe for small favors.

When he'd gotten back to his chambers the day before, he had immediately shut himself in his laboratory and started scouring through ideas. Since he wasn't in any legal position to help Lovegood, and he wasn't a medi-wizard by practice, the only thing that he could possibly think of within legal parameters was to find a potion that might ease some of her symptoms. His first venture had been a calming draught—but that idea was tossed after the first hour of brainstorming. Calming draughts worked wonders in a pinch, but were unhealthy when used long-term; they were known to produce assiduous lethargy, and in some cases of extreme abuse, brain damage. He looked over a few recipes, thinking about changing some of the ingredients; ultimately, he could conclude that the idea was no good. Changing ingredients of calming draughts was simple enough and didn't require much testing time; however, the ingredients he would need to change in order to prevent hazardous side-effects took away most of the potion's potency.

His second thought was not a potion, but a spell. There were certain guardian spells—Dreamwatcher magic, so it was called—that conjured up a patronus of sorts to keep watch over a sleeping person. But those kinds of defensive oneiric spells were meant to protect sleepers from outside influence: that was, from psychic attack, an unwanted breach by a legilimens, or enchantments. And there were no variant oneiric spells simply for dreams. So after another hour-and-a-half, that idea was too chucked.

His third idea was the one that kept him up most of the night. Going back to the idea of a potion, he started to research dreamless sleep elixirs. He knew that, for tonight at least, Luna Lovegood had probably been given the standard form of Dreamless Sleep, and would not suffer tonight. However, he also knew that no medical professional would ever condone the continuous administering of such a potion. This was for two reasons. One, the Dreamless Sleep Potion was extremely addictive; the sleep-symptoms it produced were mildly euphoric, and left one feeling as if floating on a cloud. Taken consistently and allowing for addiction to build resulted often in loss of appetite and inability to feel thirst, which lead eventually to death. Two, Dreamless Sleep also had deleterious long-term effects even if taken at a non-addictive rate. The effects were quite similar to those of calming droughts: brain damage, lethargy, but also incurable coma-states, and, in some cases wherein patients had atypical reactions, dangerous paranoia and insomnia.

Considering how dangerous the potion was if abused, he couldn't quite blame anyone for not tinkering with its formula more; there was no real way to test it without violating wizard laws.

Unless, of course, he were to test it on himself. Which he was prepared to do.

But, according to the calculations he'd scrawled out on some spare parchment beside him, the risk didn't seem necessary—simply because there was little he feasibly do to potion without changing its delicate makeup entirely. Every ingredient and every direction was absolutely essential; if he changed anything, from the amount of anise to the number of times the potion was stirred widdershins, he'd end up with a completely different potion. But, in most cases, it would just be poison.

But he couldn't give up yet. This was area, damn it. This was alchemy—magical science. This was where he excelled. And it was all mathematical, all concrete. He would find a way.

But for now, at 8:22 in the morning, running on 4.5 hours of sleep, he was stumped.

Deciding to give his brain a rest, he dragged himself out of his chair and opted to take a very long shower. After that, he sent for his house-elf and ordered breakfast (coffee, fruit, and a bagel he wasn't likely to eat), and the morning paper. Sipping on his coffee, he scanned through today's headlines with little zeal.

There was another article about Potter again. Apparently, this time he and Mr. Malfoy had been spotted in Hogsmeade together. There were even two pictures to accompany this article: one shot from outside a window, depicting the two young men in Honeydukes; Draco was smirking with a self-satisfied look whilst Potter laughed, possibly at something the former said. The other picture was taken from behind, and showed the two walking together, side-by-side; upon closer inspection, the moving figures in that picture would amble closer, hands almost brushing, and then pull slightly apart again.

Severus frowned lightly. Perhaps there was more to the headlines than he originally thought. Severus squinted again at the Honeydukes picture. Draco, for all his smirking, did seem to be genuinely pleased—something Severus hadn't seen in his slightly estranged godson in a long time. He hummed deep within his throat. He wasn't certain how to feel about this; though he didn't necessarily despise Potter as he'd pretended to, he couldn't say he was particularly fond of the boy. He still did, to some degree, hate the memory of James he saw in the younger Potter. But, he conceded with a slight sigh, whatever he begrudged Harry, he couldn't discourage anything that might make Draco even moderately happy.

Putting the thought aside for the moment, he sped through the rest of the paper. Dribble, dribble, dribble. Apparently Minerva was away at an international conference, which was briefly outlined in the paper; she wouldn't be back for another week. His gut twisted; he had been contemplating taking his case to Minerva . . . but, thinking on what Poppy said, he didn't know exactly what her reaction would be. That she was still gone was probably for the best.

Sighing, Severus glanced at the clock hanging above his mantle. It now read 9: 42. Folding up the paper, he thought carefully. In two hours, it would be lunchtime. He stretched carefully, feeling the pull in his muscles from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. He would take a short, proper nap, he decided. Then he would make his appearance.


