Chapter 16

STAIRS

Another crash of metal on stone made Harry jump. Yet facing the ruckus outside seemed less scary than facing Snape. Clutching his cloak, he raced towards the noise, praying he was truly invisible. If so much as a fingertip showed, he'd be nailed.

Behind him, Snape groaned, still groggy. The caged rats squeaked and scrabbled. Harry swung open the door. Arrows of light darted up and down the stairs. Before he could dodge, one pierced his shoulder. Icy pain shot down his spine. He cried out, only to be cut short by a yank on his arm. Desperately he twisted, anxious to escape. Then he heard a tense whisper.

"Come on! Let's leg it!"

Relief flooded Harry. He threw half of the cloak across Ron's shoulders, and together they stumbled down the steps to the alcove where his friend had been keeping watch. Silver shapes whizzed past, lighting their way. Strange shrieks and howls reverberated around them. Just as they slipped behind the musty tapestry that masked the alcove, Harry heard an imposing voice rise above the din.

"Show yourselves! Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands it!"

A whoosh of air shook the tapestry. Harry shrank back against the cold granite. Please don't mean us, he begged silently. Beside him, Ron shuddered.

"Show yourself this instant! You can't hide from me."

Harry glanced down. In the eerie light bouncing off the walls, he could see that his toes were sticking out beneath the tapestry. Could Snape see them, too? But if he moved his feet to hide them, he'd be even more likely to risk attention. At least Hermione wouldn't be suspended. She was keeping watch at the professor's other door on the classroom side.

Another screech echoed up the passage.

"Stop this at once and come out!"

Abruptly, the staircase went deathly quiet. The numinous light coalesced into a soft, steady glow. Harry held his breath, expecting that any second now Snape would whip aside the wall hanging. One last hunk of metal clattered down the steps.

Then Nick's jovial voice rang out. "Working late, professor? Thought all you humans had gone to bed ages ago."

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsey-Porpington?" Snape sounded stunned.

"And friends."

"Friends?"

"Surely. Let me introduce—" Nick imitated a drum roll "—the Almost Axed Acrobats. We're in rehearsal, of course, and Guy of Surrey and Bruce the Highlander don't quite have the juggling down, but—"

Snape exhaled slowly. The sound reminded Harry of a teakettle starting to heat. "The Almost Axed Acrobats?"

"Has a nice alliterative ring, don't you think?"

"You're juggling—"

"Armor. Helmets, gauntlets, breastplates. We'll put everything back, naturally."

"Naturally."

Snape spoke calmly, but Harry was certain his mildness was deceptive. Though he couldn't see the professor, memory of his own many run-ins created a picture of him—jaw stiffening, lips twitching, cheeks turning a mottled gray. Any moment now, the professor would erupt. Poor Nick. Surely, a ghost couldn't be expelled from Hogwarts?

"We—we didn't mean to disturb anyone." For the first time, Nick's tone was hesitant. "We were only—"

"Rehearsing. Yes, well. You were rather loud. Be grateful I wasn't . . . sleeping." Snape cleared his throat. "I must ask that at night you continue to confine your rehearsing to this part of the castle. The living need their rest. And . . . rethink the juggling."

"Certainly, certainly. Don't want to waken anyone."

"Indeed."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Instead of exploding, Snape was quietly jiggling a key in his lock and murmuring an incantation. In a moment, Harry caught the rustle of robes as the professor ascended the stairs.

"Good night," Nick called out. "Pleasant dreams."

"What? Yes. Good night."

Ron grabbed Harry's wrist as they strained to hear whether the professor had truly gone. At last, he leaned close to Harry's ear. "Was that really Snape? He sounded almost, well—I don't know how to put it."

"Reasonable?"

"That's the word. Hard to think of it in connection with Snape." Ron released Harry and patted him on the back. "What did you do to him?"

"You liberated Professor Severus," Dobby said happily, once the four conspirators were reunited in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "That's what you did."

"Uh, yes," Harry said. Or at the very least, confused him.

"Dobby saw his face as he passed on the stairs. Out-of-kilter, it was. Open."

Hermione's forehead wrinkled. "Open?"

Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry looked aside and saw his self-conscious grimace mocking him repeatedly from the row of tarnished bathroom mirrors. "He was probably just half-asleep."

