He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, just watching him. He also didn’t care.

Severus pulled his dressing gown closer around him, shifting in his seat as his fingers tightened on the small book in his hands. He glanced again at the sleeping man in his bed, having to make sure once more that he was really there. That it hadn’t been just a dream his desperate mind had created to satisfy him.

Harry had changed so much in the few years since the end of the war. He’d known it would happen -- he’d expected it would happen -- but nothing had prepared him for the extent of it. Harry was permanently wracked with guilt, believing himself to be unworthy of living, to have fun again, to laugh, to smile. And he was only twenty-two. By right, he should have been out getting himself decently drunk and leaving a long line of one-night stands behind him. Severus felt the corners of his lips quirk in a wry smile. Unfortunately, those two things happened to be what Harry avoided religiously.

Developing an alcohol problem and severe intimacy issues were logical reasons for him to avoid the two aforementioned things. Another way to show that Harry Potter would, simply, never have a normal life. To an extent, depending on what people considered to be normal. If Harry cared, which Severus suspected he didn’t at most times. But he was twenty-two. At that age, they weren’t supposed to care.

Severus felt old. It was at times like these that it hit him he was on the other side of forty. And getting older. It was not a happy realisation.

The changes in Harry had unnerved him; he hadn’t known how to deal with him like this. But he’d worked at it, purely by being insistent and extremely annoying, by showing him he cared, in his own way. Which he knew didn’t really fit with other opinions of caring, but as long as Harry knew it, it didn’t matter. He was used to not agreeing with others’ views of things. It wasn’t going to change now.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten how vulnerable he’d been since the break-up between them. A consequence of this had been that he’d gone back to his old habits of secrecy, and keeping things bottled up. After the night in the forest... he’d become alarmed, afraid he’d told Harry too much, shown him how defenceless he’d been since Harry had left. He’d sworn never to do that. He’d believed that no matter who he placed his trust in, they let him down in the end. Always. So, he’d started avoiding him. Look where that had got them.

What he hadn’t been prepared for was Harry having a damn good reason for dumping him. Even though it strictly hadn’t been him in reality. But had seemed to be him. He frowned, glaring at the fire he’d started earlier. He was used to the coldness of the dungeons, but Harry had been away for three years. And he’d start complaining, intending to drive him completely up the wall. And he’d succeed, so creating the fire now was a smart way to avoid the whining. Even though it was usually quite humorous, but irritating at the same time.

But who had masqueraded as him, for that brief moment in the war? His frown deepened, as his eyes narrowed, reflecting the dancing flames in the grate. From what he’d gathered from Harry’s reference to it, it had been for only that one time, before he’d rejoined Harry to deliver Voldemort the final blow. And whoever it had been had tortured Harry. That much was obvious. It hadn’t been sexual, but it had been bad enough to leave emotional scars on him that were only beginning to heal properly now, three years later.

It had to have been another Death Eater, or someone who had been extremely loyal to Voldemort. His closest allies had tended to have extensive knowledge of emotional torture. Sometimes, the worst wounds were the ones that couldn’t be seen. Severus felt his fingers curl over his arm, lightly touching where the Dark Mark had been. He could still feel it, sometimes, when everything became too much and he wanted to... do something to let it all out. Just became it was gone physically, didn’t mean it was gone from memory. But he never did anything, in the end. That wasn’t him. He felt a bitter smile curve his lips. His father had trained him well, to hide emotion and keep a blank mask intact. Yes, he had trained him well. His grip tightened on his arm, painfully so, but he ignored it.

Vanus Snape. Considered an extremely important, gifted wizard in his youth. Married the brightest girl in his year, before everything went downhill. Vanus Snape became a Death Eater, and became corrupted in the process. Died three years before Voldemort’s first downfall, alone, mad and in Azkaban. He may have been a gifted wizard in his youth, but by the time he was a father, there was only one description for him. A bastard.

Severus clenched his teeth, remembering the tall, pale man, with hard, dark eyes and raven hair, a few ribs already going grey. Being a Death Eater had made him old before his time. Azkaban had hurried the process. He remembered the stern expression, the constant air of dissatisfaction. The distance he had continuously felt between them. No matter what he’d done, no matter his marks or achievements, it had never seemed to be enough. Eventually, he had got the grades and achievements for himself, believing that he might as well reach his own goals, as his father’s were simply unattainable. The years had passed, and what his father thought and wanted had faded away from his mind, became less important. But there had been one wish that he had obeyed, one whim he had known better than to refuse. He’d kept the family legacy, by becoming a Death Eater. He hadn’t just done it for Dumbledore; his father had expected him to do it, eventually. Not that he’d wanted to.

Alauda Snape. The brightest girl in her year. The absolutely last person anyone expected to marry Vanus. Shock had been the main emotion felt by those who’d learned about the marriage. Shock and disbelief. Even after the wedding, it had been obvious they were starkly different and that hadn’t made the marriage. In fact, nothing had made it any better. Vanus had married her because she’d fulfilled his standards concerning the perfect wife. Alauda had foolishly believed there might have been a part of Vanus that could love her.

Severus had always interacted better with his mother, due to her very personality. Thanks to his father, his upbringing had been painfully strict, but Alauda had tried to make parts of it worth all the misery his father had brought. One of his most prized possessions was the embroidered handkerchief his mother had given him, when he’d been young. It had been years ago, but he still had it, and thanks to the care he had treated it with, it didn’t look old at all.

Of course, he couldn’t have come from his childhood unscathed. Alauda had died when he’d been ten, and he’d never been told exactly why. The reason given to him had been that she’d died from some quick -- devastatingly quick -- illness, which hadn’t made a lot of sense to him. The second cause, whispered in hushed voices and the more likely to be true, was that, Voldemort, disliking the influence Alauada had on him, especially at such an age when impressions and ideas were lasting and solid, had flatly ordered Vanus to kill her, or that he’d do the job himself. It was never said which one of them had killed her. No one would go that far.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. He wondered what his mother would have thought of him now. She’d have probably still loved him, for Alauda had simply been that kind of person, but she’d have been disappointed, sad. For Severus had turned out to be a hard, bitter man, a man who acted like what someone said about him didn’t matter, when inside, it mattered very much. A man who was becoming as old as his father, but hopefully, not as cruel or demanding. Harry had stopped that from happening, he was certain of it. He’d been careering down the same path as Vanus, when the boy had begun his Animagus training and stormed into his life, promptly turning everything upside down.

He hadn’t expected to fall for him. Hell, he was twenty years younger than him and he was his student. That was never approved up, and there had been some things that Severus agreed with along with the rest of society. But, no matter his opinions, it had happened, and it hadn’t taken him long to realise there was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d fallen for Harry Potter, James Potter’s damn son, and that was that. Even now, Severus could only shake his head at the memories, a rueful smile ghosting along his lips. While he had a vague notion that Lupin knew, thankfully, Black didn’t know. But he was sure that when he did know, he’d be out for his blood, regardless of what anyone else felt.

