Chapter VII: New Year, New Trouble

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Albus said grimly. “Without meaning offense, Argus, we can rule you out as a suspect now.”

“None taken, Headmaster,” Filch replied.

“Well, this is a fine mess, isn’t it?” Hagrid said morosely. “It’s either Quirrel or Snape, no two ways about it.”

“I might’ve had help with the harp,” Argus pointed out a touch resentfully, earning a slightly odd look from Albus.

“We can rule probably Severus out,” Minerva interjected. “He spent the whole Christmas holiday with his wife at their home in Guildford. I spoke to him by Floo the day the break-in occurred.”

“Not much help without knowing the precise time the attempt was made, but I shall question Narcissa as soon as I can.” Albus paused. “Does anyone know where Quirinus spent the holidays?”

“In his flat in Hogsmeade, I expect,” Argus replied. “I saw him there a couple of times whilst I was in the village.”

“It might be a good idea to ask Sirius or Ms Tonks to make some inquiries,” Albus concluded. “I doubt his neighbours or landlady can tell us anything, but we must be thorough.”

Albus spent a long time staring out of his office window when they left, deep in thought and not a little worried. I would suspect Quirrel before Severus, but I must stay impartial, he told himself. Heaven knows that a prize such as this one is sufficient to tempt the noblest of men to avarice.

Albus permitted himself a wry smile. “There is one consolation, Fawkes old friend,” he remarked. “If Severus is the true culprit, we may safely assume that he will not be inclined to present it to Voldemort.”

“Now there’s a notion for you,” Phineas agreed, leaning casually on his frame. “On the other hand, are you sure an immortal, filthy rich Severus Snape would be any less of a threat to the national interest than Riddle?”

Albus considered this. “Not really, no.”

He looked up as a barn owl adorned with Royal Mail livery tapped on his window. He took the letter and fed the owl a fragment of bacon left over from lunch, then returned to his desk.

Dear Professor Dumbledore, it read,

I’m not certain where I stand vis a vis DMLE regulations here, but I thought I’d better warn you that Winifred Parkinson received a very threatening letter from her estranged husband this morning. Pansy’s name was mentioned several times. If it comes to your attention that he’s in Hogsmeade -or anywhere else for that matter- then send for the Aurors at once; quite apart from the nature of the threats in the letter, there is now an active warrant for his arrest on charges of Threatening Behaviour and Conspiracy To Commit Actual Bodily Harm.

I don’t think Pansy’s seen the letter itself yet, but I suspect she knows enough about her father’s usual temperament that it won’t come as a huge shock. They’re staying at Mrs Rosier’s house at the moment, and there are four Aurors and a couple of Specials on duty there around the clock, but if this isn’t resolved by the start of term we’re going to have to think about getting someone into Hogwarts. Perhaps you could give Argus the assistant/s he’s been lobbying for?

Yours sincerely,

Edward Grey.

PS: You’ll be pleased to learn that Ms Petunia Evans has overcome her anti-magic prejudices in spectacular fashion; she’s currently attending the theatre in the company of one of my comrades in arms. But I don’t think he’s told her he’s a werewolf yet!

Albus reread the postscript a couple of times, then laid his head on his desk and laughed until he cried.

* * *

Dear Dudley,

I thought you might like to know that Vernon telephoned me yesterday, apparently anxious to learn whether I’ve managed to cure you of ‘all that unnatural stuff.’ I told him you were attending the same school as your late aunt, and that you’re now on good terms with your cousin.

I believe he may have suffered an apoplectic stroke.

All my love,

Mum.

PS: I need to explain some things to you at some point in the near future, which I don’t really feel comfortable discussing by letter.

Dear Mum,

Good. I hope he spends the rest of his life with half his face stuck in a permanent frown… No, on second thoughts, who’d know the difference?

And would this by any chance be to do with the bloke I hear you were seen dancing with on New Year’s Eve?

Dudley

Dear Dudley,

Yes, it does, but how the devil did you know about that?

Mum.

Dear Mum,

He’s friends with the parents or guardians of three of my best mates. Did you really think you’d get to surprise me with this?

Oh, and Pansy asked me to tell you that if you ever fancy a ‘who’s ex-hubby’s the biggest git’ contest with her mum over lunch somewhere pricey, it’s on Fred Parkinson’s alimony. I had to get one of the seventh-years to tell me what alimony meant, but I’m assured that you’ll get the gist.

Dudley.

Dear Dudley,

Sounds marvellous. Please pass on my contact details as soon as possible.

And say hello to Pansy for me; she sounds like a very nice girl.

