See Act 1 for disclaimers.  Click here for summary and notes, or return to the main page.

Time slowed as Harry stared at the note in his hand; it felt like hours had passed - though surely it was only a few minutes - when the guard returned and put his head in the door, looking worried.

"Mr Potter? Uh … these wards have been strengthened-"

"I've just increased this patient's priority standing. I may have duties to attend to. See that she's not left alone."

"Yes, sir." The young man took up his position on the other side of the doorway. Harry settled down to wait.

Hours seemed to pass before Lilith woke, but it was only just gone four when she stirred and opened her eyes. She betrayed no sign of emotion or vulnerability as she looked around, though there was a flicker of relief when her eyes met his.

"Potter," she breathed, "what happened?"

"There was an attack on Diagon Alley. You were in the centre of it."

She sat up and stared at him intently. "You saved my life."

"Not really."

"You threw me away from the blast. I remember." She hesitated. "Thank you."

Well, you're a damn sight more gracious than your father, Harry thought. "I have reason to believe that you were the target of the attack." He showed her the note. She paled as she read it, her fingers clenching around the parchment.

"Why would anyone do this to me?" she demanded, "What could possibly be in it for them?"

"I don't know. Revenge rarely follows normal logic, I've found."

"Is my father safe?"

Harry tried to sound reassuring. "Well, the hospital has been unable to contact him--"

"He could be someone else's prisoner. Or dead."

"No. This attack on you was obviously meant to hurt him. Whoever's behind this wants Snape alive." He made a mental note to have someone track Snape's old associates in the Dark Order; surely someone among them had the capacity for this. Few had survived the Fall of Voldemort, but of those who did, many had fled to Europe.

"What about Aunt Arabella?"

"Her injuries were more serious than yours. I'm told that she'll make a full recovery in time."

"'In time'?"

"A matter of weeks," Harry said quickly.

Lilith hugged her knees, looking younger than fifteen. The earlier unsettling image of womanhood had been replaced by a scared little girl.

"What will happen to me?" she asked finally.

"Nothing. I won't allow it."

"You can't promise that." Now the cynical teenager had returned; he couldn't fathom her at all.

"I'll protect you. I'll enlist the Coterie - the entire College if I have to."

"You don't even know what you're protecting me from."

"Anything. Everything. To the death, if necessary."

Her smile was a tremulous attempt at coquettishness, more endearing for its failure than its intent. "That won't be necessary, I hope."

"So do I. Your father would derive far too much satisfaction from it, and I doubt I'd have the pleasure of haunting him."

Their shared amusement was interrupted by the clearing of a throat. Ron stood in the doorway, an odd expression on his face.

"I've just been taken off duty," he said to Harry, "stopped in to make sure you're okay."

"Fine," said Harry, oddly annoyed by the invasion. "This is Lilith," he added unwillingly. "Lilith, this is Ron-"

"Weasley. We've met. I can see that Mr Weasley didn't pass my greetings on to you."

"No," said Harry slowly, "he didn't." He raised his eyebrows at Ron, who shrugged.

"Had a lot on my mind." He ignored Lilith, dislike radiating from his very pores. "The press are going mad over the attack - the WWN's saying it's connected to the Weather Mages. Hermione's livid - says there's no connection."

"She's right." Harry handed Ron the note.

"Bloody hell. When'd you get this?"

"An hour ago. Had a close encounter with an Invisibility Cloak. Looks like owl post's not good enough for these chaps."

"Lovely." Ron looked at Lilith. "First an intruder, now a postman. You've certainly found the right Auror for the job - Harry comes with his own Invisibility Cloak."

"Intruder?" Harry asked.

"Last week," said Lilith. "He was going through Dad's office. Aunt Arabella was looking into it."

"Damn. She won't be conscious for a few days." Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Lilith, do you have any idea what they might be after?"

"No. None."

Harry glared at her as she concentrated on her blankets. He was annoyed, but unsurprised, that she'd kept the secret to herself; her father was notoriously self-sufficient. Especially when he's hiding something, Harry found himself thinking.

"Ron," he said, "I need a word."

Out in the corridor, Ron spoke before Harry had a chance.

"Are you out of your mind? You can't just promise the protection of the College - we're Aurors, Harry, not bodyguards! The rules--"

"The College will let me do what I want."

Unwilling to discuss the issue, he turned, ignoring Ron's calls as he walked away. Harry ducked around a corner and opened his battered old backpack. A search of the outer layers revealed only a change of clothes, his wallet and some month-old Everyflavour Beans. Swearing, he abandoned the crowded hallways and, finding a bathroom, locked himself into a cubical.

Transfiguring his backpack back into an Auror's trunk was a pain - he'd have to replace all the weight-lessening charms before he could return it to its altered form. Next he had to spend a good ten minutes searching through the inner chambers. He was ready to give up and go home, when he found the tools he was seeking.

Turning the trunk back into a backpack and fixing all the charms - there had to be a way to make them permanent; he'd ask Hermione next time he spoke to her - took another fifteen minutes. Finally, checking the last of the clips and clasps, he straightened up.

It was time to break into Snape's house.

***

In the absence of residents, the Snape home seemed even colder than before, and faintly forbidding. It had taken Harry nearly two hours to deactivate the anti-burglary wards around the house, backbreaking work while he was concealed in his Invisibility Cloak. The years had obviously not lessened Snape's paranoia, and now he had Arabella egging him on.

Harry wasn't sure what instinct led him to search this house, except for the nagging sense that he needed more information. Something about Lilith tickled his senses, made his hair stand on end. He'd gotten pretty good at recognising Darkness over the years, and it was all over her. Now was the time to consider his instincts, before familiarity blurred his perceptions.

The rooms downstairs were largely unchanged from Harry's last visits, aside from a plate sitting in the sink, and a notable lack of Dark books.

Upstairs, Harry found three bedrooms, a spare, a master bedroom, and Lilith's room.

Snape's room was sparse: a neatly made double bed with a dark blue eiderdown and a pile of books on the nightstand.

Lilith's room was more revealing. Harry had been in exactly two teenage girls' bedrooms in his life. Hermione's room had been as much an office and library as a sleeping space, although it was overlaid with a sense of disuse from her years at school. Ginny's room was shabby, warm and comfortable. The Weasley jumper of interior decoration, she called it.

Lilith's was similar to both rooms, but different at the same time. Posters and pictures covered most of the wall-space: sullen rock stars with artfully messy hair falling into their eyes, and miserable, pouting women posing with guitars or pianos. Quite a few appeared to be Muggles, though the current wizarding fad for still photography made it hard to guess.

Every flat surface, including the unmade bed, was covered in books. Textbooks, notebooks, novels … Muggle novels, too, Harry noticed. All were dog-eared.

Music, Harry found, were almost as plentiful as books, with equal emphasis on Muggle work. Harry wasn't familiar with most of the artists, but he knew the genre, moody alternative rock. He found a Sony M-player on the desk, stamped with the tiny m that indicated it had been approved for magical charms.

Beneath a green and silver muffler, he found half a dozen copies of Pandora, the feminist witch's journal that Morag MacDougal had started in their seventh year. The January 2012 issue contained an article by Hermione: Witch-Queens versus Mothers of the Muggle-born: Myth, repression and anti-Muggle sentiment. Unsurprisingly, it was over Harry's head.

In the lowest desk drawer, concealed beneath an old Viktor Krum figurine and a signed photo of Oliver Wood, Harry found a cache of notebooks. None had been charmed for privacy. The notebooks were part diary, part fiction. The earliest was dated 2003, but gaps abounded. Either Lilith took long hiatuses between diaries, or the rest were missing.

Fragments of childish poetry vied with scribbled rants -- Billy said that my nose is ugly, I HATE him and if he weren't a Muggle I'd curse him if I had a wand - and notes for stories. Harry was no judge of literature, or child development, but he guessed that Lilith had been fairly precocious. Occasionally, there were comments in Snape's handwriting: this is good, that could be improved, pay more attention to punctuation… The comments became more caustic as she grew older, and Lilith had sometimes responded in kind: a father-daughter argument, preserved in handwriting.

The preponderance of Muggle material was explained by a collection of photos tucked into one notebook: Lilith in Muggle school uniforms, or at birthday parties with Muggle children. Not even a peach party dress could make her seem less solemn or strange.

Makes sense. Send the child of two Death Eaters to Muggle schools, make her mix with Muggle children... He wasn't sure it was necessarily effective - Tom Riddle had grown up in a Muggle orphanage, after all - but he could see the point. Harry entertained a brief, amusing fantasy of Snape dropping the child off at school, lingering with the other parents, hosting birthday parties...

But no, Mrs Figg had probably done all of that. Snape had taken no time away from Hogwarts for his child.

The last thing Harry found in Lilith's room was a shoebox of letters from Snape, beginning when she was very young. The earliest were formal and awkward, but the last ones, sent in the year before she started at Hogwarts, were didactic and honest, if unforgiving of Lilith's faults.

I do not wish to discuss Harry Potter, read one. That he is a powerful wizard no one can deny, but I will not have you embracing blind hero worship like one of the dunderheaded adolescents I teach. Think critically, Lilith: the Final Battle was a great achievement, yes, but Voldemort's forces had been all but decimated in previous weeks, and Potter certainly had nothing to do with that.

"Nothing" was an exaggeration, Harry thought with a touch of indignance; hadn't he duelled Lucius Malfoy? Hadn't he trapped Goyle Sr. in a cave, ready for the Aurors to take; hadn't he injured MacNair?

Snape went on, I am immune to the alleged romance of Harry Potter, his brilliant career, his fairytale marriage, his loyal friends, his noble parents. Potter is a man, not a Messiah.

Harry replaced the letter, feeling oddly dirty. He knew about Snape's attitudes, of course, but it was strange to see them committed to paper and transmitted to the next generation.

If you go around snooping in other people's mail, you deserve everything you get, he told himself, and went downstairs.

Potter is a man, not a Messiah…

I'm glad someone got the bloody message.

Harry had saved Snape's study for last, but it was an anticlimax. Snape's Dark Arts library had grown since Harry had seen it last, but it was all kept under the protective charms required by the Ministry. The Dispensation for Academic Study, issued from the Auror's College in Enid Zabini's hand, was in a file, along with tax paperwork and potions recipes.

He doesn't know that Lilith can break the charms, Harry decided. Carefully, he replaced everything he'd moved, and then used a charm to remove any trace of his visit.

Aurors made the best housebreakers. In the early Middle Ages, they'd been thugs and standover merchants as much as Dark Wizard catchers. A sensible wizard would pay a small fee to the College, to stave off accusations of Dark Magic.

What a fine tradition you follow, Potter. Torturers and thieves.

I'm not a thief. There's nothing I want to steal.

Not yet.

On that last, unsettling thought, Harry Disapparated.
 

The bright morning sunlight streamed through the windows behind Ron, Enid and Harry. It reflected off the golden College Seal that hung behind Tenebreas Lux's desk. The visual effect was stunning: the Director of the College of Aurors, haloed in brilliant light. It was also incredibly uncomfortable for the unlucky guest who stood in the wrong spot - in this case, Ron. The light shone in his eyes, giving him a headache and doing nothing to improve his temper.

Oblivious to Ron's discomfort, Lux steepled his fingers and said thoughtfully, "And you truly believe the girl is in danger."

Harry said, "Yes, sir."

"We are Aurors, Mr Potter. Not bodyguards, or petty law enforcers."

"If I thought this was just a matter for the law, sir, I wouldn't be making this request. And as for being bodyguards … we protect the people from Dark magic. Whether it's one person under threat, or an entire society. I'm convinced that the Dark Order is at work here, even if they are just working against individuals - a family - instead of society as a whole. A similar request was made two years ago. I'm sure you remember the consequences of your refusal." The next words came reluctantly and painfully. "My wife died."

Damn, thought Ron, he's just found the argument that Lux can't beat. He wasn't cynical enough to think that Harry had chosen this course simply to get his way, but it chilled him to hear Harry draw a comparison between Lilith Borgin and Ginny.

Lux evidently realised there was no way he could get around Harry's argument - certainly not in front of the widower himself, and the brother of the … victim. He sighed heavily. "Very well, Mr Potter. I will assign you and your Coterie to this duty."

Enid scowled, moving forward. "With respect, sir, this hardly requires the attention of a full Coterie-"

And it's not Harry's Coterie, anyway, Ron added mentally. Give a bit of credit, would you? Not everything revolves around him. For the first time in his life, he wondered if perhaps Professor Snape hadn't been on the right track, all those years ago.

He'll be back to squash Harry back into place, no doubt.

Lux ignored them.

"I must admit," he continued, "that my decision two years ago has often weighed on my mind…"

"Mine, too," said Harry.

"I would do things differently - I am doing things differently. You should protect this young woman, Mr Potter."

"I intend to."

"Good lad." Lux shuffled some papers. "Minister Leach will object, of course … politics, you know. But you can be sure that the First Coterie will be allowed to protect the Borgin girl, at least until her father returns."

"Sir," said Enid, "request permission to assign three Aurors to search for Professor Snape in France. If he is in danger-"

Lux's lips tightened at the mention of Snape. "We have very little evidence that he is in direct jeopardy. And he is surely capable of taking care of himself."

Enid opened her mouth, then changed her mind and subsided, looking worried.

"Now, Harry," Lux went on, "I appreciate your work in Diagon Alley the other day."

"I didn't do anything, much."

"No, but the media attention was quite positive, in light of the circumstances … and, of course, following the Borgin arrest…"

Ron watched Lux speak to Harry, ignoring the other Aurors. He was accustomed to playing second fiddle to the Boy Who Lived, and as he got older, he cared less and less. But Enid was growing angry, and Ron could understand why. This wasn't a flashy red carpet premiere at the Golden Wand, it was a professional situation, and Enid's seniority and authority had been completely sidestepped. And not for the first time.

Look at me, Ron silently ordered Lux, who was now speaking of his son, a public and embarrassing disappointment to his accomplished father. Acknowledge me. Acknowledge Enid. Had his boss always been so focused on Harry? Of course not; they had spoken before. Ron had always believed that he had a good relationship with Lux.

After they were dismissed, Harry turned to his companions with a satisfied smile. "Well," he said, "that went well."

Enid stared at him, and for a moment, Ron thought she was about to attack Harry. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked off, face like a thundercloud. Harry turned to Ron.

"What did I say?"

***

Hermione was less than pleased when her husband Apparated into her office at lunchtime, or what would have been lunchtime if she had time to eat. Her ire deepened when she discovered the reason for the invasion.

