28 Sept 1991 - Saturday
The weekend found Harry still in the Infirmary and bored. He was eyeing the ceiling, counting the cracks, and wishing for some homework when Draco and Hermione arrived. As Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, they both jumped onto his bed. Hermione hugged Harry and then dragged her bookbag between them.
"Draco told me you wanted to learn more about your wand, Harry, so we found this book in the library so you could look it up," said Hermione as she pushed Wand Lore & History by Imelda Sparks towards him.
Harry grinned at the book. "Yeah! Thanks, Hermione!" As he flipped through the book, Hermione sat on his left and Draco on his right so all three of them could read.
"Applewood!" Harry pointed as a drawing of a lovely apple tree blowing in the breeze, its blossoms falling like pale pink snow to the ground. Harry began to read aloud...
Applewood is one of the unique woods used in making wands. Rarely used, but quite powerful as it engenders transformative magic and the positive magics of love, truth, honesty, and peace. It is a healing wood prized by the Celts of old who worshipped the magics of the Elements. Thus, Healers often gravitate towards an applewood wand.
Harry paused, thinking aloud, “It might be nice to be a Healer.”
Draco nodded. “You could help a lot of people, Harry.”
“It’d be nice to take care of kids,” Harry mused.
“You’d be a great paediatrician, Harry!” enthused Hermione. “Go on. Does it say anything else?”
Harry began reading again...
The applewood is also considered to be strongly related to the magic of motherhood and a child who is blessed with an applewood wand will often discover that its magical warmth is similar to that of a mother's loving warmth.
Harry tried not to squirm uneasily but he could not help himself. He had no idea what a mother’s loving warmth was. He then smiled, but very briefly, and wondered if Professor Snape’s hugs had that warmth. Taking a breath, he continued...
A wand made with applewood can also be highly prized by a witch or wizard who is born with the power to create spells. This is the transformative power in applewood. The wielder of such a wand and who has such creative power within them, will discover that their creativity is enhanced threefold.
Cores that are complementary to applewood are: phoenix feather, unicorn hair, and ashwinder ash.
Note: a true applewood wand will resemble the branch it is taken from. A wandmaker of great skill will know better than to force the wood into the standard wand shape most witches and wizards are familiar with.
A quick consult of the table of contents led them to the meaning behind various wand cores. Harry found ashwinder ash and read that aloud.
The ashwinder is a curious, magical snake that is born from the hot embers of the remains of a magical fire. They only live an hour, long enough to lay their eggs, before dissolving into a pearly grey ash. Their eggs and ashy remains are highly prized by potioneers. It is the ashy remains that are used as a core for wands and it is a difficult wand core for wandmakers to work with.
Harry spared a bright look for his best friend who returned his. Ashwinders were ‘wicked!’
Ashwinder ash has magical protective properties and a wand with an ashwinder ash core will give the wielder an easier time of casting protective spells and shields. Fire magic will also come easier to the wielder.
Woods that are complementary to ashwinder ash are: yew, applewood, and willow.
"Brilliant!" breathed Draco with a low whistle.
"That's marvellous, Harry! Such a beautifully complex wand you have,” sighed Hermione.
Harry just grinned. He really liked his wand. For the next half hour the three friends continued to peruse the book until Draco suggested that they play a game of Exploding Snap. They were just getting started when Madame Pomfrey came from her office to dose her patient and stopped the game.
"You are supposed to be resting, Mr. Potter," chided Madame Pomfrey.
"But, I'm bored," complained Harry.
"This isn't a playroom," began Poppy. "If you have homework or reading, that you may do, but Exploding Snap is not only noisy it's too excitable for you."
"Can we draw, Madame?" asked Harry suddenly.
Madame Pomfrey didn't answer right away, and she noticed all three students held their breaths. She smiled. "I have no objection to that." With several waves of her wand, Poppy transfigured chairs into lap desks, then summoned paper and a large box of crayons. All three were soon happily occupied in the quiet pursuit of drawing and colouring their creations.
Professor Snape’s Afternoon
Dressed in casual grey trousers, a white cotton shirt, a long, deep green tie, and a knee length trench coat of dark brown to keep out the chill, Snape strode purposefully down Privet Drive. He passed the Dursleys immaculate, little house, and gave it a scowl as he continued on. His goal was the only misfit house on Privet Drive.