Mum.

Dudley shook his head. “Whatever she means by that, I doubt it’s good,” he concluded, then thought about it. He knew about as much about sex as most eleven year-olds, and whilst having to do with girls wasn’t something he was comfortable with yet, he’d subconsciously decided that Pansy -and Natalie, Fran and Hermione for that matter, though in a different way- didn’t count.

“Means by what?” Pansy asked, right on cue. Dudley handed over the letter, which she read. “Good heavens!” Pansy started giggling. “She thinks you’re my boyfriend!”

“I’m not, am I?” he said hurriedly.

“You’d know if you were, Dudley, I assure you. Would you like to be?”

Dudley thought about it. “Maybe, one of these days. I’m okay with things as they are right now,” he replied after a while, showing more maturity than he might normally be credited with.

“Me too. But if I ever change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.” She kissed him on the cheek and strolled away. Dudley wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but he was pretty sure it was a good thing. He finished off the Charms essay he’d been working on, and went to bed in a contemplative but fairly upbeat mood.

“Yes, he was definitely here all that day,” Narcissa said with a wry smile. “I remember every minute of it.”

“I get the general idea, Mrs Snape,” Albus replied, eyes twinkling like twin supernovae. “I appreciate your assistance.”

“Not at all; I should hate to think Severus was under suspicion. What exactly was taken?”

“I am not at liberty to be specific,” Albus replied, “but it was an extremely valuable artefact bequeathed to my care by a dear friend of mine.”

Narcissa possessed a degree of insight that would drive her son to distraction in later years, and Severus had given her more hints than he realised. “I see,” she said thoughtfully. “I must say it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing Severus would want to steal.”

“I quite agree, but I thought it best to explore all avenues of inquiry,” Albus replied, not entirely meaning it; the attempted theft of the Philosopher’s Stone hardly demanded much in the way of imagination when it came to ascribing a motive.

There was a muffled ‘Woof!” from the kitchen, and Narcissa stood to open the door for a long-haired corgi, about fifteen weeks old and called Wesley. Albus smiled and shook his head.

“Somehow I never saw you as one of nature’s dog-owners,” he remarked.

“I’m not really; he belongs to Russ. Oh, good heavens!” she giggled. “You mustn’t ever tell him you know about that; he’ll tolerate it from me and only me. Anyone else would be hexed from here to the Equator, even you.”

“Fear not,” Albus replied. “I quite sympathise with him; it took me years to get Aberforth to stop calling me Al.”

“Hell’s bells, Albus, why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before?” Edward demanded. “You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to let it leak?”

“The purpose of placing the item in Hogwarts was to reduce the strain on the DMLE, especially after the raid on Gringotts,” Albus replied evenly. “Besides, there was little enough that you could have done, at least until a suspect was identified.”

“I could have had two officers outside the trapdoor instead of Fluffy,” Grey retorted.

“I should say that men with automatic weapons would have aroused even more suspicion than a cerebus,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“I can see where you’re coming from, but for crying out loud, someone’s tried to break in twice! It’s a bit late for keeping this quiet.” He sighed. “Look, that business with Parkinson’s probably all over the school by now. We could use that as an excuse for a couple of Aurors patrolling the grounds, maybe, and have them keep watch on the Stone when they’re supposedly off duty. I’ll even get a couple of my men into the uniform if you like.”

“I should prefer not, at this stage. If this reaches the students, rumours will start, and it’ll come to no good end. Bad enough that one individual or group knows; if talk spreads then every man woman and child with more avarice than sense will be laying seige to the castle.”

“We could probably discourage them pretty effectively, though I’d rather it doesn’t come to that,” Edward replied, shaking off a genuinely disturbing mental picture of a vast army of Death Eaters erecting trebuchets and mangonels on the hills that overlooked the lake. “I’d much rather we take the Stone and the Flamels and put them under armed guard in one of our safehouses, but there aren’t enough of us and we don’t have any safehouses that aren’t on record somewhere, and the smaller the paper trail the better.” He sighed. “Oh, bugger it all, Albus. What the hell are we supposed to do about this mess?”

“That, Edward, is what I want to talk to you about.” He outlined his idea.

“Works for me,” Grey replied after a few moments. “Can you re-jig the wards a little for the purpose?”

“Minerva and Filius are doing so as I speak.”

“Good-”

Hagrid appeared in the Floo fireplace, obviously distressed. “Headmaster! I just found a dead unicorn in the Forest!”

“How was it killed?” Albus asked urgently.