"He wasn't acting normally," Ron said earnestly. "I mean, usually he avoids Lux all together, and leaves the official stuff to Enid. And, you know, he's a bit clueless sometimes, but he's not stupid."

"None of this suggests mind control, Ron. And Imperius doesn't work on Harry anyway. Even if it did, I don't see the point in attaching Harry to Lilith Borgin."

"It could be a distraction."

"Distraction from what? You're not doing anything until Borgin has had his trial, and Second Coterie is doing most of the work in guarding him."

"Maybe someone's planning something. Set enough Coerceo Curses in public places, and we won't have Aurors to spare for guarding Borgin."

"Then where would Lilith become involved? If someone's planning something, they're making it jolly obvious, getting Harry out of the way like this." Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron, I realise the Snape girl gives you the creeps, but that's no reason to assume that she's involved in anything Darker than listening to rotten music and wearing too much eyeliner. Anyway, an Auror's instincts are completely unreliable, and have been insufficient grounds for conviction since 1983 - and no, I wouldn't try asking Sirius to get that changed.

"As for being the object of yet another teenage infatuation, well, Harry knows how to handle it. I had to lecture him about propriety, not morality."

"Aren't you worried at all?"

"I trust Harry to do the right thing. I can't stop him from making an ass of himself in the process. I'm an Unspeakable, not a miracle worker."

***

The presence of seven Aurors in Lilith's home, and the ensuing increase in wards and protections, made her skin crawl. She still felt unwell from the previous day's attack, and the aura of paranoia pervading her house gave her a headache. She wondered what the neighbours, Muggles all, must think.

"Don't worry about that," Dennis Creevey told her when she asked. "We've put up Obfuscating Charms - anyone who looks will just see a quiet suburban house. And if they spend too much time hanging around, the Confusion Charms will kick in."

Alone of all the Aurors, Dennis was friendly with Lilith. Harry was distracted, and Weasley avoided her. She knew Enid Zabini slightly, for her niece was in Lilith's class, and Enid herself had spent two months at Hogwarts a few years ago, using the school as a base for northern operations. She'd taken no interest in Lilith then, though she was quite friendly with Snape, and she was brisk and uninterested now. The others were merely too busy to pay attention to Lilith. Dennis was the only one who took the time to keep her informed of their activities, and she was sorry when he Apparated over to Aunt Arabella's house, to ensure that it, too, was secure.

Uncomfortable with the presence of strangers, Lilith retreated to her room, put on the angriest, loudest music that she could find, and brooded.

Potter. She shouldn't have been surprised at his retreat. It was typical of adults, in her experience, to spend time with her and move on. The only exceptions were her father and Aunt Arabella, and it wasn't as though they had any choice about staying with her. On the contrary, they'd never even left her alone like this before, always worrying that she'd get in trouble somehow. This summer marked the first time she'd been left unsupervised for an extended period of time, and look how it had worked out: she had been linked to a known Dark wizard and placed under virtual house arrest, with a Coterie of Aurors to guard her.

When her father found out about this, she'd never be allowed to leave the house again.

Lilith leaned back, fanning herself with the Daily Prophet. Words and phrases leapt out at her: "shocking attack … victims included noted Auror Arabella Figg and Lilith Snape, daughter of the Hogwarts Headmaster and notorious Dark witch …Harry Potter was immediately on the scene…"

Lilith threw the newspaper across the room, biting her lip. Sweat was running down her face and back, and her head was pounding. She was assailed by a memory: an illness she'd suffered when she was four.

It had been her father's practice to Apparate down from Hogsmeade on some weekends, when he was able, or willing, to leave the school. Sometimes he would spend the whole two days with her, but it was usually just a few hours, or less. Sometimes, he would simply regard her over the dining room table, asking simple questions about her days. She was never brave enough to ask questions of him in return, but she listened to his conversations with Arabella, memorising phrases and repeating them to herself after he was gone. She had never been able to shake the suspicion that she displeased him in some way.

One weekend, though, she had been too sick to sit up, let alone spend time with her father. For several days, she had been near-delirious with odd dreams: she was assailed by whispering snakes and cold, scaly hands.

She had emerged from one such episode to find her father present, speaking to Aunt Arabella and Doctor Fallowmarsh. None noticed that she was awake.

"…Very worrying," the Doctor was saying. "I've only seen dreams like these in the victims of-"

"I know where you've seen them."

"Juvenile flobberpox can sometimes stimulate-"

"She's not dreaming of the future," snapped Aunt Arabella, "she's dreaming of the past." Softly she said, "She's calling for her mother. She hasn't done that since-"

Snape interrupted. "What treatment do you recommend, Doctor?"

"We'll simply have to strengthen the charms we're already using." Fallowmarsh gave Snape a careful look. "There was once a potion which was more effective, but no one on our staff has been able to brew it since Cyanna Jigger was killed during the war with You-Know-Who. She was poisoned, I recall…"

"Show me."

Lilith had drifted off to sleep. The next hallucinations were halted by a potion sliding down her throat, and scaled hands were replaced by those of her father, as he held her up to drink. She couldn't remember if he said anything, or had a kiss or gentle pat for her head, but the memory of her father's hands was indelibly printed on her mind.

Lilith's ruminations were interrupted by a knock at the door. Harry entered.

"Good evening, Potter."

"Lilith. Glad you're here." With a careless wave of his wand, her stereo was muted. "I was starting to think you'd flown the coop."

"Your colleagues didn't seem particularly interested in me. Nor did I care for them."

"I know, I know, anti-social tendencies run in the family. But come downstairs. Most of the others have gone back to the Tower, and we've managed to prise my friend Hermione out of her office."

Lilith was somewhat daunted at the prospect of meeting the formidable Hermione Granger, whose book and articles had formed the basis of her own intellectual inclinations. Not to mention the fact that she was rumoured to be an Unspeakable, and if her quite-boringly-average husband had hated Lilith on sight, how hostile would Granger be?

Her hesitation must have been apparent, for Harry added, "Anyway, you'll be wanting dinner, won't you? We're having Indian."

Lilith smiled slightly. "Surely there are rules about Aurors having Indian delivered? Think of the possibilities for poisoning."

"Of course there are. That's why we sent Dennis out to pick it up. From a restaurant chosen at random. On the other side of the country."

Despite herself, Lilith felt a wave of pleasure at Harry's rare grin. He must have known that he'd won, for he held her door open and bowed her past. Reluctantly, she conceded victory, but contained her laughter, settling for a regal smile. But she almost skipped down the stairs; it felt like an age since she'd wanted to laugh.

Hermione Granger was of average height, nondescript but for her clever brown eyes. Her figure was developing a hint of matronly plumpness, and wisps of brown hair escaped from her bun. Her brown eyes were alight with curiosity as she shook Lilith's hand.

"I've heard an awful lot about you," she murmured. Lilith was turning to Harry to find out what was meant by this, when her gaze was caught by an older man, whose salt-and-pepper beard only partially concealed the lingering gauntness of his cheekbones.

"Sirius Black," he introduced himself.

"Lilith Borgin."

He gave her a speculative look akin to that she had received from Weasley. "You have your mother's eyes."

"I know. My uncle told me."

He bared slightly yellow teeth in a grin. "I doubt your father discusses her much."

"No. He doesn't." She was on the verge of asking if Black had known her mother well, when Weasley Apparated in, bearing drinks.

"Beer for the men, apple juice for the pregnant and underage. Who are, fortunately, not one and the same." He kissed the top of Hermione's head. She smiled up at him, saying, "You went out to Muggle shops wearing those?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, robes were in fashion last year."

"Last winter. Muggles don't have Cooling Charms, you know."

Weasley sat on the floor, leaning back against Granger's legs. Their comfortable bickering continued until Dennis Apparated in with three kinds of curry, rice and naan.

"What I want to know," he said as Sirius belatedly went looking for plates, "is why I'm the food boy. I'm not even the youngest in the Coterie, anymore."

"You're the shortest. I heard that Marion tried to beat you up."

"Scurrilous lies. She was asking me out to dinner while we were sparring. Anyway, the estimable Mr Potter is an inch and a half shorter than me."

"Yeah, but you weren't starved as a kid," said Harry.

"Oh no, not the 'I deserve special treatment because I'm a famous orphan who saved the world' routine."

"Yeah," Weasley added, "not in this house. Anyway, when was the last time you saved the world?"

Granger smiled. "What have you done for us lately, Harry?"

"Well, I agreed to be godfather to your fluffy-haired, super-smart babies. Is there any way I can get out of that, by the way?"

"I'd start running now, Harry," said Black. "Godchildren are a trial. Especially the ones who think the little matter of defeating the Dark Lord makes them special. Didn't you learn anything in Snape's classes?"

"Not Potions," said Ron and Hermione together.

"Right, Lilith," said Harry, "here's the plan. You take over the world, I'll stop you moments before your evil plan succeeds, and live off the rewards."

Lilith had been enjoying the show, forgotten in a corner. Reluctantly she said, "What's in it for me?"

"I'll fund your escape route. Name your island, I'll buy it for you. Might even join you, once the hero-worship wears thin."

Hermione, Lilith noted, was no longer laughing. Nor were Weasley or Black. She gave Weasley a challenging look and said, "I may take you up on that, Potter."

Harry seemed oblivious to the undercurrents. "Should be highly amusing."

Lilith returned to obscurity, watching the others in silence for the rest of the night.

Later, she paused in the kitchen doorway to watch Harry and Black clean up. Neither saw her, and she was about to announce her presence when Harry said, "Oh, Sirius? I've contacted Remus and asked him to look for Snape. Figured you'd like to know if Remus comes home. "

"That's not likely to happen. He has a lot more freedom in Europe than here. Is the Snape hunt out of his way?"

"He was in western Europe anyway. And this is what he does - he's good with this sort of thing."

Black smiled. "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd want Snape around."

"I don't, but - well, I can hardly let him be. To be honest, though, I'm not sorry to be delegating this to Remus."

They shifted to put away the dishes, and Black said, "What do you mean?"

"I've got a lot on my mind." In the reflection from the kitchen window, Lilith saw Harry remove his glasses and rub his eyes. "I've never co-ordinated an operation this complicated. Not with half my Coterie more interested in Borgin, and my friends and family involving themselves at will…."

"It's all right to ask for help, you know. Assign Second Coterie to Lilith - they seem to be doing the grunt work on the Borgin case, why not this?"

"Not their job. Anyway, they're assisting Third Coterie with the attack on Diagon Alley - that's the biggest case at the moment."

"I thought that Lux wanted you lot to be more flexible."

"He certainly likes to give that impression," said Potter bitterly. "But we're tied up in rules and bureaucracy … the old system might have had problems-"

"To put it lightly," Black murmured.

"-But at least we were free to act against Dark magic when we saw it. Now we have to ask permission to breathe, and most of our time goes into playing public prosecutor. All because the Ministry wanted to modernise."

"They were a little hasty to adopt every 'good' idea the Muggle world has produced in the last three decades. I can't say I'm particularly happy to be opposing Aurors in the courtrooms, either."

The conversation turned to politics. Lilith slipped away unnoticed.

***

Hermione watched Lilith move outside, ending her spell of eavesdropping. She waited a few minutes, and followed.

She found Lilith on a small porch at the back of the house, sitting up on the railings and staring into the dark garden.

"Good evening," Hermione said quietly.

"Ms Granger."

Hermione noted the use of the Muggle title in silence, sitting down on the steps and staring, like Lilith, into the gloom.

"I'm sure your father will be all right," she said eventually.

"I've no doubt of it. And frankly, the longer he's away, the happier I'll be."

"Do you expect to be in trouble when he returns?"

"I went into Knockturn Alley to spend time with a known Dark wizard, was caught in the act by an Auror, became the possible victim of an attack and ended up in the protection of an entire Coterie, and under the special care of the Boy Who Lived himself. Wouldn't you have something to say, if it were your child?"

"Probably. Will it make any difference to your father that the Dark wizard in question was your uncle?"

"Of course. It will make him angrier."

"I could speak to him for you."

"I really don't believe that will help." Hermione watched the girl lean back, and wished she could read minds.

"What do you want to do?" she asked suddenly.

"Do?"

"After school. You must have ideas."

"Did you?"

"I - yes. I was going to be an Auror, or a mediwitch, or a teacher. Or I was going to work in the Ministry. Or possibly become a dentist." Lilith smiled thinly. Hermione sighed. "Mostly, I just wanted to survive school."

"I'd like to survive my summer holidays."

Hermione laughed out loud. "That sounds like something Professor Figg would say."

"I suppose it is. She practically raised me." Lilith twirled a strand of lank hair around her finger. "Would it be possible for me to visit her? I hate to think of her, alone in the hospital…"

"I'll talk to Harry."

"Thank you." Lilith leaned forward, toying with the lace on her sleeves. "I'd like to write," she said suddenly. "I don't know what. But I see things, and I write. I don't know … maybe I could write novels, not that I'd ever be published." She sneered. "Everyone's so bound up in the Daily Prophet, and Witch Weekly. We don't need fiction in the wizarding world, we already have the media."

"I can't argue with that. But I think you should write fiction, if that's what you want. People will read it, if it's worthy."

"You can't make a living that way."

"Why not? I make a living from writing about anything I see." Lilith gave her a frankly sceptical look. Hermione ploughed on, "our numbers are too small to maintain a rich cultural life, but we can surely do better than what we have … no one thinks, no one analyses … sociological concepts that were out of date among Muggles fifty years ago are revolutionary, here."

"You write. You think."

"Not fiction."

"So?"

"Anyway, I hardly have a monopoly … look at Morag MacDougal, and Pandora. Look at those Americans from the Rambaldi Institute. I could introduce you to Morag, if you like. She'd publish fiction, if it were good."

Lilith retreated behind her hair. "It's not good. It's not … I'd prefer not to embarrass myself. I'm no good … I always burn everything. Even my diaries, most of them. It's never good enough. I forget so much … I can never write it properly."

"Not now. But perhaps with practice…" Hermione got to her feet. "Think about it. My offer stands."

***

Granger obviously had a word in Potter's ear, for the next day he, Ron Weasley and Michael Truelake accompanied her to St Mungo's. Aunt Arabella was still unconscious, but Lilith was certain her eyelids flickered at the touch of her hand.

Weasley joined her at Aunt Arabella's bedside, while Harry and Truelake spoke to the guard outside.

"She'll be fine," he said. "She'll be fine…"

"Of course she will. She could live through anything."