They were back together, to some degree. That was blatantly obvious; neither of them were in the habit of sleeping around. When they had sex, they meant it, with all the meaning behind it. But, in the early hours of the morning, sitting by the fire and reading (but with the urge to throw the book away), Severus wondered if they could cope with the consequences of coming back to each other. In the past few months, their hedging, hinting and teasing had been harmless to an extent. Admittedly, it’d had meaning and emotion behind it, but at the end of the day, they’d been alone once more, thinking about what the other had said. But there was no separating now; the sex had ensured they were really and truly part of the other’s life once more. And, sometimes... he wondered if he had the strength to go back into the relationship again.

He was getting old. There was simply no denying it. And he’d been alone for many years, even before Harry had come hurdling into his life. And, at times, he wondered what it would be like to be alone once more.

It would definitely be a lot simpler. But that was beside the point.

Pressing his lips to a thin line, Severus looked down at the book in his hands, his knuckles white from clutching it too hard. A faded dark green, with a silver intricate design that could hardly be seen. But he could see it in his mind, from the countless times he’d mesmerised it as a child. Words flowed across the cover, dull and hardly decipherable, in a silver, curling script. The Latin was automatically translated in his mind: Obedience in darkness and light. Severus felt his lips curl in a bitter smile. A fitting family saying, considering that no matter which side they were on, they obeyed, simple as that. They did as they were told.

At that moment, Severus hated himself; for the mistakes he’d made, for coming from a cold, vindictive family, for being a reclusive child, teenager and adult, for allowing himself to enter Voldemort’s Death Eaters as a spy, for allowing his life to become an endless circle, for constantly obeying, for always doing what he’d been told, for putting up with the hate and the ridicule, for almost everything...

But he could never hate falling for Harry Potter. No. As far as his miserable existence went, he firmly believed falling for him had been the one smart thing he’d ever done.

He trailed one slender, pale finger down the book cover, already knowing most of the content inside it. The Snape family book. Recorder of the lives of the countless people who had come before him, the one place where the past was kept. Those whose blood now coursed through his veins.

Severus shook his head. In some ways it had been able to produce a feeling of awe from him, when he’d been younger. But now, he was wise. He knew it was simply filled with the lives of ordinary people, people who hadn’t been anymore special than their neighbours. Affairs, addictions, alcoholism, shame, debt, lies, hate. It was all the same. It changed slightly, according to the person, but it was all the same, really.

He sighed. His own entry was halfway finished, filled with the same miserable content as all the others. The Snape family may have been old, pure-blood and considered grand, but Severus knew it was all a lot of egotistical crap, worthless. None of them had been someone special. Neither would he be. However, there was one thing connected with him that would have caused a rather large scandal in the family.

He was Harry Potter’s lover. Yes, that would have shocked them.

Feeling like he was revisiting something he’d hated for quite a long time, he slowly opened the book, turning it to the side to view the family tree that sprawled down the inside cover and the page beside it. Generations of Snapes, all packed into those two pages in tiny, spidery writing. He paused near the end, tracing his own name. There was no one beside it. He’d never shown this to anyone else, since, at the time, he’d thought there was no one close enough to him that deserved to see it. But now...

Now.

He wanted to give this to Harry, a warped Christmas present, if you will. If Harry was genuinely serious -- wait, what was he saying? Of course Harry was serious! -- about this, then he needed to know about him. Where he came from, who he’d come from, why he did things the way he did. Severus had never told him much about his family; it was a sore subject with him. He’d given him a few details, but anything else Harry had found, it had been from other sources. This wasn’t just giving Harry his family book. This was... this was... giving Harry himself, to a certain degree, giving him his trust and showing that he had the utmost faith in him.

Thankfully, he wasn’t nervous. Sort of. He knew Harry wouldn’t take this kind of step lightly -- that was how well he knew him -- but he couldn’t help but wonder if Harry would be able to accept everything about him. His family had done some things that he wasn’t very proud of. He had done things he wasn’t very proud of. Part of him insisted he was just being stupid. But the rest of him recalled how Harry had hated him for three years, believing Severus had tortured him, therefore bringing him to an unsteady emotional state. That couldn’t be ignored either.

But not yet. He couldn’t give it to him yet. It was too soon.

Bloody hell, this was enough to drive him to the bottle and everything else.

His teeth clenched once more, he slammed the book shut and stared down at it with blazing eyes. Family would always haunt you. His lips pressed to a thin line, he went and put the book back, before he did something he’d regret. Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t just burn the damn thing. But he couldn’t. He may have done enough to place eternal shame on the family name, but he was still loyal. To an extent. Things had changed, after all. It was amazing, the amount of difference eight years could make.

He paused for a moment, leaning against the doorway and watching Harry sleep. His dark hair melded perfectly with the black pillowcases, as raven-black as the linen. He was still asleep, his breathing even and calm. No nightmares, thank God. Yet. In sleep he looked tranquil, untroubled; the direct opposite of when he was awake. But his eyelashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, a reminder to Severus that Harry had a long way to go yet. Both of them had, for that matter. And one thing Severus intended to do was find whoever had masqueraded as him and tortured Harry. His thoughts narrowed at the mere thought.

But that was for another time, not now. Now was for... he didn’t really know what now was for. In the end, the only thing he could think of was to go back to sleep. Might as well make the most of it while he could. Taking off his dressing gown, he slid back into the bed, pulling the covers around him and settling beside Harry. He didn’t know what was going to happen now, for he was no Seer, but it had to better than what the two of them had already gone through.

But the ominous feelings wouldn’t go away, remaining as a tight ball of anxiety in his stomach, tense and nervous. It took a while for him to sleep again.

He woke because of the screaming.

I opened my eyes and everything was black. I knew, then, that it was another nightmare.

I was standing in a room that obviously belonged to someone wealthy. Expensive antiques littered the room almost haphazardly, like no real thought had been put into their placing. Or it just didn’t matter. The thought sent shivers down my spine, though I wasn’t sure why.

It hit me, then, that there were no torches in the room, but there was still light, somehow. I frowned, eyes flickering around, noticing the deliberate pools of light and dark, pools that constantly shifted and writhed, almost as if... my eyes widened.

Dark and Light. Good and evil. Battling. It was like a mirror of reality, a mirror of the battle between good and evil. But was there one? Voldemort had been defeated; I was proof of that. He was gone, completely, there was no chance of him being able to come back. You couldn’t raise people from the dead. It just wasn’t possible, because I would have tried it if I could, believe me. Then that meant... Dumbledore’s suspicions had been right all along. There was something out there, something that was prepared to step up and take over from Voldemort. And they had learnt from his mistakes. They wouldn’t mess up like he had. They wouldn’t underestimate me, like he had.

Callidus. It had something to do with him, but perhaps not in the way we had originally thought. I stood in the room, shivering, and thought frantically, trying to understand everything though I only knew half of it. Nothing had happened yet, apart from Callidus’ own searching. The book had only been the start of it, of that I was certain. And whoever was out there, they hadn’t had any part in it. I could only blame myself for the book, blame myself because I hadn’t forced Dumbledore to destroy that book, or even make myself do it.