“Slashed by something; couldn’t say whether it was knife or claw, but nothing in the Forest could do it that oughta be in there.”

Edward turned to the fireplace. “When did this happen?”

“Last night, I think. Couldn’t say exactly when.”

“Right, then. Want some police help dealing with this one?”

“Wouldn’t say no,” Hagrid said grimly. “There were too little blood for it to be an accident.”

“Dear God…” Edward soon realised the implications. “What would you two say the odds are of this being unrelated to our current problems with… jewel theft?”

“Slim to none,” Albus replied grimly.

“My thoughts exactly. I suggest we discuss this face-to-face; you never know who might be listening.”

“So,” Rick said thoughtfully over dinner, “why do you lot reckon the corridor up on the third floor’s off-limits these days?”

“Sirius said that Professor Dumbledore’s keeping something valuable up there,” Harry replied. “A friend of his got spooked by the Gringotts robbery and asked him to keep it at Hogwarts until the wards were toughened up.”

“Must be worth a packet, whatever it is,” Dudley remarked.

“Wouldn’t bet on it,” replied Ron. “My brother Bill works at Gringotts as a curse-breaker, but he did some time in the records office, and does he ever have some stories to tell about the sort of junk people pay to put in a top-security vault. One customer keeps an old steam engine in one.”

“Is said client male and unmarried, by any chance?” Natalie speculated.

“Either way, I wouldn’t take the piss too much; if it’s a really old and rare one it’s probably worth more than my house to the right collector,” Fran replied. “Don’t look at me like that; there’s people out there who’ll pay thirty grand for a Mark One Reliant Robin.”

“Mum says it’s the male equivalent of getting broody around the forty mark,” Dudley added, making them all laugh.

Overhearing this, Snape permitted himself a brief smile. He suspected that whilst Petunia Evans had many faults, being dim was not one of them.

He might have disagreed if he’d known what she was doing at that precise moment. Petunia was currently reclining very comfortably on a battered sofa, sipping a glass of wine and listening to Reynard bustle about in the kitchen. He had been a batchelor for nearly five years, he’d told her, and had therefore picked up a lot of skills that Vernon hadn’t. If she ever had a daughter, Petunia reflected, she’d strongly advise the girl to marry someone who lived a minimum of thirty miles away from their parents.

Ray appeared about ten minutes later, bearing two plates of pasta in a tuna and mushroom sauce, a simple dish that made a good starting point for various interesting embellishments. He had spared none of these; garlic-infused olive oil for the pasta, a side salad with a home-made dressing, even a little white wine in the sauce. The result was hardly haute cuisine, but tasted marvellous.

They put their trays aside and watched An American Werewolf In Paris together, Petunia nestled comfortably against Reynard’s chest. When it reached the climax, Petunia squeezed his hand.

“You’re not being very subtle about your hints, you know,” she laughed.

Ray just gaped. “What?”

“Don’t you remember Natalie Grey telling everyone her father hangs out with werewolves after Fred and George Weasley started courting his sisters? It wasn’t hard to puzzle out, especially when I noticed the days crossed out on your calendar are all full moons.”

“How long have you known?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’ve suspected since Christmas, and I was pretty certain when I noticed your little group included Remus.”

“Oh.” Reynard was a bit put out by that. “You don’t…?”

“Mind? No, of course not, and I know it must be an incredibly hard thing to tell someone. All I ask of you is that you tell me exactly what it means.”

“I can’t have kids, not in the usual way; something of the virus gets into the sperm, and puts it out of action somehow. It’s not in my DNA as such; werewolves can’t even conceive with each other, and a woman who’s been bitten probably couldn’t carry a child to term unless it happened whilst she was pregnant. Apart from that, unless it’s a full moon, I’m pretty much normal.”

“Is there any way to contract the virus except through a bite?” she asked gently.

“No. Werewolves have a gland in their throats to manufacture it, and that only appears on full moons. Why do you ask?”

Petunia looked at him with a sort of hungry expression and insinuated herself into his lap, straddling his hips. “I don’t like condoms,” she replied languidly, leaning in mere centimetres from his increasingly flushed face.

Reynard smiled nervously. “You know I can’t give you any more children,” he said after a moment. “Not unless I Confound a doctor into thinking it’s HIV, anyway; there’s techniques they use for that which might work on Lycans, but nobody’s ever tried it.”

“I’ll keep that option in mind for later. Now stop talking and take me to bed.”

