Title: One Down, Two Across
Author: Josan
Team: Dragon
Genre(s): Alternate Universe
Prompt(s): Silver and Puzzles
Rating: NC-17
Warning/Kinks: *Character death, but, trust me, you'll be happy for him. And it's only a 'sort of' death anyways. *
I don't believe that a Head of House has to be an alumnus of that House. Nor do I believe that a Head of House or a professor at Hogwarts even has to have attended Hogwarts. Just so you know.
Word Count: 22,291
Summary: When is a crossword puzzle not a crossword puzzle? When it leads Harry on an adventure.
A/N: First of all, many thanks to djin7, whose idea this fest was. It was great meeting you in person at Prophecy. I look forward to the day the Senators meet the Canucks in the playoffs. (And we both know who will win, n'est-ce pas?)
Next, I must acknowledge my 'bounce-ideas-off-her' beta: Sylvadin, who keeps me focussed on storytelling.
Then come my researchers, who are so kind as to help the Luddite in me. Once again, Sylvadin and my Team Dragon mates, igtow ( both of whom found me clothing sites) and amand_r (who helped with food and names).
Last, but not least, not by a long shot, the ever-watchful amand_r and the fantastic centaury_squill, who professionally blue-pencilled this story.
P.S.: Must also mention the Team Dragon Captain, joanwilder, who gave the story its last spit and polish.
Without all of these people, you would be reading a far weaker story.

One Down, Two Across

The first clue arrived with his morning mail.

"Theo," he asked his secretary, "what is this?"

Theo Brougham shrugged. "I'm not quite certain, sir. It was found with the other mail in the owl bin. Security has gone over it as with all the other missives per usual. They found nothing. They conjectured that it has the appearance of an invitation. Or something from one of your children." He coughed. "I didn't take it upon myself to relegate it to the unimportant file."

Harry Potter, Head of the Department of Aurors, privately referred to that little cough as one of Brougham's 'Percy-isms'. It conveyed a wealth of disapproval. Did all good secretaries have to be duplicates of one Percy Weasley, now Head of Human Resources for Support Staff?

"Thank you, Theo. I'm certain that you made the right choice, as you always do."

Mollified, Brougham left Harry to look over the folded sheet of paper. It was good quality paper, a thick velum. He unfolded it and held it up to the light. There was a watermark on it. Not one that he could identify, though he was certain Security would be able to, should he inquire.

Not from one of his children. If they sent him a letter to the office, it came with the Hogwarts letterhead and a subtle (Al) or not-so-subtle (James) request for money. Lily's letters never came to the office. She was the only one of his children who actually saved part of her quarterly allowance.

The boys used the Hogwarts letterhead to get past Security. They knew better than to send such a request home for Ginny to see.

Harry was intrigued. A shift in the daily routine was something he no longer anticipated. Being Department Head meant a lot of time reading documents, signing documents, preparing for meetings that would seem to go on forever, attending meetings that more than seemed to go on forever, dealing with the aftermath of the meetings that, even now, seemed to have gone on forever, getting ready to present arguments in the never-ending battle for additional funds against fellow Department Heads to the Head of Finance – rather like his sons, now that he thought about it.

Ginny held quite firm against such demands. Her stance was that her children needed to appreciate the value of a Knut. Harry, having been denied even any small treats until he'd reached Hogwarts, tended to slip the boys – and Lily, his conscience dictated! – a little extra, now and then.

He raised the flap of paper and wondered what the hell? There was a line of squares, seven in all, with a small number 1 in the upper left corner of the first, a 2 in the last. Under was another number 1 with the words: Draught with healing, magical or poisonous properties.

Harry picked up his pen and wrote the letters P-O-T-I-O-N-S in the squares. Then, with a shrug, he tossed the paper into one of his filing baskets and proceeded to forget about it.

"Another one of these?"

Brougham paused on his way out. "Another? Oh," he sniffed, "yes, sir. Another of the children's games. Found in this afternoon's deliveries. Security has again cleared it."

Harry winced at the sniff. A sniff indicated a higher level of disapproval than a cough. Irritated by this unfounded, non-verbal judgement passed on his children, Harry retaliated. "Did you file the previous one?"

Brougham stiffened. "Of course, sir." His voice dripped icicles.

Good. That should teach him to cast aspersions on Harry's children. Not that they had sent the first. He'd asked them.

Harry wrote something quickly on the vellum and handed it to his secretary. "File this with it, will you?"

Brougham gave the kind of half-bow Harry was certain duellists used before attempting to hex each other to death. "As you wish. Sir."

Harry waited until the door shut behind Brougham to sit back in his chair and smile. Now that the man had been his secretary for three years, Harry had a greater appreciation of the Twins' need to torment Percy. The man was an excellent secretary. He kept Harry's professional life organised and under control, even during the most disruptive of occasions. But he had no sense of humour, a fact that, in Harry's mind, tended to negate the positives.

Still, Brougham should have known better than to pass comment, even with a sound, on Harry's children.

He sat back and thought about the newest clue. Along with the original blank squares, there had been an additional seven descending from the final one, the one with the 2 in its corner. There had also been a 10 in the last. He'd quickly filled in the original, using the initial 's' to come up with today's answer. Liquid mixture in which minor component is uniformly distributed within the major component.

S-O-L-U-T-I-O-N.

Harry wondered who was behind the letters. Should he hand the problem over to one of his men? Should he leave it to Security? Surely if they could find nothing offensive about the missives...

It had been what? A week, now that he thought about it, since the first clue. Would there be another in a week?

Harry shrugged, picked up the next document Brougham had left on his desk, and put the whole thing out of his mind.

To the left of where the 't' in 'solution' stood, there were six boxes, a 7 in the first box. A 7, not a 3. So there were clues missing, which indicated that it was a safe bet to assume that there were probably more of these to come.

Harry picked up the file, one in yellow. Brougham colour-coded what he evaluated as the individual importance of any mail requiring Harry's personal attention.

Yellow meant not a problem yet, but something that needed watching.

This week's letter was lying on top of the file containing the two previous ones.

The boxes for the responses were all empty, which meant, at least to Harry, that the originator had no intention of verifying Harry's responses.

Mythical snake-like reptile.

Harry had to think a moment, back to those classes with Hagrid, before he remembered his friend's insistence on the distinction between the words snake and serpent. Not interchangeable in Hagrid's mind. Harry chuckled as he sing-sang, "Snakes are real, serpents are ideal."

Maybe Harry should have been taking these letters and their clues a little more seriously than he was. He picked up his quill and filled in all the words to date – adding today's SERPENT – wondering what they were trying to tell him.

Maybe he should go visit his children in person and ask again if any of them – or even two or all three – was behind this mail. He didn't think any of them had mislead him on purpose when responding to his enquiry, but there were, as James had most certainly taught him, many ways of responding while still maintaining a semblance of honesty. Eye to eye, face to face, his children had never been able to be less than totally honest without his catching them.

Harry leaned back in his chair, slipped the newest clue into the yellow file and smiled. An afternoon away from his desk, that wasn't a bad idea. He liked seeing his children in their House robes: James in Gryffindor, Al in Slytherin. Poor little bugger. How he'd been teased about that until Harry had put his foot down hard on James's neck as well as a few others in the family. Lily in Ravenclaw had been less of a surprise, all things considered.

The time off would also have the added benefit of upsetting Brougham's tightly controlled schedule, thereby driving him crazy.

With a soft laugh, Harry jotted down a memo to his secretary and managed to grab a handful of Floo powder before the message had made it to the slot in the door.

Theo Brougham was, even for him, in a foul mood. He hadn't forgiven Harry for escaping that afternoon and was still silently fuming about the matter. Harry, on his part, hadn't bothered to apologise for the meetings Brougham had had to re-schedule. He'd had a lovely visit at Hogwarts. The latest Headmaster, Jerome LeGuerrier, a Hufflepuff alumnus, who was a stern but tolerant director, had invited him to join in a fun Quidditch match, in which teams were made up of all four Houses.

A novel concept. Not just the mingling of the four Houses, but the notion that a Quidditch match at Hogwarts could be played merely for the fun of it.

Harry had been stunned to discover that his Lily, his sweet, bookish little girl, was not beyond hitting a Bludger straight at an opponent's head. Not even when said opponent was her very own father!

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened to a chill. Brougham walked up to Harry's desk, his usually soundless feet clicking against the parquet floor. Expressionless, he placed the basket with the files and mail on the desk directly in front of Harry and then clicked his way out of the office. The door closed silently behind him.

Harry sighed and shook his head. Damn it, he was going to have to apologise to the man for taking an afternoon off. Who the hell was Head of the Auror Department anyway? He sighed again. It was times like this, far more than the monotony of the job, that made him regret accepting the Department Headship when it had been offered to him.

The latest clue was in the very last file at the bottom of the basket. Harry spared a moment's thought to the kind of hex he'd like to use on his bloody secretary before unfolding the paper.

There were some new squares. One over the first 'e' in 'serpent', with the number 5; an additional 8 squares under the same 'e', with the number 13 in the fifth box.

The new clue had him wondering, "What the hell...?" before bringing a grin to his face. The duty of the white bumblebee.

White bumblebee. Albus Dumbledore. Former Headmaster of Hogwarts. Yes, HEADMASTER fit in perfectly.

Harry also filled in the boxes of the previous clues. Someone was trying to tell him something and was doing so in a most ingenious manner. He thought a moment and realised that, yes, indeed, they were arriving at a rate of once a week. Either a Thursday or a Friday. When he most needed a distraction. He rather hoped that there would be another next week.

He slipped the file into his desk drawer, where he kept the files he was carefully watching.

"Has there not been another of those clue-letters?"

Brougham, who had thawed slightly after Harry's apology for leaving so suddenly two weeks previously, nodded. "Yes, sir, but Security is beginning to be a little more cautious about them. They're testing them more seriously now." He harrumphed, indicating that he thought they had been far too slack from the beginning. Harry sighed and waved him out.

It was Friday. It had been a hell of a week, what with some stupid, senile old fool deciding that Lord Voldemort had been maligned by history and had invited Skeeter's replacement at the Daily Prophet to interview him. The uproar coming from those who remembered the Battle for Hogwarts, either having been there, having had family there or having lost someone there, had dominated Harry's hours – long hours – for days. There had been demands by some for the twit's arrest, accusations of censorship by others when that had got out. All in all, Harry had been looking forward to that bit of mail with the next clue. Just to give him something else to think about.

Brougham brought the note with his afternoon tea. In an orange file. It looked a little worse for wear after Security had worked on it, but just the sight of it released some of the tension that made Harry's shoulders stiff.

He waited until Brougham had left to pour himself a cup of tea, sugar it, add more milk than usual to cool it more quickly then sat back and took a sip. His eyes closed at the pleasure of sweet, milky tea. Comfort food. He took a second mouthful, savouring it before swallowing. With a bit of a smile on his face, he picked up the note.

Same old squares which he filled in quickly. There were only three additional squares. Over the second 'e' in 'serpent', a box with a 6 in it, with two additional boxes under. Ship's toilet

Harry frowned. How the hell was he supposed to know that? The tension was making its way back. Damn it! He'd been looking forward to a relaxing moment and...

He set the mug of tea down and glared at the note. How could it disappoint him that way!

"Whooo! Easy now. It's just a clue, Harry. Not the coming of the end of the world. Calm down. Boy, if this isn't a sure sign that you need a holiday..."

He stood up and took a walk around the room, reciting the latest Quidditch league positions in order to calm himself down. It was a clue. Just because the previous ones had been so simple... So, he would have to ask someone about this clue. Ship's toilet. Who the hell would know?

He stopped at the window and stared out at the scene of Diagon Alley that had been charmed onto the window. He was six floors below ground level here, but the view allowed him the illusion that he wasn't.

When the answer came to him, he laughed, a little embarrassed not to have thought of it sooner. He went back to his desk, found a memo and wrote asking for the information, in a very casual manner, he hoped. He folded it up and sent it on its way to Hermione, who worked for a law firm dedicated to Lost Causes.

The response came just as he was thinking of wrapping it up for the day. He'd promised Ginny he'd be back in time to escort her to some charity do, and Brougham had just left after reminding him of the fact. Ginny always cleared his escort duties with Brougham.

There was one word on the back of the memo he'd sent Hermione. Harry blinked and shook his head. What...?

But taking out the latest note, he fit it in. HEAD. What? Why? Oh, who cared! If it worked, well...

He dropped the file on his desk and went out to try and get through an evening of 'smiling pretty', as Ron called it. Only good thing about the evening was that Ron, in his capacity as Head of Auror Training, was also being dragged to this banquet and ball. Harry hoped he would have time to think up a reason for needing to have that information that would satisfy Hermione.

