Chapter Sixteen: An Outsider Entered

Dumbledore looked ready for me when I arrived. In fact, he looked like he'd been expecting me. Severus must have warned him. I couldn't blame him for doing that.

"Harry," he said quietly, watching me with level eyes. I searched for any flicker of fear in their pale-blue depths, but could find none. He was a better actor than people took him for. "Sit down, please." He gestured at one of the chairs before his desk. He was acting like this was a normal talk between us. It only made things worse.

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind," I told him tightly. He nodded before I turned sharply on my heel and started pacing.

I didn't know where to begin. Where could I begin, in all actuality? It wasn't every day that I learned not only had my mother been a Seer, she'd also known when and where she would die. And she hadn't been able to stop it. Even by my standards, this was startling news.

After bolting from Severus, I'd spent God knows how long wandering through the gardens, and then the most remote halls I could think of (and considering my extensive knowledge of the castle, they were positively deserted). As time had passed and I'd been able to think, my surprise and disbelief had turned to anger and accusation. The 'Had she?' questions had changed to 'Why hadn't they?' ones, tumbling and colliding even more fiercely than the old questions, causing me even more confusion. And anger.

Why had they never told me what my mother had been? I hadn't been able to think of any plausible reason for them to keep it from me, and I'd had plenty of time to go through every possibility I could come up with. There was always the standard -- 'we wanted to protect you, for we were afraid you wouldn't be able to cope with it' etc. -- but I was in no mood for the caring attitude. I was out for blood, figuratively speaking. Or maybe not.

"What do you expect me to say?" I blurted out suddenly, abruptly turning to him and glaring. "What do you honestly expect me to say now?" It was a way to hide all the confusion I was feeling, and the complete bewilderment as to what I could actually ask him. Better to let him ask the questions, rather than me.

"I don't know," Dumbledore replied gravely, looking extremely serious. "What do you want to say?" At that moment, I hated him. Hated him for everything he'd constantly kept from me over the years, the little bit of information that could have prevented the wrong things from happening if he'd told me in time. He'd always said there had been reasons for his not telling me, and I'd always believed him, but there were times, like now, when I wondered if it had all been worth it, really. If believing him had always been the right thing to do.

"What do I want to say?!" I repeated in disbelief, staring at him like I couldn't believe what I was seeing... and I really couldn't. "I don't know what to say! What could I possibly say that could help any of this make sense or seem right? Nothing can!"

"I know it can't," Dumbledore said, eyes sad and solemn. For a moment he looked so like Severus that it was jarring, and I had to blink, wondering where I was for a few seconds. "But it can't be taken back, either." The wrong words.

I let everything out, as I seemed wont to do lately. Somewhere in my mind, a voice warned me that what I would say wouldn't be easily forgotten or forgiven, but I didn't stop to listen. All I could see, hear, think, was red. Red, red, red. Blazing fire. Crackling, burning.

"Damn you!" I screamed, whirling away from him and slamming my fists against the nearest wall. "Damn you, damn you, damn you!" Each exclamation was accompanied by another slam of my clenched hands, the pain somehow making it more real each time, as it seemed almost impossible that any of this could be anything more than my imagination. The pain drove me mad, but kept me grounded at the same time.

Dumbledore said nothing, as I'd expected him to, and it only made everything even worse than it already was. I could hardly think at all, never mind coherently. Why was all of this happening, especially to me? Why did it always happen to me? Hadn't I had enough? At this rate, I was going to have a Ph.D. in Nervous Breakdowns by the time I was twenty-three. Breathing hard and squeezing my eyes shut, I put my back to the wall I'd been previously slamming and sank slowly to the ground, drawing my knees up to my chest.

"Harry," he whispered, and I could hear his chair scraping back against the carpet and his footsteps as he came around the desk and approached me. I held an arm out, palm facing him, silently telling him to stay away. I needed time to think this through, somehow. He stayed a few paces away from me, but didn't stay silent. "Please, talk to me." He was Albus Dumbledore, after all, the one wizard Voldemort had feared above any other. Why on earth would he obey me?

"I want it all to stop," I said softly, putting my palms against my eyes and propping my elbows on my raised knees. "I just want everything to stop being tossed at me just to see how I react to it. I want to be left alone. I want a normal life. I don't want to be the Man Who Lived Twice anymore. I just want to be normal, but I'll never be that, I know it. I hate the way everyone expects me to be this hero, that never flinches, is always brave and noble, and never has any doubts about what he's supposed to do."

"There has never been a pure hero, that always does right and never hesitates," Dumbledore told me, still damnably quiet. "No one, not even our 'heroes', are perfect. We are all human. We are all flawed. Even me. No one expects you to be the perfect hero, Harry."

"Yes," I replied bitterly, "they do." Dumbledore couldn't say anything to contradict me, for he knew it was true. And somehow, that hurt all the more. "I've already seen enough. I can't be like you. I can't go on doggedly fighting the good fight. I'm so tired. So, so, tired." I let out my breath in a weary sigh, and silence fell. After a few moments, I gave him a wry smile. "Though probably not as tired as you."

I wasn't prepared for his anger. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd seen Dumbledore well and truly angry, and those few times had shown me he was not a man to anger. But his anger came anyway, and it startled me out of my self-loathing and general whining. The man who had always dealt with me had been kind, considerate, and thoughtful. Not this towering figure who glared at me, his power crackling around him almost like lightning. I stared up at him, fearful. Suddenly, I felt like I was in the room with a very different man. A man who wasn't Albus Dumbledore.

"Get up, Harry," he ordered, and I rose. Fine tremors racked my body, both from fear and the exhaustion that comes after a large outburst. He looked at me, and I felt small and insignificant. Worthless. Ashamed, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and willed them to stop shaking. "Sit down." I sat.

Dumbledore took over my pacing, looking grave and furious all at once. I wanted the ground to swallow me up, unable to believe how I'd just acted. The quiet was heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by our breathing and the sound of Dumbledore's footfalls as he paced. Fawkes was nowhere to be found, and I highly doubted he would have perched near me, anyway.

"I'll tell you why I didn't inform you of your mother's ability before," he said at last, and the outrage and sorrow in his voice made me feel ten times worse than I already did. "There was no particular need. It would have gained you nothing in the battle against Voldemort, anyway, so we felt no need to tell you. Your family is one of your greatest weaknesses, Harry. Do you think you would have taken the news lightly, that your mother knew when she and her husband were to die, and could do nothing about it?" His eyes bored into mine in a piercing gaze, and I slowly shook my head. There was no point in lying; my reaction now proved that if I'd learned of this earlier, my reaction would have been much, much worse.

"I'm sorry," I muttered numbly, staring down at the floor, too ashamed to look at the old, strong man before me. My anger had faded to a warm trickle, and now all I could feel was shame.

"I know," he replied, and I hoped there was a faint, sad smile on his lips. Hoped desperately. "I know this is very unsettling news for you, Harry, but you cannot let it have such a strong hold on you. While the past is painful and cruel, it gives you no aid now, during the present. It is time to let it go, to prevent it from blinding you to everything else that is happening. Remembering the past will not help Callidus Riddle," he added gently, and I winced. It wasn't something I really wanted to hear right then, but I didn't have much of a choice, did I?

Dumbledore said nothing more for a few moments before quietly placing his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, startled at the show of sympathy. "You're not the only one hurting," was all he said to me. For a moment, I had no idea who he meant� then I knew.

Severus.

My teeth clenched and I looked away, unable to stop my eyes from narrowing. "I treated him wrongly, I admit it. But... he brought it up like it was something casual, something I'd always known, that he'd expected me to know. I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to react to that," I replied, my voice colder than I would have liked.

The expression in Dumbledore's eyes was strange when I looked at him, and I couldn't quite understand it before it was gone in a flicker. "Perhaps he said it without thinking. He does that often enough. And... perhaps he did expect you to know." Something, the way he said the last sentence, perhaps, made me regard him sharply. It took me only seconds to realise what he meant, and my eyes widened.

"Are you saying...?"

He nodded, regret making him look older and more weary than he already did. "I told him years ago, that I would tell you, simply for the sake of knowing it. I... did not keep to my promise." His voice did not tremble, which surprised me, but at the same time, didn't. Dumbledore had been around for far longer than I; he'd had much more practise at hiding his true feelings, something I seemed unable to do lately. Or at least, I hoped he was hiding his true feelings. In the space of a few minutes, my opinion of a man I'd known for almost thirteen years had changed drastically, and now I didn't know what to think. Of anything.