Michelle and Danny arrived from London at nightfall, bringing magic-proofed infrared goggles, two powerful sniper rifles and a shotgun. Hagrid stayed loyal to his crossbow, and took his umbrella along for some strange reason. He declined the goggles, sticking with an enchanted pocket telescope fitted to brackets above the bow’s sights.

“Best we stick together,” he said firmly, putting Fang on a lead. “Don’t shoot until you get a good look at what you’re aiming at; if you clip a centaur or an acromantula there’ll be the devil to pay.”

“I wonder if they know anything useful?” Danny remarked.

“Wouldn’t bet on it,” Hagrid growled. “That load of stargazers probably wouldn’t notice an atom bomb going off ‘til it mucked up their view of Venus.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Centaur blood’s meant to have a few magical properties as well,” Edward said grimly, checking the rifle had a round in the chamber and slotting his wand into the specially-made holder in the fore-end.

They made slow progress through the forest, sticking to animal paths and keeping a wary eye on the scenery. We should have done this in daylight, Edward thought to himself, freezing at the crunch of a dry twig. We should have got a team in from Magical Creatures, people trained for this kind of thing, with proper equipment… The big German-made sniper rifle he was carrying could kill an elephant at five hundred yards, but were his aim and reflexes good enough to kill this thing before it killed him? It would also be a dangerous encumberance if they found themselves at close quarters with a wand-user.

“Wish we’d brought proper assault rifles instead now,” Michelle whispered, echoing her husband’s sentiments. “What do you reckon it’ll be, animal or human? For a certain value of ‘human’, of course. ”

“I don’t know yet, but I can’t think of anything native to the UK that could bring a unicorn down like that.”

“I reckon it’s someone’s escaped puma gone feral, like all those Beasts of Something-Or-Other Moor,” Danny replied. “Either that or a dragon with sinusitis.”

“Might have something there,” Hagrid agreed thoughtfully. “Dunno ‘bout a dragon, though. Young wyvern maybe.”

“Wonderful. Can’t even trust the sodding infrared in that case.” Their goggles were an advanced model with both thermal-imaging and a more conventional ‘starlight scope’ mode that enhanced ambient light. Needless to say, the latter was not especially efficient under a thick forest canopy, even with some weeks to go before the full onset of spring. They had been hoping to use the thermal imager instead, but such things aren’t terribly effective at locating reptiles.

“You never know,” Michelle replied in a note of false cheer. “We might be lucky and find out someone wants unicorn blood for something.” This earned a hollow laugh from the others; there weren’t many uses for unicorn’s blood in magic, and most of them were illegal, highly dangerous and/or thoroughly evil. And none of the exceptions, all four of them knew full well, required more than a few drops for anything less than manufacture on an industrial scale.

In short, there were a limited number of likely explanations for this incident, none of them good.

They’d gone about a quarter of a mile when Fang picked up a splash of unicorn blood. “Seek, lad, seek!” Hagrid ordered, unclipping the lead. Fang barked once in acknowledgement and darted away. The others followed, weapons held at the ready. They’d just caught up when Fang dropped into a defensive crouch, hackles raised. Edward almost ran straight into him, and raised his rifle with a yell of mixed anger and horror.

A cloaked figure was crouching over the slain body of another unicorn, suckling on a still-pumping artery. It looked up, and Edward caught a glimpse of glowing red eyes before it whirled away. Hagrid fired his crossbow, the bolt hitting the man in the shoulder. He screamed in pain and spun around with his wand upraised, but Michelle was faster and fired, narrowly missing. Edward and Danny made to follow suit, but the thing leapt with inhuman speed and fired three Killing Curses in quick succession. Edward had no time to dodge, but the spell impacted on the hardy synthetic fore-end of his rifle and merely knocked him backwards. Michelle and Danny were luckier, avoiding the curses and returning fire. Edward joined in a moment later, but whoever -or whatever- they had seen was long gone.

“Mother of Christ!” Edward concluded. “Did anyone get a good look at that thing?”

“Not me,” Danny growled. “You alright, guv’nor?”

“I’m fine, though I’m bloody lucky I’m still alive. Look,” he said ruefully, holding up the scarred rifle.

“Jesus!” Michelle gasped. “Oh, God, Ed!”

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Hagrid said firmly. “Half the bloody Forest probably heard that lot.”

They retraced their steps in grim silence, then suddenly found themselves confronted with a centaur. “We heard the sounds of battle,” he said neutrally. “What happened?”

“Someone or something is killing unicorns for their blood,” Hagrid replied. “It carries a wand and it’s mostly human-shaped. Do you know anything more about this?”