Over the next three weeks, the puzzle grew. With clues that made Harry consider the notes to be more than someone's game. Security was certainly taking them very seriously, so seriously that all he got now were copies of the originals.

Week six saw one cell – Harry had learnt that the boxes in crossword puzzles were called cells, not squares – one cell with the number 4 to the left of the 'l' in 'solution', followed by seven after. The clue: That most maligned of Houses.

The capital 'h' meant more than a regular house. Considering the clue 'headmaster', Harry carefully, slowly, wrote the letters for the word SLYTHERIN.

He felt a little qualm that it fit in so well.

From then on, Brougham brought in the messages in a red folder.

Week seven brought the clue Expert in a field, with one cell numbered 11 to the left of the second 'a' in 'headmaster', and four after. The third cell of the six contained a 12 in it.

Harry wondered if it was permitted to use words that had already appeared. 'Head' and 'headmaster'. Now MASTER. With Slytherin.

There had been only one person in recent history to have been Head of Slytherin House as well as Headmaster, even if it had been for such a very short amount of time. Severus Snape. Master of Potions.

Who had died in front of Harry's very eyes.

Hadn't he?

Who was dead.

Wasn't he?

Harry gnawed on his lower lip.

After the Battle for Hogwarts, there had been the problem of the disappearing body. There had been a puddle – a large puddle – of coagulating blood when Harry had remembered Snape and gone with Professor McGonagall to see to the body. A puddle and nothing else.

The portrait that Harry had insisted grace the Headmaster's office had never come to life. Its occupant still sat, after all these years, at a table, surrounded by bookcases and with stacked towers of many years' worth of potions journals on the floor. Harry had had the artist duplicate the ones that he'd found in Snape's quarters, both books and journals. He'd known that Snape was not sociable enough to join the other Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts in a game of cards or a session of gossip. Harry had wanted Snape to have the books and journals he'd not had time to read while alive.

But the painted Snape had not yet woken up. Not in the few years Professor McGonagall had been Headmistress. Not during the administration of either of her successors.

Were these clues about Snape? From Snape?

The clue for week eight only confirmed to Harry and to his security people that these clues had something to do with Severus Snape. From the 10 in the cell with the 'n' from 'solution', plus six over: Serpentine familiar.

NAGINI.

Bloody hell.

Security assigned Priority rating to the messages. There was nothing threatening in the notes themselves. They weren't Portkeys. They held no dangerous charm nor had a spell cast on them. The paper wasn't poisoned.

They set a man to watch the mail delivery area but, no matter what, the notes arrived without anyone seeing the owl delivering them. The watchers were in turn checked to see if some spell had been cast on them, but nothing.

There was a residue of Magic on the notes. Security determined that some magicked quill was responsible for the drawing of the cells, the writing of the clues, but, other than that, nothing.

Week nine confirmed to Harry's mind that Snape had indeed survived. Using the second 'n' of 'Nagini', with one cell over – numbered 9 – and six under, Theriac. Harry had to look that up. His OED defined it as "an ointment or other compound used as an antidote to snake venom or other poison".

It didn't require much effort to fill in the cells with ANTIDOTE.

So, Snape had survived using an antidote. He'd been prepared. Harry shook his head in amazement and respect. Count on the Greasy Git to be prepared. Moody would have been proud. Constant vigilance. Snape had indeed been constantly vigilant. It made sense that he had found a way to survive.

But why confirm the fact now? Or was he? Maybe an enemy?

Security added a man to Harry's line of bodyguards, just in case.

Harry didn't think it was necessary. Those he had attached to him already drove him crazy. He couldn't move without tripping over one, or so it felt.

When he'd finally told her about the clues, Ginny had told him not to be so stupid about the situation. One never knew with creatures like Severus Snape.

Ginny, Harry realised, had never got over the Snape-as-enemy front the man had presented to them all before Harry had learnt the truth.

The tenth week, which brought clue 15, three cells over from the 'o' in 'antidote', with one after, only added to the surety. Poisonous fluid. Not very specific, but with the other clues taken into account, VENOM was the only possible answer.

As if the sender were suddenly tired of the game, the next note contained a double clue. Under the 12 and off the 13, one additional cell only. Special military-like force during Grindelwald's time. Grindelwald. World War II. Germany. The Nazis. The SS.

SS

Severus Snape.

Security reacted in such a way that Harry was forced to call a special meeting to remind them all that Severus Snape had in fact worked for the Order of the Phoenix, that he had spied in both the first war and the second on the Dark Lord for Albus Dumbledore, and that, yes, though Snape certainly had killed Dumbledore – Harry himself had been an eyewitness – Dumbledore's Pensieve had explained all that.

There was no need, insisted Harry, to assume that Severus Snape was out to kill anyone. It took several hours, a lot of coffee, some shouting and yelling, but, finally, he got his point across. Security was to treat this as no more than a curiosity, though they had negotiated their right to attempt to locate the sender.

The next week saw only one clue again. Off the 'e' of 'antidote', the number 16 appeared four cells over, with two more after. Clue: A secret rite.

Security had included the answer for Harry, thereby denying him the pleasure of discovering it for himself. Harry found himself surprisingly pouting over the fact. MYSTERY. He could have discovered that for himself, damn them all. He wasn't totally ignorant just because he'd needed Hermione's help for the 'head' clue.

But it was the next note that had Security at his door as soon as the usual detailed tests had been completed.

They also knew by now not to include the response to the clue. Harry's bad humour had been borne by Brougham, who had taken it upon himself to chastise the Security team working on this assignment.

There were two clues this time. Over the 't' in 'Slytherin', two cells, the topmost with a 3, three cells under, with an 8 in the second to last.

3. Oriental kingdom of old.

Harry found it hard to think while his Head of Security was nearly wriggling with impatience. Harry made him wait a few seconds more, just to pay him back for the extra bodyguard.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin! Potter, get on with it!"

Harry shook his head, "Calm down, Ernie," as he pencilled in CATHAY.

"China. The bastard's in China. And look at the next clue."

Harry glanced up over his glasses. "I am trying to. If you would only allow me to read it."

Ernie Macmillan waved Harry's complaint away.

Harry snorted and looked back at the note.

8. Not dead.

Clue 8 used the second 'a' in 'Cathay' and four other cells. ALIVE fit in perfectly.

"We've got him!" crowed Macmillan.

"Well, that's all fine and good," said Harry, calmly. "But China is not exactly Ottery St Catchpole. And we'd already decided that Snape was alive several weeks back. Moreover, may I once more remind you, Ernie, that much as you disliked Snape as a teacher..."

"The man was an evil bastard," muttered Macmillan.

"Yes, he was. In class and out of it. But the fact remains that he was on our side and that the information he got to us helped us win. Besides, for God's sake, Ernie, it's been twenty-two years!"

Macmillan dropped into the chair that sat in front of Harry's desk. He slouched as much as his rotund shape would allow. Macmillan had become Head of Security not for his fine physique, but for the fact that his brain saw the world in a slightly skewed manner, which permitted him to arrive at conclusions faster via a leap of thought that most could not follow. Heaven knew that Harry had given up trying years earlier when they had both been novice Aurors.

"What's that?" Harry asked, though he had a very good idea of what Macmillan had been murmuring.

"I said his damn mark in Potions cost me Head Boy. One level higher... And damn it all, Harry, I know I passed with a higher mark than what he gave me. Bloody bastard," Ernie muttered.

Harry rolled his eyes, but discreetly. Macmillan wasn't the only one who held grudges against Snape. Hermione had supported Harry's vindication of Snape out of a sense of justice, but she'd been very happy that he'd disappeared. Ron still held the usual Gryffindor prejudice against anything Slytherin, which had made for a tense relationship between the families when Al had been Sorted into the House. Even in Al's own family, James still needed to be reminded far too often not to tease his younger brother about his House.

Many who were not of Slytherin still ranted about having suffered under Snape's tutelage. Harry found their claims vastly exaggerated, growing more so with each passing year. If anyone had occasion to complain, it was himself and Neville Longbottom. Neville rarely mentioned Snape and when he did, it was with a certain sympathetic tone, now that Neville himself was a teacher and Head of Hufflepuff House at Hogwarts.

"Well, you can have all the fun of trying to locate him," said Harry. "I'm off on holiday with the family for a month as of tomorrow."

"Holiday? Oh, yes, that's right." Macmillan stood up to leave. "Sure you want to leave now. Seems to me that there's at least one clue left to come."

Harry grinned. "You want to deal with Ginny if I decide to stay?"

Macmillan laughed. At the door, he paused. "Eh, Harry?"

"Hmmm." Harry didn't bother looking up from the last-minute work Brougham had dumped on him.

"You're not going to try and take off on your bodyguards, are you? Not like last time."

Harry sighed. "I explained all that, Ernie. Lily wanted to see a Muggle ballet and all I could get were the two tickets. It was just an afternoon at the ballet with my daughter."

"Supper, too," corrected Macmillan. "And then a movie. You had my people all in a twitter. Not good for them. Freaks them out."

Harry grinned. "Was a good rehearsal for them, in case something should actually go wrong one day, Ernie."

"Yeah, well, please, don't do that to them again. Look, I know this kind of security is not what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but it does come with the territory. You're important to us, Harry. Not just as the Boy Who Did In the Dark Lord, but as yourself. Just plain Harry Potter. I don't ever want to be the guy who has to explain to your children..."

Harry nodded. "I'll do my best to be good, Ernie. Promise."

Macmillan sighed. "Yeah, sure, Potter. I believe you. Others might not, but I do."

Harry assumed his most serious mien. "Thank you, Ernie."

Macmillan opened the door. "Have a good rest, Potter. See you in a month."

According to Ginny, Harry had indicated that he would be delayed a few hours before joining them in Hawaii, where they and the family were on holiday. She'd got a note from him that evening telling her not to worry and it would be later than he thought before he could join them, due to a last minute urgency of a diplomatic matter.

Though not happy with the situation, Ginny accepted, as she had so many other delays and cancellations required by Harry's position.

She assumed that the men sent with her family knew of the matter. At her insistence, they were very much in the background during family holidays.

The men had received a message from the Head of Security, telling them that Potter would be remaining in Britain and to report in only if there was a matter that required Security's particular attention.

Harry's children didn't seem to be worried in the least that their father hadn't joined them. They swam, surfed, and Lily and Al built sandcastles. James at fourteen was too busy strutting his stuff on the beach to join them in such juvenile pastimes.

Harry had no desire to know the remaining clues since he had already received them.

He was playing a fun Quidditch match at Hogwarts, the last before summer holidays, when, high in the sky, looking for the Snitch, a silvered raven landed before him on the broomstick and cackled until Harry, carefully balancing himself, accepted the message it had to offer him.

It didn't leave right away, seeming to enjoy flying without any effort on its part.

It wasn't really silver, Harry concluded. More a light grey, though the sun shining off its feathers had given them a silvery sheen. It watched him with beady black eyes while Harry opened up the message and read the last four clues, including the two that would later be delivered to his office.

14. A temporary stay.

14 was three cells over from the first 'i' in 'antidote', with another after. VISIT.

So, Harry was being invited to visit, was he? But where?

The location was in the final clue. From the 3 with its 'c' for 'Cathay', six cells over, Site of Putuo Zongcheng Temple.

"I'll need to look this up," Harry said to the raven. "I'll find a way of getting there."

The raven cocked its head. "Soon," it said, its voice rough, not human really. Harry wondered how long it had taken someone to teach the bird to say that.

"As soon as I can," promised Harry.

Harry walked around Chengde, in the northeast of the Chinese province of Hebei, located in Inner Mongolia. The weather was ideal for the time of year, though a little cooler than the larger cities like Beijing, which was why the Qing Emperors had built their summer palaces here.

Harry had not given much thought to the effect his visiting would have. He knew that Muggles had taken advantage of the fairly recent widening of Chinese borders to tourism by the Government of China and had never considered that Chengde would not be part of the regular itinerary of the Muggle tourist.

He had foolishly thought that his presence, garbed as he was in the typical tourist camouflage of t-shirt, jeans, hiking boots and the battered leather jacket that had once belonged to his godfather Sirius Black, would go unnoticed.

There were, he decided after several days spent wandering the tourist sites of the Eight Outer Temples – of which Putuo Zongcheng was one – maybe, at the most, a dozen other Caucasian visitors in the area. Everywhere he went, people stopped and stared – discreetly, some even hiding their mouths behind their hands, to stifle a noise that sounded much like a giggle.

Harry didn't know what he'd expected. Had he really thought that, once he'd Apparated – late at night – into the court of the hotel guest house he'd contacted, Snape would be there to greet him?