"No, sir. Dobby knows that face. Dobby knows that feeling. It's liberation."

On the elf's last word, a sob echoed from the toilet at the end. "Lib-er-a-tion!"

Hermione jabbed her thumb in the direction of Myrtle's wailing. "What's wrong with her tonight? I thought she was lightening up."

Harry bit his lip, feeling even worse.

"Maybe she's jealous she doesn't qualify for the Almost Axed Acrobats." Ron shrugged. "Now tell us exactly what Snape—"

"Nick's Acrobats—" Harry interrupted, grabbing at the distraction. "You should see them, Hermione. After Snape left, they put on a show for us. When Nick and the other two wizards get their heads spinning, and the Scots start tumbling over each other, it is a sight to see."

"Another night," Ron said impatiently. "Those spooks are dying for an audience. But first—"

Harry pretended his friend hadn't spoken. "They should give up the juggling, though. They're too insubstantial. Even if one ghost manages to hoist and toss something, it goes right through the next. But when—"

Ron glowered. "Quit stalling. Tell us. Where do Snape's loyalties lie?"

Harry shifted his weight. His shoes made sucking noises on the damp tile. "Well, he was more drowsy than I thought he'd be. Not quite so coherent."

"But he told you the truth, didn't he?" Hermione sounded anxious, as if afraid to learn her potion hadn't worked.

"Yes. Of that, I'm positive." Snape wouldn't have said any of the things he did in jest.

"And that truth was—"

Harry stole a glance at Ron, wondering how many lies he could get away with. "Well . . . his loyalties would be with Dumbledore."

Hermione beamed. "I knew it. I just knew it."

Dobby nodded happily.

Ron frowned. "He said that?"

"Not in so many words . . . but he told me something that gave me good reason to believe his loyalties wouldn't be with Voldemort."

Ron cocked his head. "Which was—?"

"Snape let on he had once. . . ." Harry removed his glasses and polished them. When he put them back on, he saw that Ron looked ready to strangle him. ". . . he'd been fond of someone. A woman. Voldemort killed her."

Ron released a long, low whistle.

In a tentative voice, Hermione asked, "Professor Snape was in love?"

"I didn't say that," Harry shot back.

"But you said—"

"He was fond of someone. He didn't say she was fond of him. They might have been friends. Maybe. That's all I know."

"Snape was in love," Ron repeated in a wondering tone.

"That's not what I said," Harry insisted. And don't ask me with whom.

"Were they married?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not! I never said—"

"Don't be daft," Ron cut in. "If he'd ever been married, it'd be common knowledge all over Hogwarts. A wife's a rather public matter, after all,"

Actually, Harry couldn't remember having ever heard that any of the professors had ever been married.

Hermione sighed. "You're right, of course. The professor had a clandestine lover."

"He did not!" Harry blurted out. "I never—"

"No wonder he's so brusque," Hermione went on. "He's nursing a private heartache."

"Heartache!" Myrtle moaned.

Harry saw Dobby's eyes starting to shimmer. He stared at the floor.

"Snape in love. Who'd have thought it?" Even Ron sounded subdued. "Well, the Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria Powder did its job, and we're back to square one. Who's trying to kill Harry? It's not Snape."

Harry frowned, recalling Snape's adoring description of his mother: Too giving. Gave everything for that boy, Potter's son. Lily—she gave her life. Snape blamed him for his mother's death. Could he hate him enough to want him to pay with his life?

"I told you the professor's all right," Hermione said. "After all, he did protect Harry our first year."

That was true. Ever since Snape had scoffed at James's motive for saving him from werewolf Lupin, Harry had wondered about the real reason Snape had looked after James's son. When push came to shove, did Snape see Lily in her son's green eyes?

Harry passed a hand over his forehead, wanting nothing more than for all such images to go away. "You guys," he said softly. "We've got to keep this quiet. We can't ever discuss it or try to find out more about it. The story stops here. It mustn't leave this room."

The elf raised his chin. "You know Dobby can keep a secret."

"I'll carry it to the grave!" Myrtle cried from her end stall.

Ron raised his eyebrows, as if offended Harry had even asked.

Hermione pursed her lips. "It'll be hard to look at Professor Snape in the same way ever again. It's frustrating hearing just a piece of such a story and not—" When Harry glared at her, she nodded. "Of course, I'll respect his privacy."

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