I felt no anger. I supposed it had all been used up. For the moment, at least. Instead, all I felt was a sort of numb disbelief, that Dumbledore hadn't kept his word. But in a way, that didn't surprise me either. Dumbledore was human, same as myself, same as Severus, same as everyone else. He wasn't the perfect hero all the time. He made mistakes. He wasn't always fair. He didn't always do the right thing. This was the man who'd let Sirius off scot-free when he'd almost killed Severus. He'd unknowingly placed me with the Dursleys, and then had kept me there, even when he'd known what they were like. Of course, I'd later found out it was because there were unbreakable wards around Privet Drive, but they'd broken in the end as well, and Voldemort had killed my last blood relations. It was petty and cruel to blame Dumbledore for the Dursleys' deaths, but I couldn't help feeling a childish fury towards him, a dim one, but there nonetheless. For a man supposedly on my side, a lot of strange things had happened because of him.

"Why?" I asked at last, for that was all I could ask. It all made sense now; Severus' startled reaction to my emotional explosion, and the casual way he'd brought it up, like he'd expected me to say I'd known it all along. But I hadn't. And the reason was sitting before me. For a brief moment I wondered why Severus hadn't told me, but in the end it wasn't his secret to tell. It had never been his secret to tell.

Dumbledore looked away from me for the first time since I'd come storming in. "Even now, I'm not entirely sure why," he admitted. At least he was being honest. "It really didn't seem to be something I wanted to tell you when we were all in the middle of a war. And... your mother made Lupin promise not to give you her lily until you were in your twenties. There had to be a very good reason for that, and it seemed foolish for you to know of your mother's ability, but not to have her lily. So... I waited."

"But you still didn't tell me," I said flatly. "In the end, it was Severus who told me." No matter what way I looked at it, the undeniable facts were there.

"Yes." For a moment, I saw a flicker of guilt on his face, and that was enough.

I stood up. "I've heard enough." My voice was firm and steady; the exact opposite of how I felt. "Perhaps both of us will think of this tonight, but I highly doubt we'll come to the same conclusion."

Dumbledore's face was unreadable. "Perhaps we will," he replied softly, but I didn't believe him. Instead, I pivoted sharply on my heel and strode towards the door. It was only when my hand grasped the handle, did I think of one last important question. Steeling myself, I turned to face him, my hand still on the door handle.

"Why did you allow Severus and I to become that close?" I asked quietly, voicing one of the questions I'd been unconsciously wondering about for years. I had plenty of reasons to wonder about it -- I'd been fifteen, Severus thirty-five; he'd been twenty years older, and my teacher. And it had been much more than a crush, but Dumbledore had never seemed appalled or worried. Occasionally, he'd given us tactful reminders to be discreet, but he'd mostly stayed out of our business. Over the years I'd found myself wondering (usually in brief times of nostalgia and general musing) why that had been so. As nice as it was, it hadn't made a lot of sense. Especially now, when I thought about it like an adult (or nearly an adult, depending).

Dumbledore's eyes met mine and again I had the impression, despite my anger and disappointment, that he was so, so old. Weary. Exhausted. He couldn't keep on going forever, I knew that as well as everyone else, and like everyone else, I refrained from mentioning it. No one knew what would happen when he died. Licking my lips and still feeling empty, the empty you feel after letting out too much too quickly, I met his eyes, suddenly realising I probably wouldn't like this at all.

"Sometimes the strangest things are the ones we most treasure," he said after a few moments of silence, making me start and then blink in confusion. "One day," he added, still too damn quietly, "you may be very glad of the bond you have with Severus."

My face was stony, and the vague rage stirred inside me; it would be a constant reminder for the next few days of this meeting. "Maybe," I replied, my voice just as soft as his, just as dangerous. "Maybe not." I shrugged, trying to feign indifference, though inside my stomach was churning uneasily. Without another glance, I turned, opened the door, and left his office.

Severus was leaning against the opposite wall when I exitted. I wasn't surprised to see him. His eyes met mine, and I also wasn't surprised to see that, amid the sadness and surprise, there was a spark of anger. And it wasn't directed at Dumbledore. "So," he said quietly, breaking the silence that had swelled up around us.

"So," I whispered, echoing him. For the first time in many months, I found I had nothing to say. I hadn't even the energy to be angry, or to shout or curse at him. I simply felt empty. Empty and exhausted. All I wanted to be was alone, and all I wanted to do was try and get some sleep, to chase away the wisps of exhaustion that clung to me.

He watched me carefully, eyes regarding me sharply. He wasn't going to ask about what had occurred with Dumbledore; he could see it in my face. He took a few steps forward, opened his mouth, and I realized I didn't want to hear what he was about to say. "No," I hissed lowly, my eyes narrowing.

"No?" he repeated, confusion rippling across his face for a brief few moments, before his walls slammed down once more.

"No, I don't want to talk about it. No, I don't want to be with you right now. I know that you didn't intentionally keep this from me, but right now, my trust in humankind in general has taken rather a hard battering, and I want to be on my own for a while. I'm not sure how long, and what's going to happen in the future with anything, but right now, I'm positive I want to be on my own." Remember the last time you were angry with him, a sharp voice said in my head. You were wrong back then.

But I'm not wrong now, I replied flatly, and the voice went silent. There was no answer to that. There would probably never be any answer to it.

Severus' lips had thinned dramatically, and his eyes glittered dangerously. His head nodded in a jerk, and he stepped away from me, deliberately or not, I didn't know. I'm not sure if I cared. "If that's what you want," he told me stiffly, and the anger in his eyes, in his voice, in him, made me suddenly quail inside, for I knew there had been no real reason for it. But I couldn't take it back.

"One question," he said abruptly, and I looked at him, suddenly afraid of what he might ask. He continued when I said nothing, for I wasn't able to trust my voice. "Why did you give me the lily, earlier, before..." He couldn't finish it. Good. Neither could I.

"Your protection wards are stronger than mine," I replied, sounding weary, incredibly weary. "I want my mother's lily to be safe, with the journalist coming. I'm leaving nothing to chance." And that was the truth. I hoped he could read it in my eyes. Apparently, he could, since he nodded. I wanted to say more to him, really I did, but before I could even draw a breath, he had turned and started walking away from me.

In that moment, I wondered if perhaps I'd just made a terrible mistake, and for a few short precious seconds, I was ready to call him back, to apologise and try and make everything right again, before I lost one of the most precious things in my life for the second time. Right then, I was truly ready to swallow my pride and do it.

But he quickly walked away, and I lost my chance.

* * *

That night, and for the nights that came after, I slept in my own rooms, and the journalist hadn't even come yet.

The next day, we didn't sit together at breakfast, and people assumed we'd simply not woken up at the same time.

But we did the same thing the next day, and they wondered what was going on.

On the third day, we were having problems talking normally to each other. I wouldn't allow Brandy to spend time with him.

The day following that, it was a struggle for either of us to even glance at the other for a few seconds, before we immediately looked away. Callidus was beginning to suspect something was up.

By the fifth day, we ignored each other if we passed in the halls.

On the sixth day, we didn't even try and be civil to each other. We were back in September again.

By the end of the week, everyone knew something was seriously wrong, and they worried.

* * *

The day the journalist came was windy, cold, and generally miserable. Whoever had said that February would be good this year was very wrong. I sat in the staff room with the others and watched the rain run down the window, blurring the outside in clear, wet trails down the glass. Feeling eyes on me, I looked up and found Severus watching at me. Our eyes met, but I quickly looked away, my mouth pressed to a thin, hard line. His eyes never left me.

Then the door opened, and all eyes went to Dumbledore and the woman beside him. She was striking, admittedly, with glossy dark hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin. She was almost as tall as Severus, who was the tallest of the staff. I felt my eyebrows lift and glanced at Lavender, who was sitting beside me. She looked equally as stunned as I felt. It wasn't her appearance, though that helped make her someone to be noted. It was the power we could feel radiating from her.

Most wizards never let their power roll from them in a way we can sense. Some people take it as a threatening sign, whether it is intentional or not. I could only recall a handful of wizards who'd had enough control to let their power flow around them, but could recall it back just as quickly. Severus was one, but it only happened when he was exhausted or angry enough. Dumbledore was another, and he had the best control of anyone I'd ever seen. I could do it myself, though I tended to damage things -- Aunt Marge, for example -- so I tried not to let myself into a situation where my power could escape from me.