Her godmother looked old, though, and worn. It was difficult to distinguish between her white, translucent hair, and the pillows beneath her head. Lilith touched her hand again, and was rewarded with another subtle flicker of the eyelid.

"She'll live."

Weasley exhaled. "She was great, you know, as a teacher." He spoke softly, as if he didn't want Harry to hear them. "She taught me heaps … Lupin was good, but he never really got involved. Professor Figg split us up - put Hermione at the back of the classroom, and me and Harry on either side. We had to work in her class. She made me learn … the things she taught me have saved my life a dozen times."

"What about Potter? What did he learn?"

Weasley snorted. "The lesson your father couldn't teach him. That not liking Harry Potter isn't the same as being evil. Oh, and that it's dangerous to have someone who knew you as an infant sharing meals with Snape."

Lilith smiled slightly.

"I wish I could have known her when she was young."

"Me, too," said Weasley wistfully. He dropped a kiss on Arabella's forehead and muttered, "Get well, Professor."

She allowed Weasley to lead her out of the room. Potter was leaning against the wall outside. "How is she?" he asked. His nonchalance was forced, but the mere attempt irritated Lilith.

"She'll recover. Thank you for asking," she spat, and stalked ahead of him through the corridors. Weasley gave her a wry half-grin as she passed him.

***

"Well. This is all very interesting."

Lilith looked up from her book to find Isobel Zabini looking down at her, a small half-smile on her mouth.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mum lost patience with me and sent me to stay with Aunt Enid, and when I heard who she was guarding, I talked her into letting me join you for a day." She gracefully threw herself into a chair, her robes arranging themselves to show off her best assets. "Aren't you glad to see me? You must be utterly bored with all of these Aurors around."

"I'm glad," Lilith said. "I wasn't expecting company today. Not of my own age."

She had hoped that Potter would be there, preferably feeling suitably apologetic for his behaviour yesterday, but Michael Truelake had told her with a smirk that he would be dealing with her uncle today. She had resigned herself to spending another day behind a book, and Isobel was the last person in her circle that she'd have chosen for company. Isobel had the dark good looks that all the Zabinis shared, but she was voluptuous and self-consciously beautiful, rather than athletic and brilliant like her aunt. Unfortunately, she was also vicious enough that Lilith was hesitant to offend her.

"It's your lucky day, then." Isobel leaned forward, giving Lilith an unwanted view of her figure. Surely she wasn't using enhancing charms again, Lilith thought, not in summer, when there were no boys around to be distracted.

The mystery was solved when Isobel said, "So, is Harry Potter around? I heard that he was your personal guard."

"Along with six other Aurors, yes."

"But he's, you know, special. Right?"

"He's in charge of this operation. But he's not here today. He has business to attend to."

Isobel pouted, but spoilt the effect by giggling. "I'll bet he does. Look at this." From her bag, she drew Wizard!. Apollo Chase, lead singer for Love Potion, was on the cover, managing to look brooding, rebellious and utterly unthreatening all at once. The tabloid's lead article was more speculation about his relationship with his soundwizard, and it took Lilith a moment to see the smaller text beneath the flashing green headline.

Dark Obsessions: the Boy Who Lived and his twisted relationship with his mentor's daughter.

"What the hell is this?" Lilith demanded, reading the article. "'Disturbed, obsessed … the man who taught him the Black Arts' … Love Potions? Are they mad?"

"I thought you should see it," said Isobel sweetly. "I knew you didn't read it usually, so I made sure you'd get a copy."

"They have no right to say this about my father!"

"What are you talking about - there's nothing there that hasn't been said a million times before."

"Not like this." Lilith stared blindly at the tabloid, a slow rage burning inside her. "They have no right to say this … they have no right to involve me."

"What are you going to do?" asked Isobel. "They say that Harry Potter hates reporters, you know."

"I can see why."

"So what's he like?"

"Isobel, this is hardly the time to feed your fantasy life. He's boring and middle-aged, and sometimes funny, in a sad, brittle sort of way. And for a man who never followed a rule in his life, he's awfully strict. I think he might be going bald, too," she lied for good measure. "Now, I need to think … Merlin, my father might see this."

"Does he read Wizard! often, then?"

"Very funny."

Lilith read the article again. Isobel wandered around the room, picking up books and putting them down again, sighing pointedly every few minutes. She was beginning to wonder when she could reasonably ask Isobel to leave, possibly citing one of her famous migraines (it might not even be a lie; there was already a pounding sensation behind her eyes), when Enid and Michael entered.

"And bring me the paperwork on Borgin's Thai dealings," Zabini said as they examined the wards on the windows, "the Magical Administration of Siam have agreed to release their own reports, and I want to examine their evidence."

"I aim to please," said Truelake.

"Really? Since when?"

"Well, since Potter has stolen my role as official Coterie arsehole-" Truelake turned and found himself face to face with Isobel, who simpered. "Oh. You must be Enid's niece."

"I'm Isobel. She must have told you about me."

To Lilith's intense amusement, Truelake gave her a quelling look and said, "Well, she mentioned a fifteen-year-old who dresses like a Knockturn Alley tart, and since you seem to have the Zabini family good looks under all that makeup, I'm going to take a wild guess."

Isobel deflated, slouching and crossing her arms, looking very much like the scared little girl who had nearly tripped over the stool in her excitement to reach the Sorting Hat. She turned to her aunt, who shook her head and said nothing.

The Aurors left the room, and Isobel muttered, "I, uh, I should go."

"That might be best."

"That article…"

"It's fine," said Lilith impatiently. "Father knows that ninety percent of Potter's media coverage is fiction."

"I know…"

Lilith lit the fire, and watched Isobel Floo out. She allowed the flames to flicker, slowly returning to orange as the powder dissipated. A quiet cough distracted her.

"I'd put that out, if I were you," said Enid, leaning in the doorway. "Wards on fireplaces are only effective if there's no fire."

"Sorry."

Enid shrugged. "No one's jumped out of the fireplace brandishing a wand, yet. Just put it out." Rather awkwardly, she said, "I'm sorry about my niece."

Lilith shrugged. "She's always like that. Anyway, it was worth it to see Truelake cut her down."

"Yes, every now and then, Michael says the right thing at the right time. Not often, though."

"Have you seen this, then?" Lilith held the magazine out.

"No. I had no idea … I'm very sorry. My sister, her mother, wanted to see what she was like with her friends. We've all been a bit worried about Isobel over the last couple of years, with the way she's been acting … My motives were entirely selfish and unprofessional."

Lilith stood up, her head pounding with every slight movement. "If this were your own operation," she said coldly, "you'd be a little more selfless and professional."

"Hmm." Zabini gave her a cool look. "You'll forgive me, but I think that Potter is overreacting. And babysitting for a teenager is hardly a job for the best and the brightest Aurors in Britain."

"Be sure to tell my father that, if I get killed." She walked away. "If you need me, I'll be in my room."

The impending migraine receded in the semi-darkness, and Lilith ended up pulling out the magazine again. She reread the article, in which she was painted as an innocent pawn in a game played by her father, and then read the whole magazine from cover to cover. For the first time, she thought of the families and friends of the hapless magical celebrities whose private lives were investigated and fictionalised for the edification of idiots like Isobel.

They say that Harry Potter hates reporters, you know.

Under Lilith's bed, concealed in one of the few diaries she hadn't burnt, were three newspaper clippings. One consisted of a large, colour photo and a small caption: two couples on a red carpet outside the Golden Wand, the leading magical theatre. The first were extroverted: Hermione Granger laughed and scolded while Ron Weasley pretended to swagger for the cameras, before he finally doubled over laughing. As they moved out of the frame, they were followed by a more sedate couple. Potter's stride was freer than the red carpet swagger that Weasley had mocked, but he blushed, and his hair fell into his face as the watching public tried to talk to him. Virginia Potter blushed even more than her husband, but she smiled and nodded as people called out to her. As they passed by, Potter caught the photographer's eye and gave him a friendly wave, pulling Virginia close and kissing her cheek.

The others were front page articles, accompanied by business-like black and white pictures. Suicide or Murder? Ministry investigates death of Virginia Potter was followed by Potter Acquitted in Murder Investigation. Lilith had almost memorised the articles.

'The Ministry of Magic has denied that Harry Potter was ever under suspicion in the mysterious death of his wife, whose murder has sparked criticism over the College of Aurors' handling of smaller cases…'

Death, rumour, acquittal (although, Lilith noted, no formal accusation), and a lingering hatred of the media. Potter had drawn his wand on a journalist three months later, only hours after he'd been awarded the Order of Merlin (Phoenix class, and hadn't her father sneered at that, a special award for the Boy Who Lived, because no one had been given the Order of Merlin, first class, twice). Potter had saved the world again, and his wife had died.

And they never caught Virginia Weasley's murderer.

Lilith turned the page, squinting in the semi-darkness. The personal ads were full of lonely witches and wizards, offers of privately brewed potions and lost puffskeins.

…beloved family pet, answers to the name of Evenda…

…grey with purple markings…

…Lost your daddy, little girl? You know better than to talk to strangers, but there are all sorts in France. It's not all you'll lose before this is over…

Lilith stared at the ad, incongruous among the missing pets and pleas for lovers.

Lost your daddy?

Her hands were clenched around the magazine, and she had to force herself to breathe. Then she was moving, throwing her door open and running downstairs to find Zabini.
 

Space, Harry told himself. Distance. Time. He glanced at Lilith, stiff, nervous and compelling, and looked away.

Space.

His dreams the last couple of nights had been filled with it: space between bodies, space between molecules.

Space between lips, compressing and expanding with words and kisses.

And behind it all, a dark whisper of Parseltongue.

He'd felt all but dead since Ginny had died. Even after his mind had re-engaged, his body remained unresponsive, and he liked it that way. The idea of anyone, anyone at all, taking her place was still abhorrent. Whatever his subconscious said. For the old responses to return now … Harry wasn't sure if it was a good thing, evidence that his depression was finally lifting, or proof that other things long-suppressed were stirring along with his sexuality.

After all, Lilith Borgin was only fifteen, for all she had seemed a woman of thirty in his dream. He'd lain awake in the humid darkness of recent mornings, staring out at the hazy sky and wondering what was happening. At least, he'd eventually convinced himself, the whispering vision in his dream was more Severus Snape made female than Lilith Borgin made adult.

You know you're having a bad time when harbouring a subconscious sexual desire for Snape is the better option.

The thought was only slightly amusing. Harry attempted to put the whole issue out of his head, avoiding Lilith and spending a day at the Tower. The triple-headed investigation - Borgin's activities, the attack on Diagon Alley and the protection of Lilith - absorbed his mind, and his long nocturnal flights absorbed his energy. But it seemed he wasn't going to be able to avoid the girl forever.

Michael's message had said that Lilith was "really, truly shit-scared", but whatever emotion she felt had been well and truly suppressed by the time Harry arrived. She turned to him as he entered the kitchen, and said, "They'll kill my father."

"Not a chance." Harry pulled the magazine out of her hands. The other Aurors were Apparating in around him. "Lisa, go down to the press offices and find out who placed this and when. Then find out whether this is in every newspaper, or just that one - and if so, why. Ron, take Dennis and Michael and reinforce all the wards around this house. Maybe around the entire neighbourhood. Enid, contact the British magical consulate in Paris and see if anyone has seen hide or hair of Snape since the last time we asked. Then send an owl to Remus Lupin, telling him that the urgency of the situation has just increased. Don't mention any names; he'll understand. Then, I need you to contact St Mungo's and check on the security around Mrs Figg."

This accomplished, Harry turned to Lilith. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." She licked her lips. "Concerned, perhaps."

Harry flipped through the magazine, pausing over a particularly detestable article about his relationship with the Borgin-Snape family.

"Charming, isn't it?" Marion said. Without waiting for orders, she had already begun brewing Guardian Potions, which would be hung by all the doors and windows, glowing green unless danger approached. "My flatmate was reading it this morning - I thought it was disgusting."

"I've seen worse," Harry said. He stared at the article, examining the by-line and turning the story over in his mind. "Listen, Marion, can you have this Phillida Gride checked out?"

"It's probably a pseudonym for one of their other journalists. These rags usually only hire a couple of people. They have considerably larger payrolls, of course."

"I'm just wondering if it's just coincidence that this appeared on the same day as the threat in the classifieds. If this is the only paper carrying the message to Lilith, the article might have been deliberately timed as a lure."

"I'll find out," Marion promised.

"Not too forcefully, please. We don't want to leave a trail of traumatised tabloid journalists in our wake today."

"I promise to be on my best behaviour, like the charming Hufflepuff my mother thinks I am." With a gentle smile, Marion ripped the head off a mandrake baby and threw it into her cauldron.

Harry stayed by Lilith's side that day. She was withdrawn and quiet, and he was glad when Enid pulled him away for a few minutes.

"Look, about that magazine," she said.

"Marion and Lisa are checking it out."

"No, I mean its coming into Lilith's hands." She sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry, Harry, but my niece brought it into the house."

"Along with herself, I presume."

"Yeah. I'm sorry - it was unprofessional and stupid. And I'm not convinced that this is really the high priority case you make it out to be, but I shouldn't have jeopardised it like that."

"It's no problem."

Enid stared at him. "I'm sorry? Harry, if this were my case, I'd have the offending party strung up by his balls-"

"Yeah, but I don't have that authority."

"Very funny."

"Might be a quick way to gain promotion, though."

Enid smiled thinly. "I didn't think you cared about rank these days. Or has that changed? I have wondered if this whole Lilith distraction was an elaborate scheme to get yourself promoted."

"It hasn't changed. I don't care about rank."

"Really."

Harry exhaled, checking to make sure that no one else was around to hear this discussion. "It's a lovely, Slytherin sort of notion, but it's a crock. I really don't care about my rank, Enid. Frankly, I don't even care about my job, most of the time."

"Then you have no right to be in it."

"Maybe not. But since you came to me to discuss your infraction - was that because you actually regret it, or because you didn't want me to hear about it from Lilith first?" She scowled, and he knew he'd scored, "I don't think this is your turn to criticise me."

Enid glared at him, and walked away.

Lilith remained silent throughout the day, refusing all attempts to draw her out. Harry was not scheduled to spend the night at the Snape residence, but he couldn't bring himself to return to his flat, and the ghosts within. He lingered in the house, even after his shift had ended.

Ron paused by his side as he prepared to leave.

"Going home?"

"Staying here."

"You're welcome to stay with me. Hermione won't be home 'til late."

"No. Thanks. I don't really want company."