But they hadn’t made a move yet, that was the one thing I was sure of. Callidus was safe, for now, but I couldn’t relax. They would come, if getting Callidus was their real intention. There was always the chance they were only using him as a ruse, to take our attention away from their true intentions. I gripped my head for a moment, wishing everything wasn’t so hard to figure out, wishing that I had something decisive to work from.

It took me a while to realise the shivering wouldn’t stop, but when I realised it, it hit me like a curse. I gasped suddenly as a wave of nausea hit me, making me bend double, clutching my stomach as I swayed dangerously. Beads of sweat broke on my forehead, as panic filled me, coupled with the question: what was going on? What was wrong with me? The answer hit me as the shaking continued.

Drugged.

My vision became blurred. My panic increased. I had to squint to see anything clearly, and even then, it was all just indistinct shapes that I couldn’t make sense of. It was blatantly obvious that something was very wrong by now, but I couldn’t think properly. All I could focus on was the pain.

A silver dagger appeared before me, clear, somehow, despite the blurring of my vision. It took me a while to realise it was my own dagger, the memento from the war and the one I’d almost killed myself with. I stared at it blankly, before something else happened to wipe it from my mind.

The breath caught in my throat as Severus stumbled forward into the light, falling to his knees. I opened my mouth to yell at him, but he didn’t see me, instead staggering to his feet and turning around sharply, his eyes narrowed. A dark figure appeared from nowhere, wand pointed. Words were whispered, but I couldn’t hear them, no matter how hard I tried. I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound died before it had even been formed, as everything turned black and white.

Severus dropped to the ground. He didn’t move, and he didn’t get up again.

Before I had a chance to react, everything started to change, but it was done in a difficult, nauseating way. Blocks of colour shifted stubbornly, resulting in a slow, painful change that made me want to retch.

Everything was on fire. All I could see was red around me. Only red, all red. I stood upon charred, blackened ground, watching everything burn and topple around me, inhaling the scents of fire and charred ground, with, dimly, the scent of burned flesh. My stomach churned suddenly, and I swallowed, realising too late that swallowing hadn’t been a very good idea. Bile rose in my throat.

The same dark figure came before me, the same one that had attacked Severus, their cloak swirling around them. They stopped a few paces away from me, watching me silently. Amber-flecked eyes regarded me, full of arrogance and contempt, before the person smiled, a smile full of vile triumph. Before I could help myself, I hissed, and they laughed. The sound was female. She gave me one last careless glance, before she faded away. I wanted to react, but I had more pressing matters at hand.

In the end, I saw Callidus, holding a bloodstained sword in his hands. His hair was windswept, his usually-pale skin flushed. His lips were drawn in a feral, grim smile that was frightening. His sapphire eyes, usually carefully composed and masked, were dangerously wild. But that wasn’t what horrified me.

There was a body at his feet.

It was me.

I started screaming, then, the sound terrified and keening. It went on and on and on, as everything around me burned, decayed, toppled and crumpled. It all fell apart, everything I’d known and hoped for, everything that I’d been familiar with. My life completely fell apart, as Callidus laughed and I kept on screaming.

“Harry! Harry!”

I came awake screaming, the sound continuing on as smoothly as it had in the dream, before I realised hands were clutching me by the shoulders, trying not to shake me but obviously not knowing how else to get my attention. I stopped screaming with a gasp, looking into wide, shocked black eyes. It took me a few seconds to realise where I was and who I was with. But when I did, I felt the tension ease out of me and I literally collapsed into his arms, shivering as my sweat suddenly cooled. I took in shuddering breaths, pressing my face into Severus’ neck, trying not to think of what I’d just seen. “God.. God...”

Severus didn’t reply, instead, he ran his hands up and down my back. I sighed, as my muscles hesitantly loosened and relaxed. I started shivering in earnest, and he immediately lowered me back onto the bed, lying down beside me. I instinctively leaned in towards him, clenching the blankets tightly in my hands. Neither of us said anything immediately, instead embracing the silence, keeping with our own thoughts. He was letting me calm down, to put myself back in order.

I was the first to break the silence. “I’m okay now. You don’t have to worry.”

“You’re not okay,” he replied quietly, “but I wouldn’t have expected you to say anything else.” I let out a strangled laugh that turned into a sob. I couldn’t get the image of him falling and not getting up again out of my head. He frowned. “It was a nightmare, wasn’t it?” I nodded, pressing the blankets closer to me. Severus hesitated, before wrapping his arms around me, letting me rest my head on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered softly, closing my eyes. Keeping them open or closed didn’t matter; either way, I could still see him falling, and it wouldn’t go away. “I know I shouldn’t be feeling like this, but...” He knew what I would have said: But something like this always happens. I certainly picked my moments, didn’t I?

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied firmly, the rebuke in his voice making me sheepish. “Those dreams are obviously coming for a reason; it’s not just memories from the war anymore, is it?” I shook my head. He went silent, and I knew he was thinking rapidly, trying to see something that he’d previously missed, something important. He went still for a moment -- I could feel him tense. I dimly heard a whispered, “I wonder...” but he said no more and I let it go, too exhausted to think properly right then. All I wanted to do was sleep. I didn’t realise I’d said it out loud until he replied, “Sleep, then. Do you want a Sleeping Draught?” I shook my head. Dreams like these never came immediately again. I’d, hopefully, be spared for another few days. Hopefully.

I was never so glad to drift into sleep. Never. Severus’ arms stayed around me.

Severus watched Harry while he slept, the worried feelings growing inside him. Unlike a few hours before, his face wasn’t peaceful; instead, lines marred his forehead and around his eyes. Severus frowned. He wished he’d asked Harry to describe whatever his subconscious had given him, but it had been too soon. That had been obvious from the frantic, desperate expression in Harry’s eyes. The way he’d looked at him was worrying. He suspected he’d been in Harry’s nightmare, and from his reaction, it hadn’t been pleasant.

For one terrible moment, he wondered if perhaps Harry had been reliving the war, but he quickly dismissed that thought. Harry had told him the nightmares weren’t just about the war anymore... but what were they about, then? Severus resisted the urge to growl in frustration, exasperated already. What were any of the nightmares about? Why had they been coming, again and again? It was almost as if they were trying to warn Harry about something... he paused, thinking quickly. Could it be? he wondered, going through the options again. It could... it could very well be indeed. Lily had been extremely strong, after all. But it was still frustrating. He sighed heavily, knowing sleep wasn’t going to come.

It was an insistent scratching at the door that dragged him out of his thoughts. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a demanding bark. Growling under his breath, he slowly took his arms from around Harry, unwilling to leave him, but knowing he had no choice. Yanking on his dressing gown once more, he crossed to the door and unlocked it. Opening it, he found accusing brown eyes glaring up at him. Severus wondered if Harry knew exactly how emotive his dog could be.