All eyes were on the old wizard and powerful witch that came to the centre of the room. I knew many of us felt the urge to stand up -- the power radiating from her was commanding, but also felt like an irritating itch that I didn't like -- but somehow, we managed to stay in our seats and stare at them with impassive eyes. For a moment, I thought something in her pale, striking face faltered, something somehow ugly and cruel, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone and she was smiling and gracious once more. I blinked again, and wondered if I'd imagined it. My skin crawled, and it was then my dislike for her began.

"This is Veronique Delordre," Dumbledore said quietly, looking at each of us in turn. When his gaze landed on me, there was an indescribable expression in it. "Many of you may remember her, since she was a student here many years ago. Some more than others." My eyebrows jutted together for a moment, before I could help it, as I followed Dumbledore's gaze. Why was he glancing at Severus as he spoke?

"It's a pleasure to be here once more," Veronique said, glancing around at us with a smile on her lips. She had a voice as striking as her looks; strong, delicate, careful, husky, and cultured, all at once. It was alike and contradictory at the same time and made me shiver, but uneasily, like something was very wrong. I didn't trust her, I realised at once, watching her shake hands with the others and smile and laugh as she spoke with them. I didn't trust her at all. And usually my immediate hunches were right. And every person I'd never liked on sight had hidden something, something that had been a potential threat. But what was she hiding?

"Harry Potter," she said, when she met me at last. "I can't say how thrilling it is to finally meet you." She beamed as she shook my hand, and I noticed she had a firm handshake that spoke of self-assurance and confidence. This wasn't a woman to mess with. And I couldn't help but think, as I shook her hand, that whoever tried would pay dearly.

I forced myself to smile in return and keep my voice light and relaxed. And not to try and crush her fingers, either. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay here, and get the answers you seek." My voice sounded strange and my words oddly formal, but I hoped she wouldn't notice. Severus did, though; he sent me a puzzled, sharp look, which I ignored.

Her lips curled, and the look in her eyes made me suddenly feel like prey. If she was going to try and start flirting, her charms would sadly be lost on me. I didn't like men for nothing. Looking at her, I noticed there were amber flecks in her hazel eyes, and in the light they almost looked like gold sparks. "Hopefully I will," she replied, smiling at me like the cat that got the cream. I wondered what trap I had fallen into. "I look forward to speaking with you in the future." I nodded, and she moved on abruptly, making me blink and causing my head to spin. Something very important had just gone on, and I had the terrible feeling that I hadn't known half of what had actually transpired.

I was heading towards my first class of the day, when I heard quiet footsteps behind me. I immediately turned on my heel and faced Severus, my arms crossed and my expression not pleased. "What do you want?" I demanded, but my voice sounded more weary than I would have liked.

"You trust her even less than I do," Severus murmured, and the directness of his statement startled me so that I actually stared at him, my arms becoming slightly lax. "I could see it when she introduced herself to you. You dislike her, though you're not quite sure why."

"Do you know her?" I asked, before my common sense could kick in. I inwardly cursed myself; I couldn't talk to him, not now, not when I still felt like this toward him. "Did you know her?"

Anger filled Severus' pale face for a moment, and I remembered why many students didn't really like him all that much. When he looked like this, there were even times when I wondered how I'd fallen for him, but then I remembered much more anger filled me, barely simmering under the surface. I was no hypocrite. Most of the time.

"You heard Dumbledore," he told me, our robes billowing slightly in the breeze that drifted through the corridor, mine sapphire-blue, his night-black. "She went to school here. She was in my year. I knew her. We were never friends, and I never trusted her." An almost thoughtful look crossed his face. "To be honest, I don't think she trusted me either."

"Can't blame her," I muttered under my breath, but he heard me anyway. He didn't say anything about it, but now he knew I was still angry with him, though why I could hardly remember. But the anger just wouldn't shift. A sudden thought occurred to me, and I voiced it before I could properly think about what I was saying. "Was she a Death Eater?"

Something flinched in Severus' eyes, and I remembered what he had said to me: You can never truly get the Death Eater out of someone, no matter if they wanted to serve him or not. I'll never be able to forget that part of me. It'll always be there. In that moment, I realised he was right. He'd never be able to forget that time of his life. Never. He'd done too many things, whether he'd wanted to do them or not. For a moment I wondered if mentioning the Death Eaters had been cruel, but I couldn't take it back. "No," Severus replied quietly, "she wasn't. But with her temperament she acted like one anyway."

"You think she's not being entirely truthful as to why she's here?" I guessed, realising I'd been subconsciously thinking along that line all along. I didn't trust her... and I usually distrust people without a very good reason.

Severus' lips were thin. Dangerously thin. "Veronique could lie better than she could be honest. As the years passed, it was all she could do. She found it hard to be honest like other people found it hard to lie."

"Christ." I was beginning to wonder why on earth Dumbledore had let her in here. But then, once Voldemort had been here too, and look what had happened with that. The thought didn't make me feel any better. In truth, it only made me feel worse. "Why is she here?"

"I don't know," Severus sighed, looking angry and frustrated. "But I can almost guarantee that it won't be for anyone's benefit except her own."

I thought for a moment, and then it hit me. "Callidus," I hissed, fighting the urge to groan. Good God, it was so obvious!

Thunder filled Severus' eyes. "We'll have to be careful," he said, his face painfully serious. "We'll have to keep an eye on both of them, and make sure she doesn't spend too much time with him. And we'll have to make sure Dumbledore knows."

He let her in, I couldn't help but think. Surely he knew the risks? "Maybe he already knows?" I suggested, but I could put no assurance into the words. My confidence in Dumbledore had taken a vicious hammering. Severus looked as doubtful as I felt, and I wondered if he ever thought the same way as I did about Dumbledore's actions and motives. And then I remembered that they'd both known about my mother, and the anger returned. "You can tell him, then," I said harshly, glaring at him. He hadn't expected my mood to darken so quickly; I could see it in his eyes. "You two talk about so much as it is."

His own anger came as swiftly. "Very well," he said with steel. "If that's what you wish. You've already kept grudges for so long. They've turned you into a person you don't like, you know that. Do you think hating is going to make you feel any better? It won't."

"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black," I mocked, unwilling to let him see how much he'd unsettled me. "As it stands right now, I don't trust Veronique, but I trust you two even less." With that said, I turned and walked quickly down the corridor, already late for class as it was. It wasn't going to be a very good class, and I already pitied the Hufflepuffs I had.

But the fear kept on churning in my stomach. The fear for Callidus. The fear for Severus, since Veronique knew him. The fear for the entire school. And, most of all, the fear for myself and the kind of person I was turning into.

* * *

In the days that followed, my fears concerning Veronique were not to be assuaged. I disliked her immensely, even though I couldn't fully say why. But I took Severus� words to heart, despite the fact my feelings for him were nowhere near it. Veronique was smiles and warmth, talking to everyone who could give her a few words, and she played at being innocent extremely well. She laughed at their jokes, and gave the impression that she was genuinely happy to talk with them. But I couldn't trust her, nor anything she said.

It seemed to be in her eyes. There were times, when I looked at her by accident, or half-glanced at her, that it seemed all the warmth leaked from her eyes and all that remained was endless, hard cold, surrounded by no emotion at all. Everyone else was courteous and polite to her, except for Severus and myself. We kept our distance from her. But I didn't assume that everyone else liked her -- we could be just as good liars as Severus claimed she was. I didn't doubt what he'd told me; she was a liar, through and through. I just didn't know how to prove it.

Despite their politeness and courtesy, no one was particularly happy to see Veronique come, not really. No one wanted to remember the war, and the sight of her constantly brought it to the forefront of our minds. The teachers were constantly unnerved by the waves of power that rolled from her, and the students were edgy and uncomfortable around her, perhaps sensing, as I did, that there was something not entirely trustworthy about her. Maybe they could even sense her coldness. I could. Never trust anyone who's emotionally cold.

Protection spells were strengthened, for it was suspected Veronique was wandering in places she wasn't supposed to be. Dumbledore gave me back the Marauders' Map, an object I hadn't seen in years, so I could keep an eye on her. How he had got it back, I had no idea, but I was never so glad to have it. The ghosts helped as well, doing nightly patrols. Even Peeves helped. Severus and I put away our grievances for the time being, and kept a close eye on her and Callidus, making sure that she never got too close to him, though Severus and I remained quite distant with each other. But we couldn't watch Callidus all the time, and I was quietly terrified that Veronique would eventually outfox us.