Ron looked like he wanted to say more, and Harry braced himself for a repetition of the days following Ginny's death, when his friends had never left him alone. But whatever Ron was considering, it was rejected, and he left.

Harry made himself a cup of tea and wandered out to the living room. He passed Marion, on night watch, on his way, giving the younger Auror an approving nod as a signal that Harry wasn't here to usurp her position.

The bookshelves in Snape's study formed a whispering presence in the house, more prominent now that the building was almost silent. Harry ignored them and found himself a novel, but in the end, he switched off the lamp and brooded in the darkness.

Around one in the morning, a silent figure entered the room, moving towards Snape's study. Lilith froze as she saw Harry.

"Good evening, Lilith." She didn't move. In the dim green light of the Guardian Potions he could make out her features, and the Cheshire cat grinning on her thin printed t-shirt.

"I hadn't realised that you'd be staying back."

"And Marion rarely checks your father's study."

"I only read. I don't - I don't perform any of the spells."

"I don't doubt that."

She found a spare cushion and curled up on the floor beside his chair. "You don't seem particularly shocked or horrified."

"I figured it out a while ago. Anyway, I spent a lot of time in the Restricted Section when I was fifteen."

Her eyes glittered. "That was the year Aunt Arabella taught you, wasn't it?"

"If you can call it that."

"You didn't like her."

"Not at all. And it was mutual." Harry moved so he could see Lilith's face as he spoke. "She was a great teacher - brilliant, in fact. More intimidating than Lupin, but less than Moody - than Crouch, I mean. She could sit behind her desk, not even paying attention to her students, and we wouldn't be able to imagine looking at anything or anyone else. But she didn't like me … or at least, she didn't approve of me. Or maybe it was just an act. I could never figure her out, and she never bothered to explain it for the poor, dumb Gryffindor."

"Oh, so this is about being Slytherin, then?"

"That's … a simplification."

She looked up at him, seeking something in his face. "So it's not true, then, that you were almost sorted into Slytherin?"

He smiled thinly. "It's true. The Daily Prophet had a field day with that revelation."

"Rita Skeeter is a Ravenclaw."

"I never said that all Dark, ruthless or irritating witches and wizards are Slytherin."

"But all Slytherins are Dark."

"You said it, Lilith. Not me." He returned to his book, but she remained by his side. Eventually, he said, "I didn't hate her. Not really… But I was angry, that she'd known who and what I was, yet she had allowed the Dursleys to treat me the way they did. She had no right to show up in fifth year and tell me to buck up Potter, it was all for my own good." He stared into the darkness, unseeing. "It was one of the greatest betrayals of my life, to find that my family had lied to me for ten years about my parents and my magic. But they were Muggles … and Dursleys. They didn't know any better. Mrs Figg could have done more."

"I understand."

"I doubt it. But thank you."

Bitterly, she said, "I didn't know my mother was a Death Eater until I got to Hogwarts. And I didn't know about my father until Uncle Janus told me."

Harry shuddered at the image of a small girl being given all that unwanted information about her family. He, at least, had been fifteen when he'd discovered the full truth of his background, and that discussion with Dumbledore had been one of the most painful of his life.

I am going to tell you everything, Dumbledore had said, and in return, he demanded full honesty from Harry about his nocturnal visits to the Restricted Section.

"I remember," he said slowly, "that when I was eleven, I said I'd rather die than support Voldemort. And it stayed true, but oaths like that leave a lot of room for curious boys to read up on the Dark Arts."

"When I was young," Lilith said, "I hated the thought of it. Even reading about the Dark Arts in books, in fiction, made my skin crawl. I don't know when that changed… I can't remember."

Harry gave her a long look. "How old were you, the first time you visited the Restricted Section illegally, then?"

"Oh … twelve. Nearly thirteen. It was my third year."

"Just after your father became headmaster?"

"Yes. Around that time."

Harry held her gaze, but she volunteered no more information. She didn't need to: he knew enough.

It was around that time that she'd met her uncle.

Aware that his stare was making her uncomfortable, he said, "Play Quidditch at all?"

"Some. I'm on the house team, but only because the others want to please Dad. As though he'd want to see me fumble the Snitch at every match."

"You're Seeker?"

Her smile was mirthless. "I'm no Potter. I suppose that I'm not as bad as Dad thinks - we usually beat Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff - but Gryffindor is always that little bit better. No matter how hard I try, Leach is always ahead."

"That must be hard."

"Not that you'd know."

"I've lost games before."

"Yes, but you don't have to face your father afterwards. Let alone the rest of Slytherin House."

"Well, no. But you should have seen Angelina and Lee after I missed the Snitch in the European Cup. Not to mention the rest of England."

"What's it like?" she asked, her eyes gleaming, "what's it like to play professionally?"

Harry paused, wondering how he could sum up such an indescribable experience. A wave of memories assaulted him: the cool, smoky air around the Quidditch pitch, the sick feeling in his stomach mixing with the exhilaration of flying over thousands of people, all of them chanting his name… It had been 2000, two years after he defeated Voldemort, and he'd emerged from a deep depression to find that everything that Harry Potter touched would turn to gold.

He remembered the Snitch, moving in his hand as his friends surrounded him. Ginny kissed his cheek, and he'd found himself wishing for more, which was stupid, because they were friends, finally, and what kind of moron would ask for more…?

"Amazing," he said finally.

He'd expected a snort and a dry comment on his powers of expression, but she simply nodded.

"Yes. I imagine it would be."

"You don't want to try it for yourself?"

"Weren't you listening when I said I wasn't good enough to play for my house?" She smiled. "I'd rather write … though I'm not sure what. I'd hate to be in front of all those people. I'm not given to performing."

"Neither am I. But I seem to end up with an audience anyway."

"I don't know if you've noticed, Potter, but that's not a common problem. Price of heroism, I suppose. Should have thought of that before you defeated the Dark Lord." She looked up at him seriously, and said, "do you ever dream about it?"

"About performing? Well, I sometimes dream about trying to arrest someone, and realising that not only is my wand in my other cloak, but I'm in my underwear."

"I meant about the Dark Lord. He Who Must Not Be Named."

He stared at her, trying to see what she was hiding behind the question. "Sometimes," he said cautiously.

"I do. All the time. And of my mother. I can hear them calling me…"

"I dream about my parents, sometimes."

"This is different, I think."

Fear, Harry realised. That was what she was hiding. He rejected the urge to dismiss her out of hand, and said, "I don't know a great deal about Oneiromancy. It's a very hazy sort of affair, I think. A lot like Divination. Are you, um, do you have the Sight? Are you a Seer?"

"Hardly. I failed Divination and changed to Arithmancy after my third year. Professor Trelawney said that I was a 'difficult student'."

"Did she predict your death, too?"

"Every chance she got. But if you ask me, it was her way of controlling the important students. I heard she did it to Leach, too, in the Gryffindor classes. I'm the daughter of the Headmaster, he's the son of the Minister of Magic. You're the Boy Who Lived. Do you see the pattern?"

"Yes. It's rather brilliant, actually. I wonder if your father put her up to it?" She scowled, and Harry became serious again. "Look, I know nothing at all about Dream Magic, except that it can be induced by almost any kind of spell. Even Transfiguration, provided you know a bit about the human brain. And it might even be psychological, instead of magical." Quietly, he said, "I get the impression that you think about your mother a lot."

"Almost every day."

"And Voldemort?"

She flinched when he said the name. "Not … as such. But if I think of my mother, he's there … I can't separate them. Not since I found out what she was."

"I'll talk to someone," Harry promised. "Hermione, probably. With your permission. I'm having lunch with her tomorrow." Slowly, she nodded. "Go to bed, then. I'll be back tomorrow."

She rose to her feet. "Thank you."

"Any time," Harry said sincerely as she walked away.

A quiet cough in the doorway interrupted him.

"That was very good of you," Marion said.

"Just my job."

"Perhaps. But it's good to see you take an interest again. We've been worried about you, Harry. Even Enid, though she hates to show it."

"Um." Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what to say."

"Just say thank you. And drink this." She handed him a mug. Harry sniffed it suspiciously. "It's milk, Harry. Laced with cinnamon and vanilla."

"Oh. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Drink that, and get yourself home. Honestly, you look like death warmed over. And you know how much I hate being the cuddly nurturing one."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, be sensible. Take better care of yourself, stop sitting up moping until two in the morning, and don't make me worry about you."

Harry handed her the empty mug, already yawning. "What would we do without you, Marion?"

"Well for one thing, you'd have to brew a lot more potions. And since rumour is that you didn't even get a single NEWT for Potions, I think you should be nice to me."

"A dozen roses on your birthday, every year without fail."

"I'd prefer carnations, actually. And you could make a start by remembering my birthday. Oh, and Harry? This is a really good thing you're doing for Lilith."

"You make it sound like I'm doing her a favour." He blinked, then yawned again, much to Marion's evident amusement.

"I meant taking an interest. There's a kid that really needs someone to look after her for a bit. Even if she doesn't know it herself."

Harry considered that. "Yeah. You may be right."

"I'm always right. When will you learn that?"

Harry kissed her on the cheek, chuckling, and Disapparated. In his flat, he collapsed fully dressed on his bed and kicked off his shoes. After a few minutes, he made an attempt at removing his pants, but he was too sleepy to do anything more. He'd have to pass his compliments to Marion later … maybe recommend her recipe as a particularly tasty knock out drug … he'd tell her tomorrow … after he'd seen Hermione about Lilith and her dreams of Voldemort…

"He seems to lurk in the back of my thoughts."

Must be going around, then, eh Potter?

Harry finally lost consciousness, but Marion's brew did nothing to reduce the intensity of his dreams.

***

The young man fell into step beside him on the streets of Marseilles' magical quarter. Snape continued walking, making no move towards his wand.

"Professor Snape."

"Shadow. And what have you done with yourself since you finished school?"

The young man laughed, his sunny smile belying his sinister name. Snape glanced at the narrow doorway which, he knew, concealed the entrance to the local equivalent of Knockturn Alley. It would be empty at this time of day. There would be no witnesses.

"Oh, this and that," said Shadow. "My father tried to give me a job, but it didn't work out. You know how it goes."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'd always believed that the two of you would get along, if only he'd make the effort."

Would Shadow follow him, he wondered. It was so obviously an ambush…

"Too little, too late, I'm afraid. He never forgave me for being Sorted into Slytherin. Said I reminded him of his father."

"Gryffindors," Snape sniffed.

"But you - your success is legendary! Promoted to Headmaster, I heard."

Snape smiled slightly, and moved towards the doorway. "Three years ago, now."

Shadow followed. "Old McGonagall retired, eh?"

Severus gave him a disapproving look. "She did, yes. I believe she credited your antics for finally wearing her out."

"My antics? What about the Potters, or the Longbottoms, or that steady stream of Weasleys? Or - or you? It was a collaborative effort, Professor, and I only played a minor role."

Snape entered the deserted alleyway. A faint scent of blood tickled his nostrils. He paused to peer into a shop window, examining a pewter cauldron engraved with inscriptions in the magical Gaulish language. "I'll be sure to pass your comments on to her."

"Actually, sir, you won't. You won't live long-" Shadow broke off as Snape spun around, pressing his wand against his throat.

Snape moved forward, backing Shadow against a wall, and said, "You know, Mr Lux, the Ministry in England is very concerned about the lingering strength of the Dark Order in Europe. I'm sure they'll be relieved to hear that its current membership includes as astonishing array of incompetents, amateurs and dunderheads as I have ever seen." More quietly, he added, "your father will be disappointed to hear of this."

"I expect he knows already." Shadow smiled slightly. "You might want to keep an eye on your daughter, Professor. You may have a disappointment of your own one day."

Snape contemplated the array of Dark curses and minor hexes at his command. He could make Lux pay for that, pay for this whole sorry mess, yes, watch the boy suffer-

Ah, but he'd known Shadow since he was eleven.

And there was an element of truth, however much unwanted, in his words.

"Stupefy," he hissed. Shadow's eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground. His head hit the ground with a resounding crack. Snape smiled thinly, Transfigured the body into a glass vial and slipped it into his pocket. It clinked as it joined the others already collected.

He toyed with the idea of contacting Jean-Pierre, but rejected the idea. Jean-Pierre trusted him, to a point, but he was an Auror, and Snape had once been a Dark wizard. And some stains could never be completely washed away; he had not borne the Dark Mark for fifteen years, but the taint was still inside him.
 
 

"Hermione."

She barely looked up from her crowded desk. "I'm very busy, Harry."

"Yeah, I figured that was why you cancelled lunch." He cleared a space and put his bags down. "I bought you some sandwiches."

"Oh." She put her quill down. "Thank you … I'm sorry, I'll need to work while we eat." Hermione glared at the parchments around her. "It's chaos … they're threatening to go to the Muggle Prime Minister if the Ministry doesn't meet their demands."

"Do we know who 'they' are, yet?"

"I have people working on that."

"And the weather?"

"I have people working on that, too. In fact, one of them should be here right-"

There was a knock at the door, and a frowning, ruddy-faced man entered. "Madam Granger, I'm afraid these reports aren't-" He looked up and broke off, staring at Harry.

Hermione sighed. "Robert Pluit, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Doctor Pluit of the Department of Magical Meteorology."

"Ever so pleased to meet you, Mr Potter," said Doctor Pluit. Harry murmured greetings and returned Pluit's attention to his reports; this was a familiar routine, and judging by the tightness around Hermione's lips, one she wanted curtailed as quickly as possible.

"According to our Seers, Madam Granger, there will be no change in the current weather patterns. They've predicted increased in temperature of between one and three degrees per week, unless the spells are circumvented."

"And circumventing the spells?"

Pluit shrugged. "It's proving … difficult."

"I've contacted several experts," said Hermione, "but the earliest any of them can get here is next week." She shuffled through her papers. "I've consulted with several Muggle meteorologists. They don't understand the situation, of course, but their predictions are even greater than those of your department." She presented Pluit with a flimsy print-out from a Muggle computer. "You should know that I have much more faith in the Muggle calculations than your … prophecies."

"Madam, our Seers-"

"Doctor Pluit, Divination is an inexact art. Muggle meteorology is an imprecise science. Neither is perfect, but one is better. Consider that." She leaned back in her chair. "In fact, consider it quickly. Have you heard of David Goodman? He teaches Weather Magic at Durmstrang, but spends his summers in Britain. He uses Muggle science and old magic to create a - a hybrid magic, if you will. I've made arrangements for you and three of your Seers to travel to Goodman's home in the Orkney Islands."