Mrs. Figg's cottage was a dowdy old two story that needed paint and a few repairs to the porch. The yard was a riotous overgrowth of weeds, rosebushes, and other flowers planted with no organisation in mind. All of it was preparing to die for the winter and so it gave the yard a forlorn appearance. A wooden fence that was missing boards, or had many that were hanging by a single nail, surrounded the property.
Cats. They were everywhere. Snape could see about ten. Not one was beyond the property's border. The majority of the ten perched upon various places upon the wooden fence. One cat sat upon a branch in the skeletal tree in the front yard. Two more cats were seated upon the porch roof that drooped on its right side. One last cat, a champion climber, no doubt sat upon the highest peak of the roof of the house. Every last pair of eyes were upon him as he approached and he couldn't repress a shudder.
Snape didn't mind cats but he definitely didn't like Mrs. Figg's cats.
Doing his best to ignore the watching felines, Snape made his way up a narrow, weed-littered, cobbled path to the porch. He stepped onto the old porch and heard the ominous sound of creaking wood. He took two quick steps to the front door and was not at all surprised to find that the screen door hung askew from one hinge. Resisting the temptation to fix it, he carefully pulled the screen door open and knocked firmly on the main door.
A voice from within warbled, "Oh! I hear you! Do give me... just a moment, dear!"
Snape waited, as patiently as he could. Two minutes later the door swung open and he was looking down at the short form of Mrs. Figg.
Arabella Figg was no less dowdy than her house. Her hair was cut short and tamed with some sort of home perm. The hair also appeared to have been cut by Mrs. Figg herself. She wore a checked gingham dress that fell to her knees with a somewhat stained apron over the dress. Over that she wore a cardigan that possibly belonged to the late Mr. Figg and was a dull olive green. Upon her legs were sturdy support hose of beige and on her feet were perfectly sensible, brown shoes.
"Why Professor Snape!" she smiled brightly. "I don't believe I was expecting you. Do come in, dear. It's getting positively chilly out there and it wouldn't do for you to bring back a cold to your students."
He was ushered into the overly warm house and directed into the living room. There were cats lounging everywhere and Snape's sensitive nose was assaulted by the disagreeable odour of cat litter and urine.
The furniture was an eclectic, mis-matched bargain basement set. A sofa, two plush chairs, and another threadbare couch under a window. All the furniture bore the imprint of cats who used the furniture to sharpen their claws and despite strategically draped lap rugs, quilts, and afghans, all the furniture sported tufts of their stuffing coming out here and there.
Mrs. Figg directed him to the least abused chair and then made her way towards her kitchen. "How lucky that I've just put the tea on. Sit down, dear, and make yourself comfortable."
Snape stared down at the chair that was covered with cat hair. Taking out his wand, he quickly vanished the fur, and then he cast a Freshening Spell so he wouldn't succumb to the odour of the cats and their litter boxes. Lastly he removed his trench coat and draped it over the back of the chair before seating himself.
Once again he was conscious of all the cats in the room looking at him. He glared back at them, silently warning them that should any of them dare to turn him into one of their perches, he'd use them in a potion. A cat on the sofa, clearly unimpressed by his glare and silent threat, flopped over on its side, yawned, stretched, and proceeded to go to sleep.
Mrs. Figg bustled back out of the kitchen carrying a tea tray that held a pristine China tea set with a blue pattern. In this odd house Snape expected the dishes to be chipped, but they were in perfect shape. Mrs. Figg had made little sandwiches and small cakes to go with the tea. She put it down on a wide table between the chairs and sofa and proceeded to pour the tea. She then handed him a cup. Taking an experimental sip, Snape had to admit that it qualified as one of the best teas he'd ever had.
"Quite good, Mrs. Figg," he complimented sincerely.
She blushed, tittered, and sat down with her tea. "Thank you so much, Professor Snape. What brings you to my humble home?" she asked.
"Harry Potter," he intoned. "Were you aware that Mr. Potter was Sorted into my House?" he began.