Everyone spoke to her because they were expected to, but no one disputed the fact she was an annoyance. I didn't, avoiding her as much as I could, and when she did find me, I gave her the first excuse I could think of. She never believed me, though I hardly expected her to; after the fourth excuse it became blatantly obvious that I just didn't want to be near her. She became suspicious, and it was then I realised she could become very, very dangerous, if I wasn't too careful. As far as I knew, Severus did the same thing, though much more tactfully than me, as unbelievable as that was.

I knew I couldn't avoid her forever -- I was one of the Hogwarts Big Three, with Dumbledore and Severus. With Severus, I'd given Voldemort the killing blow. I was a hero, and sacrifices would naturally have to be made. Not that I liked making them, but it was expected of me. I knew I couldn't avoid her forever, but I was going to try for as long as I could.

At the time, I didn't know exactly who Veronique was, or what she was capable of. But I found out eventually, and when I did, I wished I hadn't.

* * *

He was flying, while I watched him from the shadows. He flew like he was born to, which he probably was.

Diving, sprinting, looping, cutting, swirling, and tumbling, he did it all, and he loved it. I could see it even from the distance, could see it like a glow that filled him, protected him from succumbing completely to the darkness. Flying was what saved him, not me, not Dumbledore, not Severus. He valued this more than anything else in the world... because it stopped him from going mad. I knew how he felt, for there had been times I'd felt much the same way. As I watched him, I wondered why I'd stopped flying. Suddenly, no reason seemed good enough for giving up what I'd once loved beyond belief.

He spotted me soon enough, and tensed after the surprise passed. I'd expected that, so it didn't bother me. I simply waited, still in the shadows, for him to do something. For several moments he watched me from the air, and I couldn't see the expression on his face. I wasn't sure I wanted to. Finally, he moved and shot down to where I was at breakneck speed. I wasn't perturbed, as I knew what he was doing; not only had I seen it all before, I'd also done it all before.

Gripping his broom tightly, he approached, but stayed in the range of light, watching me. But the shadows still reached him, flickering across his face from the sputtering glow of torches that circled the pitch, whenever late practise was done. Briefly, I wondered how he'd managed to get the pitch open in the middle of the night without alerting a teacher. But I knew better than to ask; every student's secrets were their own, and I was still a teacher. I stared back at him calmly, and in the darkness his eyes were ebony, reminding me of black ice... treacherous, dangerous. I didn't think about that for very long.

The silence stretched between us, and I broke it first. "Callidus, what did she say to you?" My voice was quiet, neutral, calm, but he found the edge underneath it and tensed even further, his eyes becoming like ice, frozen, unyielding. Once again, and not for the last time, I wondered how an eleven-year-old boy had perfected such a look. But then, Draco had been able to perfect such a look as well, when he'd been eleven. I suppose some people were just able to do it, and that was that.

The question had been innocent, normal, but he treated it as a bomb about to explode. He looked away from me for a moment, obviously doing some very quick thinking, and I was having none of it. "Callidus," I said softly, my voice deceptively gentle, "I'll know if you lie or give me half-truths." I knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say.

His look was furious, quick, cutting. "I have no reason to lie to you, no use for half-truths," he snapped, his eyes flaring briefly. He was showing emotion more easily these days, a repercussion of Jasmine, and myself, and perhaps even Brandy. Maybe even Hermione; from what she'd told me, she and Callidus had had quite an engaging conversation back when I'd been talking with Draco, and she'd given him the names of several books she'd thought he'd be interested in. This being Hermione, it was likely she'd given him the right names. The amount of emotion he showed was still pitifully small, but it was better than no emotion at all.

I bowed my head. "I know. I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking." Callidus spoke like one much older, and he spoke well. But then, I'd once been told that I acted much older than twenty-two when I put my mind to it, however... I wasn't sure whether to like that, or worry about it. I wanted so desperately to act my age -- to drink, and have one-night stands, and to only worry about sex and how much I was getting. But I couldn't. I wasn't like everyone else, I never had been. Perhaps one day I'd be able to, but I was afraid by then I'd be too old to properly enjoy it. Besides, Severus would kill me if I ever had a one-night stand... if we ever put this behind us, that is. I knew there was meaning in the fact I'd unconsciously and immediately brought Severus up in my thoughts, but right then I didn't want to think about it, and couldn't, so I didn't.

"I don't like her," Callidus said suddenly, breaking the silence that had once more descended upon us. I blinked; it had possibly been the most direct statement I'd ever got from him. It also relieved me more than I'd ever thought anything could. He didn't trust Veronique, thank God. He was a very smart boy, more than just academically. Of course, the fact that he distrusted people so easily at his age was slightly alarming, but it would also keep him alive, so I didn't dwell long on it.

I grinned crookedly at him. "Neither do I. Between you and me, we're rather smart concerning that." He raised an eyebrow, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his seriousness. Really, the expression of an old head on young shoulders really was made for him, but I couldn't blame him for it. "The fact is, I trust her even less than I could throw her."

"She's not mad, though she acts like it," Callidus mused, absently twisting the broom handle around in his hand, an unconscious habit. It made him seem more human, more normal, which I liked. "But it would have been better if she'd been insane." I raised an eyebrow at that, and he clarified. "If she was insane, there would have been some excuse for her actions. But a sane evil... she does everything for her own reasons, and is completely aware that she does it. And she doesn't care." His words haunted me, and for a moment I was given a rare insight into his mind, and I pitied him.

I tilted my head thoughtfully, and regarded him. He shifted uncomfortably under my scrutiny, but I made him bear it, intent on watching him. "You have a rare insight into people," I told him quietly. "That's a good thing to have: it'll keep you alive." I twisted my lips into a bitter smile. "You do it better than I did at your age, but then, you grew up too fast. Far quicker than I did. If I'd known at eleven what I found out later, perhaps I would have been more like you now... but we can't change the past." He stared at me in shock, his eyes flickering uneasily, and I knew what he was thinking: that my life hadn't only been what the books said it was. The books never had the complete story, and that was the way it would be. To have my entire life put down on paper, for anyone to read -- no way. Just way.

"She told me that she knew more about me than I did," he whispered softly, his eyes wide and fearful. The last time I'd seen him this vulnerable had been when we'd been in the library, and I'd shown him that book, and he'd broken down. I didn't like it; no one who broke down that seriously was ever fully healthy. Myself included. "She told me that if I talked to her, she'd tell me everything I wanted to know, would answer the questions no one else would. She said she'd... tell me about my father." My spine slammed painfully straight, and Callidus tensed even further. I found myself thinking, quite irrationally, that his own spine would break if he tensed up anymore.

Hardly able to register what I was doing, I gripped his arm and led him towards the bleachers. We gingerly sat down, like we both had the world on our shoulders, and both of us stared at the ground, gazing at the darkened grass like it held the answers we both desperately craved. In our own way, we were both Atlases. Ironic, in a twisted, wrong way. My shoulders ached and my head hurt unbearably. I felt my lips thin to a line, and felt the urge to either cry or scream.

I did neither.

Veronique was dangerous, whether she was mad or not. That was obvious, and I wished she'd never been let into Hogwarts. Only the walls knew what she'd managed to get off any other unsuspecting students. Well, the walls and Dumbledore, since sometimes it seemed that Dumbledore was the castle itself.

She was very clever, there was no doubt about that. She'd found him on his own during lunch, when everyone else had still been eating in the Great Hall. I remembered Callidus had only picked at his food and left early, but hadn't thought that Veronique would track him down that quickly. Obviously, I'd been wrong. And now, seeing how disturbed and agitated she'd made him, I wanted to damn her to hell.

"Callidus," I said, and was quite proud to see that my voice was rather calm and steady, more than I felt inside, "I want you to stay away from Veronique. Don't make it obvious, as that'll make her suspicious, but don't let yourself get into a situation where she can speak with you, especially if you're on your own. If anyone could tell you information about your father, it won't be her." It wasn't the complete truth -- I knew as much as he did where Veronique was concerned -- but I didn't want him near her again, and was prepared to say anything to keep him from her. So this was what acting like an adult was like. Hmmm.