The centaur didn’t seem to be fully listening. “Mars is bright tonight,” he said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps it’s an omen,” Edward replied; eleven years as a policeman had given him a lot of practice in humouring eccentrics. “But of what, I wonder?”

“Well you might,” the centaur replied. “We are gravely concerned by this, and shall be watchful.”

“You’d be well advised to have your people stay together, and go armed,” Edward agreed. “This thing may yet find a use for your blood.”

“It shall be done. Go in peace.” He turned around and cantered away.

“This is grave news indeed,” Albus remarked. “Red eyes, you say?”

“Yes. I’d taken my goggles off; I needed my peripheral vision. They were almost glowing.” Edward shuddered. “It was none too pleasant.”

“We’ll have to search the Forest,” Danny added. “Lots of manpower, some dogs…”

“Too dangerous. The acromantulae would think somebody’s ordered them a takeaway, and the centaurs would go spare. Even if this thing decides to go after them, they’re not going to be too pleased if they see a couple of hundred Aurors in a skirmish line.”

“We may have to take that risk,” Albus replied. “I fear that we are dealing with something far worse than I had previously suspected.”

“You don’t think…” Edward paused. “You don’t think it was Voldemort, do you?”

“But he’s dead,” Danny protested. “He died eleven years ago!”

“So it appeared,” Albus replied. “But Voldemort was a highly skilled necromancer. There are ways and means he might have employed to remain partially anchored to the living world.”

“Christ… You could be right! It would certainly explain the dead unicorns,” Edward added. “And probably our little burglary problem as well. But wasn’t his body destroyed?”

“Mostly, and I saw to it personally that the remains were cremated,” Albus replied. “He would need an accomplice, someone willing to provide their body as a receptacle for his soul.”

“And someone on the Hogwarts payroll,” said Michelle.

“At moments like this,” Edward said quietly, “I really do understand Mum’s reasoning when she sent me to VMA.”

“I could never find it in me to resent it when parents make the same choice as yours,” Albus agreed. “But I’m pleased you sent your child here.”

“It’d be a rotten advert for our line of work if we didn’t,” Michelle laughed.

Danny shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If you guys want to check up on Natalie’s progress, d’you mind if I get the kit back to the armoury? I had to cut some corners on the paperwork, and Howarth’ll go nuts if I don’t clear it up by the time the next shift come in.”

“Okay, Danny. There’s not much more we can do here tonight anyway. And don’t moan about Howarth being an anal-retentive, it’s an essential qualification for keeping track of enough firearms to invade Belgium.”

Danny left with a hollow laugh.

“I’m worried, Albus, and I don’t mind saying so. They’ll try and get at her somehow, I just know it. It might even come from inside.”

“Quirrell will be watched closely,” Albus promised.

“I’m not worried about him,” Michelle replied grimly. “I’m worried about some of the other students. Suppose some pureblood from one of the old Dark families wants to curry favour, or even get some revenge?”

“You would be well-advised to consult Severus on this,” Albus replied. “But I doubt that it will lead to anything he cannot stamp out before it gets out of hand.”

Severus was one of those fortunate individuals who can get by on no more than five hours of sleep, and was still awake. Michelle went to relieve the babysitter whilst Edward discussed the matter in depth over a whiskey in Snape’s quarters. “I can see why you are concerned,” he agreed. “I do my best, but I fear there are one or two…”

“Nott, perhaps? I hear his father’s cosy with Fred Parkinson.”

Severus smiled without humour. “I recall that they maintained a drinking friendship in their Hogwarts years. Patrocolus is probably offering sympathy and comfort.”

“They’re cut from the same cloth alright. To be honest, I think it might have been easier on Pansy if Winnie’d kicked him out before she was old enough to really notice much, though if half what I hear about him’s true that wasn’t much of an option.”

Severus nodded. “It’s never easy on a child,” he replied after a while. “They’re expected to take a side, one way or another, for all their parents deny it.”

“A truer word was never spoken,” Edward said with a bitter laugh. “The last thing I ever said to my father was rather similar.”

“I can’t love you both,” he snapped. “And frankly, your behaviour relieved me of any urge to try a long time ago. I don’t ever want to see or speak to you again, and I hope you die a lonely and painful death.”

His father opened and closed his mouth a few times, then shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it to be,” he said wearily.

“You’ve nobody to blame but yourself. Now go to hell!” And Edward Grey, aged 19 years, spun on his heel and walked away.

Severus nodded solemnly. “To her credit, the girl’s bearing up very well. I suggested she have a chat with Dursley; he’s had the same experience. They’ve become remarkably close friends.”