"Was he now? I suppose Albus was disappointed over that, wasn't he?" She laughed demurely.
Snape regarded the woman before him carefully. That was an insulting remark to make. He did not immediately reply. He was not certain what to make of it.
She smiled apologetically. "Oh dear! I don't mean to insult Slytherin at all, Professor Snape, but I do recall Albus telling me a number of times that he expected Harry to be just like his father." She sighed. "He isn't, though, poor dear."
"I am discovering that there is very little of James Potter in his son," Snape said, a hard edge to his voice.
"If Vernon and Petunia had chosen to spoil Harry as they do their Dudley, he might have been more like the precocious James I remember." She smiled and chuckled lightly. "The Marauders... dear me they were a bunch of hellions even as adults." Mrs. Figg sipped her tea. "Mind you, though, Professor, I never quite liked Sirius Black. A Peter Pan that one was. It's no wonder he came to the end he did. Sad. Sad, but that's what happens when a child is allowed the latitude he was." She looked up at Snape. "You and Sirius weren't fond of each other, were you, Professor?"
"That is stating it mildly," he said with slight sneer. He hated James Potter, but as for which of the four Marauders were the most distasteful and annoying, that would have to have been Sirius. The least Snape could say about James Potter was that when Harry was born he began to get more serious, to mature. That didn't happen with Black who took every opportunity to needle Snape beyond their days at school at the Order meetings.
Not once during those years did Dumbledore ever intervene. Instead, the senile old coot would sit at the head of the table at headquarters smiling indulgently at his treasured Gryffindors. It was always Minerva who would pounce upon the immature lion and cuff him about the ears, metaphorically speaking. Although, there was that one time, that Snape relished, in which Black had stepped so far over the line that Minerva had physically cuffed the young man and taken him out of the room by his ear. Ten minutes later when they returned, Minerva stood staunchly next to Snape as a sullen, and rather cowed Sirius Black took his wounded pride slinking over towards James, Remus, Peter, and Lily.
"Mrs. Figg," Snape began cautiously. "Were you aware that Harry did not make it on time to Hogwarts?"
"Why no! He didn't? What happened? Did Vernon not wish to take him to the station?" she asked. "Vernon does get terribly fussy about that car of his and I know he..."
"The boy's uncle did not desire Mr. Potter to go to Hogwarts." Snape interrupted. He felt if he didn't, the short woman would go on, ad naseum. "He burned everything that Mr. Potter purchased in Diagon Alley," he continued bluntly. He gazed sharply at the Squib, capturing her gaze so she couldn't look away from him.
"Oh dear..." she gasped as her eyes glazed over slightly as though she were viewing the not too distant past. "That was the bonfire the neighbors complained about." Her eyes came back to the present and she shook her head and clucked her tongue. "There really shouldn't be any burning in this neighborhood but I do remember the smoke. Some of my poor cats were coughing for days afterwards."
Snape snorted in derision. He could care less about the woman's damned cats. He needed to know if she knew about the abuse. "Mrs. Figg," his hard voice brought her wandering mind back to the present. "Mr. Potter told me that you were his babysitter. Did you ever see any bruises on him? Injuries that a child would not normally have?"
Mrs. Figg frowned in consternation. This was not something she wished to discuss over such a pleasant tea. "Bruises?" She asked softly.
"Yes, bruises," Snape repeated himself.
"But boys are always hurting themselves," she said, a bit airily. "And Harry and Dudley do play terribly hard. Those two are always getting in fights..." her voice drifted and for a moment Snape thought the old woman's mind might have slipped its tracks. She came back, though, and shook her head. "A few bumps, bruises, and scrapes, but nothing out of the ordinary, Professor Snape."
Snape put down his tea and drummed his fingers against the armrest. Mrs. Figg watched him, deep concern etched into the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. "Did the boy ever look a bit ragged to you, Mrs. Figg? Rather too small?"
"Harry Potter never looked anything but the picture of health to me, Professor, so I'd like to know, clearly, if you're implying something," she spoke starchly, her voice tinged with perceived insult.
"Madame Pomfrey did a history on the boy after I rescued him, from a cupboard under the stairs, and discovered that the child had been abused and starved for years," Snape said bluntly, his own tone hard and implacable. "I would like to know how you, his babysitter, never saw any of this."