If the man was at all in the area, he had to know that Harry had arrived. By the third day of wandering around the Eight Outer Temples complex, people were bowing to him and smiling.

He felt like a monkey in a zoo.

Well, he'd give it one more day. He had had enough of the temples, beautiful as they were, and decided to go check out what the tourist brochure called the Mountain Resort. Supposedly it was so beautiful that UNESCO had listed it on their World Heritage site.

And it was. There was an incredible balance of scenery and beautifully constructed buildings. It was also huge. Huge enough to get lost in. Harry was wandering down a lane when he realised he was all alone in a little clearing. He looked around and found, nestled under some trees, a carved wooden bench. Harry sat on it and let the quiet of the place fill his mind and body.

Much as he hated to admit it, he had needed this. Quiet days not only away from the office, but from his responsibilities. He loved his family, and he felt guilty that he didn't spend more time with them, but this...this peace was far more revitalising than sitting on a beach in Hawaii, mediating disputes between his children and trying to pay the kind of attention Ginny felt he should to her problems with work.

He stretched his arms to either side, resting them on the top of the bench, tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply of the cedar-scented air and allowed his muscles to loosen enough so that his head fell forward.

He was nearly asleep when a weight landed on his knees but not so relaxed that he didn't reach for his wand. Once he'd drawn it, he slowly raised his head and opened his eyes.

The silvery-grey raven stared at him.

Harry smiled. "So, you again. Hello."

The raven cocked its head, as though evaluating him, then croaked, "Follow."

Well, why not? After all, this was why he'd come here in the first place, wasn't it?

Ignoring the frantic rantings of an imaginary Ernie Macmillan, Harry picked up the small knapsack that he had with him, for the bottled water, the maps, the Muggle documents he could show if anyone asked to see identification, as well as the box lunch he'd purchased at the restaurant he'd been eating at the last two nights. He did make certain that his wand was readily at hand – not that it shut Ernie up – and then followed the raven.

The bird flew from tree to tree, never going out of Harry's sight, even when there was a curve, or some hidden path that it wanted Harry to take. The way was clear at first, but after a half hour, the way was pretty much hidden. Harry, wand now in hand, wondered exactly how unused these were, since the paths were clear of all debris. Someone knew they were there and maintained them.

The way was long. It took over an hour of progressively uphill trails to reach the small temple that sat in a shadow-speckled clearing nestled in the side of a mountain. By now, Harry was completely lost. He glared at the bird, silvered by the sunlight, grooming a wing on the top step of the small pagoda.

"If this is a trick..." he threatened.

"Ah, Mister Potter. No, not a trick. Merely precaution."

Trained responses took over. Harry instantly assumed a defensive stance, throwing up a protective shield as he pointed his wand in the direction of the voice.

There, stepping out of the temple itself, was a short man dressed in a modern Muggle business suit.

Harry's first impression was of roundness. The body was comfortably padded. The man wore a wispy white beard that hung long under the chin. His hair, the same white, was cut short, emphasising the roundness of his face. His eyes were dark, radiating humour, intelligence and pleasure.

"You came." He sounded quite pleased with the fact.

Harry nodded, not lowering his wand, nor stepping out of his stance.

"May I introduce myself. I am... Well, you may call me Gang Li. Easier, all things considered. I am so very pleased that you came, Mister Potter. I wasn't certain that you would." Gang Li approached Harry, seemingly unconcerned about the wand pointing at him. "It is always a delight to be proven wrong."

The accent was British. Upper class. Educated.

Harry stood more at ease, but the wand never even drooped.

"I am the one who sent you the messages, Mister Potter."

"You?" Harry's raised eyebrow usually sent his people into their own defensive modes. He used it sparingly, usually to make a point when dealing with the ramifications of some bungled assignment. Harry did not appreciate bungled assignments.

"Is that so surprising? Ah, you were expecting Master Snape, is that it?" The man's laugh was deep and genuine. "Well, he knew about them, of course."

"He's here, then?"

"Most certainly. That is why I am here, Mister Potter, to take you to him. It is just..." The man's expression grew serious.

"Just?" encouraged Harry, waiting for the problem.

"Just that there is some information you will need to have before I can do so."

The raven flew up from behind, thereby avoiding the defensive shield, and landed on Harry's shoulder. Harry turned his head enough so that he had both man and bird in his range of vision.

"His name is Chun-Chen. Spring morning," explained Gang Li. "Master Snape calls him," he looked almost shyly at Harry, as though not certain of his reaction, "'Headmaster' when Chun-Chen is in a chatty mood."

Harry lowered his wand a little.

Gang Li smiled. "Come. There is much to do and conversation to be had before I take you to Master Snape should you still wish to see him."

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry disarmed the shield to follow the man up the steps and into the dark of the temple. There was an archway, the tingling feeling of walking through a spell, and then they were in an open court, with, in its centre, a fountain that looked like a very small version of one of the nearby mountains and its waterfall.

The sound was soothing, as were the songs of birds that seemed to be coming from the tiny trees that covered the mountain.

Harry turned to say something to his 'host', when he found himself pointing his wand at the man again.

Same man, different outfit.

This time the man wore a heavy silk robe in bronze with collar and cuffs and the border at the hem of ecru. The wide, voluminous sleeves were folded back several times on themselves, with the cuffs hiding the man's hands, which were now clasped together. The high collar looked as though it was supporting his head, on which he wore a many-sided hat that, to Harry, resembled a flower pot but one made of the same silk as the borders. Around his tummy, Gang Li wore a silk belt that was long enough not only to wrap around him, but with ties that hung to the bottom of the robe. On his feet, barely visible under the hem, were soft slipper-like shoes that matched the bronze of his robe.

Bowing slightly from the waist, Gang Li spoke some words in Chinese, words that weren't handled by the translation spell Harry cast upon himself every morning before leaving his room.

"I am merely welcoming you to my home, Mister Potter. Ancient words that assure a visitor of safe haven, treatment according to his rank and assurance that he may leave at any time without worry." The man gestured to an alcove off the court. "Shall we?"

Harry hesitated. The raven croaked, "Hungry. Tea."

Gang Li grinned, looking like a benevolent grandfather. "Yes, of course there is tea. And those little cakes you love so well."

Harry took a deep breath and decided that the expression, In for a penny, in for pound, finally made sense to him. He'd come this far. It was obvious that Gang Li was not a Muggle, but a Wizard. Well, what had he expected? If Severus Snape had escaped without a trace from Britain, he had to have had Wizard help. Moreover, Harry doubted that Snape was the type to return to a Muggle existence, considering how unhappy his upbringing had been.

With a nod, Harry went in the direction indicated. It was only when he moved that he realised that he himself was dressed differently. Unlike Gang Li, his robe was a plain black with red trim. The skirts were wide enough to allow for action of movement, should it have been needed. The sleeves were more like regular sleeves. There was a lot less material in his robe, the collar tying the whole together low under the armpit on the right. Under the robe, he wore a pair of loose trousers, rather like trackie bottoms, whose cuffs were tucked into a pair of those soft boot-like shoes, in black.

Gang Li smiled at him. "I think you will find yourself far more comfortable in that than in your Western clothing. Besides, here we are in the old part of the Mountain Resort, where clothing of our kind is more fitting."

Harry bowed his acceptance. What else could he do? Until he discovered just why Snape had decided to contact him, even if it were through this man, he truly had no choice. Still, it was time he listened to Ernie. Harry gestured for the man to precede him and, with a nod of acknowledgement of Harry's concerns, Gang Li led the way into the alcove.

From the outside, the temple had looked no bigger than maybe some twenty feet wide. Inside, it was another matter. The hallway went on for a good five minutes until it ended with a handle-less door. Gang Li gestured with his hand and the door swung open into a room that would not have been out of place in Hogwarts.

There was a fireplace, with a welcoming flame flickering shadows on the walls of books and the furniture that owed more to a gentleman's club than anything Chinese. The raven flapped off Harry's shoulder, startling him, to settle on the mantle of the fireplace, shuffling to the middle where it began grooming itself. Over the mantle hung a drawing, symbols in a calligraphy that caught even Harry's attention, if only for a second or two.

Gang Li indicated the half-circle of deep wing chairs of dark green leather, dotted with low, small tables. "Please, make yourself at home. Tea will be served immediately."

He clapped his hands twice and a tray suddenly appeared, hovering politely until Harry selected a chair to sit in, then smoothly landed on a near-by table. Gang Li chose a chair to the other side and settled back, his feet rising off the floor to allow space for the small footrest that crabbed its way over.

The teapot floated up into the air and poured a thin, green-tinged line of liquid into one of the small cups. With a sharp flick, it ended the stream and hovered over another cup to fill it.

Gang Li waited until Harry picked up his cup to call his to himself. "Ah," he sighed, inhaling the scent. "Just the kind of pick-me-up one needs for this time of the day."

Harry gazed into his cup and winced at the yelling he imagined he heard from Macmillan as he contemplated sipping the untested liquid. At least he still had his wand in hand.

"Not poisoned, I swear, Mister Potter. Nothing but the finest of green tea." Gang Li took a sip and smiled encouragingly.

Harry shrugged and took a sip of the too hot liquid. Why was it that hot tea was always hotter than hot coffee?

Still, he sat back and, holding the cup to his mouth, he blew on it.

"How are you enjoying your visit, Mister Potter?"

Harry glanced at his host over the top of his glasses. "I hate to sound discourteous, but who exactly are you and why am I here? More importantly, where is Severus Snape? And how is it that you are speaking with a British accent?"

Gang Li laughed. "To the point. A quality one rarely meets in one of your young age, Mister Potter."

Harry grunted. "Forty isn't exactly childhood, sir."

"It is here. I myself am considered to be in the prime of life, at a mere one hundred forty-six." At Harry's considered look, he added, "We are an ancient civilisation, Mister Potter. It is not unknown for wizards here to see their second century. As for the accent on which you compliment me, I must confess that I attended school in your country many years ago. I have very fond memories of Salisbury, a school for Master studies that I believe no longer exists."

"It was closed in the 1930s," admitted Harry. "Is this why...?" He gestured with the hand holding the cup at the room.

Gang Li chuckled. "The best of both worlds, Master Potter. Have you ever sat for a day-long meeting on those horrible wooden chairs we favour?" He pointed to a darkish corner with the kind of armchair that Harry had seen in every museum he'd visited over the last three days. "Even with padding – a cushion or one's own," he chuckled again, "they become uncomfortable in a relatively short amount of time."

He took another sip of tea. "They had comfortable chairs at Salisbury. As you know, it was a school for specialised study. At one time, it had an unparalleled reputation, especially for the study of potions. My father sent me there as a young man to expand my area of expertise. I had a very good time at Salisbury, besides learning a great deal about the Western use of potions."

"Which explains your link to Severus Snape."

Gang Li smiled. "Very quick of you, Mister Potter." His smile slipped into contemplation as he stared into his cup. "Yes, that is how Bai Wei and I came to share information."

"Bai Wei?" Harry took a sip of his tea. Cooler, it didn't burn his tongue and he could actually taste the delicateness of the drink.

"White strength. Or as you know him, Severus Snape."

"Hungry!" cawed the raven.

Gang Li nodded, chuckling softly as he scolded. "You are always hungry for cake, Chun-Chen." He reached down to a plate that Harry could have sworn had not been there a moment earlier and picked up a small, thin disc that looked, to Harry, more biscuit than what he knew as cake. The bird flew over, settled down on the back of the chair and grabbed the biscuit/cake with his beak. He transferred it to his claw and held it against the chair as he pecked noisily away at it. Gang Li ignored the crumbs that slipped down the back of his chair.

When Gang Li offered Harry the plate, Harry shook his head.

"No? Oh well. More for the greedy bird." Gang Li sat back and smiled at Harry. "You are very patient. Bai Wei told me that you were renowned for your impulsiveness."

"That was many years ago, sir. I've learnt the value of patience, though...I do have my limits."

Gang Li nodded. "Very well. Bai Wei and I made acquaintance over an article in some potions journal. We had both written a letter dismantling the writer's argument, though I must confess mine was kinder than his was."

Harry felt a smile want to break out on his lips. Yeah, that was Snape all right.

"We began corresponding and became friends as well as colleagues. When the last hostilities broke out..." Gang Li shook his head sadly and corrected himself. "When he had supposedly gone over to the side of the one who called himself 'Lord Voldemort', he wrote to me about the probability of his death.

"There were potions that I could produce here from ingredients that Bai Wei did not have at his disposal. I sent them to him, in order to help him build up his resistance and tolerance to whatever manner he thought he might be killed. The most probable in his eyes was his death by Nagini, Voldemort's familiar. He had samples of the creature's venom, but hadn't been able to find an antitoxin. Not just because Voldemort had genetically modified the snake, but because Bai Wei did not have much time free to work on such an antidote. Moreover, he was being watched constantly by Voldemort's henchmen.