“Don’t let their mothers hear you say that,” Edward laughed. “The first time Dudley’s name came up in conversation I could practically see Winnie designing Pansy’s wedding dress in her head. Speaking of which, has it reached your ears that Petunia has a new man?”

“Not yet. Met him at all?”

“Old friend of mine, as it happens. You know Reynard Brown?”

Severus choked on his whiskey and soda. “Edward,” he said, after several deep breaths, “please don’t ever tell me something like that until I’ve put my drink down, will you? I wonder if she knows yet?”

“If not, she’ll soon hear it from Dudley.”

Before Snape could frame a sensible reply, Madame Pomphrey appeared in the fireplace. “I’ve just admitted Professor Quirrel to the infirmary with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder,” she said coldly. “I was told that you’d have an explanation, Auror Grey.”

“I do indeed, Madame Pomphrey,” Edward replied. “Hagrid and I caught him drinking unicorn blood out in the Forbidden Forest. I’ll be down shortly.”

“Wait,” Severus cautioned. “Let me speak to him alone. We may yet learn something more of this.”

“Right.” They leapt to their feet and ran from the room.

Edward waited in Poppy’s office, his wand and service automatic resting on the desk in front of him. “I don’t like this,” he murmured, thinking of those red eyes. “I don’t like this one damn bit.”

“Severus?” Quirrell said in surprise. “What brings you down here?”

“I heard a very strange tale from Grey, and thought it might be worth verifying it,” Snape replied. “What were you doing in the Forest, anyway? I can’t believe Hagrid would fire at you for the sheer hell of it.”

“I may have startled him,” Quirrell replied. “He was with three of those mudbloods who got Black off the hook, on a big-game hunting expedition or something by the look of it, and they caught me off-guard. It wasn’t deliberate, I don’t think, but the stupid bastards damn near killed me!”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Quirinus,” Severus said quietly. “You weren’t taking a moonlight stroll, I know that much. And what’s happened to your stutter?”

“Ah, Severus,” a second voice hissed. “You always were too clever for your own good.”

“What the devil-?”

Quirrel smiled faintly, and removed his turban. “You’ll see, my friend.”

From his hiding place, Edward’s jaw dropped as he saw what was sticking out of the back of Quirrell’s head. “As you can see,” Voldemort continued, “rumours of my demise have been slightly exaggerated.”

“Indeed, Master,” Severus replied, collecting himself. “You are… looking well, given the circumstances.”

“Very droll. I require your assistance in this matter, Severus. Quirinus has done his best, but you have additional skills that would speed things along considerably. And the Philosopher’s Stone is the fastest way of getting out of this undignified position and back into my own body before I go completely mad!”

In a feat of willpower that Uri Gellar might have admired, Severus said absolutely nothing at this point.

“Of course, your cooperation in this matter would be handsomely rewarded,” Voldemort added meaningfully. “In fact, you could name your price.”

Severus laughed. “My requirements would be modest, Master, though access to a small sample of the Stone for research purposes would be most helpful.”

“Moving into alchemy these days, are you?” Quirrell remarked.

“Why not?” Severus offered a lazy grin. “After all, if Dumbledore and Flamel can bring it off…”

“You are worryingly ambitious, my servant,” Voldemort hissed. “I do not suggest you get too ambitious.”

“Master, I assure you that I have no interest in power. I merely wish to provide for a comfortable retreat to the pursuit of knowledge, on benign terms with whoever happens to be the victor.”

Voldemort laughed softly. “That can be arranged, Severus. Be waiting outside the corridor at midnight tomorrow, and we shall end this.”

“Very well, Master. Goodnight.”

“You give Severus much leeway, Master,” Quirrell remarked, once Snape was out of earshot. “May I ask why?”

“Because he is one of the few men to take the trouble to earn my respect. Useful as they are, I’ve always found yes-men and cowering idiots like Lucius or Frederick rather irksome.”

“He’s a mercenary, Master,” Quirrell replied grimly. “The minute he sees an advantage in it he’ll go running to Dumbledore.”

“Oh, Quirinus, you have so much to learn. Think about it; does Severus seek to usurp me? Will he suddenly kill me in an idealistic fervour? He is predictably untrustworthy!”

Quirrell could think of no sensible reply to that.

They reported what they’d seen to Dumbledore, and hastily finalised their plans. “Oh, and Severus?” Edward said as they left. “If you ever do make your mind up about which one’s the winning side, would you incredibly mind letting us know?”

“Oh, you’ll know as soon as I do,” Severus replied with a thin smile.