“I’m not entirely sure how you managed to find him,” he found himself telling Brandy, “and it doesn’t really matter in the end, I suppose. But I didn’t take him from you!” He paused, thinking over what he’d just said, and amended, “Intentionally, at least.” Brandy simply gave him a scornful look and trotted passed without another glance. Shaking his head, Severus closed the door. It was too much, having to deal with her right then. Too much had happened. It was only early morning, but he already felt like he’d been through the emotional mill.

A relationship with Harry Potter certainly brought more than one initially realised.

Brandy was sitting by the fire, watching him as she patiently waited for him to come to the chair. Severus glanced quickly at Harry, but sat in the chair, rubbing his face wearily. He wasn’t sure if it was just him, but the way she looked at him made him feel very uneasy. Trust Harry to be chosen by a Crup that wasn’t exactly normal. A grim irony.

“He’s asleep,” he informed her. “I don’t want to wake him yet, if I can help it.” Brandy simply cocked her head and regarded him levelly, until he looked away, shaking his head again. “You understand a lot more than you let on,” he muttered. She yipped cheerfully, giving him a doggy grin. But she was worried, he could tell. She could sense the fear and exhaustion from then, he was positive.

At that moment, Harry stirred in the bed, muttering softly. Severus and Brandy exchanged a look, before they both moved towards the bed. While Severus sat at the edge, Brandy decided it was better just to leap up and snuggle beside Harry, effectively waking him up even more. Washing his face helped as well, obviously.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, while Harry slowly opened his eyes, staring at Brandy blankly, before reaching for his glasses. When they were on, he was still blinking. “I thought I’d imagined you,” he muttered, propping himself up on one elbow. Brandy simply wagged her stump of a tail, still grinning. Harry’s eyes wandered over to Severus and he smiled hesitantly, unable to mask the fear in his eyes. He could obviously remember the nightmare in painfully clear detail. “Morning.”

Severus found himself returning that smile, just as slowly. “Early morning,” he replied, glancing at the clock, before he eased back into the bed, and ignored Brandy as she made a yelp of protest. “I was here first,” he told her sternly, while Harry chuckled. “I wanted you to sleep more. You looked like you needed it.” There was no reason to say why; they both knew.

Harry’s smile faded slightly. “I suppose so. Brandy can testify that I haven’t exactly been getting a lot of sleep lately.” He looked away and Severus cursed himself for saying the wrong thing. He certainly picked his moments, didn’t he? Fortunately, Harry changed the subject himself, making it obvious he didn’t want to talk about it yet. “How on earth did she find me here? For that matter--” And his eyes narrowed, as he looked at Brandy carefully, who gazed innocently back. “--how did she get out of my rooms?”

“I suspect she found a way,” Severus answered, fighting to keep the amusement from his voice, and failing. “As for finding you here, she probably followed your scent. She’s determined, I’ll give her that,” he admitted, scratching her gently behind the ears. Brandy made a noise of content, clearly delighted with all the attention she was getting.

“I have a better explanation,” Harry decided, sitting up properly and letting her sprawl fully on the covers. “She got completely pissed at me for constantly going off for midnight strolls and either staying out for hours and coming back in emotional states, or never coming back at all. So, she decided to figure out exactly where I went to, this time.”

“You think too much. And when you do think, you do it for all the wrong reasons.” This, naturally, earned Severus a warning glare and when Brandy yipped her agreement, Harry’s expression turned dangerous. Severus found himself heartily wishing for a quiet life again, and wishing that Brandy wasn’t quite so talented at pushing Harry’s buttons.

He couldn’t remember drifting off again, eventually, but when he woke up, he wasn’t at all surprised to find Brandy nestled between them, sound asleep. The worrying part was, however, that she looked extremely comfortable. It seemed, to Severus anyway, that she had full intentions of doing this again.

He wasn’t sure how to react to that. It promised an awful lot, didn’t it?

The holidays couldn’t last. We knew they wouldn’t, so we made the most of the time that we’d left. As a result, we weren’t seen much by the other staff. Most of them assumed we were spending time alone, brooding and generally becoming workaholics, but a few suspected something, I think. If they did, they didn’t say anything, much to our relief. Neither of us were particularly ready to announce our relationship to them and make it public. There was still the fact we were both teachers, and students talked. Which would go back to their parents and lead to something we didn’t want to happen yet.

We suspected Dumbledore knew. It was hardly surprising; we’d both had enough experience with him to know he simply knew things, even when we didn’t tell him. He didn’t say anything to us, thankfully; it would have been far too embarrassing.

Brandy became quite used to spending time with Severus. I’d already known she liked him, due to her overjoyed reaction anytime she’d met him in the halls, but I hadn’t exactly known how they’d be able to cope with more than those brief meetings. But they seemed okay with them, or else they were both extraordinarily good actors. She was quite happy to stay in the dungeons, watching him make potions and measure ingredients, usually becoming high on the fumes. After initially feeling quite strange at having someone watch him again (it had taken him months to get used to me coming down to the dungeons at odd times, simply to watch him when I’d still been a student), Severus admitted it wasn’t so bad having her around. She was a lot better to get on with than a person, and she was becoming rather good at fetching things carefully without breaking them, something he respected her a lot for.

It became normal for me to spend the nights in his rooms. On the days when we actually remembered breakfast was still being served in the Great Hall, I knew some of the staff and the more observant of the few students around speculated on how we both came in at the same time, but they didn’t say anything. To lessen the rampant, obvious suspicion placed around us, I started bringing an extra pair of robes with me to his rooms, since I couldn’t wear the same pair every day and I certainly wasn’t wearing any of Severus’; that was practically like screaming from the turret-tops that we were together.

The nightmares didn’t come again, which worried me rather than relieved me. I’d become so used to them always coming, that, when they slackened, I couldn’t get used to it. I always expected them to reoccur. Sleep became something to be afraid of, though I tried to hide it from Severus and Brandy. I should have known better; they both knew exactly what was going on.

Severus and I knew we hadn’t solved all of our problems. We knew we still had a lot of things to work through. But we were making a start and we could trust each other again. That was definitely a large step in the right direction. It wasn’t enough to fully fix everything between us, but it was enough to get us working towards there. Things would never be as they had between us; we’d both changed too much. But if we could make it work again, changes and all... I was willing to settle for that. I think he was as well. I didn’t hate him anymore, particularly not as I’d used to, which was a very good thing, considering the depth of my hate before. There were times I wanted to strangle him and yell at him until I was blue in the face, but that was to be expected in a relationship with Severus Snape, so I was prepared. Besides, I knew he went through the same thing with me.

Callidus knew something had changed, I expect. He watched us like a hawk at meals, his eyes narrowed, but his face thoughtful. Seeing him brought back the scene in the library with him, which made me remember that there were other problems beside my own. That I wasn’t the centre of the universe. I felt vaguely guilty, but more confused than anything else. Callidus was such a puzzle, at times, almost like a puzzle I couldn’t solve. Every time I thought I was getting somewhere with him, I discovered a new piece that made everything I’d already put together useless. It was frustrating to no end, and I couldn’t help but feel that this was much larger than anyone expected. That there was something bigger going on than everyone, even Dumbledore, realised, and he was connected to it. It was extremely worrying.