He looked at me, and his eyes reflected the glow of the torches above us, making them shine like translucent ice. They were wide, but he wasn't surprised. Callidus rarely did things like other people did them. Why did I still remind myself of that? Slowly, he nodded. "I don't like being alone with her, either." His lips pressed together tightly, and I could practically see his eyes sharpen. "She knew exactly how to get my attention, and what could be used against me. But I don't know how."

"People have heard of you, Callidus," I told him quietly. "You're not exactly someone who can blend into the background. And people will talk. Rumours will be made and passed on. Veronique is still a reporter, and much of what she has heard will probably -- and hopefully -- be based on rumour. Listen to whatever she told you, but take it with a grain of salt."

"Is it always going to be this bad?" he asked, looking depressed, and in that moment I remembered that, whoever he was and whatever he spoke like, he was still only eleven years old. That was all. For some reason, I began to feel afraid.

"For a while, probably. As long as nothing goes terribly out of hand, people will forget after a while. It might take some time, but they won't always think of you as a threat." I wasn't telling him the entire truth, and I realised I'd fallen into the old trap. I'd taken his age into consideration over his knowledge and attitude, and now I was going to regret it. There was no point telling him only half-truths and hedging around things he wanted to know. In the long run, that only made things worse.

I had to tell him what was going on, that The Order was after him, how much danger he was in... I opened my mouth to take back what I'd just said, to tell him the truth, but the moment had passed. Callidus' expression had relaxed and he was almost smiling. He'd accepted what I'd told him because he believed I'd always tell him the truth. It was times like these that it was obvious he was only eleven. Despite his attitude, he still held some of the characteristics of an eleven-year-old. And I'd just taken advantage of them, unknowingly or not. I was going to regret this. Oh, yes, I was.

Pressing my lips together, I thought quickly, and gripping my own broom tightly in my hand, I stood suddenly. He was startled, staring up at me with an almost blank expression. Callidus would never let anyone catch him off-guard, not even me. I feared it would be a habit for life. "Professor?" he asked hesitantly.

"Up." I held out a hand for him to take. After a moment, he took it, letting me haul him up to a standing position. Reaching into the pocket of my robes, I took out a small black box, which I held in front of his face. Flipping it open, I let him stare at what was inside.

"Is that a...?"

"Snitch," I finished for him. It had been a present from Hermione, in Sixth Year; a set of practise Quidditch balls. Of course, I'd used it a lot more back then, but right then there seemed to be no better time. "I was the youngest Seeker Gryffindor had in a hundred years. You're the youngest Seeker Slytherin has had in over a century, if my calculations are correct. So I might as well teach you something." I grinned crookedly at him, which he slowly returned. There was no fooling me; I could see he was delighted.

"But won't we lose it, since it's so dark?" he asked after a moment. It wasn't that he was looking for an excuse not to play -- he wanted to go through every possible 'what if?' that could happen, to make sure I knew what I was getting myself into. It was endearing, in a peculiar way.

I smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not that much out of practise. Besides, I dare say you'll be more than a match for it. These are spelled so they won't go out of the pitch, and if push comes to shove, I'll be able to call it back. We won't lose it."

"I never said we would," Callidus protested, but he looked much happier now.

Even when we were flying, I couldn't forget the huge mistake I'd made. I'd underestimated Callidus by an amount, and I was going to pay dearly for that error. Callidus was never one to be underestimated, and he expected to be treated like he was an equal. If he ever found out about this, he was going to be pissed as hell. And an angry Callidus was never a good thing. Anxiety fluttered in my stomach, almost like a Snitch. The comparison made me both smile and grow even more worried.

But part of me -- a small part, but there nonetheless -- still viewed Callidus as a child. No matter anything that surrounded him, he was still only eleven, and not fully able to deal with everything that was coming. The thought of The Order getting their hands on him made me literally ill. I couldn't let that happen, no way, no way! No matter what happened, no matter the price.

In my head, there were two versions of Callidus. The cold, aloof, older-than-he seemed one, and Callidus the child. I was beginning to have difficulty differentiating between the two, or trying to view them as one and the same. And if I wasn't careful, that was going to be a very big problem.

* * *

My teeth clenched when I looked up and saw her hovering in the doorway. "Ms. Delordre," I said flatly, resisting the urge to glare at her. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" The words were nowhere near sincere, and we both knew it. I didn't even try and put feeling into them. There was no point.

She gave me a smile that was about as genuine as my words, but I caught frustrated disappointment lurking in her amber-flecked eyes. It made my suspicions rear up. Had she intended to do a bit of snooping in my office? I wouldn't put it past her. While our protection wards were more than enough for a curious student, they were woefully inadequate against another fully-qualified witch or wizard, all things considered. Another thing to put before Dumbledore, when all of this was over. The list was growing.

Well, her plans had, sadly, been spoiled, for she'd never expected to see me here. For once, I was especially glad I'd decided to tackle the worst of my correcting today. When I realised that if I hadn't been here, the idea of leaving Brandy here would probably have never occurred to me, I was even more glad. My paranoia wasn't what it used to be: I'd relaxed in the months here at Hogwarts. Note to self: Elevate paranoia levels once again. It sounded wrong, even to me, but with Veronique here I was taking no chances.

"Harry," she replied cordially, but she only put half the effort in her reply, for she knew I wasn't buying it. Good for me. Her eyes flickered, and I knew she was doing some extremely quick thinking, trying to turn failed Plan One to her advantage for Plan Two. I was now on red alert. "I was wondering," she continued after a moment, holding up a bottle of wine and two glasses that I hadn't noticed before, "if you'd join me for a drink while I ask you some questions?" I blinked, completely taken aback. I hadn't expected this. I had to give her grudging credit; she was a thorough planner. A pity it wasn't a very useful trait with her.

I stiffened; I did not want to drink, and she knew this. I could tell by the abrupt gleam in her eyes. She knew she was making me uncomfortable by producing the wine. It made me think less of her. Memories of what had happened at Halloween stormed back into my mind, and I inwardly cringed, remembering the fool I'd made of myself with Severus. I was not doing the same with Veronique.

"Ms. Delordre," I replied, putting emphasis on her full name, keeping my face blankly polite. Give away nothing, I silently thought in my head. She received the not-so-subtle hint I'd given her, that we weren't anywhere near first name basis. It was the damn truth, too. I swallowed briefly for a moment, before I realised I was backed into a corner. I had to let her go on with her game... but I would play it subtly, and carefully, and maybe nothing would go wrong. Maybe. Hopefully. I sighed softly, soft enough that she couldn't see or hear it, and swept my hand out gracefully, indicating the chair near my desk. "You're quite welcome to sit down and have a glass yourself," I told her, my polite mask still in place, "but I warn you, I'm not a very good drinking partner." I gave her a rueful smile. Although Severus might have something to say about that.

She gave me another beaming smile. I wondered if she practised them in the mirror, and if it gave her tips. "It's answers I need from you, Mr. Potter, not your ability to drink," she told me, as she sat down and pulled the cork out effortlessly. She'd opened it beforehand. Very clever. Somehow I doubted what she said. Personally, I'd the feeling she wanted both from me. It didn't escape my notice that she poured me a glass anyway. Very thick skin, this one had.

"Veronique Delordre," I mused thoughtfully, as she took a sip of wine. I stared absently into my glass, though I wasn't going to take a drop. The wine swirled dark and thick, a deep red. If I looked a certain way, it resembled blood. The thought wasn't comforting. "It sounds French," I remarked. "But, if you forgive me for saying so, you don't sound French at all, yourself." My words sounded disturbingly like a drunken rambling. I was proud of myself; it appeared I could be a bastard when I was sober as well as when I was drunk. Yay.

She smiled at me again, but this time it was condescending. The amused smile of one who knew a lot more than you did, and knew it damn well. "For many, Mr. Potter," she replied, her voice soft, "a name means nothing. It is just another thing society requires them to have, another label. For many, their name is no insight as to who they really are." Or what they are, I found myself silently adding. "Of course," she added with a half-laugh, "your name is very important to you, isn't it? Many people only know you by it."

I didn't feel offended, though I should have. See? I had self-control, too. "My name isn't all they know me by," I replied, thinking of the scar on my forehead.

"Perhaps not," she agreed, and her eyes flicked upwards. She was smarter than she appeared. Damn. Of course... considering her job, she would have to be. I shouldn't have hoped she wasn't that quick on the uptake. Foolish of me, cowardly. The only way to deal with her was the hard way. No other.