"Madam, my family-"

There was a flicker of compassion in Hermione's eyes. "I'm sorry. They'll just have to do without you until you return. It should only be a matter of weeks, Doctor Pluit - and then we can all rest a little easier. I hope. Your briefing notes and orders are in this folder."

Pluit bowed his head and accepted the papers she offered him. "Yes, ma'am." He left quickly, without another word.

Amused, Harry said, "Ron always said you were dangerous. I like a woman with power."

"So does my husband," she said with the ghost of a smile.

"Well that was more than I wanted to know about your marriage … is all this stress good for the baby?"

"I'd rather be stressed now than giving birth in tropical heat in eight months' time. Though I can afford to take a step back, now. I don't have to single-handedly save England - just make sure the right information gets to the right people." She gave him a speculative look. "Is there something wrong, Harry?"

"Nothing. Just…" I seem to be having lustful thoughts about a fifteen year old girl, and I'm willing to risk your I-told-you-so if you can find a way to make it stop without letting anyone else find out… "You're busy."

"Too right. I need to save England from an unprecedented ecological and political disaster, while producing the next generation of Weasley offspring. I need a holiday."

"I could go."

"No, stay. I hate to cancel our lunch. What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Harry outlined the previous night's conversation. He briefly considered mentioning his own dreams, and decided against it. She might ask Ron to keep an eye on him - for his own good, of course.

"And you think it might be some sort of Dream Magic?" Hermione guessed when he was done.

"Possibly. It can be stimulated by any kind of magic, can't it?"

"Not precisely … the spells can be maintained through most forms of magic, but the connection is always created with a potion, or a series of potions. But it's almost unheard of in England these days."

"There's another option, anyway. It occurred to me this morning that a memory charm has this effect on some people. Dreams and so forth."

Hermione bit her lip. "Tell me again what she said about Burke, the day you questioned her."

"She said that she'd never met the man. In all the years before he disappeared, when he lived in the same house as Borgin, she never even laid eyes on him. He's always been reclusive - a silent partner, you might say - but surely he wouldn't hide himself from a thirteen-year-old girl?"

"I don't think he did," Hermione said softly.

"Maybe he didn't hide anything. Maybe he showed her too much."

"Do mean that in a sexual sense?"

Harry froze. "I - no. Or at least, there's no evidence. If there is a memory charm, then whatever's under it - I don't think it's that … sort of thing. But I expect that she'd be able to tell us an awful lot about Borgin and Burke's business practices. How much do you know about memory charms?"

"Quite a lot, actually, through Neville. For one thing, the traditional method of breaking one is a good round of Cruciatus. There are … better methods now, of course, but they're not always effective. Memory charms vary in form, depending on the caster and the subject, and the strength of the charm … brain structure is the key factor…"

"So you'll help?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? I might have time now… tonight. I'll steal a few hours tonight."

***

The mood at the dinner table was tense, but only Lilith felt fear rather than anticipation. Potter cooked, displaying a familiarity with the Muggle kitchen appliances that surprised and impressed her. Weasley and Granger retreated to the lounge room for a quiet, intense discussion. Lilith watched them for a moment, then returned to Harry.

As if reading her mind, he said, "You should have seen it when we were at school. Even before they were going out, it was like no one else existed. Arguing is like a hobby for them."

"It doesn't look like they're having fun."

Harry paused, concentrating on the carrots he was slicing. "The quiet ones are the worst," he said finally. "And they have a lot on their minds at the moment."

"Weasley hates me. And he hates that Granger has only left her office to help me."

"That's … a simplification."

"Is it?"

They were saved from further discussion by the entrance of Lisa Turpin, teasing Harry about his overreaction to a milk concoction brewed by Marion the night before.

"Does everyone know about that?" asked Potter. "Honestly, for the best Aurors in Britain, you lot are awfully gossipy."

"We're a close-knit group, Harry. Or at least, that's what the Daily Prophet says, and who am I to argue with the Daily Prophet?"

Harry hissed, and Lisa started laughing. Feeling the beginnings of a migraine, Lilith retreated to the dining room to wait for dinner.

Her headache was no better after she'd eaten, but it was no worse, either. She'd feared that the perceptive Granger would notice her discomfort, but Hermione was fixated on the intellectual riddle before her. It was Harry who gave her a reassuring look, which was no comfort at all. Lilith felt like she'd been stripped bare, and they hadn't even begun.

Granger found a piece of parchment and enlarged it so that it covered half the dining room table. She enchanted three quills, each charmed to write in a different colour, and turned to face Lilith.

"Right. Our first task is to create a map of Lilith's brain structure … or more precisely, track the physical effects of magic on her brain."

Lilith bit her lip, determined that the Gryffindors should not see her fear. Turpin was a Ravenclaw, she recalled, but she regarded Lilith with the same muted hostility as Weasley. Lilith ignored them, looking past Granger's shoulder. Potter met her eyes, but looked away, his expression unreadable.

So I'm alone, then? Lilith thought. Fine. It's really nothing new.

But not even anger could distract her from the fear, and when Potter met her eyes again and gave her a small, reassuring smile, it melted away.

The lecture over, Granger returned her attention to Lilith. "Don't be scared," she said.

Too late.

Granger began to chant quietly in Latin and Arabic, and the world around Lilith became very hazy.

She was twelve, almost a third year, accompanying her father to Diagon Alley. He was newly promoted, and wore his new authority with a slight discomfort, like a man wearing a cloak too large for him. A stranger caught her eye, calling out to her. He said he was her uncle, but then her father pushed her away, lingering to speak to the man in icy, bitter tones…

An owl arrived in the middle of the night, carrying a letter. Carrying freedom, of sorts, advice on how she could slip away from her guardians unnoticed for short periods of time.

She was six, about to go to school for the first time. Her father spoke to her, urgently and softly.

"We are different, you must have realised it by now. It is very important - it is imperative - that you not tell the Muggles about magic. I know you can keep secrets, Lilith…"

He touched her face, briefly. He rarely touched her, and the caress was awkward, though gentle.

She was younger still, crying into Aunt Arabella's shoulder after a nightmare woke her.

These were normal memories, that she sometimes recalled deliberately. Not that she cared to.

Granger's incantation became louder, more insistent. Lilith's sense of separation increased. Something nagged at her, a quiet voice and a whisper of scales. A woman singing a lullaby. Her father speaking to Arabella. A classroom - Defence Against the Dark Arts - Professor Lupin lecturing on basic hexes and jinxes. Margie Leary laughing, laughing at her, and the satisfaction of drawing her wand on the stupid Gryffindor. Her father's fury. His figure melted into Potter's, but when she looked more closely, Harry's green eyes had become part of a different face, younger and colder.

I am-

"I am your father and you will-"

A diary and a little girl-

A laughing, blushing woman on the front page of a newspaper-

Two frightened boys, no more than sixteen, brave in spite of their fear. Ron's face was pale and hard beneath the blood, bruises and freckles, but the other boy had a maturity beyond his years, in spite of the lingering puppy fat-

Her uncle, laughing, throwing a comment at someone she couldn't see-

A potion - a plan -

The colours were too bright, and a stab of pain shot behind Lilith's eyes. She groaned, and the spell was broken.

"What?" Granger demanded, "what did you see?"

"N-nothing - nothing - the light, it's too bright, my head-"

"Nox," said Potter, and the lights dimmed. She relaxed, just a little, but didn't take her hands away from her eyes. "What happened?" he asked.

Lilith was too nauseous to speak, but Granger said, "I have no idea. I couldn't seem to break through the barriers."

"Barriers? Are they natural?" asked Weasley.

"I can't tell. Some people just create them, and some kinds of spells … I suppose it might even be hereditary."

"We really don't know much about the effects of magic on the pathways of the brain," said Turpin pointedly. Granger snorted, probably irritated that the ignorance of the world at large, and herself in particular, had been brought to light.

"Genetic factors are something of a mystery, too," she said.

Lilith drew her knees up to her chest and curled in on herself, unwilling to listen to the scientific analysis of her brain. Potter touched her shoulders.

"Are you alright?"

"Migraine."

Without taking his eyes from her face, he said to Weasley, "She needs a dose of the Analgesic Potion - you remember the sort. Where do you keep it?"

"Bathroom."

Weasley's footsteps seemed to echo through her mind, but that was only an illusion.

Harry removed his hands from her shoulders and watched until Weasley returned with the Potion. The dose was smaller than she was accustomed to taking these days - she suspected that Potter knew it too - but she said nothing as Weasley helped her drink. The pain receded, and she was able to open her eyes. Turpin helped her upstairs in silence.

Lilith could feel Potter's eyes on her back as she walked away.

***

As soon as Lilith was out of earshot, Harry said, "What did you get?"

Hermione handed him the parchment. It was covered with random squiggles and lines. Harry couldn't make heads or tails of it, and said so.

"Of course not," said Hermione impatiently, "it's meaningless."

"We haven't exactly been following magical psychowhosit, love," said Ron, sounding tired. "You'll have to explain it a bit."

"Psychiatry. And there's not a lot to follow, yet. Just a lot of theories, old legends and new diagnostic charms. Neville is forging new ground, just creating a baseline will be a lifetime's work." Hermione led them into the kitchen and put the kettle on. As they waited for it to boil, she explained, "Even Muggles don't know much about the human brain, or the relationship between the physical brain and the human … mind. Personality."

"Soul?" asked Lisa, returning from upstairs.

"If you like. Magical research into this area is even more primitive than the Muggle, given the state of mental health care in magical Britain. The Americans are a few steps head of us here, though Neville is helping us catch up. But the current theory is that exposure to magic changes the structure of the brain itself. Using magic magnifies this. Different forms of magic work in different ways."

"So Dark magic erodes the user's capacity for empathy," said Ron. "Aurors have known that for centuries."

"That's only legend, not a consistent observation. And it's impossible to quantify something like empathy-"

"Yes, but we know it-"

"Fine. Research suggests that the link between Dark magic and a person's capacity for empathy are linked. And conversely, certain healing charms increase it. Extended exposure to one spell, or one class of spell, leave their mark on the brain. In theory -though the average witch or wizard is exposed to a lot of different kinds of magic - we sometimes can track these changes, but as you saw this evening, that's not always the case."

"Why would this happen?" Harry waved the useless parchment at Hermione.

"Well, it could be that Lilith's brain was deliberately shielded. Or that she has unconsciously learnt to shield herself. Or it could be natural - some people are just - closed." Hermione fixed Harry with a piercing look. "You would be an interesting study…"

"Do I look like a guinea pig to you?"

"Not yet. But remember, I got the highest marks in Transfiguration for twenty years."

"Of course, there's one other possibility," said Ron carefully. "Maybe Hermione got the spell wrong."

She frowned, but didn't argue. "It's not my area," she admitted. "I've only ever done it twice before. But I got it right on both occasions, and I did a lot of reading this afternoon…"

The kettle boiled. Lisa rose to her feet and poured the tea, bringing the pot and cups over to the kitchen table. It was almost ten-thirty at night, and Ron dimmed the lights, so the house would not seem prominent in a sleepy suburb. The remaining illumination came from a small lamp, and the Guardian Potions.

"What classes of spells leave distinctive traces?" Lisa asked. "What about Imperius and Obliviate?"

"They tend to block off certain areas of the brain - the severity depends on how much is being Obliviated, or how long one is kept under Imperius."

"Or how strong the caster is," said Harry.

"Precisely. Now, Cruciatus disrupts all higher brain function, and rearranges neural pathways - the Killing Curse does the same thing, to a much greater extent, of course. That's how it can break through a Memory Charm."

"Provided it doesn't drive you mad first," said Ron. "Am I the only one who finds it significant that Eugenia Lestrange had a knack for both memory charms and Cruciatus?"

"Her Memory Charms were a lot more careless than her Cruciatus." Hermione shrugged. "Anyway, I'm more interested in Lilith's pre-natal exposure to Dementors. I'm not convinced there's a Memory Charm at all - this could all be the result of that experience."

"You mean it created a block?" asked Harry.

"Possibly … it's obvious that the Dementors had some effect. Lilith doesn't always seem present, emotionally. I'm not sure how to phrase it, and I might be completely wrong … she is very guarded, and I'm not always good at reading people." Hermione glanced at Ron, who completely failed to mention Gilderoy Lockhart. "But it seems as though she only exhibits an emotional response - a positive emotional response - in Harry's presence."

"So she's a sulky, infatuated teenager," said Lisa, "that doesn't make her special."

"Yeah," said Ron, "we see those all the time."

"I know, but … I'd like to see her interact with Professor Snape, actually. Someone who knows her very well."

"Could sell tickets. The irresistible force meets the immovably sarcastic object."

"Very funny."

"I'm serious! We'd make a fortune!"

"Back to the problem at hand," said Harry before the bickering could go any further, "what do we do next?"

"Well, that's up to you, Harry." Hermione sipped her tea. "I'm really only a consultant, after all - and an amateur at that."

"What about Neville, then? He's the expert, and a Muggle doctor, even if he's not a full mediwizard yet."

"I know … but there's a reason I never suggested calling him in before."

"How do you think he became the country's expert in magical psychiatry in the first place?" said Ron grimly.

"He wouldn't refuse to help," said Harry, "Lilith is a child - a victim, not a - I've never liked the concept of hereditary guilt."

Whatever Hermione was about to say was lost, for at that moment, the Guardian Potions turned red, and a muffled shriek came from upstairs.
 
 

Lilith recognised the creature wrapping itself around her as a Lethifold, but the identification would do nothing to save her life. Only a Patronus charm could repel a Lethifold, and she'd only ever read about that, never performed it. Anyway, her wand was on the other side of the room, and she couldn't breathe. Nor could she be sure that her brief scream had been heard downstairs. The Aurors wouldn't even find a body when they checked on her-

That thought rekindled her anger, almost forgotten within the pain of her migraine. Lilith struggled harder, but the Lethifold only tightened its hold, wrapping itself around her like a warm, suffocating cloak. Consuming her.

The door opened with a crash.

"Expecto patronum!"

Was that Granger, Lilith wondered dimly, or Turpin?

"Expecto patronum!"

That was Weasley for sure. The Lethifold's grip loosened, and she struggled harder.

"Expecto patronum!" And that was Potter. "Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum! Do you hear me? You shall not have her! I will not allow her to die! You will obey! Expecto patronum!"

Granger put her hand on Potter's arm.

"Harry," she said, "it's gone."