"He managed to get a sample to my agent, who forwarded it to me along with the message that if anyone could find a solution, it was I. However, he added, he did not think that I had much time in which to develop an antidote. He was right. On both counts. Firstly, though the time element was a serious issue, I and my assistants did manage to develop an antivenin. Secondly, though he got it in time, it didn't have the time to work as it should have."

Harry said nothing, watching the man as Gang Li stared at his hands, clasped on his lap, what there was of it.

"The antivenin needed to be absorbed gradually, in ever increasing doses, over time. We had calculated a matter of five to six weeks. Unfortunately, matters came to a head much sooner. Bai Wei had been taking the antidote for less than a week when Voldemort ordered Nagini to kill Severus Snape."

"You said he was alive," Harry said softly.

Gang Li nodded. He looked up at Harry. "Yes, he is. However..." Gang Li sighed. "After having been bitten, abandoned to bleed to death by his so-called Master, Bai Wei did manage to ingest the remainder of the potion."

"When did he do that? Not that I don't believe you," Harry hurried to add, "but I was there. I waited until Voldemort had left and then I came out of my hiding place..."

Gang Li held up his hand. "It was not a large vial. Bai Wei carried it upon his person all the time. It was, as he explained it, the matter of seconds to decide to chance taking the rest of the potion and actually doing so. He says that you got there after he'd tossed the vial aside."

"So when I saw him die, he didn't really die."

Gang Li shrugged. "Not really. The antidote did its work, but with consequences that we had not even imagined. We're not certain why it behaved as it did. Fortunately, my agent was close enough at the time to aid Severus Snape and quickly managed to bring him to me here."

Harry wanted to ask about this 'agent', but knew it was a pretty good bet that, even if he did, he wouldn't get an answer. Besides, it had been twenty-two years ago. He would put the matter aside until he got back to Britain. Maybe Macmillan would turn his attention to the mystery instead of tearing a... Hell, who was he kidding? Instead of tearing many strips off Harry.

"Bai Wei postulates that Voldemort may have made more modifications to his familiar after the sample that he had sent to me. Or it could be that the aspect of taking it all at once..." He shrugged again. "Unfortunately, we cannot determine the cause. Nagini is dead and cremated, so a sample of its venom is no longer attainable. The sample sent to me had barely a drop left to it after the trials. We did what we could with that, but it was not enough to repeat the experiments that we'd done in creating the antibody."

"What is it, sir, that you are doing your best to avoid telling me?"

The raven looked up from the biscuit it had mangled and watched.

Harry stood behind Gang Li at a door that he knew was deep within the mountain itself. His host's explanation had taken some time and Harry had had a lot of questions. On Gang Li's recommendation, he had returned to his guest house – his clothes returning to their Muggle forms when he had walked through the temple ward – to think upon the matter. Chun-Chen had led him back to the entrance of the Mountain Resort in a less convoluted manner. The temple would not be all that difficult to find if he decided to come back.

It seemed that Snape himself had been rather certain that Harry would not show up and he hadn't been informed that Harry had, just in case, Gang Li had added, Harry changed his mind.

Should he not, it would be important that the two men meet when Harry was well rested.

The room behind the door was not a prison; it was merely the place where Severus Snape, now Bai Wei, felt the most comfortable. Less interference from outside sources.

Harry had nodded when Gang Li had explained, asking if he himself was not an outside source and therefore very interfering. Gang Li had shrugged, agreeing that yes, probably, but that, for some reason, Bai Wei had indicated an interest in meeting with Harry Potter and that Gang Li had done all that he could to give his colleague what little he requested.

Gang Li did not knock on the door. He merely placed his hand on it and waited. After what seemed like long minutes to Harry, but was in fact the matter of seconds, the door quietly and very slowly slid sideways, past the frame and into the wall. Gang Li waited until it had disappeared completely before taking a couple of steps into the darkened room and coming to a halt. Harry did the same, stopping next to the man.

The small torch from the hallway cast a faint ray into the room, not enough for Harry to see anything beyond the small circle of light. He knew what was hidden in the dark. Gang Li had shown him the plans when he'd explained the situation.

"To the left, there is a bed, with a chair for visitors, mainly myself. Less often now than when he first moved into his quarters. Beyond that, there is a door that leads to the facilities. To the right, there is the laboratory in which he works. There is a screen separating the two, with a ward that keeps the aromas of his work in the laboratory where they belong. The laboratory itself has many wards which deal with scent, light and heat. They do their best to keep him comfortable."

It seemed to Harry that the best he could hear of the situation was that all efforts had been made to see to Snape's comfort. Though how the hell was that enough?

"Gang Li."

The voice was the same, maybe a little huskier, as though unused. Harry had once heard Draco Malfoy, on one Hogwarts evening when parents had been invited to see some dramatic piece put on by their children – part of the innovations brought in by the Hufflepuff Headmaster, who adored theatrics – refer to Snape's voice as 'whiskey velvet'. Of course, Malfoy had been drunk at the time – the after-performance bar for the parents had been another of those innovations – and Harry close to it. Why else would the two former enemies have been waxing nostalgic over their time at Hogwarts?

The velvet was still there, as was the roughness. Harry felt a shiver go up his spine. He had never before realised how...earthy Snape's voice was. How basic. How...fucking sexy!

It was probably due to the fact that the voice seemed bodiless, coming out of the dark the way it was.

"Yes, Bai Wei, my friend. And I have someone with me."

"With you?" The voice was not pleased. Harry felt a frisson of unrest at hearing that displeasure. He wondered how many points Gryffindor was going to lose this time.

Damn it! Two words and the man had sent him back to his bumbling adolescent days!

"Yes. I told you he would come." Gang Li chuckled, but as softly as he'd been speaking.

"He?"

Was Harry imagining it? Was there some movement coming from the right? From the laboratory.

He squinted and stared hard into the Stygian darkness.

"Yes, your Harry Potter."

"My..."

There was what Harry interpreted as stunned silence. Hell, if the only thing that came out of this was the fact that he, Harry Potter, had managed to startle Severus Snape... Well, it had been well worth the trip!

"Professor." As instructed, Harry kept his voice soft.

"Potter? Yes, it is Potter. Well, Gang Li, I see it was a good thing I didn't wager on it." His voice took on a tone familiar to Harry from those damn Potions classes. "Still, all things considered, I should have remembered how Mister Potter always does things differently."

Harry suddenly realised that Snape was truly taken aback by his presence and was using snark to cover up. He couldn't help it, he grinned. "Yes, you should have," he challenged.

From out of the darkness there came movement, but still far beyond Harry's ability to make out any feature of it.

"I suppose," took up Snape with a sigh, "that you shall both want to visit." There had been a slight stress on the word 'both'.

Gang Li looked at Harry. He raised his eyebrows in query. Harry thought a moment then nodded yes. For this first – last? – time, it might be better if there was a third party present.

"Considering the state of your bed," said Gang Li, at his most charming, "I assume that you've been working for some time. You should be ready for tea. May I bring in light?"

There was a long pause and Harry was certain that the next words out of Snape's mouth would be an order for them to leave.

"I think," continued Gang Li as if there had been an invitation, "we can even provide some hot peppers, some chi-chiens, for that little monster of which you are so fond."

There was a sound that had Harry's attention going from right to left. There, just where Gang Li had indicated the location of a bed, there appeared two small bright lights hovering in the dark, which went out to the accompaniment of the indrawn breath of a yawn. The sound came to an end and the lights – eyes – appeared again.

Snape actually snorted, as though trying not to laugh. "Well, you certainly will have to provide them now that you've woken up the beast."

Beast?

Harry's hand itched to reach for his wand, which he'd unhappily – the Ernie in his head had foamed at the mouth – promised to keep in its sheath. Gang Li had, in turn, promised Harry that he would have no need for it.

There was a slight mewing, followed by feet landing on the floor.

Harry braced himself.

The footsteps had a clicking sound, as though the beast was walking on talons or claws.

He was expecting an animal the size of large dog and so was completely taken by surprise when a creature the size of a cat, and a small one at that, strolled out of the darkness and came to stare, eyes blinking sleepily in the faint light, at them.

Harry had to think to identify it as a Fireball, though he had never heard of one this tiny.

"Mei-Ping. How are you, my dear?"

The dragon slowly walked up to Gang Li, ignoring Harry, and...purred. Not a cat purr, but a sound that had more rumble, more...heat.

Gang Li stooped and scratched the dragon's head, which elicited more of the rumbling noises.

"I have something to finish first," said Snape. "The matter of a minute. You will have to find another chair for Mister Potter."

With a final scratch, Gang Li straightened and, with a finger, called up a tiny flame, then another and yet a third that danced over to the distance and settled on something. The flames doubled, then doubled again, each one finding its place. Though the light was not exactly bright, Harry could make out more of the room as they doubled yet again, enough to see that each flame was settling in a sconce. Another doubling and Harry could make out more of the room, including the screen that separated one function from the other.

He turned to see what he could make out of the laboratory which was completely in the dark. From the lit side, this dark was only just slightly less impenetrable. He could make out movement.

Meanwhile, Mei-Ping had finally decided he was worth investigating and had come closer to him, sniffing at his feet. Careful not to startle the little dragon, Harry crouched and offered the back of his fingers to sniff.

In the growing light he could easily make out the expression of doubt on the dragon's face as it thought about his offer.

He remained very still, waiting.

Finally, the little dragon decided to stretch its neck and take a cautious sniff. Its rough whiskers tickled and Harry smiled at the sensation. The dragon looked up at him. Harry waited for judgement.

Mei-Ping stepped a little closer, sat down and butted his hand with its head, its spiky horns no sharper than a puppy's milk teeth. Harry got the message and scratched the dragon between the horns as Gang Li had done. There was a reluctant purring, as though the little dragon was trying to hide its pleasure.

Harry grinned.

A sound coming from the laboratory made him look that way. It had become a little more visible in the growing light and gave him his first glimpse of Severus Snape in twenty-two years.

It was a back view and that alone was very different than the man who had made so many lives a misery in his classroom. Snape had never been one to turn his back on a classroom of students dealing with potentially explosive material.

Oh, he was wearing black. Harry couldn't imagine Snape wearing any other colour. But it didn't colour his usual garb. No teaching robe here, not even that old-fashioned, buttoned down suit that he'd worn under it.

No, this black shone even in the faint light. Silk of the finest quality. Plain, other than a line of different symbols that edged the bottom of the loose robe that fell to the floor. Symbols done in black, a matte black so that they were visible against the sheen of the silk.

Not a thick silk either. Very light. Harry squinted and thought he could even make out the outline of Snape's body under it. In a bright light, the fabric would probably be transparent.

But what was far more different was the fall of hair, not quite white, more...silvery, that fell unbound down to Snape's arse. Not greasy in the least. More like a cascade of whitish water, falling into the blackness of his robe.

In the darkness that still was the laboratory, Snape was quietly, efficiently ladling up liquid from a small cauldron and transferring it to some small bottles without spilling even a drop.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Gang Li, who found nothing strange in the activity. He wasn't even looking at Snape, but had transfigured a pillow from the bed into a deep cloud-like beanbag-type chair and was creating another, more regular in form, from what looked to be a pair of chopsticks.

Mei-Ping, aware that his attention was not solely focused on itself, bit him. "Ouch!" Harry stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked the sharpness away.

"You will have to excuse her, Mister Potter."

Harry returned his attention to the man in the laboratory.

"She is not used to so many visitors at one time. Especially one new to her."

"Not a problem," Harry said, glaring at his finger. There were two rows of teeth on it, deep imprints but no penetration.

Snape laughed softly. "Be pleased that all she did was nip you. Had she been more seriously annoyed, she would have burnt you. She may be small, but she is still a dragon."

Snape turned around and Harry forgot whatever response he had been about to make.

Snape's eyes dominated his face. Eyes that were not human. Eyes that were nothing more than openings completely filled with silver.

"We have no idea why his body has changed as it has. As I have explained, it may well be that Voldemort had made modifications to his familiar after Bai Wei managed to get a sample of the snake's venom. Or it could just be that his body reacted more differently to the antivenin than anyone could have anticipated."

Harry had listened as Gang Li had explained.

The antivenin had kept Snape alive, but at a high cost. Technically, he was blind, though he had no problem seeing. He just 'saw' in a different manner. He had become very sensitive to any kind of stimuli. More so as the months had passed, until Snape had not been able to tolerate the sun, even the moon, nor light of most kind. He could endure faint magical light but for periods no longer than – now – an hour. It had not affected his ability to 'see', but it meant that he could not remain above ground. An ancient storage area had been converted for his needs and he'd been living there some eighteen years.