"What a lovely object," she said suddenly, and I blinked, for a moment not realising what she was referring to. When I saw what she was talking about, anxiety clenched tightly in my stomach. This wasn't good at all.

My mother's lily glittered on a high shelf, safe out of harm's way, but there were a dozen protection spells placed around it anyway, to prevent breakage and anything else that could possibly happen. In Hogwarts the impossible was often possible, and I never forgot that. I'd retrieved it from Severus' rooms earlier that day, a strained, awkward conversation included. But that wasn't why the anxiety came, despite the fact I was worried about its safety. It was glowing a brilliant, bloody red. The danger colour.

Something was very, very wrong. And I had the feeling it was sitting in front of me.

I didn't like the fact that Veronique had noticed my mother's lily. I didn't like the fact she would 'ooh' and 'ah' over it. I really didn't want to explain about it to anyone, not just her. This whole situation was simply wrong, and I didn't like it. The feeling of wrong made me sincerely uneasy.

"Yes," I said quietly. "It's very lovely." It was a struggle, but I managed to keep the open hostility from my voice. Barely.

She glanced at me. "Yours?"

"A present," I replied firmly, and left it at that. So did she, but reluctantly.

"You should take a sip, at least," she remarked suddenly, gesturing at the wine glass before me. I watched her eyes carefully. Her tone was light, jovial, a gentle reminder that the wine was still there, untouched. But her eyes gave a different story. She wasn't pleased that I hadn't taken even a sip. Not pleased at all. I frowned inwardly, keeping my face politely interested in whatever she had to say, though inside I couldn't give a damn. She had planned this, of that I was sure. She'd intended to come snooping into my office, and had brought her wine and excuses as a backup, in case I was there. Couldn't be right all the time.

The fact that she was putting such an effort into making me drink was extremely suspicious. I thought about it, and finally, the conclusion hit me. The only reason she would try so hard to make me drink... was if she knew how alcohol could affect me. As Severus had so eloquently put it a few months ago -- a house-elf could drink me under the table. And when I was drunk, I tended to have a rather loose tongue. A tongue that could say anything, and I'd be completely unaware of it until the next day. And any information that was given freely could be printed, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

Damn her. Damn her to Hell.

"Is the wine that good?" I asked her, blinking carefully, successfully hiding the blind rage that simmered behind blank evergreen eyes. I could play her games just as well as she could, and it was imperative that she didn't know that.

She shrugged, trying to appear modest and failing miserably. "It is of a very good vintage," she replied, smiling. "My brother works with the vines and he has excellent taste." Naturally, I doubted that the moment she said it. I'd have to look into her family tree and see just who her family was, and what was truth and what was lies.

For a moment I was silent, absently circling the glass rim with a finger, staring into the wine that looked like blood. Then I looked up to meet her eyes, and the expression in my own wasn't friendly. "You're trying to get me drunk, Ms. Delordre," I hissed quietly, faint waves of rage filtering over my face.

Her eyes widened a bare fraction. Apparently she wasn't as daring as she made herself out to be. "I don't know what you mean. I simply wanted to speak to you--"

"Wine makes an unwilling tongue far looser, doesn't it?" I interrupted. She immediately made as to leave, but I was quicker, already walking around my desk as she started to stand up. "Sit down." She sat, staring at me with wide eyes, all pretences of hidden strength long gone. She was afraid of me. Good. About time.

I leaned against the desk beside her, and she was faced with unfriendly eyes. I held up the wine glass, still in my hand, and she stared at it. It swirled, catching the light and leaving tints of yellow in it. It looked almost alive, pulsing, real. I hated it. "You wanted me drunk," I whispered malevolently, leaning in so I could whisper it in her ear. She made as to exclaim a protest and I added, "Don't even try and deny it." She slumped back in the chair, now sincerely frightened. Smiling, I leaned back against the desk once more, holding the glass out to her again. And as we both watched, I began to squeeze.

I could be strong when I wanted to be. The glass was relatively easy to squeeze. As I watched, my fingers flexed, tightened, strained to follow the orders my brain was giving them. Veronique watched silently. Tiny cracks began to appear. For a moment, we both thought that was as far as I could go. A small smile of triumph curled her lips, but I refused to give up. I was going to prove my point.

The glass exploded in my hand, crystal shards flying in all directions, falling to the floor. The glass stem fell gently from my hand, tumbling to the carpet. It didn't break. Wine flowed across my hand, dark, red, and thick. It flowed down my fingers like blood, dripping down to the carpet. We both stared at it, my face impassive, hers shocked.

I leaned in so our faces were inches apart. For a moment, I only stared at her, letting her read the message in my eyes. Then I whispered, "Get out. And if you ever try and do something like this again, Ms. Delordre, I will get you thrown out of this school, and worse. I promise you. Never underestimate me again."

She stared at me for a moment that stretched like hours, and then she bolted, flinging herself out of the chair and away from me. She gave me one wide-eyed look, before she rushed from my office. I was completely still for the next few moments, feeling the blood rush to my ears and my heart pound in my throat. Then my knees started to shake, and I practically collapsed onto my desk, resisting the urge to slide to the floor. I'd only injure myself on the glass. The wine had spread to become a large dark stain.

How on earth had she learned about my drinking problem? Only a bare few knew about it, and what it did to me, and the consequences of it. And those few who knew about it, only one or two truly knew how it affected me. I was shaking, I realised, utterly confounded with how a complete stranger had discovered such a personal part of me, and tried to use it against me. How had she even researched it in the first place? Why would she want to use it against me? The sheer absurdity and scale of it astounded and terrified me.

She would go to Dumbledore with this. I'd threatened her work and perhaps even her life, if she'd pushed me enough. No matter what she'd done against me, I'd still no real right to threaten her, as stupid as it sounded. She would go to him, and turn the episode to her advantage, and most likely try and get me fired. All I could hope was that Dumbledore still had enough faith in me that he wouldn't fully believe her. No... I expected him to have such faith in me! He knew I never lost my temper to such an extent without being largely provoked... didn't he? I leaned against the desk, my eyes wide, unmoving and still, fear leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

I ran.

Bolted straight from my office, skidding to avoid running straight into the opposite wall, and hurdled myself full-pelt down the hall, tripping, skidding, and running blindly, hardly able to consider what I was doing. All I could think was, Run. Run. Run! And so I did. But not very far.

I didn't realise I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, or who else was in the corridors, until I bashed straight into someone. Both of us would have tumbled to the floor if he hadn't grabbed me by the shoulders, and somehow managed to steady us both. For a moment, I did nothing, staring at the black-robed chest, and feeling my own heart pound. Either I'd been saved by an incredibly tall Seventh Year, or...

I looked into the dark, concerned, sad eyes of Severus Snape, and swallowed. Hard.

In times past when I'd stayed away from him, I'd been able to get used to not having him around in some ways, but not in others. I'd slowly accustomed myself to sleeping alone, to not waking up with him beside me, to not kissing him goodbye before our first classes of the day. It was painful, but I was beginning to get used to it.

What I hadn't been able to get used to was him not being there. Of not joking with him in the morning, not having to beg him to help me find a student's essay I'd misplaced, not being able to gently advise him to go a little lighter on the red ink when correcting work. Of not lying in his lap before the fire in the evening, his arms around me, silent, but content. Of not seeing him doze while reading, Brandy curled asleep in his lap. Not being able to bitch (secretly) about the students who didn't like us (the list was much longer for him, naturally). Of just not having him with me. I missed him. Unbearably. Of not sharing my life with him, not being a part of his. It was like the last three years, only, somehow, it was worse. And as the days passed, the pain only grew instead of lessening.

I looked up at him, and wanted him to hug me. To make it all better, though he couldn't. I knew that. He knew that. Instead, I settled for the nearest alternative I had. I collapsed into his arms, sobbing and shaking. If he'd only hug me, then that would be enough. I could go about fixing everything myself.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, clutching his robes and clinging to him like I'd never let go. "I'm so, so, sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Over and over again. It was all I could think of to say, and I put everything I was sorry for into those words, hoping he'd be able to understand.

"I know," he whispered just as quietly, hugging me to him, wrapping his arms tightly around me, leaning his chin against the top of my head. "I'm sorry, too."

* * *

I was ready, when McGonagall informed me that Dumbledore wanted to see me after dinner.