Mrs. Figg began to pet the cat on her lap too aggressively. It let out an indignant yelp and leapt off her lap onto the floor. "I never... saw... any of that," she hissed like one of her cats and glared.
Snape's fingers again drummed upon the armrest as he studied the Squib. The Legilimens he did was swift and gave him the answer he needed, she was not lying. "So, Albus never knew."
Although the question was rhetorical, Mrs. Figg replied stiffly, "What was there to know, Professor? Harry never said anything to me, and I never saw anything out of the ordinary. Like I said, he and Dudley fought a bit, but any scrapes or bruises I saw, were minor."
Snape went back to drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair as he stared out into the side yard through a nearby window. He hadn't wanted to discover that Albus had known of Harry's abuse, and so he hadn't, but now he was disturbed by the apparent fact that Albus had never checked in upon the boy.
Why? Didn't the man know that Petunia...? Well, no, he would not have known anything about Petunia Evans. Only he, Snape, had known that Petunia had very little fondness for her little sister. Petunia's jealousy had become a bitter pill of hatred by the time Snape and Lily were fast friends. When Lily's parents had been killed by Death Eaters, Petunia's hatred could have turned to outright fear. Then, to be saddled with what she feared most? A magical child... her sister's child?
The bruises? The injuries? If the younger boy's bruises had been anything like the ones he'd found on the boy when he rescued him, how could anyone not have seen those? Picture of health? his mind scoffed in disbelief. Had it been Harry's own accidental magic that was the key?
It wasn't unheard of. So little was understood of a child's accidental magic, but Snape had read some of the studies that had been done. He remembered how, when he was five, a bubble had encased him, thus protecting him from his father's blows. In talking to his own Snakes that had been hurt by parents or siblings, he had learned that accidental magic sometimes protected them, too. Accidental magic was fickle, though, and not something a child could count upon. This Snape knew as well. The bubble that had protected him once, never did so again.
Snape frowned, lost deeper in thought as he solved the puzzle slowly within his mind.
Was it possible that Harry had unwittingly discovered a way to use his accidental magic to heal himself? To help the boy in concealing from other adults his injuries so that they would not see them and make Harry's life more difficult by 'helping' him?
"More tea, dear?" Mrs. Figg's earnest voice interrupted Snape's thoughts. He looked up at the woman who stood over him, and then to the cup and saucer he held in his other hand. He nodded and Mrs. Figg poured the tea from the China teapot.
Snape was caught off guard when she patted his forearm, right where his Dark Mark lay hidden beneath his clothing. "Believe me, dear, had I known that Harry was being mistreated, I would have said something. Petunia and Vernon are a disagreeable pair, but never did I suspect them capable of hurting a child."
"Not any child," Snape muttered, "a magical child."
Mrs. Figg sat down with the teapot in her lap and nodded miserably.
The Afternoon at Hogwarts
Madame Pomfrey declared Harry well enough after breakfast to leave the Infirmary with the stern caution that he was to return if he felt ill. Pleased to be free, the three friends headed down to Hagrid's hut to visit and play with Fang. Hagrid watched over them as he tended to his growing pumpkins, pleased at hearing their laughter and Fang's excited barks as they played catch. At a little bit before noon, a house elf summoned them to the Headmaster's office.
The three children raced each other to the castle (Harry won) and then quickly made their way to the Headmaster's tower office. The gargoyle blocked their way, but the house elf had given them a password (Snickerdoodle) that the gargoyle accepted. It moved aside and the three friends rose the moving, spiral staircase up to the top of the tower.
Three apple-cheeked, dishevelled children entered the Headmaster's office. The benign face of the old Headmaster was briefly acknowledged, but all three turned their attention to the immaculate couple that were seated on the other side of Dumbledore's desk.
Draco stiffened at once. The couple were his parents. He'd conveniently forgotten that they were coming this weekend. Presumably to further punish him for his detention.
"Hello Father. Hello Mother," he greeted them quietly.