Reynard was awoken by his alarm, eventually, and said an uncouth word under his breath when he saw the time. He’d have to apparate to work, and even then he’d be stretching it for timekeeping. He began to get out of bed, waking Petunia.

“Sorry, ‘Nia,” he said sadly. “Work.”

“I thought you said you had today and tomorrow off because you were working Saturday and Sunday of last week.”

Reynard paused, then snorted with laughter. “Oh, yeah…” He pulled the duvet back over the two of them. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Whatever would you have done if I’d forgotten as well?” she laughed.

“Come straight back and made you breakfast, I expect.”

“I see.” Petunia snuggled up to him, smiling as he kissed the back of her neck. “But since you’re here, how about we work up a bit of an appetite first?”

“Sounds like fun…”

The phone rang. Reynard uttered several more uncouth words and grabbed the handset. “Unless this is really, really urgent I’d appreciate it if you’d bugger off… Oh, hello guv’nor. Yes, I am in bed… Oh? Well, well, well. Thanks for letting me know. Yeah, I’ll pass it on to her. See you on Wednesday, mate.” He hung up. “Your husband got nicked for being drunk and disorderly at about two this morning. Apparently he was heard complaining that his son had demonic powers and he’d put him under the evil eye.”

Petunia giggled. “Serves him right. Now, where were we…?”

Reynard wrapped his arms around her and cupped her breasts, squeezing gently. “About here, I think.” He kissed the back of her neck again.

Since they’d had an astronomy lesson the previous evening, the first-years had no classes until one o’clock.. This had enabled Natalie, Harry and Draco -light sleepers all- to do a little exploring. They conscientiously avoided the third-floor corridor -one glance through the keyhole had convinced them that it wasn’t worth the bother- and instead found themselves in a long-disused classroom from the bad old days of compulsory music lessons.

“Strange,” Harry remarked. “There’s a mirror in here.”

“Useful teaching aid with some stringed instruments,” Draco replied. “But it does look a bit... well, Gothic for the location.”

Natalie stared at it for a second, then gasped and ran up to it, brushing dust away from the surface. “I know what this is! It’s the Mirror of Erised!”

“The what?”

“Erised. ‘Desire’ spelt backwards, for the very good reason that you see your heart’s desire reflected in it. And I see… Oh, good God.”

“What?” Harry asked her.

“I’m about Mum’s age, and I’m in Auror uniform,” she replied. “But there’s someone with me, can’t see their face clearly but they’ve got brown hair, and we’ve got our arms around each other.”

“Brown hair, our year or thereabouts… I’m intrigued,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Can I have a go?” Natalie stood aside, and Harry peered into the dusty mirror.

“My parents,” he said after a few seconds. “They’re standing next to me, with Sirius and Aletha and Meghan. And Remus is there as well, with… Blimey, that’s Hermione’s big sister! And Aunt Petunia’s there, as well; she’s standing next to Mum…” He sighed. “All yours, Draco.”

Draco took his turn. “I’m Slytherin Quidditch team captain, holding the House Cup. And my fa- stepfather’s standing next to me.” He paused. “Wait. It’s not quite me. I look a lot less like Lucius, mostly like Mother but a bit… a bit like Severus.”

Harry considered this. “Put it like this,” he said at last. “If my dad used to invite Voldemort over for tea and crumpets, I’d want to pretend he wasn’t my real dad as well.”

“We have got to get the others up here,” Natalie declared.

When the others eventually awoke, they required little persuasion. Hermione came up with about a dozen facts about the Mirror that none of the others really needed to know, and it came as no surprise that she saw a vast library stretching out behind her to infinity. Ron saw himself as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, whilst Neville saw himself in a greenhouse full of rare and exotic plants.

To his own consternation, Dudley saw himself in an expensively tailored suit carrying a briefcase, holding hands with an older version of Pansy who was dressed like a hippy, and was unable to meet her eye for several hours afterwards.

“I can see me at a wedding,” she informed them. “Can’t see the groom’s face, but it all looks incredibly expensive.”

Fran took her turn, and was amused to see herself carrying a gun and holding up a DMLE Special Taskforce warrant card. “And why not?” Rick declared, taking his turn and laughing out loud. “I’m on the podium for the Swedish Broom Race, wearing a gold medal.”

“We should make this an annual tradition,” Hermione suggested. “Find out how we’ve changed over the years.”

“And if the faceless boys you two saw have become anyone we know,” Fran added knowingly. Natalie suddenly had a very strange look on her face, but it passed before anyone could take note.