At the same time, he had grown less able to tolerate noises of any kind as well. Snape's 'home' prevented external sounds from irritating him. Smells also affected him; some more than others. The work he did in his laboratory was very specialised – because he could still work and did, producing potions that required extreme sensitivity. He could easily work in minute quantities as Gang Li himself could with grams and millilitres.

Strangely enough, Bai Wei had far less trouble with animals of a certain kind than he had with humans. Snakes came to him when called, though Bai Wei was, understandably, not particularly fond of the creatures. Mei-Ping had been a gift from a grateful elderly client whose pain-filled life had been eased by a potion Bai Wei had developed for her.

Gang Li had smiled at that. "The little dragon has a mind of her own. She tended to set curtains on fire, furniture as well when she was in a bad mood. Rare as her kind are, her previous owner was more than relieved to find an excuse to rid herself of Mei-Ping. She calmed incredibly when she moved in with Bai Wei. The miniature version was bred to protect the hearth of a house, but Mei-Ping seems to be a throwback to her larger ancestors. She's much happier in the darkness and with Bai Wei, who does not expect her to sit quietly by."

He'd laughed. "We used to have a serious problem with rodents in the lower levels, but no more. She prefers to hunt for herself. Bai Wei is very tolerant of the kills she brings back to share with him."

Harry had found himself smiling at the thought of Severus Snape accepting the gift of a crisped rat from a small dragon. Now he found the image even funnier as he scratched the dragon's head. She was almost smaller than a good-size rat.

But Gang Li had forgotten – or had he? – to tell Harry just how different Snape's features had become.

Those eyes... Could they still be called eyes? There was no visible sight mechanism. It seemed to him that Snape's entire eyeballs had been exchanged for large silver balls.

Snape was watching him, his eyelids lowered as though to counter the effect of the soft light.

"You're looking...well, Mister Potter."

"Thank you, sir." Should he return the compliment? Harry found himself incapable of saying the words. Because Snape looked anything but well.

Snape seemed to have caught Harry's reluctance to lie and turned to Gang Li. "I believe you have promised me tea and chi-chiens to the brat."

Mei-Ping's head swung towards the elderly wizard and she ambled over to him, sitting at his feet and glaring up at him. Harry stood, feeling awkward and totally out of place. It irritated him. Hell, he was Head of the Department of Aurors. He'd been given the Headship at an age unheard of in centuries. He was not going to regress back to his teenage days.

"Yes," he said, "and there is the reason why you wanted to see me." Harry felt a certain pride at not having stumbled over the word 'see'.

Snape turned his head partially towards Harry. "Tea first. There are the amenities to satisfy. And I must think upon the matter. As Gang Li has probably indicated, I truly did not expect you to come."

Gang Li clapped his hands lightly – Snape flinched noticeably – and the tray of tea appeared.

Tea was...awkward, Harry finally concluded.

Gang Li didn't seem to be at all aware of the undercurrents of unease that Harry was certain existed between Snape and himself. The old man had tea poured and waved the cups over to the recipients, cheerfully fed several of the small red peppers to Mei-Ping, careful to pick each up by its green stem.

Harry didn't blame him. He'd had the startling experience of eating one of those by accident the first meal he'd taken at the little restaurant across the street from the guest house. Now he always checked his food to push those aside.

The conversation was light. Gang Li brought up some local gossip and Snape responded equally casually as he sipped his tea.

Not that he held the cup in his hand. It hovered in the air and went to his mouth when Snape indicated – though how, Harry couldn't figure out, as there were no overt signs or gestures – that he wanted a sip. His cup, unlike the ones Harry and Gang Li were using, had a small spout and the tea poured out of it into Snape's mouth.

He was sitting on the bean-bag type chair, though it took Harry a few minutes to realise that his body was not actually resting on the chair itself. There seemed to be some invisible cushioning upon which Snape rested.

Harry soon understood that Snape and Gang Li were ignoring him. At first Harry felt almost insulted. After all, he was here because of Snape and, other than that initial conversation, Snape hadn't directed a word to him, let alone a glance. Mind, Harry wasn't too sure he wanted to be examined once more by those silvery non-eyes.

So he sat back in his chair and sipped more of that delicate green tea, silently examining the man sitting slightly away from both his guests.

The robe was less revealing in the greater light than Harry had thought it would be. Oh, he could make out the line of Snape's body, but none of the details. The black was slightly paler over the form, but that was all.

The face was far more interesting. The profile seemed even sharper than it had been, the nose more plough-like, the chin more pointed, the cheekbones sharper. The paleness of the skin, untouched by sunlight for some many years, encouraged the silvery aspect of both eyebrows and hair.

The hands were more of that paleness, other than the fingers, which were stained from decades of working with ingredients. The nails were well trimmed, though they too were more grey than white. More...silvery?

They had not lost any of their elegance of movement and grace.

Harry moved his sight from Snape to the dragon. When had he become aware of Snape's hands? It had to have been as a student since...

Mei-Ping burped suddenly and a small burst of fire shot out of her mouth, smoke curling up from her nostrils. Harry grinned at the startled expression on the little dragon's face.

Gang Li laughed aloud, though not loudly, and Snape actually chuckled.

It was then that Harry heard a soft sound, like that of a repressed cough, coming from the laboratory side of the room. He turned his head and stared into the darkness.

When training to be an Auror, Harry had learnt that he had some specialised skills that not all trainees or even Aurors had. He could, when he focussed, make out details that many others missed. The two men next to him continued on with their conversation, but Harry consciously blocked them out and concentrated on the area where he thought he had heard the sound.

It took a good minute but, yes, there was movement. The barely audible shuffle of a step, of quiet breathing. Then, as though the person had grown aware of Harry's scrutiny, there was a moment's silence followed by the slight shuffles and a door almost silently closing.

"I think," Gang Li's voice called Harry's attention back to the men, "it is time for us to go."

Harry nodded. It was obviously not time to ask Snape why he had wanted to see Harry. His face was tight, as though he were fighting off a severe migraine. Maybe that was all he had wanted, to see Harry. If so, well, that had happened and Harry could leave Chengde and go join his family.

Snape slowly rose, as though movement was difficult. Harry noted that Gang Li did not offer to help him and so refrained from doing so himself. If touch was difficult for Snape to bear, it would be more of a hindrance than help.

There were formal bows of good-bye, the small flames in the sconces began flickering out and Harry pretty much thought that was it, until, when at the door, Snape said, "Tea tomorrow, Mister Potter?"

Harry stopped in the doorway and turned to look at the Snape. Not that he could more than make out a shape in the growing gloom.

He bowed his head. "If you wish, Professor."

"I do."

"Then I shall be honoured."

Snape's chortle seemed to come out of nowhere as the last of the flames died. "I doubt that, Mister Potter, but I would be obliged if you did."

The door slid out of the wall and left Harry in the hallway.

Chun-Chen was sunning itself on the back of the bench when Harry entered the clearing.

"I do know the way," Harry told the bird, a little snappishly. He hadn't slept well that night, having been bothered by dreams that he couldn't remember. "I did find my own way back yesterday, and by a more direct route."

The bird made a production of looking around the clearing as though trying to find the source of the speech.

Harry rested hands on hips and shook his head. "I wish you could talk, truly talk. Maybe you could tell me why the hell I'm here? What does he want with me?"

The raven opened its wings fully, spread its feathers and shook its limbs as though cooling itself off. Then, with a small caw, it took off and left Harry to find his own way to the temple.

Harry had to depend on a directional spell once when he realised he taken a wrong turn somewhere, though he certainly had no intention of admitting it to the raven that stood waiting for him on the top step of the temple stairway.

There was no Gang Li waiting for him this time. Harry stepped through the ward, his clothes once more changing as he did so, and waited a moment to see if anyone was going to appear to check him over for security reasons or to lead him into the depths of the mountain.

Chun-Chen seemed to be his only escort. The bird gave an irritated caw and, wand in hand, Harry followed the creature. So far, nothing untoward had occurred – though that hadn't calmed the Ernie in his mind in the least – but that was no reason not to be prepared. Constant vigilance. Well, fairly constant vigilance. Harry didn't for one moment doubt that, had he been alive, Mad-Eye Moody would have equalled, if not surpassed Ernie Macmillan's warnings in Harry's mind.

At the door to Snape's quarters, the raven waited for Harry to place a hand on the door to open it.

Harry did so, not certain that it would respond to him. The wood warmed a moment then slid into the framework.

"Come in, Mister Potter. It would seem that you have acquired punctuality among your other skills."

Harry stepped into the darkness of the room and the door closed behind him. In the black, he could see nothing. Harry gripped his wand tightly and bought it up to defend himself if necessary.

"Totally unnecessary, Mister Potter, though I assume that you would be more comfortable if you could see me. Mei-Ping, our guest needs light."

There was a thin line of fire that rose from near the floor, at about a certain dragon's height, directed at the sconces that Gang Li had lit the day before.

One by one the flames found a niche and the room grew clearer.

Snape was sitting in the same chair as he had used during Harry's previous visit, his hands clasped on his stomach, a very familiar smirk on his face. "Still the Gryffindor, I see, Mister Potter."

Harry had to think a moment. He didn't think his own smile was all that friendly. "Fools rush in where wise men fear to tread? But it is precisely because of that trait that Voldemort was eliminated, Professor, or have you forgotten?"

Once, his tone alone would have got him a month's worth of detentions from this man. Now, Snape's smile lost its scorn and he nodded. "Very well put, Mister Potter. Please." He gracefully gestured with a hand to the chair near his and Harry cautiously took it.

Mei-Ping came up to them and settled at Snape's feet, hunkering down like a cat, front legs tucked under her chest, her eyes on Harry.

Harry decided to force the issue. "You wanted to see me, Professor."

Snape gestured again and the ubiquitous tea tray appeared. Harry sighed.

Snape actually smiled, a real smile that caught Harry's breath. The cold features of the man's face warmed with that smile.

"Yes, I know. It took me a while to get used to the importance of tea in this society. In my past life, tea was just something that helped you get through a day."

Harry nodded. "Still is," he interjected.

The smile grew and Harry found that he couldn't take his eyes away from it. Its warmth and openness almost made him forget the non-eyes watching him. Merlin! Had Snape smiled like that at the young Harry Potter, that boy would have followed him anywhere.

"Here," continued Snape, as though nothing momentous was occurring, "it is more of a societal ritual. Nothing can begin until the ritual has been observed. However, you will note that I offer you good old British tea. I hope you don't mind. I find that it is the one thing I have not been able to let go from my previous life."

Harry found himself grinning at Snape. "A good, strong cuppa?"

This time, the tea pot was not fragile, almost see-through bone porcelain, but a sturdy brown betty, much like the one that Brougham brought into Harry's office twice a day. The cups were large mugs, similar, now that he thought about it, to the ones that had littered Snape's laboratory at Hogwarts. There were also a small sugar bowl and a creamer. The plate held chocolate digestives and shortbreads, though they were accompanied by a small bowl of those red peppers Mei-Ping so liked.

She perked up, making shrill delighted noises when Snape directed the treats down to her. "Don't gobble," warned Snape.

She looked up at him, exaggeratively careful to take one of the chilies out of the bowl by its green stem, using the tips of her teeth, before tossing it up in the air and gobbling it down.

Snape actually laughed. Harry was enchanted by the sound. A laughing Snape. A genuinely laughing Snape. Harry shook his head slightly, wondering at the more than physical changes in this man.

"How do you take your tea, Mister Potter?"

Harry had to force himself to think. "Milk, two sugars."

It was, as Snape had promised, a good, strong cup of tea, just the way Harry liked it. His sigh this time was one of pleasure.

He sat back in the chair and tried to get to the reason for his being here. "Now that the rituals have been observed, again, I have to ask why did you want to see me, Professor?"

Snape looked up from the deeply stained mug he was actually holding in his hand. Harry wondered if the fact that it was obviously his made its touch easier to deal with. In fact, was that why, in spite of what Gang Li had told Harry about Snape's difficulty with touch, he could work in his laboratory, because it contained materials he had touched for so many years?

Would he even be able to broach the topic, Harry wondered as he sipped his tea.

"I have stayed somewhat in touch with affairs in Britain, Mister Potter, but the Daily Prophet, as you can well imagine, is not the most reliable source for information. You have risen to a position where information is privy to you."

Harry raised a hand. "If you invited me here to get your hands on classified information..."

Snape shook his head. "No. Nothing like that. I assure you, Potter, that I would never put you in such a position. No, the information I require is the kind that you would have picked up from everyday life. I shall get straight to the point. I would like to know what has happened to several people who once played important roles in my previous life. Such as yourself."