The new term was rapidly approaching, and neither of us were entirely sure what to do when it started again. We knew we couldn’t act like a couple in front of everyone, so we decided to act, at least, like tolerable colleagues. It showed people that something had changed, but it hadn’t changed dramatically, as far as they knew, at least. There was still the fact that I had to tell everyone close to me that I was with Severus, and had been with him before, but neither of us were concentrating immediately on that. And since I was already confusing and worrying people, giving them an even bigger shock was something I didn’t want to do.

It was a new year, and so I was determined to start anew, in a few ways at least. And since I’d managed to begin again with Severus, I thought things would get better. But I’d never realised how dark things had become outside Hogwarts, darker than anyone knew or realised. How dangerous things were becoming, all over again. I’d thought most of my problems were over. But they were only beginning. And they were ten times worse than I’d ever imagined.

Ten times more dangerous.

I was correcting in my office, when she ran in.

I was full of malicious pleasure, as I was correcting essays I’d assigned my Seventh Years, with much arguing involved. They’d wanted to relax after Christmas; I was determined that they’d get good marks in the N.E.W.T.s. When the arguing began, I quickly ended it by asking pointedly if they wanted to fail, which, naturally, shut them up. There was only so far they could go with the argument, as I’d known well.

Brandy was with Severus, getting high (again) on the potions fumes, which would drive him completely up the wall... her intention, of course. I’d been at the correcting for a while (and planning the lecture I was going to give them in the next lesson) and a comfortable silence had surrounded me, calming me down and letting me work faster. I hated to admit it, but correcting could actually calm me down quite well. God.

I was almost finished, when she burst in.

Her entrance was... unexpected, to say the least. I jerked violently, almost dropping my quill on the essay in front of me. I caught it just in time, and found myself staring at the quill hanging from my fingers, swinging back and forth slowly as I’d caught it by the feathered end. And then, feeling like something was going very, very wrong, I looked up.

My first thought was that she’d been extremely pretty, at one point beautiful even. Dark red hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back, scattered with threads of silver here and there. Despite this, it still shone fiercely, giving the impression of a rich, fiery colour. She was tall, slender and pale; the classic female adjectives. As I blinked at her, I realised she was actually extraordinarily pale, though I wasn’t sure why. She didn’t seem to be the type to spend her entire day indoors.

It took me a while to realise I was staring, and she was looking at me with a determined expression on her face, but I could detect she was viewing me strangely as well, clearly wondering why I was looking at her so intently. I pulled myself together and asked in a mildly curious voice, “May I help you?” At this, she looked at me directly and I quailed inwardly. She definitely wasn’t someone to mess around.

“You’re Harry Potter?” she asked, and my eyebrows shot up before I could stop myself. Now this wasn’t a question I was asked very often; people usually took one look at me and started gushing, or talked away like they’d known me for years. No one had ever actually asked me was I Harry Potter. It was strange, but nice in another way. But undeniably strange. As days went, this was an unusual one.

I nodded. “Yes. May I help you?” I repeated, wondering if I was ever going to find out who she was, and why she had barged into my office at seven o’clock in the evening.

At my words, something immediately changed in her, something that made me feel quite alarmed. Her determined, fierce expression crumbled and I looked at her as how she’d been for the past few years. Fear filled her eyes, an emotional, brittle fear that made me freeze and watch her carefully. It was the fear of someone who’d been emotionally put down for years, and believed themselves to be unworthy of anything or anyone. I knew; I’d felt the same way for years. Lines appeared on her face, lines that her expression had previously hidden. Lines that explained why she had traces of grey in her hair. After only a few seconds, she looked fragile enough to break. It made me worried.

“Are you all right?” I began, making so as to stand up, but she waved me back down, already speaking, ignoring what I’d just said.

“Promise me one thing,” she told me urgently, her eyes pleading with me to understand, to somehow see what she was trying to tell me. The tone of someone that hadn’t much time and knew she could be found at any moment. I was beginning to feel suspicious. “Please, you must promise! Promise!”

Feeling alarmed again, I said, “I promise, whatever it is.” And wondering just what it was I had promised to.

She quickly took the remaining steps forward so that she was standing before my desk, and looked at me, really looked at me. The emotion and intensity in her eyes made me shiver, for some inexplicable reason. “Protect my boy,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Please, protect him for all those who wish to use him, to treat him as a puppet. Please.”

Then, before I could answer, she turned and fled from my office, moving so fast she could hardly be heard. After my mind had recovered, and wasn’t numbly wondering how she’d managed to move so fast, I was left trying to figure out what she’d meant, to decipher the cryptic riddle she’d tossed at me.

There was one hint as to who she might be, and to who she had been referring to. One single clue that left me dazed, very confused and beginning to wish I hadn’t the ability to jinx things. Her eyes. Her eyes...

Her eyes were the exact same as Callidus’. The same shade, the same frozen look bordering on panic.

But that didn’t mean I knew why I was supposed to protect him. Or who I was to protect him from.

I had the terrible feeling that my worst fears were becoming reality. And that I couldn’t stop them, no matter how hard I tried.

I felt strange after that, non-surprisingly. After all, it wasn’t everyday a complete stranger burst into my office and gave me cryptic riddles that I couldn’t understand. Not that I hadn’t tried to understand them, mind you. A week after she’d burst into my office and I was still musing over the situation, against my better judgement. My common sense told me to stop thinking about the scene, instead focusing on what I could understand. Namely what I’d seen in the nightmare.

Callidus had noticed that I was watching him more and more, watching him almost like a hawk, in fact. I knew he was suspicious, but I couldn’t stop myself from watching him. No matter what I told myself, I could still see him as he’d been in the nightmare, wild and holding a bloody sword. And with a body lying at his feet... me.

I soon realised why I was watching him so much, why I kept my distance from him, to a certain degree. It wasn’t blatantly obvious; many would have simply assumed I was keeping the proper distance a teacher was expected to. But I knew I was keeping a certain distance from him, and he knew it as well. I caught him watching me sometimes, his eyes narrowed, his expression calculating and puzzled at the same time. Clearly wondering I had become so distant and so wary of him.

I broke the stare first. Always.

But I knew why I was doing it. It hit me after Callidus’ class finished and they had all just left. I sat down at my desk and realised I was afraid of him. It was as simple as that. The nightmare had shown me things I hadn’t thought of properly, along with the fact I refused to fully believe that Callidus was somehow related to Voldemort. But if he was... there was a chance he had Voldemort’s anger in him, the same uncontrollable, burning anger.

In all honesty, I was simply freaked that my subconscious had shown me that Callidus could kill, and above all, that he’d killed me. After years of almost being killed by Voldemort, I wasn’t exactly calm about the prospect of someone else wanting to kill me. Again. Hell, I was paranoid. After what I’d been through, it was expected.