“Only if we’re allowed to lie if it’s risqué,” Draco countered.

“Risqué, no. Grossly indecent, yes.”

“Very well, then.” Memo to self, Draco added mentally. Become very, very good at occulumency by the time I need to shave daily.

“I was sort of hoping you’d see yourself holding Voldemort’s severed head,” Ron remarked to Harry as they left. “Relatives not being dead seems sort of, I don’t know, ordinary.”

“Which is precisely what I’d give a hell of a lot to be,” Harry replied. “Ordinary.” He pressed his fingers to his scar. “This can be a pain in the arse sometimes, you know?”

After they’d left, Albus slipped out from beneath his own invisibility cloak and idly glanced in the Mirror for himself. His reflection held up a newspaper saying:

Voldemort Defeated!

Minimal Loss Of Life In Daring Raid On Dark Lord’s Headquarters

Most Death Eaters Now Accounted-for After Months Of Infighting

“Well,” he mused. “At least I know what I’m aiming for.”

The next few weeks were relatively quiet. Quirrell and Snape discovered rather rapidly that the Philosopher’s Stone was going to be rather harder to get hold of than they’d first anticipated. At least, as Quirinus was the first to note, if they persisted in trying to play Albus at his own game.

“I don’t know if anyone else has noticed,” he mused, “but there’s an old linen cupboard that seems to back on to the last room in the sequence.”

“So you wish to employ brute force?” Snape laughed. “How terribly Gryffindor.”

“Unless you propose to recruit Gary Kasparov, Dai Lwellyn and a lion-tamer it’s that or bugger about for another twenty bloody years. And that harp’s getting on my nerves.”

“Since our objective is a reliable source of eternal life, and I do not smoke or indulge in dangerous leisure activities, I do not feel unduly impatient.”

“If you were stuck under this bloody turban all day you’d feel rather differently,” Voldemort replied. “Besides, imagine that old fart’s expression when he finds out!”

The problem with evil geniuses, Severus reflected, was that they always wanted everyone to know how brilliant they were. It was like the story of a very bored young sub-editor in Auto Trader who’d contrived to make the first letter of every advert on one page spell out a profane message; it wasn’t really all that clever until and unless someone spotted it and wrote in… up until he’d been fired by an unsympathetic editor, anyway.

Still, it did make for a pleasant mental picture. “Perhaps we should arrange some small diversion?”

“You have a suggestion, Severus?”

Severus tugged thoughtfully at the goatee he was experimentally cultivating. “You know, I believe I do…”

“Okay, Snape. Let me make sure I understand you fully. You want to bring Fred Parkinson up to the headmaster’s office for a conference about visitation rights with Pansy, with Albus and yourself mediating, and then deliberately cause a scene?”

“Actually, knowing Fred Parkinson as I regret to say I do, I doubt that will be necessary. But he would provide a useful opportunity to stage an ambush.”

“Severus,” Edward said slowly. “There is a deranged Dark Wizard sticking out of the back of the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher’s head, and the two of them are plotting to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, and Albus has restricted me to four officers with sidearms only. And this situation you now want to add an estranged parent with a history of beating his wife and who has made threats against his daughter during the divorce proceedings...? Whose side are you on this week, please?”

“What if Frederick were to be rendered unexpectedly cooperative?” Severus countered.

“No, no, no. He’s tried the Imperius defence once and got away with it, and we’d catch hell from the Ministry anyway.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind…”

Edward listened. “It’s illegal, it’s unethical and it’s probably dangerous,” he concluded sternly, then smiled. “I love it!”

“So, to recap,” Severus finished. “Frederick will attend a meeting with his ex-wife and daughter, with Dumbledore and myself. In the unlikely event of it being necessary, I will provoke him into causing a major disturbance that will bring the rest of the staff running. Whilst the crisis is underway, it should be possible to gain entry to the final chamber without being disturbed, and then Portkey to a safe distance with the Stone.”

“Just one question,” Voldemort replied. “How do we break in?”

“I should recommend a very powerful blasting hex supplemented by a pickaxe, but I leave that to my esteemed colleague’s own judgement. Have I overlooked anything?”

“Not that I can see. Master?”

“No, I can see no snags. But if anything goes wrong from your side of the operation, Severus…”

“I will lose a golden opportunity to become extremely rich. I know, Master.” With a swish of black cloth, Severus about-faced and made for the headmaster’s office.

“He’s so sharp he’ll cut himself, as my old mum would have said,” Quirinus muttered.

Very probably, my faithful servant. But still, there’s nothing like avarice to motivate a subordinate…”