Lucius nodded to his son, his expression stern, mindful of the business the two would deal with later. Lucius then turned his attention to Harry. A slight smile ghosted the edge of his lips, but the stern features remained. Harry wondered if he was in trouble with Mr. Malfoy. "Mr. Potter. It is good to see you again."
"Thank you, Sir," Harry smiled wanly.
Narcissa moved from her chair and practically glided over to her son. She kissed Draco's forehead and then moved to Harry. She did not reach towards him, but smiled down at him. "I'm very pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Potter. My son tells me wonderful things about you in his letters."
Harry shot his friend a scowl and Draco coloured. "Just that you're my friend," he mumbled defensively. Harry smirked and chuckled, and Draco gave his friend an apologetic smile.
Narcissa then approached Hermione who shuffled nervously under the very elegant woman's appraisal. She didn't notice Harry and Draco watching. "You must be Hermione Granger."
"Yes, ma'am," she replied respectfully and couldn't help but execute a tiny curtsy. As Narcissa was blocking her view, she did not see Lucius Malfoy's nod of approval at her small use of gentility.
"I'm dismayed that my son didn't tell me anything about you, dear girl." Narcissa glanced knowingly at Draco and his cheeks coloured in blush once more. "Your teacher, Professor Snape told us about you, though, Miss Granger. He's thinks quite well of you."
It was Hermione's turn to blush as she smiled with bright hopefulness. "Does he really?"
"He does indeed, Miss Granger. He did go on to say that you're a bit rough around the edges, but I'm sure we can take care of that." Narcissa's smile softened the hard words. Then, to Hermione's surprise, Narcissa Malfoy stepped beside her, placed a warm hand against her back and nudged her, just a bit, towards her husband until she was standing behind Hermione with her fingertips delicately upon her shoulders. "She is a lovely child, don't you think so, Lucius?"
Lucius gave Hermione a charming smile as he leaned forward, seeming to support his position by leaning on his ebony, silver headed cane. "I do see the young lady's potential, my dear, but if you do not mind, I would like to concern myself more with her academic career." Lucius beckoned to Hermione and she froze until she felt another gentle nudge. Not hesitating any longer, she stepped forward to face Lucius Malfoy. "Your Potions teacher tells me that you strive to please your instructors to the detriment of your fellows, Miss Granger."
Hermione dropped her head. Although the man's tone was not scolding, she knew that Professor Snape must have told him what a know-it-all she was. A slim, gloved finger rested under her chin and prodded her to lift her head.
"Intelligence is nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Granger," Lucius chided gently. "However, it is quite unnecessary to prove to others that you have it. The greater reward is to expand your knowledge and to learn all that you may whilst remaining content with your studies. What others think matters not."
"I will keep that in mind, sir," she said politely.
"See that you do." He nodded for her to return to her friends. Hermione did so, casting puzzled glances at Draco, and then Harry for good measure. They both shrugged, just as puzzled as she was herself.
"Mr. Potter," the Headmaster spoke up. "If you would be so kind as to sit over here you and I have a bit of business to discuss later."
"Okay, Sir." Harry hurried over to the chair that was to the left of the Headmaster's desk and seated himself.
"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, do sit down." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and Lucius smiled the smile he always used for public functions. It easily disguised his true feelings for whomever he was meeting. "Would anyone care for a sherbet lemon?" Harry was about to agree to one when he caught a slight shake of the head from Draco that was echoed by his father. He said nothing.
"No thank you, Sir," replied Hermione politely. She rarely indulged in sweets.
"Very well then. Let's get to the business at hand." Dumbledore smiled at Hermione. "Miss Granger, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy would like to be your Wizarding Sponsors as you attend school here at Hogwarts."
Hermione glanced at the Malfoys, but gave the Headmaster a look of puzzlement. "Sponsors? For what reason, Sir?"
Dumbledore began to explain, "Muggles cannot see Hogwarts. It is the wards the protect Hogwarts from being seen by the Muggle world, thus it is far too risky a prospect to change the wards and the magic for a simple visit. If the Malfoys were to sponsor you, they would act on your behalf in your parents stead." Dumbledore added, "If you had a magical family to sponsor you, Miss Granger, it is to them that you would go to if you needed advice, or a home to stay if it was needed. Your sponsor family would also receive letters from Hogwarts as to your progress, any injuries you might receive, or any other troubles you might have."