Part of me snarled that I was being stupid for doubting Callidus, that he’d proved he had a head on his shoulders by deciding against opening the book. The other part of me pointed out that an eleven year old shouldn’t have gone near that book in the first place. But Callidus was no ordinary boy. That was painfully obvious.

At one point, I was simply contemplating falling to my knees and screaming until I went hoarse. There was only so long I could remain on this emotional rollercoaster, before well and truly cracking. I was sick and tired of this! But there was a lot more to come, an awful lot more. It could only get worse.

And it did. It did.

In the middle of January, two Seventh Years jumped Callidus. He’d been standing in the hall, talking to Neal Aurum, the First Year Gryffindor who was always nervous. From what I’d gathered, Callidus was tutoring him and the two had struck up a slow friendship. The two Seventh Years had called Callidus a traitor, for they were Slytherins. It proved that in some people, the old House rivalry still remained. It was a grim thought. So much for progress.

It had been McGonagall who had stopped Callidus from being potentially knocked out, coming just in time. While it had been blatantly obvious that neither Callidus or Neal had been to blame, she couldn’t let them leave completely unscathed. Giving all four detention was to show the other students that fighting such as this wasn’t condoned -- and that no special treatment was being given to Callidus. The rest of us respected her -- really Dumbledore’s -- decision, but what I hadn’t expected was to be dragged into it as well.

As part of their detention, Callidus and Neal were to go into the Forbidden Forest along with Hagrid and myself. Before the detention, Hagrid had explained that he’d been hearing some strange things from the forest lately, a hint that suspicious things were probably going on. Better safe than sorry. While I knew why Neal and Callidus had to go in (the forest was pretty high on the punishments list), I didn’t understand why I had to go, and though Hagrid fully explained the amount of activity he’d been hearing in the forest, confirming that it did seem like something suspicious might be going on, I still didn’t know why I had to come.

It was bitterly cold that evening, and I put on my heaviest cloak over my robes, putting on a scarf and gloves for added warmth. Beside me, crouched in the folds of my cloak and robes, Brandy shivered violently, despite the fact her winter coat made her resemble a rather furry puffball. Hagrid and Fang seemed unaffected, but I reminded myself that they’d been doing this for a while; they were used to it.

I was strongly reminded of my detention in the forest during First Year, when I saw Callidus and Neal cross the grounds towards us, both heavily wrapped up. For a moment, I wondered if that was why McGonagall had asked me to come with Hagrid and the boys, but the thought disappeared as soon as it had come; it didn’t make a lot of sense. I glanced at the boys’ expression as they stopped before us, and noted that Neal looked more wary than scared at the prospect of going into the forest; it seemed he trusted Hagrid, which apparently made the difference. More than anything else, he looked cold. Callidus was as emotionless and closed off as ever, the lantern-light teetering over his face. But he wasn’t oblivious to the weather, however; he was shivering as hard as Neal. At least he was normal in some respects.

Hagrid was the first to speak. “We’ve bin hearin’ some weird stuff from the forest lately,” he explained, beetle-black eyes moving from Neal to Callidus and back again. They even landed on me at one point. “Now, Dumbledore reckons it might be vaguely suspicious stuff, so he asked me to check it out. By some lucky coincidence, ye two got ter come as well an’ Harry decided ter come ter make sure nothin’ happens ter you lot.” He nodded to me as he spoke, and I nodded back. “So, Neal, yer with me, an’ Callidus, yer with Harry.” Callidus’ eyes flickered to me for a moment, and I gazed silently back at him. He shook his head and looked away, leaving me wondering exactly what was going on in that boy’s head -- and realising I didn’t really know at all. Unfortunately. It would save me a lot of grief if I knew.

We were all silent as we entered the forest. Our breath came as a clouded mist before our faces, making us shiver, and the lanterns Hagrid and I held wavered unsteadily from time-to-time, causing the light to jerk awkwardly around us. Brandy kept close to me, apparently regretting her insistence to come. I’d the feeling she was thinking wistfully of the fire she could have been lying before with Severus, rather than walking in the forest with me. I didn’t blame her; I wanted the fire as well.

After fifteen minutes of walking, I realised abruptly why I’d been brought along. It started to dawn on me slowly, when I felt a vague itchiness behind my eyes, a rather irritating itch, for that matter, along with a dull throb in my temples. For a while I simply thought I was getting a headache, before I realised they were extreme reactions to what I could feel around me. My eyes widened. Something was wrong... very wrong. What I could feel around us was dark, uncomfortable and very wrong. I looked at Hagrid, and found him watching me. He nodded when my eyes met his. This was what he’d been feeling for the past while. There was something -- or someone -- in the forest that didn’t belong.

And we had to find them. Oh joy.

But I knew, at last, why McGonagall had asked me to come with Hagrid and the boys. There was something -- or someone -- seriously dark in the forest. This was my area of expertise, after all. But I couldn’t help but realise that I knew exactly how Gilderoy Lockhart had felt in my Second Year. The only difference was that I had a good idea of what to do.

We continued until we came to a fork, where Hagrid and I separated to sense the how much of the dark feeling was in the two paths. Both were brimming to the eyeballs with the stuff. We exchanged grim looks. This wasn’t looking too good. We turned to find the two boys watching us, and we both saw the calculating, suspicious expression on Callidus’ face. He obviously had a good idea of what was going on as well, which wasn’t very surprising, when I thought about it. Hagrid and I glanced at each other again and came to a quick decision. “We have to split up,” I explained, looking at the two of them, and noticing how they were both sombre and quiet, obviously sensing how serious this was. “Neal, you’ll go with Hagrid and Fang. Callidus, you’re with Brandy and me.” He nodded, automatically coming up beside me.

Alarm bells were ringing in my head as I walked forward into the gloom, the lantern held high and with Callidus and Brandy a little behind me. Something was extremely wrong and it was as blatant as the darkness around us. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and pressed my lips together before I could help it, hoping I didn’t look too anxious. I looked back at Callidus and Brandy, and realised my Crup was growling softly, her ears flattened and her hackles raised. Her fangs were bared in a threatening matter, but it wasn’t at Callidus. Instead, she was watching the darkness ahead of us. My anxiety levels slammed up a few notches, as I was watched her. My eyes met with Callidus’ and I knew he didn’t like Brandy’s reaction anymore than I did. Suddenly, I knew, without a doubt, that we had to get out of here as fast as I could.

I opened my mouth to tell Brandy to find Hagrid and bring him and the others back out of the forest, intending to take Callidus out myself, but it was too late. The other presence invaded my mind like a black, roaring fire, making pain streak through my head and my vision swim. I stumbled a step, still clutching the lantern tightly, cursing under my breath. Callidus took a step back, looking wary and alarmed at the same time, and Brandy’s snarls grew louder.