"Me?" Harry knew he sounded incredulous, but he couldn't help it. "What do you want to know about me?"

Snape sat back in his 'chair'. "Well, I know from the Prophet that you married Miss Weasley, and that she has had a career in Quidditch, but it doesn't tell me how you became Head of the Department of Aurors, only that you did. And I would like to know what happened to those who survived the Battle of Hogwarts. Is Minerva well? Did Hooch finally retire?"

Harry shook his head. "You invited me here for...a....a gossip session?"

Snape seemed to think about that as he sipped his tea. "Well, yes, I suppose it would seem so. Look, Potter, it may be a surprise to you, but I am quite a wealthy man. The potions I work on here in my laboratory are rare or developmental. They have made me a fortune. My personal needs are few and, well, though I may not have lived in Britain for the last twenty-some years, I do wonder if maybe there aren't people I could help. In a financial but unacknowledged manner.

"I am not seeking glory. I like the fact that no one in Britain, other than yourself and, I assume, select others in your Department, know that I am alive or where I am."

"The alive, we have always known," corrected Harry. At Snape's raised eyebrows, he added, "Your portrait at Hogwarts, in the Headmaster's office, is still sleeping."

"My portrait?" Now Snape was the one to sound incredulous.

Harry shrugged. "You were Headmaster."

Snape scoffed. "I would have thought that any trace of my inhabiting that office would have been scoured out as soon as possible."

Harry shook his head. "You did what you could for the students there under the most difficult of circumstances. I don't imagine that was easy, all things considered."

Snape shrugged off Harry's offer of understanding. "Nevertheless, there are things I need to know and you were the only one I thought I could trust to give me the answers I need while maintaining the secret of my whereabouts."

Which was how Harry Potter found himself spending not just that day, but four others, discussing who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts, Minerva's rebuilding and her retirement, the staff and its turnover in the last twenty years, which had caused Snape to laugh aloud again.

"Longbottom is professor of Herbology? Poetic justice! I wonder how he likes dealing with those 'black' thumbs that kill his plants."

Snape's voice was not condescending in any way, more...sympathetic. Harry grinned. "I believe I've heard him say that he wouldn't mind hexing a few of those. Remember Luna Lovegood? According to Neville, her daughter just has to approach a plant for it to shriek and shrivel up and die. I once heard him say that he now better understood why you cursed him so often in Potions. He has to restrain himself from doing so with Luna's daughter."

Snape's grin was almost child-like in its vindication.

They discussed what his Slytherins were doing. Harry watched his face expressly when he told Snape how his namesake had Sorted into his old House. Both pieces of information had caused some colour to appear on Snape's cheekbones and Harry wondered at the shyness and the pleasure that warmed Severus's features.

Because, after the second day, Snape had requested that Harry stop using his title and call him by name. Politeness demanded that Harry return the favour, though the sound of his name pronounced by that whiskey velvet voice caused chills to run down Harry's spine.

It wasn't just his Slytherins about whom Severus wanted information. All Houses seemed equally important to him.

Harry found himself dredging up the most minute pieces of information that he hadn't even been aware he possessed to satisfy this man's need.

Their meetings were sociable, with Mei-Ping providing some humour when she overindulged in chi-chiens and her flaming belches lit the progressively darker room. For with each visit, there had been fewer sconces lit so that Severus now sat in the dark while Harry was closer to the light.

Harry had become so sensitised to the man's voice that he didn't need to see specific features to know when the man was smiling or his face was animated with their conversation.

All through the meetings, Harry had the sense that they were being watched from the blackness of the laboratory, though he never brought the subject up. If there was someone there, he didn't sense any hostility and finally wrote it off as an assistant of some sort.

Each meeting lasted about an hour, the length of time that Gang Li had informed Harry, that first encounter, was all that Severus could easily tolerate of outside influences. Harry himself could gauge when the time was up by the slight stress that he could pick up in Severus's voice. He would tie-up whatever discussion they were having, indicate that he had taken up more time than he thought Severus could generously release from Severus's important work, and take his leave.

Severus never asked him to remain.

Harry spent his mornings playing tourist, finding gifts to bring back with him, particularly things that would please his children and maybe make up to Ginny for the fact that he would be late in joining them.

Over the years, he and Ginny's lives seemed to have taken different paths. When first wed, they did everything together, but, gradually, what with different careers, the children, his late hours, her touring, their marriage seemed to have lost all intimacy. They were more like a couple sharing a house, the few times they were both in it at the same time.

He was aware that she had not been faithful to him, just as he knew she was aware that he, in his way, had not been to her. They just didn't talk about it. They had always had and would always have the children in common, though, now that all three of them were at Hogwarts...

So Harry took especial care to find Ginny something that might please her.

The servers at the restaurant now greeted him by name every morning when he went there for breakfast and then again for the midday meal. But for the evening meal, Harry ventured out with an unusual guide.

The evening of the first meeting with Severus, Chun-Chen had shown up as Harry had left the guest house and cawed until Harry had agreed to follow the bloody bird. It had led him to a tiny restaurant overlooking a small man-made lake. It had been so tiny that the four tables it offered were outside under an overhang. The food had been incredible, as had been the meal of another restaurant Chun-Chen had led him to the second night.

Harry wondered if maybe he should ask the bird where to purchase a souvenir for Ginny. He found the place on his own. A shop where they made Hanfu. He had some trouble getting the seamstress to accept that Ginny had red hair. She finally decided to take him at his word and selected a heavy silk, apple green 'quju' with sky-blue borders that were embroidered with birds of all kinds.

He thought, all in all, it was a rather appropriate 'get me out of the doghouse' gift for someone whose professional life was Quidditch.

The sixth day of his visits to Severus began no differently than had the others. He went to visit one of the museums he hadn't yet seen, found a book on the history of Chinese Magic for Lily, another on local Quidditch training practices for James, and one with beautiful illustrations of dragons for Al.

He ate lunch at what had now become his usual table, took his time strolling through the gardens that populated the Mountain Resort before making his way to the temple and his appointed hour with Severus.

The meeting began as always, with a cup of 'good old British tea', with even fewer sconces lit. Maybe that was why Harry suddenly found himself yawning.

"I'm sorry," he got out before he yawned once again. "I don't know what the matter with me is. I feel..."

He could feel. He could hear. He could see, if he could manage to get his eyes open. He just couldn't move.

Ernie Macmillan threw an incredible fit in Harry's head. Harry couldn't even be bothered to listen to him.

He knew he was being moved to the bed that had been ignored all this time. He could hear Severus say something, not in English, and Harry could feel the cool air of the room on his skin.

Oh. It would seem that he had somehow lost his clothes.

"You are not to worry, Harry," said that hypnotic voice that sent chills up and down his spine. "You are not going to be hurt in any way. I just need you to be...co-operative, shall we say, and this is the easiest way to ensure that."

Harry wanted to ask why he needed to be co-operative, but found that he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. Besides, now that he thought about it, they didn't seem all that important.

It was strange how he was aware of things. The room was completely in the dark. The few flames were no more. That should have bothered him, yet, he felt a sense of complete security.

His arms were to the side and pulled up over his head. He had the weird sensation of being tied, but he couldn't feel anything around his wrists. His legs, too, were pulled apart and when he tried to bring them together, he couldn't. They were tied, but not tied.

He should have been worried. He could 'hear' Ernie telling him that he had to fight against this...whatever 'this' was. Macmillan was very insistent. Annoyingly so. Harry shook his head slightly – he could do that – and Macmillan's voice fractured and faded.

"Very good, Harry."

Harry smiled. That lovely Voice approved. He liked it when that Voice approved. Made him feel all warm and ...

"Listen to me, Harry."

Not a problem, that. He loved listening to that Voice.

"You are not very happy, are you, Harry?"

Harry clenched his eyes tightly. He wanted to deny the Voice, but found once more that the words wouldn't come.

"You should be happy, Harry. You worked hard, saved the world from Voldemort. You deserve to be happy and you're not."

Harry felt a wetness slowly make its way down his cheek to his jaw. No, he wasn't happy. Hadn't been happy in a very long time.

"I want you to think of something that makes you happy, Harry. Just picture it in your mind. I'll see it."

That should have made him wary, but, instead, Harry found that he wanted to hear approval once more from that Voice. He thought hard to find an image that would show that he was obeying.

It took a little time, but, finally, he had it. The times he snuck off to Hogwarts and played Quidditch with the students. He pictured himself on a broomstick, demonstrating movements to the Seekers of the four House teams, barely ducking a Bludger Lily hit his way, cheering James as he hit the Quaffle through the goal posts, encouraging Al and his friends in Slytherin to develop their own strategies, sitting in the staff room afterwards with the Headmaster and Neville, quaffing butterbeers and laughing.

Damn, he missed his children!

"You'll be with them soon, Harry. In a better state than what you are right now. Your aura..."

There was another voice, one that interrupted, unhappy about something.

Severus's voice – that had to be the Voice, it was giving him chills as it always did – was soothing, calming. Harry felt it rub against his nerves, making them tingle.

"Better now. You seem to be more relaxed than you were."

Well, with that Voice stroking him...

Stroking him?

How could a voice...?

But it was.

Hands... Hands stroked. Not voices.

Didn't they?

Oh...

"Now I want you to think of pleasure. Of the pleasure of a sated body."

A sated body? Huh? What did the Voice want?

"Make me a picture of you coming, Harry."

Oh, God! It was harder to obey the Voice this time. So many reasons not to. There was Ginny. The children. Ron. Ernie. Most especially Ernie who would pull his hair out if...

"Courage, Harry. Show me."

And what could he do against that Voice? How could he hold back?

Sexual pleasure, that's what the Voice was asking him for. When had he last been sexually fulfilled?

Had it been the time in...? Or the night he'd spent...

Not with his wife. Not with Ginny.

"Show me, Harry."

The Voice seemed to be whispering in his ear. Offering to be the receptacle of his best kept...

A secret. He had a secret to share and he could share it with the Voice. The Voice would understand. Would not judge him.

"No, I shall not judge you, Harry. Just tell me."

Harry fought the Voice. He had to. The secret...

"Is safe with me, I promise you, Harry. Word of a Slytherin. We don't make many promises, but we do hold the ones we make. Trust me, Harry."

Trust.

Trust.

When had he last trusted anyone? Truly trusted?

"You can trust me, Harry."

And, just like that, he did. He stopped fighting and gave the Voice what it had asked of him.

The alley off Knockturn, wearing a glamour, face pressed against the brick wall, his trousers down, the thickness...the beloved thickness in his arse.

The room in the little Muggle hotel. Glamoured again, but only slightly. One entire night and day. With the man he'd selected in the Muggle gay bar in that out-of-way street when he was supposed to be working at home while Ginny and the kids were off at the Burrow. Twenty hours of taking and being taken. Of having a cock in his mouth, of being sucked. The scent of male sweat, male musk, the taste of male skin and come.

Rare in his life. Never more than once a year. But what a marvel when he could have it. When he could feel...

"Complete," said the Voice. "No wonder your aura looks like the bottom of a muddy river, Potter. In a job you don't really want. With a partner that you don't really desire. All this because you want..."

Wanted to fit in. To be a regular wizard, with a family. Not just the Boy Who Lived. Not just the Boy Who Killed Voldemort.

Not be who he was.

"It will be all right, Harry. Trust me."

Something was brushing the hair off his face. Rubbing at the pain that seemed to swell in his head.

Not hands. He concentrated on the feel, but, no, not hands.

The sensation became too important for him to do more than feel, and that's what he did. He forgot all but the feeling of that 'something' against his skin.

It was 'touching' his face now. Rubbing against his temples. Lightly passing over his eyebrows, down his nose, over his lips. He opened his mouth to try and grasp whatever It was, but caught nothing, even though he could feel It in his mouth, rubbing along his teeth, stroking his tongue. He closed his mouth, trying to capture It, to no avail.

There was soft laughter as It stroked his cheeks, delineated the line of his jaw, touching that spot under his left ear that made him wriggle.

And the effect was wonderful. He felt every muscle in his face grow limp with it.

The 'touch' slipped to his throat and Harry raised his chin to give It more room. It eased the knots at his nape, the junction of neck to shoulder.

He sighed as the tension he always carried with him disappeared.

"Far too tense, Harry. You really have to recognise what you need and grasp it."

What he needed was for more of that touch. He got his wish. It massaged his shoulders, squeezed his biceps, tickled the soft, inner skin of his elbows, blew hot and cool on the concentration of veins at his wrists.

The feelings were incredible but Harry wanted Its attention to move onto other things. Like his chest, his nipples. Oh, God! Please, why wouldn't It touch his nipples?

There was some more of that soft laughter and he got his wish.

