Chapter 31

ARTIFACTS

As Dumbledore hustled about, readying two mugs of hot, frothy butterbeer and a tray of snickerdoodles, Harry stared at the buzzing, zapping, sparking apparatus set up on the table across the room: a computer system. The torn cardboard and Styrofoam packing discarded in the corner told him he'd discovered what had been in the mysterious boxes he'd hauled up the Friday before. A tangle of eerily glowing wires connected the processing tower, monitor, keyboard, and printer to an electric generator that alternately whirred and died. Streams of yellow light shot between the units using no wires at all. Despite all the magic Snape and Dumbledore had spent ten hours applying to the system, the screen remained black—except for a spectral gray shape that occasionally flitted across, reminding Harry of the term ghost in the machine.

The portraits of former headmasters had evidently given up on the unruly Muggle artifacts as well. They'd all drifted off to sleep in their frames.

With a sigh, the headmaster settled into an overstuffed chair and waited for the tray to alight on the table beside him. In one arm, he cradled a thick photograph album. He handed it to Harry, then lifted his mug of steaming butterbeer to take a sip.

Harry wasn't quite so eager to talk as he'd been the day before. Grateful for a diversion, he opened the album.

"Friends and family," the headmaster explained. "It took some time to gather them all, but it was worth the while."

As Harry turned the pages, Dumbledore identified each photo, starting with sepia-toned portraits of his parents that didn't move and proceeding to laughing, winking siblings and cousins, many of whom shared the same deep auburn hair. When Harry came to a round-faced witch with light brown curls and a twinkle in her eyes, Dumbledore murmured, "That was Coriander—my wife."

Next to her, Harry saw a young lady with familiar blue eyes. "Your daughter?"

"Very discerning of you, yes."

"She has your face," Harry explained.

"Though not my proboscis, I hope." Dumbledore leaned back, his large, bumpy nose sticking out in profile. "Along with Corrie, Rosette was my life's great happiness—and its sadness, too. They have both passed on."

Harry studied her kind face a moment, thinking this was a woman he wished he had known. Further on, the album revealed the Hogwarts staff at various ages. Students were also represented—playing Quidditch, displaying awards, or just waving from the gardens. Flipping a page, he was surprised to see a schoolboy picture of Sirius and Snape—though the tautness of their smiles showed they weren't happy about the pairing.

Pointing at the chess trophy hanging midair between them, Dumbledore said, "An unbelievable match. Forty-two games over three days. We had to call it a draw."

Holding back a grin, Harry continued through more shots than he'd imagined the album could hold until he came across a series he recognized. "My parents' wedding."

"Yes. Lily and James were very special to me."

"And that's why you keep a special eye on their son." When the headmaster nodded, Harry's worries came out in a rush. "That's why you made me stay instead of visiting the Weasleys. You thought I was in danger. But you're wrong. The statue and the griffin—their attacks were aimed at you. The shock laurel proved that."

A slow smile appeared between Dumbledore's snowy white mustache and long, snowy beard. "You are always in danger, Harry. That is the sad truth so long as Voldemort lives. But that is not the reason I kept you here. You have two surprises coming, one quite soon. As for my being in danger—that is also always true. But yes, this autumn the threat has been more keenly targeted. Rest assured: all three events are being investigated."

Harry let his head flop back against his chair, realizing just how exhausted his day and a half of agitation had made him. "I've been investigating, too."

"And the only truth you've uncovered is that the culprit is not Severus Snape."

Dumbledore's quiet words so startled Harry that he flipped the picture album off his lap. Calmly, the headmaster pointed at it and floated it to his desk. Harry bit his lip, waiting for the flush to leave his cheeks.

"This isn't the first time you've misjudged our Potions master—nor, I warrant, your last."

Harry recalled the reason he'd given Hermione so many weeks before: Because Snape keeps on doing suspicious things. He blew out his breath. "I guess it's the fact that Professor Snape used to be a Death Eater. I can't get that out of my mind. You told me once that you trusted him anyway—but you couldn't tell me the reason." He glanced sidelong at the headmaster. If the answer had anything to do with his mother, he didn't really want to know.

"The reason?" Dumbledore smiled. "In truth, there are several. But let's consider his having been a Death Eater. Actually, a large part of why I trust him is connected to that past."