The person -- thing? -- glided out from the trees too quickly for my liking, approaching us calmly and steadily, like they knew they had nothing to worry about. I gripped the lantern tightly, yanking out my wand and eyeing the cloaked person warily. They’d stopped, simply watching us. It was rather anticlimax, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d seen what could happen in this forest. Better safe than sorry. And getting out of here alive was a rather big priority. Brandy took a step forward, snarling in warning. I sincerely hoped she wasn’t going to suddenly lunge at them. I rather valued her alive, and didn’t want her to die or anything.

I was reminded vividly of First Year, when Quirrell had killed the unicorn and drank its blood. I could see myself at eleven, stumbling away as he glided towards me, silver blood dripping from his mouth, contrasting too brightly with his dark hooded cloak. It was too alike, it was happening too much the same. But I knew this wasn’t Quirrell; Voldemort had abandoned him when it had become clear he was very dead. But it was too much the same. I tensed as the person -- for it had to be someone -- silently reached out with a gloved hand.

Pain hit me suddenly, searing through my scar. I cried out, my hand automatically going to my forehead, an action I hadn’t done in years. But I had to drop the lantern to do so, and light fell to the ground, casting uneven amounts over everything. What the hell was going on? Brandy’s snarls grew dangerous, and she suddenly threw back her head and started howling, a high-pitched scream that made my teeth hurt and my head ache even more. The sounds echoed in the forest, growing until it seemed there was an entire wolf pack there, rather than just one small Crup. I’d the horrible feeling she was going to bring every occupant of the forest to us, something I didn’t particularly want.

I hissed, stumbling back, away from the cloaked person, desperately trying to concentrate on getting my wand pointed correctly. It suddenly hit me Callidus was shaking, clutching his head as he fought not to collapse to his knees. I realised he was feeling the same pain as I was... but why? And how, for that matter? But there had to be something I could do... I thought back, wondering... and realised the person had stopped while still in the shadows. They hadn’t come near the light.

My teeth gritted, I yanked up my shaking hand, eyes squinting as I tried to properly focus, constantly aware that pain was throbbing in my forehead and temples, and bellowed, “LUMOS!” at the top of my voice. Impossibly bright light burst from my wand, at the same time as something hurdled themselves over Callidus and myself. Grabbing the twitching boy by the back of his robes, I yanked him down beside me, shoulders hunched as the something reared, whinnying loudly, hooves pawing the air near the cloaked person in a threatening manner. A high shriek erupted from the person, before they whirled and fled. In seconds, it was like they had never been there at all.

I got up slowly, reaching for the lantern as I did so, and held it up. In the pale light, I watched as something came towards, a vaguely familiar something. A centaur stood before me, with pale blond hair and a palomino-coloured body. I squinted at him for a moment, thinking hard... and then it hit me.

“Firenze!” I blurted out, staring at him in shock. It was indeed Firenze, the centaur who’d saved me from Quirrell in the forest, all those years ago. He was, admittedly older, and there were lines in his face that hadn’t been there before, but that was to be expected. Even the centaurs had suffered during the war, even if they hadn’t immediately entered the war. They’d had a rough entry into the war, when the Death Eaters had launched their first wave at Hogwarts through the forest, and had killed anything that moved along the way. But when they’d found themselves being attacked, they’d been quick to fight for themselves, if not immediately for Dumbledore.

He smiled faintly, his bright blue eyes amused. “Harry Potter,” he replied. “It is ironic that we should meet again under much the same circumstances from out first encounter.” I nodded, trying to smile and failing miserably. Brandy whimpered and rushed at me, clearly terrified beyond belief. I crouched down and scratched behind her ears, murmuring softly in an effort to get her calm. Firenze gave her a small smile, but she gave him a defiant look, her ears flattened. Her tolerance levels had obviously been used up for the day, and he wisely left well enough alone.

Callidus coughed and I turned to him. He’d turned paler than usual and there was a faintly wild look in his eyes -- what I presumed was his way of panicking. There was a slight sheen on his face. He looked like he was near being sick, but he’d hold his ground. He was the sort of person that hated losing control, and throwing up would be a definite lose of control for him. His gaze found Firenze, and he froze, watching the centaur with interest and fascination, rather than fear. But that was Callidus, after all. At last, he decided he’d better be polite and got out a faint, “Hello.”

Firenze turned his piercing eyes on Callidus and the boy flinched. From the expression on the centaur’s face, it was clear he knew more about the boy from looking at him now, than I did after nearly five months of trying to find out. I remembered what Hagrid had told me about centaurs being deep thinkers and stargazers, and hoped nothing was about to go terribly wrong.

Then Firenze looked skywards, and, after a moment, said, “There’s a heavy mist around the moon tonight, isn’t there?” I looked up as well. I could just about make out the moon from the dense treetops overhead. I sighed, remembering that it was extremely hard to get a straight answer out of a centaur. It seemed Firenze had even started acting like that now, when before it had been easy to talk to him.

He left soon after, before Hagrid and Neal came running, Brandy’s howls having alerted them. While he didn’t say anything, Hagrid knew something important had happened; all he had to do was look at us. But I didn’t want to say anything in front of Neal; I didn’t think this was something he particularly wanted to hear. Neal would probably try and get something out of Callidus, but I hoped he wouldn’t. Being pressed for details was one thing Callidus didn’t like, and, after what had happened tonight, his patience would most likely be worn thin.

We returned to Hogwarts in silence, with me watching Callidus like a hawk. He walked with his head down and appeared to be doing some very hard thinking. I was left to deal with my own troubling issues. Voldemort had been the only one able to send pain through my scar. It had been my warning for anything related to him. But tonight the pain had come again -- and it hadn’t been him causing it. And even more puzzling, was the fact Callidus had felt it too. While it was possible that Callidus and I shared a link, I didn’t think it was shared by pain. But nothing made sense.

Voldemort was dead... wasn’t he?

I finished stirring my tea and watched the liquid swirl in the china. “I don’t want Callidus going into the forest again,” I said at last, lifting the cup and taking a careful sip. The hot, sweet liquid slid down my throat and for the first time that evening, I finally relaxed. I closed my eyes, trying to get my thoughts collected.

“Agreed,” Dumbledore replied, pouring milk into his own cup and stirring slowly. I opened my eyes and realised he was watching me with a thoughtful expression. “What you’ve told me is quite extraordinary and very worrying,” he went on, holding a plate out to me.

“I know.” I took a Rich Tea and bit into it. I stared at it for a moment, before dunking it into the tea and biting it again. I’d get crumbs in the tea, but really, I didn’t care. Dumbledore was amused, but didn’t say anything about my peculiar eating habits. “If I hadn’t been there, I probably wouldn’t have believed it myself.”

“I believe you,” Dumbledore said quickly. “I have no reason to doubt you, though I really don’t know why it happened. There seems to be no logical reason for it. However...” He paused.

“Yes?” I prodded gently, after a moment of silence. He looked reluctant to tell me, which only served to infuriate me, unfortunately. It was times like these where it was obvious Dumbledore liked drawing things out a bit too much.