He moaned his pleasure when It played with the nubs, pinching to the point of pain but not crossing the line to hurt, lightly twisting first in one direction then, when he thought he could hear someone whimpering, in the other. Harry loved it when his rare male lover – one with whom he'd end up in bed, not against a brick wall – would take the time to play roughly with his nipples. The ache would remain with him long after any other and, if he wore a rough shirt under his robes at work the next day, he could move in such a way as the weave would re-awaken the throb, reminding him.

It pulled both nubs and Harry could feel himself trying to follow. He couldn't, but the ache was such that he groaned in appreciation.

The touch released suddenly, so suddenly that Harry was confused. He tried to open his eyes to see what had happened when he felt It once more, playing along his rib cage, tickling at first, then building the need in him to capture It, to hold It still so that he could regain control of his breath. He tried to twist into It, but realised that It came from both sides at the same time, so that he had to rock side to side, never once managing to stop It.

It had the decency to come to an end of Its own volition when he had trouble breathing.

Not that It gave him much time to recover. He had barely stopped panting when It decided that his navel was of interest.

"Tic...klish!" he gasped out.

"So I see. More so than the ribs, eh, Harry?"

Though he expected It to continue with Its maddening touch, was even bracing himself for the torment, the touch left him to skim lightly across his abdomen, raising goosebumps on his skin and a shimmering under it.

He sighed and wriggled at the sensations, and was rewarded with another run that left him breathless, but in a different manner.

When It slipped lower with each passing, Harry became aware that his cock was also appreciative of the attention his body was getting.

Now he could feel the muscles tighten, the shaft begin to rise, as though demanding attention of its own.

There was that soft laughter again. Not mocking, but pleased with his response.

Not that It went anywhere near his cock. It seemed to be content with exploring all the parts of him that surrounded his now aching phallus, never appeasing that ache.

Harry jutted up his hips, silently – so he thought – calling attention to that part of him.

"No, not yet. Your aura is still too cloudy. You must be patient, Harry. Remember how you told me that first day that you had finally learnt patience? Let us see it in practice."

Oh...damn it all to hell! Hadn't he been patient enough?

"Not by a long shot, Harry. But you're getting there."

Approval. Once more the Voice approved and Harry felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that it was not a voice that had approved of him often in the past.

But when It began skimming the inner side of his thighs, Harry wasn't so certain that approval was worth the impatience his cock was signalling to him.

It wanted... Nay, it was demanding attention. It wanted to be touched. Physically handled. It wanted a tight grip. It wanted to be rubbed, to be stroked, to be fondled, to be sucked even.

"Ple...ease," he heard a strange voice whimper.

He shook his head, wondering where that had come from? Had his cock suddenly developed a voice? Had it learnt to ask for attention?

Sweet merciful God! If it truly began talking... truly could speak its wishes...

"Easy, Potter." The Voice was laughing softly. "I always knew you had a vivid imagination, but this is a bit much."

His cock seemed to love that Voice as much as he did. He could feel it straining, could feel the wetness which indicated that it needed very little attention to be satisfied.

Just a touch.

Please, a touch.

The feel of skin against it. A rough palm. A wet mouth. Teeth even. Or an arse, well greased.

Harry knew his cock would like that...

Hell, would love any of those right now.

Especially when his entire body seemed to be Its playground right now. All except his miserable cock, weeping because of its lack of attention.

"Tis sad," whimpered the plaintive voice. "Please," it begged. "Pl...e...ease!"

"Touch him," said the Voice.

"Severus?"

A new voice. A voice that sounded confused. Concerned.

Harry appreciated the concern. His cock merely wanted that voice to do as it had been ordered.

"Touch him? I can't."

Why not? Harry tried to focus on what was going on around him. Two voices must have meant two people. Severus. He knew Severus was there. The Voice could only belong to him. But the other? Who...?

"Give him what he needs. What I can't give him."

Harry barely dared breathe. Please, touch me! he cried in his head. Please, make my bloody cock happy! Fuck me! Someone, fuck me!

"There, there, now. It'll be all right."

The new voice. Not smooth like the Voice. Not 'whiskey velvet'. A lighter velvet. Soothing in its own way. Making promises.

A hand touching him. Spread out on his belly. Rubbing itself against him. "It's all right, Pot... Harry. Give me a minute..."

A minute! Bloody Hell! Hadn't he waited long enough...?

"Yes, yes. Let me find the lube."

Lube? Lube. God, yes. Find the lube and...

Harry felt the coolness of lube hit his cock like a blow. The ache eased a moment then, with that hand stroking it, the ache built up again, harder, stronger than before.

Harry could make out growling noises and wondered if Mei-Ping was on the bed with him.

This laughter was different. More teasing than before.

Then he didn't have the strength to think any more. There was an arse slowly descending on his cock and it was heaven. Hell when it rose as though leaving his cock behind then heaven again when it came back down, slowly...far too slowly for Harry and his cock's satisfaction.

"Not so fast," said the Voice, sounding weary.

Yes! Fast!

Faster!

Sweet Jesus, faster!

Then...

Then...

Then the world exploded and Harry was aware of nothing but incredible pleasure.

It took him a long time to wake.

He lay still, not really aware that he was listening to the small noises of life around him until the sun shone on his face, demanding that he pay attention.

He had to turn his head and discovered that he was so limp that it was a problem. Not one that particularly worried him, strange as that might have seemed.

He sighed and burrowed his face deeper into the pillow.

The noises of everyday life seemed determined, now that they had got his attention, to make him question where he was.

He managed to raise his head enough to recognise his room in the guest house.

He dropped his head back onto the pillow and dozed.

A nagging sense that he should be paying attention to something annoyed him enough that he had to think about it.

It finally dawned on him that he had no idea how he had got into bed. The last he remembered – and it took some focussing on his part to work that out – he had been with Severus...

They had had tea. He had discussed something about a fund set up through Gringotts that would help...

Help...

Ah, yes, help scholarship students with everyday essentials. No matter which House they had been sorted into.

And...

And then...

A wide yawn split Harry's face and he wondered at how relaxed, how rested he felt.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this relaxed.

This was the product of more than a night's good rest.

He went to move a little, trying to find a cooler spot on the bed since the sun was so warm.

The movement woke up twinges of...

Of not exactly pain. But of feelings of...

In the backs of his legs. In his stomach.

In his arse.

Feelings of being well-used.

Harry slowly rotated so that he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Had he got drunk last night and picked up a...?

He tried hard to remember.

That wasn't like him. He never got drunk when he was on the prowl for a fuck. He had to remain sober in order to keep the glamour from fading away.

He forced himself up onto his elbows and looked around the room for signs of...activity.

There didn't seem to be any. Had his partner cleaned up after himself?

Harry shifted his weight onto a hip and slid a hand down the crack of his arse only to find nothing. Not a sign of lube, of come, of anything that...

Had Severus?

But no, it couldn't have been. Besides, Gang Li had indicated that Bai Wei couldn't bear to be touched. That human touch caused his skin to blister. Didn't matter if he was touched or did the touching.

So, what had happened last night?

Harry dropped back onto the bed and wondered why he didn't seem overly worried about what had happened last night, other than his body seemed to have had a rather good time. Pity he didn't remember any of it.

Harry sat on the bench in the clearing. He was early for his appointed time with Severus, so he'd decided to spend some time here, just enjoying the sun on his face, the sound of the birds in the trees and the ripple of breeze on his skin.

He'd finally hauled his body out of bed when his bladder had insisted it couldn't wait any longer. He'd showered, finding the trail of bites that led down from his nipples to his navel. He had the sudden image of a dark head blazing that trail, with his full approval and vocal blessing, but then the image had faded and he'd shrugged, no more worried about it than...

He'd been drying himself when he realised another thing that was different. No Macmillan in his head. No Head of Security telling him he'd been foolish to do...whatever it had been he'd done.

Harry grinned at the sun, trying to remember when he had last had a holiday from that voice.

He tilted his head back and spread his arms to either side, resting on the top of the bench. He let his body sag against the seat and stretched his legs out. Since he'd arrived here — what was it? a week back? — he had never seen anyone using this lane. If someone came along, they could just step over his legs. What would it matter?

"Are you awake?"

Harry kept his eyes closed, wondering if the voice would speak again. There was a hint of the familiar about it. Like he should know whose it was.

"Potter." Said with a certain forbearance.

Harry slitted open his eyes and could only make out a form against the light of the sun. If he wanted an answer to his question, he would have to see the person speaking to him properly. Which meant that he would actually have to move.

Harry sighed as he slowly brought himself up into a seated position that allowed him to see the person waiting for him to respond.

The man was tall, a few inches taller than Harry. Slim. With skin that was darker than those of the locals, even if he was dressed in a sort of local garb. Rather like the outfit that Harry's clothing changed into when he walked through the temple ward, though in grey. Which accented the grey of the man's eyes.

Eyes that he knew.

Still, it took a moment more before Harry could put a name to the finely-boned visage.

"Blaise Zabini."

Zabini slipped his hands into his sleeves and bowed. "You remember me."

A statement of fact that seemed neither surprised nor disappointed.

"What are you...?" Harry stopped and squinted at Zabini. He forced his brain to function as the Head Auror he was. "Agent. You're Gang Li's agent. The one who got Severus out of the Shrieking Shack."

Another of those neutral bows.

"Why?"

An elegant eyebrow rose in a manner that Harry recognised as 'Snapish'. "Why what?"

"Why were you Gang Li's agent? I get the potions connection. You were pretty good at them, if I remember correctly."

A small smile. "You do. I came second to Granger every year of the six I spent at Hogwarts."

Harry made a small moue of acknowledgement with his mouth. "Was there anyone who ever managed to beat her?"

Because now Harry was remembering more: that Zabini had not been at Hogwarts that final year and had not returned to write his NEWTs the next year as had Hermione, Ron and Harry. As had several students from all the Houses whose parents had pulled them out of Hogwarts, or who, for reasons of blood or other matters, had been 'expelled' by Severus Snape, Headmaster, at Voldemort's behest. Harry wondered where Zabini had finished his studies, if he had.

Zabini shrugged.

"You still haven't explained why you were or are Gang Li's agent."

Zabini smiled a little. "Qing Gang Li, Emperor of the Ancient Kingdom of Cathay. His Muggle brothers ruled China for three centuries."

Harry sat up straighter, suddenly very focussed on Zabini. An Emperor? That old man was an emperor?

"Qing Gang Li is also my great-great-grandfather, through the distaff side."

"What the hell were you doing at Hogwarts?"

That smile again. Harry recalled it from their student days. It had always made Zabini look like he knew something everyone else didn't.

"Getting an education." Zabini gestured to indicate Harry should move over before settling himself next to him on the bench. "My great-grandmother, Gang Li's daughter, was married in a diplomatic coup to a Russian wizard. Her daughter, to a German one. My mother..." Zabini shrugged. "Well, my mother decided to unify Europe. My father was of mixed blood himself. Ethiopian and Italian."

Harry blinked. Well, that explained the exotic look of the man sitting next to him. And the relationship with Severus.

"You were sent to Hogwarts because of Severus."

"One of the reasons. I showed early skill in potions. Also, Gang Li knew he could count on Severus to keep an eye on me. To keep me on course."

"You're the assistant. The one who remained in the dark, in the lab whenever I visited."

Zabini nodded. "Gang Li was certain you were to be trusted. I, less so."

Harry turned his body so that he could see the man's face. "How can you work in that blackness?"

Zabini reached into his tunic and pulled out a case. He snapped it open to reveal a pair of glasses.

"These let me see, almost as well as if the room were completely lit."

Harry watched as the glasses case was slipped back into the inner pocket. "So, what are you doing here, Zabini? Meeting me here."

Zabini sat back and assumed a position similar to Harry's, though his hands were once more encased in his sleeves.

"I have come to tell you that there will be no more meetings with Bai Wei."

Harry slitted his eyes. "Why? Because you say so?"

Zabini looked suddenly tired. "No. Because Severus says so. I am merely the messenger, Potter."

Harry stopped himself from challenging Zabini. "Do you know why?"

"You mean, did he tell me? No, he didn't. He just said to thank you and to wish you well. He did ask me to relay to you that he would appreciate your thinking about your life, but that he doubted you would take the time to."

"Thinking about my life? What...?" Harry frowned. "What did he mean by that?"

Zabini rested his head against the back of the bench and rubbed a hand over his face. "Severus is dying."

"Dying? Why? Does this have anything to do..." He hesitated.

"With the antidote potion?" Zabini shut his eyes against the sun. "Yes. In a way. More in what your coming here has done to him."

"My coming here? What the hell do you mean? I came here because he wanted to see me. What the hell are you blaming on me?"