"Would my parents still know what's going on?" asked Hermione.
The Headmaster nodded. "They would be kept informed and the Malfoys would work with your parents in regards to what your needs are during your years at Hogwarts."
"That sounds very reasonable, Professor." Hermione glanced shyly at the Malfoys and then blushed at Draco's absolutely delighted grin.
"I thought you might think so, Miss Granger. I will send a letter to your parents in order to open a correspondence between them and the Malfoys." Dumbledore rose from his chair and addressed Lucius and Narcissa, "For now, I'd like you to go to the visitors tower where a nice lunch will be waiting for all of you so that you can get acquainted. Niccy!" A house elf popped into the office.
"Master Headmaster, sir?" bowed the little elf.
"Escort Miss Granger and the Malfoys to the visitors tower, if you would?" requested the Headmaster.
"Niccy will do so, Master Headmaster!" The house elf grinned and then beckoned to the Malfoys and Hermione.
Narcissa glided up beside Hermione and took her hand in hers. She smiled warmly down at the little girl, and Hermione felt a flutter in her heart as she looked up into the beautiful woman's kindness.
"Thank you, Headmaster," Lucius spoke cordially, but his charm was only upon the surface and Dumbledore knew it. Before Lucius Malfoy disappeared through the door with his family and Hermione, Lucius turned to look at young Harry. Without glancing at the Headmaster, he kept his gaze on Harry, but addressed Dumbledore. "You will make sure that Mr. Potter meets us for lunch, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore gave the aristocratic wizard a condescending smile and a nod. Lucius ushered his family from the office. As soon as the door was closed, the house elf beckoned to the group. Lucius put a hand on his wife's arm. She touched his gloved hand and whispered to him, "Hurry."
A Meeting With the Headmaster
Harry, his heart now thumping nervously in his chest, looked into the watery blue eyes of the Headmaster. Although Dumbledore was smiling, quite affably, Harry didn't feel like smiling back.
In the brief eyeblink of a moment, Harry felt an odd itchy, tingling sensation in his mind. It was an annoying sort of buzz that made him want to reach into his brain and slap it. As he fought it, the buzzing persisted, becoming more annoying. The itch became a small pain that slowly began to blossom into colours: red, yellow, fiery orange.
Just as quickly, though, it all ended as though a light had been turned off. Harry was breathing heavily and he was slumped back in his chair. His head ached and his tummy felt a bit sour. The Headmaster was still staring at him, but the man was now frowning.
"Sir?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Dumbledore conjured his most grandfatherly of smiles and his blue eyes twinkled as he picked up the tin of sweets. "Do have a sherbet lemon, Harry."
Harry stared down at the tin that held little lemon shaped sweet. He had to admit they were mouth-watering, but he could not forget the slight, worried shakes of the heads from both Draco and his father. When the Headmaster brought the tin closer, Harry only hesitated for a second before taking one of the sweets and pretending to pop it into his mouth. Harry was sure the older man didn't see that he had palmed the lemon sweet. A minute later he hid it within a fold of his school robe because he couldn't get to his pocket. It had gotten sticky from his sweaty palm, so he knew it would stick to the fabric.
Even a great wizard can be foiled by a simple sleight of hand, and Harry's little trick of palming the sticky sweet was one he'd learned at the harsh hands of his cousin. Dudley liked to make his cousin eat horrible things: dirt, worms, bugs. Dudley did this because he knew that Harry was often hungry and when he ate something awful tasting, he made the funniest faces.
Harry only fell for his cousin's stupid trick twice. Dudley wasn't as smart as Harry and so, when his cousin gave him insects, or worms, or any other icky substance to eat, Harry pretended to put it in his mouth and cleverly palmed the offending 'food' so that no one saw him. He would pretend to chew, then gag, and make the funny faces that would get Dudley braying like the donkey he was. It would also, afterwards, give Harry some needed time alone.
And now, as Harry pretended to suck upon the lemony sweet, the Headmaster watched him intently. Harry's only moment of panic came when he wondered, briefly, what the sweet would have done to him. