Chapter 57

PERFORMANCE

A stunned hush followed Ariel Daine's question. Slowly, Snape raised a hand to cover his open mouth. McGonagall compressed her lips, as if stumped for a response. When the elf finally turned toward her, his eyes were saucer-sized.

Daine's in denial. Such Muggle psychological terms were not often used in the world of magic, but Harry could think of no other explanation. She remembered Voldemort but not Snape's betrayal or Wilhelm's proof of it. Instead of the Dark Lord rearranging her memory, she'd done it to herself.

Professor Daine broke the silence with a giggle. "I must confess, when you first waltzed in, announcing you'd 'Kill Dumbledore,' I nearly gave away the whole show. You told that whopper with such a straight face that I'm afraid I grinned. I knew you had some deliciously clever plan up your sleeve. Luckily, Harry caught my eye before any of those scalawags saw. I think I hid my true feelings pretty well after that."

But you're making a fine mess of it now, Harry thought, and glanced nervously at Snape. Voldemort's reinstated Potions master continued to appear dumbfounded. How long before he starts machinating how to fix this kink in the Dark Lord's designs?

At last Snape managed, "You—you remember. How?"

"Oh, by using my speculative mentalist theories. I think that's what you called them." Professor Daine cocked her head coyly. "I did tell you I have a Doctorate in Paracognition, didn't I?"

"Yes, but—I never dreamed—that's astonishing. Despite being under the influence of Mist of Delusion, you repelled Lord Voldemort—cold, without a preventive potion, an amulet, a charm, anything."

Ariel Daine blushed. "I studied four years under Drs. N. Curzon and Wardov. After all that, if I couldn't con a first level assault from a wizard who didn't know I'd had some training, Lost Bayou Institute for the Magical Arts and Sciences ought to stop handing out degrees." She patted her short fluffy hair. "Of course, it didn't hurt that the old scoundrel wasn't expecting much of a fight. Sometimes it's useful being blonde."

McGonagall emitted a brief snort. Harry darted her a glance. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn his housemistress was stifling laughter. But surely the news that he and Daine had been with Voldemort was too shocking for her to find anything funny about it.

"But do you know who's really astonishing? That young man there." Daine grinned over her shoulder at Harry. "He didn't knuckle under either, and he's self taught."

As Snape's black eyes flickered over to him, Harry saw skepticism, then derision. "Him? You're mistaken. He's baffled. He has no idea what you're talking about." That certainty seemed to restore some of the Potions master's self-assurance. With a discreet tug, he straightened his black robes, then raised his pointed chin.

Snape's superior manner demolished any intentions Harry had of playing dumb. "I don't, do I? How about these ideas: 'Have faith,' 'the wheels are in motion,' 'I've come just in time,' 'it means taking sides,' 'I need assurances,' 'Coritoxia Alternatus,' 'Expiry'?"

Instead of contemptuous, Snape's expression became appalled. "You do know." His mouth worked a moment before more words came. "But you can't even block a simple Memory Charm."

"You're talking about my little classroom demo when Harry said 'blue monkey'?" Professor Daine shrugged. "That was just a wee white fib to spare Hermione's feelings. Kind of sweet, actually."

Harry folded his arms. If he hadn't knuckled under to the Dark Lord, he certainly wasn't going to do so to his servant. "I remember everything. You rejoined the Death Eaters. You're Voldemort's favorite Potions master again. He sees you as a son."

At the recitation of Snape's crimes, Professor Daine broke into gleeful laughter. "Oh, Harry. Wasn't Severus magnificent? He really had that rascal going: 'He was lost, but now he is found.' In another minute, Voldemort would have been killing the fatted griffin for him."

Snape shook his head. "You remember. All of it. Yet you don't believe Albus is dead."

Professor Daine rolled her eyes. "Well, either you faked the whole thing, or you went weak-kneed before a bunch of bullies and concocted some farfetched, new-fangled, slap-dash poison to murder the man you most trust and admire. Which alternative should I believe?"

During the silence that followed, Harry looked from one professor to another. Daine smiled at Snape. He studied her, then ran his fingers through his lank black hair as if that might help him figure out what to do next.

Looking bemused, Professor McGonagall let the elf place the canister of licorice wands in her hands. She held it a moment. Then she pulled out a long stick and took a therapeutic bite.

As Harry regarded the others, the truth slowly dawned on him. He faced away and bit his lower lip. Pressing a hand against his forehead, he grimaced. What was wrong with him? Professor Daine had read the signs accurately; he hadn't. Just like Professor Dumbledore had predicted, he'd misjudged the Potions master yet again. Minerva McGonagall had had it right all those years ago when she'd been Head Girl. Severus Snape wasn't nice, but he was good.

Harry took a few self-composing breaths. He straightened his glasses. Bringing a chastened smile to his face, he turned back around. "Both Professor Daine and I remember everything, and we still can't figure out how you did it. Clearly, you wouldn't kill Professor Dumbledore, but his remains are in the rotunda." He raised his eyebrows. "What's going on?"

Harry heard a soft, child-pitched cough. He glanced down at the room's occupant he'd have least expected to provide the answer.

"A third alternative entirely," the elf piped up. "Professor Dumbledore is dead, as Master Avery proved with his identity potion and his knife. He just isn't dead today."

In the renewed silence that followed that inexplicable explanation, Harry felt lightheaded. Swaying slightly on his feet, he watched the old elf push up an overstuffed chair next to the rocker. When he began dragging over a cozy sofa, McGonagall quickly put the licorice wands on the bureau and went to help. As the elf started toward a teacart Harry knew hadn't been in the room before, McGonagall hurried past to fetch it for him.

The faintness that had come over Harry at the elf's cryptic words became absolute wooziness when he glimpsed the three-tier display of shortbread, blueberries, scones, clotted cream, apple muffins, crumpets, lemon curd, apricot tarts and Linzer torte. As far as he could remember, he hadn't eaten a bite since Voldemort's tea party the day before.

The elf gave him a kindly smile. "First we fill the body, then the head. You're owed an explanation." Then he pulled himself up into a second overstuffed chair that looked like Dumbledore's favorite from his office downstairs. When he pressed back against the cushions, the clog shoes extending from his lederhosen, argyle-sock clad legs didn't quite reach the end of the seat.

Professor Daine touched Snape's shoulder and went over to the sofa. When Snape opted for the other chair, McGonagall sat beside her. That left Harry the rocker, which he accepted gratefully.

"I expect we're all famished," the Headmistress observed, pouring everyone's tea and piling everyone's plate with treats without bothering to ask for preferences. Then she leaned back in her chair and let the crockery pass itself around.

Unlike Voldemort's delicate china, the tea service was thick, amber-glazed ceramic ware. A couple pieces were chipped, but they all appeared well loved. Harry caught his cup and saucer and was delighted when his plate settled itself on his lap. By the time his companions finished stirring their tea, he'd already consumed half his meal. With food in his stomach, common sense started returning to his brain.

"'He isn't dead today,'" Harry repeated. "That means the viewing of the body—" He let out a whoop and nearly dropped his plate. "It's in the future! Temporal Transfiguration! Professor McGonagall, you moved the time for the entire rotunda to some point in the future! That's why we saw a shimmer whenever anyone came or went. You used your new Time Turner. The one you showed us in class. Brilliant!" No wonder Professor Dumbledore looked more wrinkled.

As she sipped her tea, Harry could see McGonagall's dour gray eyes looked pleased. "So, you did attend to your lessons," she said as she lowered her cup to her saucer. "Severus's brainstorm, actually. He recalled that several months ago, Sybil had a premonition of Albus's eventual passing. He'd taken pains to persuade her to keep it to herself, but now he saw the information's usefulness."

Harry caught his uncle's eye. Snape's oblique gaze confirmed that Professor Trelawney's prophecy was the one she'd tried to impart to him, Ron and Hermione walking back from the library so many, many nights before.

Snape sighed, then shooed his untouched plate back to the tea trolley. "At the time she called it 'Doom! Heartbreak! A sight no mortal woman should have to bear!' Exactly the kind of presentiment that encumbers rather than enlightens. Yesterday, however, under pressure to provide Albus's corpse, I prevailed upon Sybil to show us just where in time we could find it."

"We were scrupulous about working with the prophecy," McGonagall added. "We didn't distract ourselves hunting for intercepts or contriving divergent sequences. In fact, Albus wrote instructions for his future funeral that enforce what Sybil saw in her vision. The grand doors must remain locked in favor of the smaller portal. The attendants must remain hooded."

"I get it," Daine said, glancing admiringly from McGonagall to Snape. "So Voldemort and his gang won't see people appearing and disappearing when they cross the threshold or catch our younger and older selves staring at each other."

Recalling the mysterious visitor's wagging finger, Harry's hand froze, a slice of torte halfway to his mouth. "I think I gave myself a warning not to blow the secret."

"Possibly," the elf squeaked. "Quite possibly."

As he savored the gooey black currant filling and melt-in-your-mouth hazelnut crust, Harry speculated on what his adult self looked like under the hood. He suspected that was a view of the future his uncle would consider encumbering. Taking a sidelong glance at the elf, he began to wonder whether there wasn't something familiar about the fine lines radiating from the corners of the oversized eyes.

"The headmasters of Hogwarts are interred in that same rotunda behind the oval reliefs," McGonagall continued. "We carved Albus's epigraph soon after midnight. Then I pushed the room forward. Once his funeral is over, I'll return the chamber to the present. The epigraph will remain, but the tomb will be empty."

"Ingenious," Daine murmured.

"Thank you." A smile twitched the corners of the Headmistress's mouth. "As part of the plan to make Severus look treacherous, he broke the charms that protect Hogwarts at large from unauthorized remote viewing. That's why You-Know-Who could watch us in the Djinn ball. Tonight, as the funeral guests are leaving, I'll be 'shocked' to discover the rift. As a final act, we'll recast the spells."

The elf's eyes sparkled. "And thus will end Hogwarts's command performance for Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

Dane drained her teacup and sent it back for a refill. "You all worked a remarkable flim-flam, but you're leaving out the most important detail: where is Albus?"

"I think I know," Harry said, fixing his eyes on the uncharacteristically articulate, self-confident elf sharing tea with them. "He's hiding in plain sight."

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