Zabini held out a placating hand. "Calm down, Potter. I'm not accusing you. I am very aware that you are here at his behest. And frankly, I thank you for coming. He needed to see you and though he wasn't happy with what he saw..."

"Wasn't happy," sputtered Harry.

Zabini ignored the interruption. "He did what he felt he had to do."

"What did he feel he had to do?"

Zabini closed his eyes again and said nothing.

"Zabini. What did Severus do?"

Nothing.

"Blaise. Tell me. Please. I owe that man my life several times over. I need to know what I owe him yet again."

Harry wasn't sure what moved the point for him, whether it was the sincerity he had tried to infuse in his voice, or the fact that he called the man by his first name, but Zabini finally answered.

"Gang Li told you about the many changes the antidote brought about in Severus and you saw some of them for yourself."

Harry nodded.

"One of the ones that can't been seen is the way that Severus can see. Non-human items he can see as we do. He has no trouble making his way around his lab because he doesn't need light as we do to see. He sees Mei-Ping because though she is a living creature, she is not a mammal. Humans are...

"Gang Li thinks it may have something to do with the modifications Voldemort had made to Nagini before she bit Severus. He..."

Harry waited as Zabini tried to find the words he was looking for.

"He doesn't see us as we are. He sees auras. He can recognise Gang Li because of the colours that surround his form. He says that they are shades of purple to lilac, depending on the mood he's in."

To encourage Zabini, to show that he understood, Harry said, "Makes sense. An emperor should be clothed in royal purple."

Zabini continued. "My aura is silvery in hue. Varying greys and silver, again, he says, depending on my mood."

Harry kept quiet, but he wanted to say that that too made sense, considering that Zabini's eyes were a startling grey.

"He can judge a person's health by aura. Their feelings of security. Their ambition. Their..."

"Happiness?"

Zabini nodded.

Harry was quiet for several minutes, staring at the trees opposite them.

"I had a strange dream last night," he began.

Zabini seemed to stiffen.

"I was with Severus and he was complaining about my aura being...muddy."

"Like the bottom of a muddy river," agreed Zabini.

"What did he do?"

Zabini looked Harry straight in the face. "He cleansed it."

"Is that why I feel so..."

"So?"

"Relaxed. So rested. So... So like nothing that I thought was important is."

Zabini nodded, his eyes watchful.

"And what did that do to him?"

Zabini leaned his head to one side and waited.

"Blaise. Please. What did that cost him?"

"Time. Time of which he hasn't much left."

"It wore him out."

"Yes. It takes a great deal of energy to cleanse an aura. And ordinary, everyday contact with any kind of aura is wearying for him. Hence the move to the subterranean quarters, with very few visitors. Visitors who are not a drain on him."

"Like your great-great-grandfather."

"And people whose auras reflect health, contentment, happiness."

"You."

No response.

Harry thought a moment. "Then there's me."

"He wanted to see you because he needed to know that what he had sacrificed was worthwhile."

Harry sat back, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. He scoffed, "Yeah, well, now he knows it wasn't."

"Not so. He just thinks that what you wanted was not what you really needed. He cleansed your aura to give you another chance, Harry. That's what he meant by thinking about your life. From some of the things you said while talking with him, it's obvious that you're not happy. He thinks you should be."

"How? By knowing that I've killed him?"

Zabini reached out and placed a hand on Harry's arm. "No. He was dying before you even came here. All you've done is cost him a week or two of a life that has become far too painful to him."

"He's in pain?"

Zabini gave Harry's arm a final squeeze before he stood up. "He enjoyed those times you spent with him. The information you brought him will allow him to settle some accounts that he feels are outstanding. You made him laugh and for that I thank you." He turned to go.

Harry stood up. "You love him."

The smile Zabini sent his way was rueful. "I loved him from the moment I set eyes on him. We were lovers here until he couldn't bear the touch of my hands on him."

"God, Blaise, I'm so sorry."

Zabini shrugged. "They were good years. And he taught me much. Go home, Potter. Think about what needs changing in your life."

Harry said nothing as he watched Zabini walk away.

Still, he needed to know just how costly his presence had been. He needed to speak to Qing Gang Li at the very least. He set off for the temple, but he never found it.

There was a knock on the door. It opened before he could say anything and a small head stuck itself around the door.

"Professor. Headmaster would like to see you at the end of this period, sir."

Harry smiled at the first year, pleased he could put a name to the lad. Thurston Fillagret, better known as "Thirsty" to his Hufflepuff Housemates.

It had taken him far longer than he liked to admit to be able to identify his students.

There were ten minutes left to class and he set his fifth year Ravenclaws to practising the shielding spells required to deal with a fairly mild Dark curse.

As he watched them, he wondered what the Headmaster wanted. The man had been overwhelmed – at first – when Harry had quietly approached him on his return from China and wondered if the DADA position was still open. It was. And once the Headmaster had got over his shock at the Head of Aurors wanting the position, LeGuerrier had been very understanding about Harry's need to make changes in his life.

"A mid-life crisis, eh?" he'd summed up.

Harry hadn't cared what it was called: he had decided to make changes in his life and this was one that he wanted.

Ginny hadn't been so understanding. The suddenness of his decision, added to the fact that their children had known where Harry had been and she hadn't, had put an end to the marriage. Ginny had had enough of coming in second. Second to his job. Second to the children. She'd been offered, she was more than pleased to inform him, a chance to coach one of the neophyte Quidditch teams in Canada and she was going to take it. Harry forbore mentioning how her assistant was accompanying her, and how both their forwarding addresses were the same one.

The one who had taken the news of his career change worse even than Ginny had been Theodore Brougham. The man had gone into shock when Harry had informed him and his Head of Security at the same time. Even Ernie Macmillan's volcanic response to the news hadn't penetrated and Harry had had to call in an Auror medi-wizard to deal with his secretary.

The children had not been so much surprised as relieved. They would be seeing their mother pretty much as often as they had. She would take them for Yule Break as there was no Quidditch played during Canadian winters. Harry and she would share summers.

In point of fact, Harry now saw his children far more often than he ever had in their lives. He taught them, supervised them, coached Quidditch for their teams.

Life, all things considered, was far better than it had been for years.

At the door to the Headmaster's office, LeGuerrier himself was waiting for Harry.

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry wondered what the Headmaster was talking about. The man opened the door to his office but stepped back. "The portrait... He's awakened."

Harry didn't need to hear more. He nodded and stepped into the office, appreciating that the Headmaster shut the door behind him.

He went slowly up to the picture that had hung dormant all these years. Snape was rummaging among the stacks of journals, his back to the frame, muttering under his breath.

Harry waited for him to notice that he had an audience. Of course, Snape didn't.

Harry cleared his throat. Snape paused, glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. "You, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape seemed to have found what he was looking for. He straightened and took the journal over to the chair by the table, dropped it onto the table and flung himself into the chair.

"Well," he snarled, "what do you want?"

Harry found it hard to smile. "Is everything all right, sir?"

"All right? All right? I am dead, Potter. How can things get righter than that?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to learn that."

"I can assure you that I am not. It was about time. I had hung on far too long."

Harry, remembering what Zabini had told him about pain, said nothing.

Snape wriggled in his chair, as though trying to find a comfortable spot. "I understand that I have you to thank for this set up."

Harry had to think. It had been so long, after all. "Do the books please you? I know that you aren't much for social occasions. I couldn't imagine you slipping away to join the other headmasters in a game of whist, but I did think that maybe you would prefer catching up on all your reading."

Snape harrumphed. "All fine and good, Potter, but what do I do when I have caught up?"

Harry grinned. "Well, the artist is on stand-by for a couple more paintings. One is for a laboratory. I thought we had better wait for...for your arrival so that you could tell her what you wanted in it. And then there's another for the books and journals you might also like to read. Again, we thought it best to wait for you for that selection. She suggested a sort of triptych. Would be easier for you to go from one to the other."

He waited to see what Snape's reaction was going to be. Apart from another of those harrumphs, there didn't seem to be any.

So the man who haunted the portrait was not Bai Wei. In a way, Harry felt relieved. It would not be easy for any person working in this office to live with those eyes staring at him or her all the time.

Snape grabbed the journal he had selected and began flipping through the pages. Harry took that to mean he had been dismissed. As he headed for the door, Snape spoke.

"Tell that artist of yours that I would be ready to discuss my requirements with her whenever she is free."

Harry looked back.

Snape looked up. His eyes shimmered in the light from the window. Black to silver to black again.

Harry closed the door behind him and leaned back against it. So both Snapes inhabited that portrait. God help them all.

Lunchtime was its usual boisterous self. Harry took his place at the High Table and gave a half-smile in response to the Headmaster's inquiring look. He would have to speak to LeGuerrier about Bai Wei.

The meal was in progress when a loud caw was heard coming from the rafters. In keeping with the tradition begun by Dumbledore, the Headmasters spelled the ceiling to reflect the outside sky. Flying in circles overhead against a bright sky was what proved to be a large silver raven. In its beak, it was carrying a small box.

Harry kept his eyes glued to the bird, following its flight, as it glided back and forth over the tables as though searching for someone in particular. He nearly stood up to call Chun-Chen to himself when the raven seemed to find what it had been looking for.

With a smooth descent, it landed on the Slytherin table. It took a moment to flap its wings, making room for itself, before carefully placing the box onto the table.

"Albus Severus Potter," it squawked.

"That's me," said his son, standing at his place right where the raven had landed.

From the High Table, Harry could see the bird glare at the gangling, growing boy. It waited until the table was completely silent then, with its beak, nudged the box closer to him.

What on earth would Chun-Chen have for Al?

Had Snape...?

A thought crossed Harry's mind.

Oh no, Snape couldn't have.

He wouldn't have.

The box grew in size and it became a small carrying case, with holes in it.

"Well, open it," ordered Chun-Chen.

Oh, bloody hell!

Al cautiously reached over and flicked the small latch that held some opening shut.

A puff of smoke came out.

Harry moaned. Oh, shit! He had!

Harry stood up to get his son's attention.

Too late. Mei-Ping was out of her hutch and Al was pink with excitement.

As everyone around him took a step closer to see, Al offered her his hand to smell and was accepted. Mei-Ping didn't waste any time. She butted Al's hand – he giggled – and accepted as her due his offer to scratch her head.

"There's a note," said the Slytherin who was Al's best pal. One Scorpius Malfoy.

"It's purring!" squealed another Slytherin.

Ravenclaw was nearest to Slytherin and now took advantage of the fact to stand on benches, trying to see what was happening.

"Read the note," said Al, too busy with Mei-Ping to do so.

Scorpius scanned the note then cleared his throat.

"It would seem that you are my namesake, Master Potter. As such I must owe you many years' worth of gifts. I hope that this one will make up for all those missed occasions.

Her name is..."

"Mei-Ping," muttered Harry.

The air above Slytherin suddenly darkened as clouds shadowed the area from the sun.

"Potter?"

Harry looked over at the Headmaster. "She doesn't like bright light," he explained.

"Ah," was all the Headmaster said.

Harry marvelled at LeGuerrier's reaction. Had he no idea how the presence of a dragon, tiny though she was, would affect the daily life of the school? Did nothing faze the man?

From the excited murmurs coming from Slytherin, Harry wondered what other bit of information Snape had included along with his 'present'. And would the house-elves be able to supply chi-chiens? He hoped Snape had warned Al about the consequences of Mei-Ping's indulging in the hot peppers.

He glanced over at Ravenclaw and didn't find Lily in her usual place. The book she had been reading was there, but his daughter ... Ah, there she was. She had claimed Family Right and a place for herself next to her brother, a grin bringing life to her usual serious mien.

James, at Gryffindor, was pretending that nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Harry knew this son well enough to recognise that his nose was seriously out of joint. The boy was used to lording it over his younger brother, never really having adjusted to having a sibling in Slytherin. He was Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, popular with the female students and never at a loss for admirers. Harry wondered how James would adapt to Al's being the centre of interest, even if it were only for a little while. Harry would have to keep a parental eye on James.

He sat back down and shook his head. He feared he would be obliged to have a little talk with a certain portrait about this. Not that he begrudged Al his new pet, but still...a dragon at Hogwarts. Snape should have known better.

Chun-Chen seemed satisfied that Mei-Ping was in good hands. With a flap of its wings, it rose into the air and came to hover in front of the High Table where, in the blink of an eye, the raven disappeared and a tall, slim man stood in front of them.

"Bloody hell!" whispered Harry. Zabini, an Animagus?

Zabini, dressed in a formal grey silk robe that reminded Harry of the one Bai Wei had worn, down to the symbols that edged the bottom, bowed to the Headmaster.

"May I present myself: I am Blaise Zabini. I understand, Headmaster, that you are in desperate need for a qualified Potions instructor." He pulled a roll out of h