Severus looked worried, but I gave him a reassuring nod as I prepared to go to the headmaster's office. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. Besides, I've what you told him for backup, anyway, don't I?" He nodded, but still didn't look that appeased. Severus himself had told Dumbledore he didn't trust Veronique either, and found her reasons for being here very suspicious. But apparently he hadn't gotten that far with the headmaster, either. It wasn't like him to be that stubborn, particularly when his own faculty voiced fears.

"Just... don't lose your temper that badly, please?" Severus asked after a moment, giving me an imploring look. "You know that'll just make him think less of you, and things between you two are already strained enough as it is, without more being added to it." I nodded, knowing what he said was the truth. To make him less worried, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, a smile, and set off for Dumbledore's office. My attempts at cheering him up didn't work, though. I could tell by his face.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted me calmly, perhaps even a bit cheerfully, when I stepped inside, closing the door after me. "How are things between Severus and yourself? Good, I hope?" He, like the rest of the school, had quickly realised things had improved between Severus and I, though our actions had been very subtle. We sat near each other at meals again, but we did it slowly, and gradually, keeping Veronique's suspicions to a minimum. Somehow, we didn't want her to find out about us, and we were extraordinarily careful in the halls, lest she see us. I didn't mind that much; simply having him back was more than enough.

"Yes," I replied carefully, watching him. "They're good, thank you." It was painfully polite and mannerly. I felt dreadful being so on guard around Dumbledore, the man I'd trusted impeccably for nearly thirteen years. But my trust in him had received a severe battering, and I was still trying to rebuild it again. Somehow. And there was no denying I had a bad feeling about the conversation about to take place between us. A bad feeling I couldn't explain.

Dumbledore practically beamed. "That's marvellous." He sounded genuine, but there was something in the way he acted that didn't quite add up. It took me a while to figure it out, but I eventually realised it was the way he looked at me. Watchful, careful, suspicious, I could see it all in his periwinkle-blue eyes. Something in me tensed and tightened.

"Shall we get down to why I'm here?" I asked quietly, leaning against the closed door, crossing my arms. No sitting beside the desk today. "I presume it's not for a chat?" It came out harsher than I'd intended it to, and inwardly I winced. Outwardly, I kept my face carefully blank. But I couldn't help but feel the way I was acting towards him was terribly wrong.

Dumbledore sighed, steeling his fingers together. "Ms. Delordre has told me something rather alarming and unexpected -- that you threatened her quite fiercely, for no apparent reason. She's quite firm about what course of action she wants me to take: suspend you, or fire you, if it's possible."

I watched him emotionlessly, fighting to control the dismay I felt inside. "And what do you intend to do?" Don't show any emotion, don't show any emotion, don't show any emotion.

"I intend to ask you to talk to me," Dumbledore replied absently, watching me levelly. "Sit down, please."

I shook my head. No sitting. "No, thank you. Exactly what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me what really happened."

Blinking, I stared at him blankly for the next few heartbeats. When I'd finally found my voice again, I managed to get out, "You don't believe her?" I'd been so sure he'd believe her... but perhaps Veronique wasn't the only one doing some underestimating.

"Oh, I believe her to some extent," Dumbledore said, giving me a wry look. "I do believe you threatened her, but I also believe you must have had a very good reason to. You don't exactly go around threatening people, Harry. I leave that to Severus." I managed a half-hearted grin at that, and Dumbledore's face immediately sobered. "Please, tell me."

I told him. "She tried to get me drunk, so I'd have a loose tongue and tell her what she wanted to know," I ground out, still furious over the entire matter, but some of the anger was now directed at myself. I'd dealt with it rather foolishly, now that I thought about it in hindsight. "I caught on and acted rather... badly."

"That, my boy," Dumbledore muttered dryly, "is an understatement." I went rather red, but he tactfully ignored that.

"What are you going to do?" I asked after a moment's silence, where both of us had been deep in thought.

"Bring her in and explain that I just can't suspend one of my staff on such short notice. Even Severus would buckle under the strain of having all your classes, as well as his own." I smiled faintly, and Dumbledore continued. "She'll demand that I look for a replacement, and then suspend you, but I'll gently refuse her, saying that she hasn't entirely told me the truth of that matter. Don't worry. I can deal with her." He gave me a confident smile, which I slowly returned.

"You're not sending her away, then?" I couldn't keep the disappointment from my voice. Surely he knew how dangerous she was to have around the school? "She's been trying to talk to Callidus alone. Says she can tell him about his father, and answer all the questions nobody else will."

The headmaster regarded me calmly. "Then you'd better answer his questions, hadn't you?"

"I would, if I knew the answers," I replied tightly, not bothering to keep the mild anger out of my voice.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "You know more than you think, Harry. Much more." I realised he was right, and didn't feel any better for it.

Now I wished I hadn't said anything at all, but it appeared he'd known about Veronique's attempts to get to Callidus anyway. Why wasn't that surprising? "You're not telling me everything," I said, looking him in the eye, "Are you?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, before he nodded slowly. "I'm not telling you everything," he agreed softly, his voice barely a whisper. "But there are some things you're better off not knowing, Harry." A shadow crossed his face, adding on all the years of his age that never seemed to reach him. It was a frightening sight. "In the end, it is far better to have Veronique here, than outside. For there is much harm she can do, left to her own devices." His eyes were grave, his face serious. He was telling the truth.

For a moment, I only looked at him, unable to say anything. He had less trust in her than I did. It was obvious. And it appeared my own fears involving her were minuscule, if her full treachery was as terrifying as Dumbledore hinted it to be. The fact that it was safer to have her here, tearing us all apart, than outside was not an assuaging thought.

"I just hope you're right to have more faith in her than I do," I said finally, though it seemed he had no faith in her at all . It was all I could think of to say.

"I hope so, too," was all Dumbledore murmured in reply, leaving me worried and confused. Why was he being so stubborn on this one issue, particularly after all the trouble she'd caused? It just didn't make sense. I bit my lip fiercely, but kept quiet. In the end, Dumbledore was far, far older than me, and knew a lot more than I did. It wasn't my place to question his judgement, though at that moment, I wanted to more than anything.

Usually I was glad Dumbledore had reached such an age, and knew as much as he did. But right then, I wasn't so sure it was such a good thing.

* * *

Both of us had been silent for several minutes, the crackling of the fire and Brandy's light snores being the only things to break the silence, as well as our own soft breathing. I was nestled against Severus, my head resting on his chest, his arm around me, content just to be with him. The rise and fall of his chest was even and soothing, somehow, and if I listened hard enough, I could hear his heartbeat. It was a very calm, loving moment, and I didn't want it to be broken by what I didn't want to hear, but I knew it would be.

And it was.

"I don't trust Veronique," Severus commented softly, his voice hardly audible, but I could hear it, nonetheless. "You don't trust Veronique. And, yet, she still remains here. It doesn't quite make sense, does it?"

"No," I replied quietly, "it doesn't. Dumbledore said it would be safer to have her here than outside, for apparently she could do more harm outside than in here. In my opinion, she's doing enough harm in here anyway, and more than anything I want to throw her out myself, but I can't."

"So, you and Dumbledore are back on relatively good terms?" he enquired, his chin against my hair. His fingers trailed up and down my arm absently, and made me shiver, sensation rippling through my nerves like an electric caress.

I didn't answer immediately. We were being civil to each other, yes, but things weren't like they used to be between us. Perhaps they never would be. I'd changed, grown up, saw things with older eyes now. And it was particularly hard to ignore the fact that Dumbledore was still treating me like a teenager that couldn't be told everything, despite the fact Veronique and all that came with her now involved me, just as Voldemort and the war had involved me. But I hadn't been told everything back then, either. I'd expected to be told everything now. And I hadn't been. It hurt, though I didn't want it to.

"Things aren't the same between us as they used to be," I said at last, being extremely careful with my words, "though I didn't expect them to be. But Veronique is the common enemy, now. I have to stay on speaking-terms with him. I have to. It's not fair to ask you to be go-between, just because I would have had too much pride."

"It's lovely that you're taking my feelings into account," Severus replied dryly, and I laughed. His other hand trailed down to my stomach, before tracing my abdomen gently. My breath hitched, as things lower down tightened. I swallowed.

"How well did you know her in school?" I asked suddenly, wanting to know more than anything. There was something here that didn't quite add up.