“My sources have recently informed me that a certain organisation has become more... outspoken about their beliefs lately,” the headmaster explained at last, looking grave. “They call themselves The Order. Rather a plain name, yes,” he agreed, seeing my disbelieving look, “but from my experience, I can safely say orders with plain names are generally more destructive. They see no reason for fancy ornamentation.”

I frowned. “What makes you think they’re connected to Callidus?” I asked, trying to make sense of this, and not getting very far. “He’s only eleven!” But he wasn’t normal. He’d never been normal, had he?

“My contacts are already worried about them, and after reading their reports, I am as well,” Dumbledore went on, handing me a few scrolls. I drained the last of my tea and placed the cup back on the tray, before taking the scrolls and rolling them open.

A quick skim was enough for my eyebrows to shoot up and my eyes to widen. I looked at him in shock, hardly able to believe what was right in front of me. It couldn’t be possible, it just couldn’t be! “But -- but that would mean--”

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied, his face grave. “It would.” His eyes were sombre and tired. For a moment he looked his true age again, and it was hard to ignore the fact he was very old, even by wizard standards. Sometimes, I found myself wondering how long he could continue on like this, constantly acting cheerful and helpful, giving advice and guiding everyone as best he could. He was human, just like the rest of us. He wasn’t any better than anyone else. It had taken me a while to realise this, that the person I’d looked up to so much was just the same as myself. And that he wasn’t always going to be there.

I silently handed the scrolls back to him, unable to speak. He took them, and I rubbed my forehead gently with my hands, feeling a headache forming. When we’d returned from the forest, Severus had shoved a potion for the pain down my throat, before I’d gone to Dumbledore to tell him what had happened. While the potion had worked, everything was starting to catch up to me and now, more than anything else, I wanted to sleep. And forget everything that was happening, at least for a little while, before I woke up and had to face the world again.

“They’re rather a dangerous cult,” Dumbledore remarked after a few minutes of silence. He looked down at the scrolls as he spoke, like they could give him all the answers he sought. Perhaps, to an extent, they could. “While their headquarters seem to be here, their influence has spread across much of Europe, possibly even to America and Australia. They could become quite a threat soon, if we can’t do something.”

“They hold the same ideas as Voldemort,” I added flatly, gripping the armrests with tight fingers. I stared at his desk, eyes locked on the dark whorls and streaks without really seeing them. The idea of an organisation with the same ideals as Voldemort was a horrifying prospect.

“Yes,” Dumbledore answered quietly, tracing the rim of his teacup with a finger. “But they have a far longer history than Voldemort, you see. They appear to have been around for hundreds -- perhaps even thousands -- of years. They’re ancient. And they keep to the old ways; the only way to leave the Order is by death. And they have a habit of killing any members they deem untrustworthy. Despite the fact they hold many of the same beliefs as Voldemort did, they gave him no aid during his time.”

He sighed. “From what my spies have told me, they hold the culling of Muggle-borns and half-bloods as their ultimate goal, rather than immortality. However, some may hold that ambition for themselves. In short, it seems they have controlling the wizarding rule as their future ambition; a dictatorship, of sorts. It sounds quite mad, I admit, but all we can do is stop them. I’ve had my spies keeping a close eye out for any groups to prop up after Voldemort’s demise, so they’ve been following this one for a while, thankfully.”

I nodded. “But where does Callidus fit into this?” I still needed to know that.

“Think about it,” Dumbledore replied, taking a sip of tea. “If they hold many of the same beliefs as Voldemort, there’s a chance they’ll want to use Callidus for their own purposes. He may have spent years in a Muggle orphanage, but since he came to Hogwarts he’s caused quite a stir. It’s not often that we find complete geniuses here, particularly with the potential to go over to the Dark Side, not since Voldemort, himself. And the fact that Callidus shares his surname makes him even more well-known. He’s a potential ally for The Order, and it’s likely they’ll take full advantage of any chance they get.”

I frowned, staring hard at the desk and thinking. He was right, of course he was. And I remembered all the hurt and confusion on Callidus’ face every time a classmate had ignored him. I remembered the disbelief on his face when Jasmine had offered him friendship. I remembered the expression on his face when he’d come close to opening the book, and learning his true destiny. Callidus was extremely vulnerable and he had the choice to go over to the Dark Side, with enough motivation on his side. And I couldn’t take that chance. I couldn’t.

“I understand, Headmaster,” I said quietly, looking up to meet his eyes slowly. Perhaps there was something in them that unnerved him, for concern came over his face, but I stood up, smoothening my robes as I did so. “Please excuse me for leaving so soon, but it’s been a long evening and I would really like to sleep, if you don’t mind.” The stiff politeness in my voice made me wince, but I was so hammered by everything I’d just been told I couldn’t say it any other way. “I will, naturally, think hard about what you’ve just told me.” That I would most definitely be doing, for certain.

“Of course.” Dumbledore nodded, but there was still concern in his eyes. I couldn’t think about that, not now. “Goodnight, Harry.”

I thought hard, as I went back to the dungeons to Brandy and Severus. Callidus had been quiet when we’d returned to Hogwarts; he’d simply gone back to the Slytherin common room, ignoring anything Neal and I had said to him. I was worried. The expression on his face, the way he’d acted... it all told me that he’d think long and hard about this, and he wouldn’t forget it for a while. In short, he was doing exactly the same thing as I was.

But what was more shocking was the fact that had just hit me. The fight had never truly ended for Dumbledore. First, he’d had to battle Grindelwald. Then keep Voldemort at bay until I’d come along. And then, while I’d been off feeling sorry for myself, he’d been keeping a network of spies to keep an eye out for any future Dark wizards and witches on the up. While I’d been looking to the next day, he’d been looking five years ahead. It left me feeling extremely guilty.

Well, not this time. Now I had something to work for, someone to help. I was going to do everything I could to keep Callidus from going to the Dark Side, and, if necessary, keep him from losing his mind or turning out like me. I was going to do what I should have already been prepared to do. And, then, I realised exactly why I’d been brought in to teach at this particular year. Dumbledore had known that Callidus would be coming to Hogwarts this year, and, somehow, he’d known that I was the person who could help him. However he’d figured that out.

Well, I was going to help Callidus and protect him, not because I was expected to, but because I wanted to.

Whatever the price.

Author’s Notes: I actually can’t think of anything to write for this chapter, but I’m sure I’ll come up with something. I can honestly say that this has been the most rewritten chapter so far. It took me a while, but I got it done. :) Well, I think this was a big step forward for plot. Heh. Things be rolling along quite nicely. Next up: Parent/Teacher day, Draco arrives (finally...) and Hermione finds out something. Much thanks to Vinagrette for reading the scenes I was doubtful about, and offering comments and such. You rock, girl!

Also, to ask you guys your opinion, I was thinking of setting up an update group thing for my fics, not just this one. Think I should? Any opinions? (Any names, for that matter? I can’t think of any...)

Stopping now... hope you enjoy the chapter!