Potter lowered his wand, but the aura of power around him lingered. Gone was the mild, greying man Lilith had thought she'd known; in his place was a radiant, vibrant wizard - no, she amended, warlock. Sorcerer. A focus-point for a million kinds of magic and power. The kind of wizard who only appeared once in a generation, if that.

Potter took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and the illusion was broken. Or perhaps, she thought, it was recreated. She'd underestimated him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm-" Sick to the stomach, with a whirling head and blood pounding in her ears. "I'm afraid."

"I know." Potter turned to Weasley. "Contact Enid and the others - and anyone the College can spare. I want a twenty-four hour watch on Lilith's person. She's not to be left alone - she's not to be given any food that she hasn't prepared herself, or at least watched being prepared. I want the College to start setting up a safe-house - Snape be damned; he can deal with me when he deigns to return to the country." Weasley nodded and raced off. "Hermione, would I be correct in thinking that, if there is a Memory Charm on Lilith, we could avoid the whole business of creating a map of her brain, and just break the damn thing?"

"In theory, yes. I mean, it's a complicated business, charms and potions and so forth, but yes. The first step is to understand the context of the Charm."

"Right." Harry straightened up. "If anyone needs me, I'll be at the College. That Lethifold didn't get in here on its own - and if anyone can tell me about that and the Memory Charm, it's Borgin. Inveritas or not."

"Harry, what are you--?"

"My job," said Potter grimly. He nodded to Lilith, and Disapparated.

***

Janus Borgin was dozing in his sparse cell when Harry came thundering into the almost deserted prisoners' area. He dismissed the duty guard and stalked over to Borgin's cell.

"What did you do?" he demanded. "What did you do to Lilith?"

Borgin opened one sleepy eye.

"My Inveritas dose will only last another few days, Potter," he said. "Surely the matter can wait."

Harry moved towards the cell bars, feeling the heat of the charmed metal against his skin.

"You put a Memory Charm on Lilith, didn't you? You and Burke - hiding your sordid business deals in a girl's mind - and now you're trying to kill her! Why? Is Burke out there, Janus? You mentioned a shipment of cursed objects from New Guinea - is that where you got the Lethifold? What are you two hiding, that made him disappear two years ago?" He dropped his voice to a deadly whisper. "What are you hiding?"

"I know nothing about a Lethifold!" Borgin snapped. "Nothing! What happened to Lilith? Is she all right?"

"Tell me about the Memory Charm."

"Is she all right?"

Harry stared at Borgin, wondering what to make of this concern.

"She's fine," he said at last.

Borgin relaxed. "Is she? She gets migraines, you know, dreadful ones. I've seen her pass out from the pain. It's the stress, I think, of living with her father. Not that she sees him often, but Snape is not a relaxing man. You know. You must know, you and he-" Borgin paused.

Harry Summoned a parchment and a Transcription Quill. "Go on," he said. "Tell me about Lilith."

"She … she is my only living relative. We were a proud family once, but my father was a gambler … by the time he died, all we had left was the shop in Knockturn Alley. My sister was much younger than I, and very beautiful. She married a Lestrange, a man from a good family. But they entombed her in Azkaban before she had children, and Lestrange died just after they escaped.

"I was one of the first to know when she became pregnant. Along with He Who Must Not Be Named, of course. She was always a … favourite of his. I never supported him - I believe in the Doctrines of Purity, but the Death Eaters perverted the philosophies of the Dark Order - she knew that. You-Know-Who knew that. But they tolerated me, I suppose.

"I didn't know Snape was the father. I'm not sure anyone did, except for him and Eugenia. And the Dark Lord.

"I had suspected for a time that You-Know-Who was the father. I must confess, I would have preferred that to Snape. I never liked Severus, even before he betrayed the Death Eaters and the Dark Order. He used to visit my sister over the summer, when they were at school. A creeping, unpleasant child, and a cruel, heartless man.

"He wouldn't allow me to see my niece. Oh, it took him long enough to admit that she was his at all, but once he did, she was his. His possession. Can you understand that, Potter, do you know how much it hurt me? I'm her uncle - I'm her godfather! But he wanted her to grow up with that tired old bitch, Arabella Figg, instead of her family."

"So you sought her out," said Harry.

"I did, yes. Snape threatened me - do you know how far he'd go to protect Lilith, Potter? Further than you Aurors allow … if you ever want to return Snape to the Dark, all you have to do is threaten Lilith.

"But despite that, I wanted to see my niece. She knew I existed, and she was so lonely … so hungry for family. I sent her an owl, secretly, giving her some advice on evading her father and Figg. She's a clever girl - not a powerful witch, but a clever girl. She figured it out. She came to me."

"And you taught her the Dark Arts."

"How you do carp about that, Potter. Did Snape teach you hypocrisy, along with everything else? I'll be honest with you. Completely honest. I tried to teach her - and then Lucas tried to teach her. She wasn't powerful enough to make it worthwhile."

Harry hoped his face betrayed no sign of surprise at this confirmation of the connection between Lilith and Burke. "I didn't think the Order was that choosy," he said casually. "After all, the Dark Arts increase your power, provided you can overcome the pain. And your conscience."

"The Order can't afford not to be choosy. We are weak, Potter. Nearly powerless. We have no room for anything but the best, anymore."

"What a pity."

"You should be proud. It's your doing, after all. I didn't like the Death Eaters, but Voldemort swallowed the best witches and wizards of two - three generations. Now they're gone, and the Order is crumbling." Borgin smiled thinly. "Congratulations."

Harry turned away. "I've heard enough for tonight."

"I haven't." Borgin stood up and moved to the bars more quickly than Harry would have believed possible. They stood, inches apart, separated by the burning metal. "I know nothing about a Lethifold, and I don't know where Lucas is. But I've told you a lot tonight, and of my own free will. Now you owe me something. What do you want with my niece?"

He stared intently at Harry, searching for something in his face or eyes.

"I like her," said Harry finally.

Borgin sneered. "It can't possibly be her charming personality. She's a lot like her dad, that one. A lot like her mother, too. Among others."

"I don't want - I don't need to surround myself with eternally perky and cheerful women. People. I like her personality. I like her depth."

"Yes. Depth. She does have that. More than the empty-headed chits who come into my store and play with the merchandise, and think they're bad because they read a few words written in blood on dried human skin."

"Some people might regard that as morally ambiguous," Harry said dryly.

"'Morally ambiguous' is owning the skin and saying the words. Looking, simply looking … is not a crime. Not even under this Minister." Borgin took a deep breath. "Lilith, now … if she were powerful, she could go far. But she's not, so it's academic. If all goes well, she'll grow up to be one of your hangers-on … like your parents were to Dumbledore, yes. If she grows up." There was a desperate hope in Borgin's eyes. "But there are other forces at work here. I'll ask you again, what do you want with her?"

Harry leaned towards Borgin, feeling the skin on his face standing up as he moved ever closer to the bars.

"Are you asking my intentions?"

"Do I have to?"

"NO!" Harry's shout echoed through the chambers. "No," he said more quietly. "She's fifteen. That's - that's wrong."

"Hold that thought," Borgin whispered.

He wasn't smirking, wasn't hinting gleefully at a rumour of misconduct; the concern in Borgin's face was genuine. It infuriated Harry; the mere sight of the man's worried eyes filled him with more anger and hatred than he'd felt in years. He was invigorated with it, alive, ready to pull Borgin out of the cell and curse him-

He stumbled backwards as the magical charge from the bars burnt his hands. Borgin darted back and laughed, though there was fear in his face.

Scared and furious, Harry glared at him, turned and left.

***

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, while the throbbing in his hands became more insistent. He should get someone to look at them … but that would involve explaining how he'd come to touch the bars.

Say you forgot. You wouldn't be the first Auror to lose his temper with a prisoner. And Borgin was a very irritating prisoner … and no one would dare issue a complaint against Harry Potter…

Maybe that's the problem, then. Can't take criticism, Potter? Can't take a few probing questions from a man behind bars?

Borgin was unfair.

Really. Aren't you the one having nasty dreams about the girl?

There were deep shadows under Harry's eyes, and small lines developing around his mouth. Surely they hadn't been there a week ago?

"Looking a bit worn, mate," said the mirror.

"Whatever."

He was getting older, he realised, too old to skip meals or sleep without repercussions. Too old to eroticise fifteen-year-old girls. You're not eighteen anymore, Potter.

Thank God.

He would turn thirty-four in a week. Soon, probably as soon as the Borgin case was complete, Tenebreas Lux would summon Harry to his office, and give him a choice. Again. To stay with the Coterie, or to become a sole Auror. Or to take Enid's job.

I don't want to be the First Auror. And I don't want to work alone.

He'd learnt long ago that his greatest strength was in his friends, in the people who knew and loved him best.

I don't even want to be an Auror.

But what else can I be?

One hero, slightly used.

"She'll grow up to be one of your hangers-on … like your parents were to Dumbledore," Borgin had said.

Or like Lucius Malfoy was to Voldemort, whispered his mind. She has the power, Borgin was lying about that.

Even if she didn't, he was the most powerful wizard alive, and there were ways and means of sharing that sort of thing…

And then what? How far would you go before someone put an end to it? How far before the people who love you have to destroy you?

With a pang, Harry remembered the day he'd found Ginny's body. He lived through the sacrifices of others. Ginny, Cho, Cedric, his parents, countless others … knowingly or not, all had died for him.

His own wishes and ambitions were irrelevant. The weirdly compelling image of falling into Darkness, taking Lilith with him, evaporated. He had debts to repay.

And if you bankrupt yourself in the process?

I cannot give in to Darkness. I'm stronger than that.

He stared at his reflection, a kind of despair settling into his bones. The adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours had vanished.

This is not you. Walk away. Walk away from it all.

The pain in his hands finally drew him away from his own haunted face.

***

Outside the Infirmary, his hands newly healed, he ran into Delilah Thistlewight, the College of Auror's Potions Mistress.

"Potter," she said briskly, "I'm glad to run into you. My report on the potions from Borgin's shop is almost complete."

"Well, Enid is handling that side of things-"

"Oh, come now, Potter, we all know you'll be taking her place soon … she's just holding it for you, that's common knowledge. You'll have to deal with this eventually."

Harry scowled, but found no polite way to escape the conversation. She led him into her office and pushed a pile of parchment into his hands.

"There were poisons, of course," she said as Harry attempted to decipher the complicated Potions equations. "Most were imported. About four look to have been brewed in situ. The cauldrons in the shop contained traces of Inveritas - very nicely brewed - and something else. Ink, I believe."

"Ink?"

"Some brewers do prefer to create their own ink, Mr Potter," she said primly.

"Yes, but this is Borgin. It's probably evil ink."

"There are several odd ingredients," Thistlewight admitted, "but some recipes for even the most mundane magical inks can contain idiosyncrasies…"

"Why not just buy ink from Diagon Alley?" Harry asked, "or a Muggle store, even?"

Thistlewight sniffed. "I hardly think that Borgin would frequent such a place." From her tone, Harry suspected, neither would she. The Ministry's much-touted Magical-Muggle détente had only lasted a few years, and was largely confined to a few people in Harry's generation.

"Just … look into it, okay?"

"Mr Lux has very strict rules about inefficient use of resources."

Drawing himself up to his full height, Harry said, "And I have very strict rules about allowing important evidence to go unnoticed." She flinched. Harry withdrew. "Sorry … I haven't slept for a while, and this business is … complicated."

Thistlewight nodded. "I understand. You rest, Mr Potter. You look like death."

"You have no idea."

Harry dropped into his office and used the internal mailing system to send copies of the reports to Enid and Marion. Then he Apparated home, nearly Splinching himself in the process.

He was almost asleep before his head hit the pillow.

***

In his dream, he was with Ginny, walking through Snape's empty house.

"Time," she said. "It's slipping away."

"We have enough, don't we?"

"I do. More than enough. You … have nothing." She looked at him, her eyes enormous and unhappy.

"I do. Have something. I mean, I don't have you, but … life goes on. I didn't mean it to. It just happened."

They paused beside a bookshelf. Ginny drew a slim black diary from it.

"They'll come for you," she said.

"They? Or Him?"

"It doesn't matter. They'll come. And you have too much baggage to escape properly."

"Didn't stop you, did it?"

She gave him a cold look and walked away, through the door to Snape's study. Harry followed, and found himself in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.

Ginny had vanished. In her place was Mrs Lestrange, gaunt and compelling after her years in Azkaban. Neville and Ron were chained to the walls, dazed and scared. Ron was sixteen again, but Neville's face seemed to blur, becoming older, puffier and paler. Frank.

"Watch me, boy," said Lestrange. Nagini slithered around her feet, echoing her words in Parseltongue. "I'll take all of them … your friends, your family … you can't save them."

Footsteps echoed behind Harry, and Lilith took his face in her hands, leaning over his shoulders. "You can't even save yourself," she whispered.

Her mouth was cold, inhumanly so, and her breath drew goosebumps on his skin.

Save himself?

He wasn't sure he even wanted to.

***

The Aurors wouldn't leave her alone. Lisa Turpin curled up in the desk chair and told Lilith to try and sleep, but her pulse was still racing, and she couldn't quite believe that she was still alive. It was too warm for blankets, but just lying on top of the fabric reminded Lilith of the Lethifold…

When she finally did fall asleep, her dreams were dark and heady. Cold and heat wrapped themselves around and through her: the cool stones of a dungeon floor, warm skin under her hands and comforting arms around her.

The clink of chains, and the hissing of the sea far below the fortress, she had forgotten even before she woke up.
 
 

A cool hand shook Ron's shoulder.

"Go 'way," he mumbled. "I'm off duty. Go pester Dennis."

"I can't. I need to speak to you." Ron reluctantly opened his eyes and checked his watch. Seven o'clock. It was Saturday morning; he'd slept on Snape's couch for an hour and fifteen minutes.

"Are you all right?" Enid asked.

"Fine. But I hope you got the name of the Hippogriff that knocked me down."

She chuckled. "I'll make you a cup of coffee."

Ron lay back and dozed until the scent of coffee tickled his nostrils, then staggered out into the kitchen.

"Why didn't you Apparate home at the end of your shift?" Enid asked.

"Too tired. Didn't want to pester Dennis with cleaning up my scattered limbs."

"And the Floo network?"

"The fireplace was too far away. Whereas the couch was right under me." Ron gulped half of his coffee. "Thanks for the drink."

"Anytime. But I need a quick word in return. Off the record, out of the rumour mill."

Ron gave her a wary look, saying, "Go on."

"I need to know … if Harry resigned, would you follow?"