A rumble rose from the computer, as if seconding Harry's skepticism.

Dumbledore glanced sternly at the CPU, then turned toward Harry. "When Voldemort fell, except for a few fanatics, every Death Eater claimed to have acted under an Imperius Curse. Severus was the only one scrupulous enough to admit to having once believed. Yet he was the only one who turned against Voldemort at the height of his power. To have risked that from the inner circle took noble convictions."

"But many people never believed in Voldemort. You didn't."

"No, not me—but many did. Some of the best and the brightest were fooled by him. My own daughter, for one."

Remembering the gentle-faced Rosette, Harry winced. "She wasn't—"

"With the Death Eaters? Oh, gracious, no. That was long before. Voldemort wasn't even Voldemort, then."

"Even so, how could . . . ." Harry removed his glasses and clenched them in his hand. "I saw Voldemort with what is left of his Death Eaters. He was vengeful, cruel, explosive—just plain scary. I can't see how anyone ever could have followed him. What could anyone, even those villains I saw with him, ever have hoped to gain from that madman?"

Instead of answering, Dumbledore picked up his butterbeer. Dutifully, Harry reached for his. He took a long draught, studying the headmaster through the rising steam. At last, Dumbledore said, "He has had many faces."

Harry put aside his mug, intent on listening.

"For a time Voldemort was a viable force in wizard affairs. He never involved himself directly in Ministry matters, but his followers made it clear that their ideas originated with him. And early on, many of those ideas were irreproachable. First, it was preservation of endangered magical creatures. Several breeds of British dragon were headed for extinction. Even I couldn't fault his arguments for their protection."

Harry nodded. His mother and Hagrid had also believed in that cause.

"Then came Muggles. Since time immemorial, encounters between the magical and the non-magical have created problems, sometimes disasters. Voldemort made a widely supported case for tightening the rules that govern our interactions. I argued that his views were too restrictive, but I could hardly call their supporters evil.

"Bit by bit, his message grew more insidious." Light from the malfunctioning computer flickered over Dumbledore's face. "Millennia ago, certain areas of magic became taboo. Their temptation had proved too dangerous. Voldemort said it wasn't necessarily so. Wielding this power, he said, far-seeing magicians of good will could solve the crises of the Muggle-run world. He termed it control over chaos. This time, I called his philosophy as I saw it—a will to dominate and repress. Some began to agree."

"The old crowd." Dumbledore had used that term the year before. Harry had been glad to find Remus Lupin numbered among them. He'd been astounded to hear the name Arabella Figg—the old lady who had bored him with cat photos when he was a boy. His father and mother had been in that group—he just knew it. And Sirius, too.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "But not Severus. Not at first."

"Why?"

Dumbledore inspected Harry over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "Due to various circumstances, Severus finished Hogwarts with an overpowering need to prove himself. Due to hostility he'd engendered during his schooldays, the Ministry rejected his application to become an auror. Everywhere he sought a position, rumors of the breadth and depth of his studies, the extent of his skills and expertise, preceded him. And they closed doors. Nobody wanted to hire someone so likely to know more than they did."

Harry cocked his head. "So, you're saying being a good student doesn't pay?"

"I hope I'm not." Dumbledore shrugged. "I tried to interest Severus in replacing the retiring Potions master, but he considered staying at Hogwarts a surrender. For a year, he did odd jobs. Then Lucius Malfoy hired him. He encouraged Severus's fascination for just those forbidden realms of magic that so interested Voldemort. He filled Severus's head with visions of that rascal's lofty goals. Control over chaos. That is an illusion Severus had always—perhaps always will—desire. When at last the Dark Lord called him to service, Severus was eager to show his worth."

Afraid to fidget, Harry folded his hands around his glasses. The headmaster was sketching in more gaps in the enigma called Severus Snape than a session under Somnoleveritaphantasmagoria Powder. He wanted no distraction to break the thread.

"Some attracted Voldemort's attention by their lust for power. Others by their willingness to be led. With Severus, it was his mind. Because of his flair for arcane languages and cryptic runes, he was set the task of delving into ancient texts and experimenting with what he found. Voldemort was so pleased with Severus's endeavors that he offered him the chance to rise higher. That was the Dark Lord's mistake."