Almost exactly two hours later, Severus found himself walking slowly down the halls of the school. Without his noticing, class had let back in session from the winter hols, and he was almost startled at the number of students he had to wade through—although "wade" probably wasn't an apt word, since they parted like the Red Sea in his wake. He was avoiding their stares, mixed with fear and awe and respect; he was unused to it. Dealing with students was so much easier when they just feared and hated him.

Finally, he made it to the infirmary. The same guard from the day before was standing there, and he appraised Severus warily. Undeterred, Severus stepped up to the man, drawing himself up to his full height.

"I need to see Ms. Lovegood," he said simply.

The guard continued to survey him. Finally, he nodded. "If you cause any kind of ruckus," he intoned, "You will be removed immediately."

Severus returned the nod gravely. "Understood."

Giving him one last long look, the guard stepped aside and opened the door.

Stepping into the infirmary, Severus found himself looking around in surprise. It wasn't empty, as he presumed it would be; second term had only just started, and there were already two student lying in bed with fevers, and one second year boy getting patched up by Maggie from what looked like a fight. On the other side of the room, another second year (presumably the adversary) glared at the boy Maggie was attending to, arms crossed, a ridiculous fluffy white tail twitching behind him irritably.

And, at the far end of the infirm, standing right in front of the private ward, was a slender, platinum-haired someone.

Severus approached his godson cautiously from behind. Hearing footsteps, the young man turned around, his eyes widening in surprise to see his former Professor.

"Pro—sir," he stuttered, obviously bewildered.

Severus drew up to him until they were a pace apart. "Draco," he returned, not-quite-warmly but about as close as he could manage.

Draco, always uncannily in tune with what Severus was trying to express, smiled a bit. "How are you, sir? I haven't seen you around. I almost thought you might have taken off without saying." There was a smidgen of hurt in his tone then, almost undetectable.

Severus frowned, shaking his head. "No, no." He wouldn't do that. Not to Draco. "I've been . . . busy."

It was a lame response, but Draco nodded, not seeking further explanation. Instead, he turned his head as his grey eyes slid back towards the imposing, charmed door.

"Are you here to see Luna?"

Severus felt a twinge of embarrassment then, and Poppy's words floated back to him. what was he doing here? What would he tell Draco—tell anyone? That he, the sarcastic bastard extraordinaire was actually concerned about this blonde feychild?

Well, there was no point in lying.

"Yes," the word came out rushed, in a whoosh of breath.

Draco nodded, his soft small mouth angling into a frown. "So am I," he said. As the boy shifted, Severus noticed for the first time that he was holding onto the handles of a small paper bag. "They won't let me in, though. No students. They probably think I'm going to hex her or something. Son of a notorious Death Eater and all." He gazed at the door with a mix of gloominess and anger.

Severus shook his head, slowly, still flooded with a strange sense of relief. "No. They simply aren't letting students see her at present. I'm actually surprised that I still have access. I . . . made something of a scene yesterday." Why did he say that? He stole a glance at his godson to gauge his reaction.

Draco's fair eyes widened to saucers. "You did?"

Severus pursed his lips uncomfortably. ". . .Yes."

Most graciously, Draco chose not to question further into the matter. Instead, the both stood there silently for a moment, staring at the door.

The silence was broken by Draco asking:

"So; I suppose you'll be going in then."

Severus merely nodded.

Draco looked down at the floor, frowning at his shoes. Then, he looked back up at his professor questioningly.
"Sir . . . would you mind . . .?" He gestured somewhat helplessly at the gift bag in his other hand. As Severus looked, he realized with a jolt that he recognized the gaudy logo on the side: Honeyduke's. "It's just, we—I got these for her, but I don't know when they'll let me see her, if at all—"

Without letting him finish, (and choosing not to pry about the Freudian "we") Severus reached down and deftly lifted the bag from Draco's hand. He decided that the smile settling at the edge of his godson's mouth was a rare and wonderful creature indeed.

"I would be honored," Severus said simply.

He felt his eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline as Draco almost—almost—beamed at him. It was uncanny to see a Malfoy so genuinely pleased; uncanny, but not off-putting. It was actually rather nice to see the young man so enthused.

"Thank you very much, sir," Draco said humbly. He glanced at the door briefly, then back up at Severus. "Well, I suppose I ought to go. My lunch is almost over, and I told Ha— told someone I'd talk to them before next class."

Again, the slip of the tongue was not lost on Severus. He was sorely tempted this time to point it out—Draco had all but uttered the bloody name anyway—but he dismissed it. Draco wouldn't lie to him (mostly because the boy knew all too well that lying successfully to Severus Snape was nearly impossible); but the conversation that would no doubt ensue was for another day.

So he nodded, and Draco again gave thanks, and scurried on his way, leaving Severus alone with the door.

Sighing, he knocked twice, gave pause, and turned the handle.