"What?" Ron choked on his coffee. "I know most people think I'm only in the First Coterie because of Harry, but you-"

"That's not what I mean," said Enid.

"Then what do you mean? Who said anything about Harry quitting, anyway?"

"He did. The other day. I don't know if he's serious, or if he was just winding me up, but I want to be prepared. If Harry leaves, will you stay in this Coterie and take his place as Second?"

Ron scowled. "You're putting me in a pretty nasty position, Enid. Harry's my friend. I don't want him to quit."

"Why not? It might be good for him." Enid raised her hand to forestall any arguments. "Harry may be a great hero, but he's no great shakes as an Auror. He was good before Ginny's death - great, sometimes - but since she died, he's settled into a distinctly average rut."

"He's had a pretty hard time of it."

"I don't dispute that. But one day he'll make a mistake, and it'll probably be fatal. He has no - no passion for his job. And this job needs passion. Or something close to madness, anyway."

Ron couldn't deny it.

"You, on the other hand, are one of the best Aurors in the College. You're disciplined, brave, honourable … those are valuable things in a job like this."

"Are you saying that if Harry quit, I'd suddenly be a lot more appreciated?"

Enid smiled wryly. "I'm not giving you carte blanche to throw him off a cliff. There's every chance that this mission will be the making of him - he's already exceeded my expectations. I just wanted to be sure that if Potter quits, you won't follow him."

"I'll stay," Ron promised. "I like this job. I'm not ready to walk away yet." He contemplated his coffee. "It's too early in the morning for this kind of conversation."

"I agree. Go home - get a few hours' sleep. I'm calling the Coterie together at five." She frowned. "I need to speak to Potter before then. Damn. I find him so irritating at the moment."

"At the moment? You've been stepping on each others' toes since he went over your head with the Cabal."

Harry had earned himself another Order of Merlin for that bit of insubordination; Enid had received a reprimand for allowing it to happen. Harry seemed to attract politics like a magnet, and things had become very confused. Ginny had died the same day that the Cabal were destroyed; one wit had suggested that the Order of Merlin was Potter's reward for becoming a widower, and there had been other, uglier rumours. But Harry hadn't been home for a week when he found the body…

"Oh, and one other thing," said Enid, choosing to ignore his interjections, "I hear you're planning a birthday party for Harry. I won't ask you to cancel if we're still on this case, but try to work around it."

"We can't just bring Lilith along? How much harm can she come to, with all those Aurors and Ministry types to protect her? Not to mention that the Burrow has some of the strongest wards and shields in England. Dad saw to that when it was rebuilt."

"It's hardly the usual thing."

"None of this is usual. Anyway, the kid's hardly left the house all week. Let my parents look after her."

Enid looked dubious, but she agreed to consider it. "Though I'm a bit mystified. I thought you hated the kid."

"Well, I'm not ready to adopt her and call her my own. But … you didn't see her last night." Ron shrugged. "She reminded me of my sister, after her first year at school. And … I miss Ginny."

Enid smiled. "I understand. I miss her too."

He stood up. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you this afternoon."

He pushed all thoughts of family and friends out of his head as he Disapparated.

***

It was midmorning when Harry finally woke, pulling himself out of the dregs of a dream. He made himself a cup of tea, despite the heat, and settled down to read through the messages piled on his table.

Among them was a note from Enid, saying that she was at Snape's house, and she had called the Coterie to assemble there at five; would Harry please come a little earlier? There was also an urgent letter from St Mungo's, saying that Arabella Figg had regained consciousness and was demanding his company, and a terse note in French requesting that Harry contact Jean-Pierre Legard of the Guilde des Aurores at his earliest convenience.

Harry glared at the three imperious missives and scowled. Nothing could be done about Enid yet, and he wasn't ready to face Mrs Figg. The Frenchman it was. He showered, dressed and ignited his fire.

Jean-Pierre Legard was a tough, strong-looking man in his early forties, bearing the scars of a lifetime as an Auror. His brown eyes were first suspicious, then warm as he recognised Harry.

"Thank you for returning my owl, Mr Potter," he said, his English so perfect that it had to be the result of genuine knowledge, not just a translation spell.

"Am I to assume that you have information about Severus Snape's whereabouts?"

"Possibly. But why are you hunting him, Mr Potter?"

"His daughter is being threatened. I have reason to believe that he is in danger."

Legard considered this. "Very well. Severus called me to the scene of an - incident at the Conference of Magical Educators. We are old friends; he trusts me, somewhat. He presented me with the Beauxbatons Defence Against Black Magic teacher, an operative of the Dark Order. And then he disappeared. He said he had business in the south."

"And you've heard nothing from him since?"

"Not directly. But my people have observed three known Dark operatives setting out for the south of France. All have apparently vanished into thin air. They might have taken Severus … but my instincts tell me otherwise."

Harry contemplated this. "Thank you."

"My people are keeping an eye out for him, but he doesn't take kindly to the attention of Aurors."

"I know. I've asked an old friend - an old acquaintance of his - to look for him instead."

"Good thinking." Legard gave him a smile. "It has been an honour, Mr Potter. And be sure to keep his daughter safe. I've never met the child, but he speaks of her often."

Harry returned the smile, and made promises he was no longer sure of keeping.

***

Arabella Figg looked emaciated and exhausted, but she was able to give Harry a withering look as he entered her room.

"So you did it then," she croaked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Longbottom tells me that you've taken responsibility for Lilith. That you and your three-ring circus have set up shop in Oxford."

"My Coterie is protecting her from an unknown threat. The threat which put you in hospital, I might add."

Mrs Figg sighed. "Yes … I made that connection as soon as I woke up."

Harry sat down. "What?" he asked, more gently than he'd intended, "what is it? Who is it?"

"I don't know. Severus has always protected her … too much, some would say. Not me, though. I agree with him on most points. He never wanted the publicity that came with her birth, that whole business about the Dementor Baby. Too many people knew who her parents were. It wasn't the scandal that upset him so much, though I'm sure he was mortified … he was always such a private, prideful man. But no, it was Lilith that he worried about. That someday, she would be called to stand for her parents' crimes." She looked at him, her gaze intense despite her obvious illness. "Is he back yet? Is he all right?"

"He's still in France. No one can reach him."

"Oh … that's bad. Very bad indeed … I don't doubt that he's alive, but … in what condition, I couldn't say."

"What do you mean?"

"Some stains don't come out, Potter. Some taints are written in the soul." Barty Crouch Jr, in his guise as Alastor Moody, had once said the same thing to Snape. Harry wondered if this was an oft-repeated cant from Figg's days as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to that generation.

"He's thoroughly respectable now," Harry pointed out. "Look how he reacted when the Evening Seer suggested that the Hogwarts curriculum could be a bit more 'innovative' in teaching the Dark Arts?"

Mrs Figg sighed. "You never did learn, Potter. You cannot touch the Dark Arts without being changed. You can't read a few books, you can't begin the Apprenticeship, you certainly can't wear the Dark Mark for most of your adult life and walk away unchanged. Even without it, Severus walks in shadows." She paused to draw a ragged breath.

"Don't strain yourself," said Harry, "you're not fully healed yet." More severely he said, "and you don't have to lecture me. I know what you're talking about. I know as well as anyone-"

"Oh, go teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Potter," she snapped, sounding twenty years younger. "Listen to my words, not my cracked old voice, and try to get your head out of your arse long enough to understand. Severus and Eugenia had a strong inclination to the Dark Arts, and Merlin help me, I couldn't save them. I couldn't even stop your night-time jaunts to the Restricted Section, so perhaps I'm being naïve when I think I can save Lilith. What that girl needs is a Dumbledore, and all she has is Severus and I. Powerful you may be, but you are the last thing she needs in her life."

Quietly, Harry said, "I've never pretended to be the next Dumbledore. I never thought you of all people would accuse me of trying to fill his shoes."

"I'm not! And I don't want you to be Dumbledore's heir … but I don't think I've been given a choice in the matter. I just want you to stay away from Lilith Borgin." She paused, panting, and went on quietly, "You won't, though. I suppose you can't. You're the leading wizard of the century, and the sooner you admit that and accept some responsibility, the better off we'll all be. But not even Dumbledore could save everyone. Only he had the sense to admit it."

"What do you mean?"

"Ever wondered what would have happened if Albus had taken poor, misunderstood Tom Riddle under his wing? The only change is that Voldemort would have been worse. Likewise with me and Eugenia … and you, you young turnip, and Lilith!"

"It's not the same at all! Lilith is not her mother!"

"No. She's not. She can be saved, I hope. But not by you."

"Why?" Harry demanded, his patience gone. "I'm tired of this conversation! Why?"

"Because you will destroy each other," Figg hissed. Her eyes were wide with pain, and she fell back on the pillows. No alarms went off, as they would have in a Muggle hospital, but Neville and a white-robed nurse rushed in.

"God, Harry, what have you done to her?" Neville demanded. Quickly, he soaked a pain-relieving potion in cloth and applied it to Figg's skin. She immediately relaxed; this was clearly the new Contact Potion Hermione had been excited about a few months back.

"Nothing! We were just discussing work, the case, and-"

"Well, take your case, and yourself, out. This kind of stress is the last thing she needs."

Harry fled, his mind churning with anger and unanswered questions.

***

Harry Apparated to Oxford early, as ordered, and found Enid in Snape's office.

"Should we be in here?" he asked.

"Why not? Severus has been Head of House to my family for decades, not to mention a good friend. He'd trust me, if he were here. Anyway, I wanted a bit of privacy."

"From the Coterie, or Lilith?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Enid gave him an irritated look, and continued, "I wanted to apologise. For my behaviour the other day. In questioning your judgement and motives. I'm sorry."

Apologies didn't come easily to Enid. "It's forgotten," said Harry.

"It's obvious now that Lilith is a target."

"Blindingly." Enid's scowl deepened, and he quickly said, "sorry. Continue. Please."

"I have some more information about the attack on Diagon Alley, nothing conclusive, but interesting. I'll discuss it at the meeting, however."

"Are you taking over this aspect of the case, then?"

"Not precisely … but I feel that you and I should be working together more. Borgin is contained. Second and Third Coteries are doing most of the work on the Diagon Alley attack, though I'm keeping an eye on them. I don't like a divided Coterie, Harry. It makes me itchy."

"I know exactly how you feel."

Enid glanced at her watch. "Look, I am sorry about what I said the other day," she said, "but I think you need to think very carefully about your career. Because if you really don't want to be an Auror, then you have no right to be here. You're a danger to the rest of us. If you were anyone but Harry Potter, Lux would be looking very closely at this case, and probably asking some hard questions about the way we've been handling it. I must confess, I'm probably guilty of the same thing … you do have a way of getting results. But I won't have you in my Coterie if I can't trust you to do your job properly - and lately, I've been having doubts."

Harry stared at the highly polished surface of Snape's desk. "I understand," he said. "I even agree … I think I might be resigning after this case is over."

There was a flicker of hope in her eyes.

"That's … a very mature decision."

Harry's anger bubbled over for the third time in twenty-four hours. "Look, this isn't some case of a diplomatic agreement that I'll resign before I'm fired, okay? I'm thinking about moving on. I could just as easily think about taking that solo position I've been offered for years, or taking your job. Don't get complacent, Enid." He turned towards the door. "After all, a complacent Auror is a dead one. Isn't that what you tell recruits?"

He marched out, not looking back. Enid remained behind Snape's desk, but he could feel her fury following him.

Nice going, Potter. So far, you've managed to lose your temper with two Aurors - one retired - and a Dark wizard. Anyone else would be a smoking pile of ash by now.

The rest of the Coterie were hanging around the lounge room, pretending they hadn't heard every word of the debate. Lilith was coiled up in a corner, reading a book and ostentatiously ignoring the Aurors.

"Dining room," Harry snapped, "now." Obediently - or possibly because they recognised and feared his mood - they got to their feet and followed him.

No one looked him in the eyes as they reassembled; they'd obviously heard every word. Lilith drifted in with Enid, who gave her an irritated look, but ignored her.

"Very well," said Enid, taking her place at the head of the table, "as you should have realised by now, the protection of Lilith Borgin has been moved to a higher priority. There's no established procedure for the protection of an underage witch by an entire Coterie, nor are we meant to be formally working before Janus Borgin comes to trial. Since this is Harry's project, I doubt anyone will care that we're flouting the rules, but if anyone at the College does give you trouble, refer them to me or him."

Lilith smirked slightly; no one else reacted. Technically, they were only flouting tradition, but Harry had come to appreciate that that was even more taboo.

Enid was speaking again. Harry wrenched his attention back to her.

"…expect you to find a balance between this job, and the paperwork for the Borgin case. Second Coterie are doing a great deal of work for us, as are Third, but all it takes is one new crisis, and we've lost that support. So be prepared for your workloads to increase before they get lighter."

Michael groaned audibly, and Ron looked faintly horrified, but no one said anything. Enid shuffled the parchment before her.

"Third Coterie have turned in their report on the Diagon Alley attack. Three witnesses report seeing a woman watching Harry as he met Mrs Malfoy. Two others say that she also turned to watch Lilith and Mrs Figg as they approached. No one saw her draw a wand, but then, most people were watching Harry. She disappeared in the confusion of the attack. There's just one problem."

"Isn't there always?" said Michael. "Let's have it, then."

Enid smiled thinly. "One of the witnesses was able to give a fairly detailed description. Five foot ten, black hair, olive complexion, and 'something odd about the eyes'. Sound like someone we know?"

"Jocasta Kostakeidis died three years ago," said Ron grimly.

"But not, it seems, without leaving a few hair samples for someone to remember her by."

"With whom?" asked Colin, swallowing. He'd been - friendly - with Kostakeidis before she'd revealed herself as the force behind a resurgence of the Dark Order. "Most of her followers either killed themselves or went to Azkaban."

"There are always a few who get away," said Marion.

"Indeed. Third Coterie are looking into that right now. A couple of them have gone to Greece."

"And France?" Harry asked. "I had a communication from the French College of Aurors this morning. There's a fairly good possibility that Snape is off hunting Dark wizards."

Lilith flinched. "Why?" she demanded. "That's your job, isn't it? Why would he just take himself off like this?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "It's dangerous enough for Aurors, let alone a civilian." Even one as powerful and well-trained as Snape. "He must have his reasons. And I, for one, intend to find out what they are, the second he's back in England."

"You do that," Lilith murmured.

Marion coughed awkwardly and said, "Meanwhile, I invaded the offices of Wizard! on Thursday, with - interesting - results."