Again, Dumbledore paused to sip his drink. Harry could see conflict creasing his forehead. Was it worse to betray Snape's past or leave him unexplained? After a painfully long minute, the headmaster sighed. "Voldemort invited him to become a Death Eater. Severus believed his most noble aspirations were about to come true. He entered the ceremony willingly, eager to receive the mark that would identify him as one of the chosen few. He had no foreknowledge of what obtaining it would involve."

The darkening look on Dumbledore's face made Harry's tongue go dry. He had the urge to jump up to get another mug of butterbeer. To perhaps not return. To perhaps not hear the rest of the story the headmaster was steeling himself to continue.

"Let me just say, the ritual involved a young Muggle girl and all three of the unforgivable curses. Severus was horrified. But he kept his silence. He played along. He received the brand."

Harry's jaw dropped. "A young girl? They compelled her to come, then tortured and killed her? And Professor Snape did nothing to stop them?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a measuring look. "You think that cowardice. But Severus is nothing if not logical. It is not in his makeup to attempt the impossible."

"But the girl . . . ."

"Severus couldn't have saved her. Yet he blamed himself anyway. He had nowhere to turn. His father was missing. His mother had run out on him. His school friends were themselves Death Eaters. The person he most trusted, he was ashamed to face. So finally, he unburdened himself to me. A Gryffindor would have tried to save her, he said. I answered, Then I'm grateful it was a Slytherin that was there."

Harry stared at Dumbledore.

"Oh, yes. Brave Gryffindor would have tried and most certainly been killed. Cunning Slytherin bided his time and gave us the most valuable agent we've ever had."

Harry pressed his head back against his chair. He remembered Ariel Daine's horror at seeing the Dark Mark on Snape's arm and her apologies the morning after. Professor Dumbledore must have painted this same picture for her. Despite himself, he was feeling stirrings of sympathy for the old Slytherin.

Dumbledore entwined his fingers in his beard. "Severus perpetrated deceptions on the Dark Lord more crafty and more perilous than you can imagine. Even now, it frightens me to think of them." Abruptly he stopped, listening. Then he raised a hand as if to signal time out. "But those tales will have to wait. Your surprise is about to enter."

Harry gaped. "You can't stop now. Don't leave me dangling. Go on. Please."

Before he could get out another stuttering word, the door swept open and the subject of Dumbledore's story entered, gazing suspiciously from one to the other of them.

"Severus!" the headmaster said heartily. "Did you bring him?"

In answer, the Potions master stepped aside and another man strolled forward.

"Remus!" Harry exclaimed, then sprang out of his chair to race across the floor.

His parents' old friend wrapped him in a warm hug. Then he held Harry at arm's length. "You've grown!"

"And you've been making money," Harry responded happily.

Laughing, Remus released Harry, then self-consciously ran his fingers down his expensive-looking, burgundy, cashmere traveling cloak. Harry noticed that his brown hair was stylishly cut so that the gray made him look distinguished rather than old. His face glowed with good health, though his eyes seemed a little tired. Harry recalled that a few days ago, the moon had been a sliver, so at least two weeks had passed since his friend's last struggle against becoming a werewolf.

Snape flicked his black eyes disapprovingly from the man to the teen.

As if reading the glance, Remus smiled. "You forget, I'm not his professor anymore. I'm just an old family friend."

"A misunderstanding," Snape mumbled, then strode across the room.

Harry suppressed a grin, certain that was the closest to an apology Snape would ever give for losing Remus his Defense Against the Dark Arts position two years before. With a wink at Harry and a greeting to Dumbledore, his friend sauntered over to join Snape before the blinking, growling, vibrating collection of Muggle artifacts.

"Oh, my," Remus observed, "you have been busy."

Impatiently, Snape waved his hand. "Lupin, be my guest." Then he retreated a pace, folded his arms, and glowered.

As majestically as a stage magician, Remus swept off his cloak, revealing wide khaki trousers sporting an array of ingenious pockets. At his belt hung a tooled leather case displaying small gauge screwdrivers, needle-nosed pliers, and his wizard's wand. Jauntily, he aimed his cloak at a distant coat rack. It caught perfectly. "All right, now. Let's see what can be done."

Yes, yes, very AU: Please comment.