He tensed, but answered, his voice somehow keeping calm. Had to admire his strength of will, and all that. "We were both in Slytherin, and tolerated each other because we were Housemates... but we were never friends." Something in me relaxed at those words, betrayed an uneasiness I'd never realised I'd had. Things might have been more complicated if Severus and Veronique had been friends at school. Probably, but that was something that no longer needed to be considered, for they had never been friends. And by the looks of things, never would be.

The fact that they had been Housemates, but never friends, was not entirely surprising. There had been a few Slytherins (albeit not many) who had secretly despised Draco before his change to our side, but had never shown it. No one could like everyone, whether they were Housemates or not. There had been many Gryffindors, the sons and daughters of Death Eaters, who had secretly vowed to destroy me, and I'd never realised it until I'd met them in the war. House loyalty only went so far.

"And my parents?" I asked. "What of them? And Sirius? Lupin? What did she think of them?" It wasn't the most tactful way of putting it, but I had to know. For some reason, I felt it was important, maybe for my own peace of mind more than anything else.

Severus was silent for the space of a few heartbeats, before he said quietly, "She hated them, but I think it was because they were Gryffindors, rather than anything more personal." It wasn't quite the answer I'd been expecting, but it was an answer, and that was enough for the time being.

"We're going to have to be more careful," I sighed, regretting what I was about to say as much as he was going to hate having to hear it. "She knows we don't trust her, so she'll most likely start watching us more carefully, since she'll realise we're watching her as well. She's not stupid, as much as I wish she was." A light chuckle from Severus. "We're going to have to watch what we say and do around each other, since Veronique obviously knows no such things as barriers, nor has she any honour. We're going to have to watch in case we let anything slip, unless we want no privacy at all." I sighed. I couldn't say it in plain English.

"You're going to have to move back to your own rooms," Severus translated, not sounding very happy. I couldn't blame him. "Again."

"Again," I muttered. Bloody typical. Just as I'd got used to not having him around, then getting him back, now I was going to have to get used to him not being around as much again. This was going to be hell. "Damn."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," was all he said, before he scooted down in the bed so he could kiss me lightly on the forehead. I gave him a faint smile.

"I'm leaving my mother's lily with you, though," I told him flatly. "Your protection spells are stronger than mine, and I want it safe. I don't like the way Veronique commented on it. I told her it was only a present, so she wouldn't connect it to my mother, but who knows what she could find out..."

"Relax," Severus replied, just as firmly, "I'll keep it safe." He then kissed me again, this time on the lips. It deepened, and for a while I didn't think of anything at all.

* * *

But she wouldn't leave me alone, even though she knew I disliked her immensely... hell, I hated her in all honesty. But she wouldn't leave me alone, and my patience and tolerance for her was rapidly disintegrating. She was either very thick-skinned, or didn't believe me when I'd threatened her. Neither was a very safe option.

I was alone in the classroom, going through my lesson plan for the Sixth Years I had later that day, when she came straight in. Me, being the idiot I was, hadn't locked the door, in case Brandy decided to take a break from attending Hagrid's classes to spend time with me until my next class. Being thoughtful had its disadvantages.

I stared up at her, blinking, as she stopped before my desk, parchment in one hand and twirling a quill in the other. I noticed her quills weren't anything like the revolting ones Rita Skeeter had been fond of. One point in her favour, though she was just as annoying as Skeater had been. She definitely had the irritability, bossiness, and rudeness down flat. Maybe Rita had taught her all she'd known? The thought made me shudder inwardly, while I kept my face deliberately blank. "Can I help you?" I asked at last, pleased at the apparent boredom in my voice.

She raised an eyebrow. Somehow, I didn't think people were bored in her company very much. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question..." she began, looking for a chair to sit down on. In the end, she settled for one of the desks nearest to me. Good. If she'd brought a chair up to my desk, there was a very dangerous chance I might have succumbed to the temptation of strangling her.

I watched her carefully. At least she'd brought no wine or glasses, this time. Perhaps it was safe. I doubted it. "What exactly do you want to know, Ms. Delordre?" I asked carefully.

"I was wondering if you'd give me any information relating to Professor Trelawney, since she was the one member of staff to die in the war," she asked, quill poised and looking eager. For a moment, I saw Rita Skeeter in her place, and a tendril of hot rage writhed in my stomach. My eyes narrowed. "Surely this was an example of her ineptness to be a teacher?"

The rage exploded. "I'm afraid I can give you no answer for that," I told her through clenched teeth, hoping my trembling hands were well hidden under the desk. "I didn't know her that well. And she is dead. I will say nothing against her."

"You attended her classes in Divination..." Veronique protested, but perhaps something unpleasant flickered in my eyes, for her sentence trailed off. Maybe she even remembered that I had threatened her, and maybe she was just realising I'd actually meant it.

I was tired of her. "I would advise you to speak to Professor Brown, if you want any information on Professor Trelawney," I told her in a clipped voice. "She is her replacement, and was also rather close to her, and an extremely successful pupil of hers. She will have the knowledge for you. Good day."

She left, rather than me throwing her out. It was rather disappointing.

That evening I was sorting through the assignments the Sixth Years had given me, when I heard insistent knocking on my door. Puzzled, I called, "Come in." Lavender entered. I only needed to take one look at her to see that something was very, very wrong. Standing up, I ushered her into a seat, asking, "What's wrong?"

She wrung her hands so hard, I was afraid she'd accidentally break a bone. "It's the reporter, Veronique Delordre." I pressed my lips together unconsciously at the mere mention of her name. "Apparently, you sent her to me..."

I sighed. "She wanted information on Trelawney. I couldn't trust myself to say anything about her in front of our dear reporter." Lavender raised an eyebrow at the sarcasm in my voice when I referred to Veronique, but mostly looked reproachful concerning what I'd said about Trelawney. Lavender had hero-worshipped her when we'd been kids, after all. "What happened?" I asked in a weary voice. What idiocy had Veronique managed to concoct this time?

Lavender hesitated. I frowned. "Well, it's not what she said as much as how she... acted," she said at last, looking worried and nervous at the same time. "She's... she's not entirely stable, is she?" Now that was the understatement of the century.

"Sanity isn't something she uses that often," I found myself saying, but it wasn't the truth. Veronique wasn't insane, that much I knew. She tended to act mad to frighten people into telling her what she wanted to know, which appeared to have worked on Lavender. It didn't appease me very much.

"She seems disturbed," Lavender mused, rubbing her hands together almost subconsciously. "Do you think it's safe to have her here with the students?"

No, I wanted to say, no it isn't safe to have her here at all, but we have no choice in the matter. I didn't. I stayed silent, letting her think I was going through my own thoughts. Once again I found myself regretting letting Dumbledore's decision to keep Veronique here stay as it was, without voicing any real opinion. She was a danger, it was blatantly obvious. But he was still refusing to do anything about it. It wasn't even escaping Severus, now, how he was acting.

"I think you should keep away from her," I said at last, breaking the silence, having realised that Lavender was watching me, waiting for an answer of some sort. "What did you tell her?"

"Not a lot," Lavender replied, looking miffed. "She didn't seem pleased, especially when I ordered her to leave." I felt the first beginnings of panic start to flutter in my stomach. That was the last thing I'd hoped she'd do. Apparently my face showed my panic, for she suddenly paused. "That wasn't what I was supposed to do, was it?"

I took in a deep breath, before I said, "Stay away from her. Veronique doesn't... like people who don't exactly give her what she wants." Lavender's eyes widened, but she simply nodded and agreed. But I was still worried.

No matter what Lavender thought about her, I knew Veronique wasn't insane. It wasn't in her eyes, and I'd met many people over the years who'd been insane. I'd started to recognise the look. Many of them had been trying to kill me. Veronique hadn't the look in her eyes that she needed a strait jacket, no matter how much I wanted her to. And that wasn't good.

People thought that it was the insane that were the worst enemies. In some cases they were, but usually they weren't. For the mad, there was usually some experience or reason for them turning out the way they did, but for the ones who weren't mad, those who were completely sane, there was no reason for them turning out like they were. For most, it was simply because they wanted to be cruel, or corrupted, or whatever else they were. They committed the actions for their own reasons, their own motivations. For them, there were no excuses. I'd slowly learned over the years, it had been the sane people who were trying to kill me that were the ones to be afraid of. Not the mad.

When I looked into Veronique's eyes, all I saw was crystal-clear sanity, and intense hatred. I wished I could see the opposite instead.

 

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