"So who's Phillida Gride, then?" Harry asked, "and how is she connected to the message in the classifieds?"

Marion smirked. "'Phillida Gride' is the pseudonym of an acquaintance of yours, Harry - one Thomas DeMartiller."

"He tried to interrupt the raid on Borgin and Burke," said Ron.

"Precisely. The tabloid work is a second job - he said something about needing an outlet for his creative energies, but I think we can assume that he just needed to pay the rent. Apparently, he's in the practice of putting events in his Pensieve and examining them from other angles. He did so here, and caught what he'd missed on the night itself - Harry taking Lilith home. He couldn't find any use for it in the legitimate press, so he went to Wizard! instead." She giggled. "I'm not sure what scared him more - the fact that he was being questioned by an Auror, or my hint that Harry was considering legal action."

"If I sued every journalist who wrote lies about me, I'd have to move into court," Harry said.

"Yes, but he didn't know that."

"Was his article connected to the classifieds?" Enid asked.

"Not as far as he knew. But here's the funny thing - the editor-in-chief and the classifieds editor have run off together. DeMartiller reckons it was an elopement." Marion's wicked smile widened. "They've gone to Greece. Apparently, the editor-in-chief has been looking at property in Thessaly."

Dennis twitched and Michael grimaced; the magical community in Thessaly was renowned for being prickly and dangerous, and wasn't at all friendly with the Aurors of any nation. Harry had spent several days enjoying the dubious hospitality of three Thessalian witches a few years back. He still had the scars.

"I'll have Third Coterie track them down," said Enid. The meeting turned to the bureaucratic aspects of the Borgin case.

Lilith slipped upstairs as soon as the meeting was over. Harry found her later in her room. Marion was seated on the bed, looking watchful, as Lilith flipped through a book.

"You're dismissed for now," Harry said to Marion. "I need a word with Lilith."

Marion nodded, and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder as she left. Lilith shifted to her bed, and Harry took the vacated desk chair.

"I wanted you to know," he said, "that we're putting more energy into the search for your father than it might seem from your perspective. The French Aurors have become involved, and-"

"Father always said that the French Aurors couldn't find their arses with an enchanted map and a locating charm."

"Really?"

"Well, not to my face. But I did overhear it."

"I'll grant that Europe would have fewer former Death Eaters if the major countries would put some effort into enforcing the law. But that's politics, not ability. The individual Aurors are effective enough, when they're allowed to be." Harry paused, and decided not to share his own growing conviction that the Ministry was beginning to hamper its own Aurors. Instead, he said, "I - we - have also contacted Remus Lupin."

"He was my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher until second year," said Lilith. "He left after Father became headmaster."

"I think there was more to it than that," Harry said, though he'd wondered at the time whether Remus's desire for independence, and a life beyond being chained to an overly-paranoid Ministry and a supplier of Wolfbane Potion was just an elaborate façade. "Anyway, Remus is on the job, and he's good. Half his life has been spent doing odd jobs like this, tracking down missing people and dangerous beasts." And now he gets to do both at once!

"Well, as long as you trust him." Lilith looked cynical. "He wasn't the first adult to walk away when I needed him."

"He had his own life … and if you must know, he wasn't exactly playing father-figure to me when I was growing up, either."

Lilith shrugged. "Whatever. All I know is, I really wanted to talk to someone that autumn, with Dad becoming Headmaster, and meeting my uncle. I trusted Professor Lupin, but he was gone when I went back to school. Which is fairly typical of most people, in my experience. Including Aunt Arabella, my father and your merry troupe of Aurors. They're not to be depended upon."

Harry stared at her hunched, bony figure, and wondered whether it was her blood, her upbringing or some innate personality trait that led her to these conclusions. "You're too young to see the world through your father's eyes."

"Possibly. Probably not." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I do trust you, though. I'm not sure why … I shouldn't. But I do."

It was, Harry realised, her way of warning him not to screw up.

Ginny trusted me, too. So did Cho.

Third-time lucky, eh, boy? This time, don't mess it up.
 
 

It was ironic, Snape decided as he washed the blood from his hands, that Vasily Radnov had hidden himself in a Muggle house. Such a perfect place for a former Death Eater to end his days.

Yes, and look at your own home, tucked away in the town with the most interaction between Muggles and wizards.

His hands were clean, but he left the water running, staring at it meditatively. It was easier to become hypnotised by running water than to turn, and be faced with the mess behind him.

Mess? Call it what it is. Carnage.

The scent of blood, the memory of Radnov's voice and the thoughts of home were doing odd things to his mind: any moment now, he expected to hear Eugenia's measured footsteps behind him, to feel her hands resting on his shoulders or rubbing his neck.

"Hard day at work?" she'd liked to croon. They'd all shared a house after school: Eugenia and David, Rosier, Wilkes, Avery and Snape himself. He could remember the dingy halls and worn rooms of the bedraggled country home, and how their lives had become an odd mixture of the domestic and the depraved.

"We'll share a house," Avery had suggested. "We can share the rent, and then we won't have to worry about accounting for our movements when our Master summons us."

It seemed absurd now, but it had made sense at the time. And it had worked; they'd become each other's alibis, and for all their sinister reputations at school, no one had even been suspected of Death Eater activities until Severus had turned to the other side. People had envied them, for social circles had diminished as Voldemort's power grew, and they had a whole house of trusted friends…

Eugenia had delighted in playing mother hen to the rest. The less reputable tabloids occasionally dealt in tales of legendary Death Eater orgies; Severus' memories were more of endless cups of tea as they washed the blood from their robes and prepared for another day at mundane jobs. The sex had come later, when he was too old and damaged to appreciate it.

He'd seen her within a few hours of her release from Azkaban. Eugenia had touched his cheek with a clawed hand and whispered, "Oh, Severus love, we fell so hard."

Voldemort had believed him a double agent, earning the trust of the Ministry and weaning the Death Eater ranks of their weaker members at the same time. Instead, he was a triple agent, earning the trust of Dumbledore - but not the Ministry, not even now, really - with nothing more than the gift of his soul.

It was all over now. And he had nothing more to show for it than the lingering bloodstains on his robes and under his fingernails, and his daughter.

Snape turned the water off, and heard footsteps in the other room. He turned, half-expecting to see Eugenia. Instead, he faced Remus Lupin.

"I see you've made yourself at home, at least," Lupin said mildly.

Do you imagine that I sleep upside down in a bat-infested cave, then? Snape didn't ask.

"He attacked me. Radnov."

Lupin looked behind him, where the body was lying. "He's very young. For a Death Eater."

"He was very young. Nineteen when he took the Mark, I believe, and that was in the last months before the Fall."

"Too young."

"I was eighteen."

"I meant to die. Like that."

"Don't be a fool, Lupin. He's thirty-three now. Or he was." Snape stared down at the body. "He was a Durmstrang student. Five years under Karkaroff didn't prepare him for the Dark wizards of England. He was rather intimidated by it all."

"Rather intimidated by you, you mean."

"I do what I can. Anyway, by the end, he'd managed to ingratiate himself very nicely into Voldemort's inner circle. Mostly by outliving his seniors, of course. He became privy to a great many things." Improbably, the scent of blood seemed to grow stronger. "Unfortunately, he died before I found out precisely how many things, or how thoroughly he had shared them with the Dark Order."

"Almost unsporting, really," Lupin agreed. He pulled several parchments from his robes. "Still, all good massacres must come to an end. You are urgently needed in England."

Snape felt a chill as he stared at the messages. He didn't need to read them to know that they were about Lilith.

Shouldn't have left her alone. Shouldn't have left her at all.

They were from the College of Aurors, all citing the specific authority of Harry Potter in urgently requesting his presence in England.

Potter. Lilith. Potter and Lilith. Harry Potter within fifty feet of my daughter.

Voldemort would be so happy…

Snape screwed the messages into a ball with more force than necessary. "I need to return home. Immediately."

"I rather expected that. I'll join you." Snape's scowl deepened, but Lupin was undeterred. "Europe is beginning to look rather dangerous, and as strange as it may seem, I'd prefer to be in your company than the alternatives."

"So the European Ministries are finally tightening the net on werewolves? I'm not surprised. If you're going to allow Dark wizards to roam the streets, you need some kind of scapegoat for the populace to tut about."

"Fewer Dark wizards have been roaming the streets since you set out on this little jaunt, Severus. I've been moving in some unsavoury circles lately, and your name is becoming widely known."

"And feared, I hope." Snape declined to suggest that Lupin had been moving in unsavoury circles since he was eleven. He liked to think he was above that sort of thing these days.

"Oh yes. Very much so." Lupin regarded him cautiously. "I must admit, I was surprised to hear that you'd returned to … your previous ruthlessness."

Snape smiled thinly and pulled several glass vials from his pocket, arranging them in a neat row on the table.

"I was tempted to toss them all into the ocean," he said. "But perhaps I'll just leave them for the authorities."

"Muggle authorities won't know what to do with them."

"No. But the wizards here would either let them go, or chain them up to Dementors and Pogrebins for a few years. Which would you prefer?"

Lupin swallowed, but he said, "Still … that's rather unpleasant. To leave them like that."

"Unpleasant, but hardly Dark. Minerva taught me that trick. She turned Roger Crabbe into a ceramic vase and mailed him off to Mad-Eye Moody."

"Lovely."

"It was a bloody ugly vase. Heavy, too. I heard that Moody kept dandelions in it until he died. Crabbe always had dreadful hay fever." He strode towards the door, and flung it open, allowing the breeze to chase the smell of blood from the house. "Coming, Lupin? I have urgent business in England."

"I'm coming. If nothing else, I want to see Harry and the others again."

"Yes," said Snape, "I'd rather like a word with Mr Potter myself."

***

Harry gave Hermione a chance to divest herself of her light cloak and sit down, before he said, "I've been doing some reading."

"Well, that is news," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Harry leaned forward, making sure that Lilith was still upstairs with Lisa. "On Memory Charms."

Ron handed her a drink. "He's been on about this for the last hour," he said. "I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to a full day of this."

"I don't know about you, but I'm not planning to be here for a full day," said Hermione. "I do have a job of my own, you know."

"I know, I know," said Harry, "with a real desk and all."

"Real minions, too," added Ron. "You should see them follow her around. 'Can I fetch you the latest reports, Ms Granger?' 'Can I update your records on magical trade agreements in Outer Mongolia?' 'Can I polish your coffee cup?'"

"Quiet," said Hermione, though her eyes were dancing. "Talk, Harry. What about Memory Charms?"

"Well, I was reading through one of Neville's papers. Most of it was over my head, but I think he was saying that part of his job in restoring his parents was to restore their brain patterns - neural pathways? - to the way they were before the - the torture. And since he couldn't exactly use Cruciatus to break down the newer patterns, he had to develop Potions and Charms that would do it for him, in a more controlled way. Or he had people develop Potions and Charms, anyway. Ron, we really need minions. Everyone else has minions."

"Enough of that," said Hermione, reading the paper that Harry had pushed into her hands. "What are you thinking?"

"That maybe we can use those same Potions and Charms, or something like them, to work around whatever part of Lilith's brain is blocking the diagnostic charms. I mean, it's just another way of changing the patterns, right?"

"Well, not really," said Hermione. "I certainly wouldn't want to do it myself. But your basic premise might be sound…"

"Neville'd know," said Ron.

"Yes…" said Hermione cautiously. "But I hate to ask for favours."

"Only because you want to do everything yourself," said Ron. "Admit it, you're only here because you can't believe that we can handle this by ourselves."

She wrinkled her nose at him. Harry stood up and ended the oh-we-make-such-a-cute-couple routine by saying, "I'll contact Neville now, then."

"Wait," said Hermione, "at least give me a chance to get some research together, so we're not just presenting him with a wild idea-"

Harry ignored her. "Incendio." He threw some powder into the fire and contacted Neville Longbottom's office at St Mungo's.

It took Neville several minutes to join him, and he listened to Harry's babbling theory - which suddenly felt like more babble and less theory - in irritated silence.

"Let me get this straight," he said when Harry was done. "Apart from the fact that your magic is shaky and your science is worse, you want me to set aside my apprenticeship and my work with my parents, in order to pursue your crackpot theory. With the ultimate aim of breaking a memory charm on Lilith Borgin."

"Well - yeah. Though I don't see what Lilith has to do with it personally. You're a doctor, aren't you? She's sick - you heal her."

"Harry," said Neville slowly, "don't think I don't know how hard it was to come to me for help. I mean, you never did at school … in the end, I stopped expecting you to ask. There was a status quo, by the end of school: Harry Potter, and all the people he saved. And all the people he couldn't save."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but Neville kept speaking.

"But for Merlin's sake, Harry, think for a few minutes. The only reason I know anything at all about magical psychiatry is because my parents were tortured to the point of insanity by Eugenia Borgin. And I only know as much as I do about Memory Charms because Eugenia needed to protect her Ministry accomplices, and wasn't nearly as deft with Obliviate as she was with Cruciatus. And then there's Snape." Neville shuddered. "No, I don't want to talk about Snape. But I have no desire to lift a Memory Charm which might be concealing God-knows-what kind of evil - has it occurred to you that Snape might have placed this charm, in order to protect us from Lilith?"

"That's absurd!"

"As absurd as a two-year-old being Obliviated to hell in order to protect a few Death Eaters from the Ministry they worked for?"

"Well-"

"Look, Harry, I have my own problems. I don't need yours as well. Snape and Borgin owe my family a serious debt. So if you want to break Lilith's Memory Charm, I recommend about six years of psychological and emotional abuse at the hands of a ruthless sadist, and a round of Cruciatus to follow. If you want anything more, try speaking to one of my American colleagues. They aren't already involved, after all."

Neville's head vanished from the flames, leaving Harry speechless with fury. Snape and Borgin owe my family a serious debt indeed… Frank should be telling Neville about the family history.

With an effort, he got his temper under control and turned to Hermione and Ron, who looked equally shocked.

Harry shrugged weakly. "That Snape. Karmic debt, eh?"

Behind him, there was an indrawn breath. "You - how dare you say that?" Lilith demanded, descending the stairs.

"That wasn't-"

"Have you made any real effort to find him? Do you even know where he is, or what he's doing? How can you be sure that he's even alive? Why are you wasting your time on your idiot schoolmates and unfounded theories when my father is missing? He could be dead - he could be a prisoner - he could be injured."

"Or perhaps," said a voice in exquisitely sarcastic tones at the other end of the room, "he is alive and well and hoping that there is an adequate explanation for all of this."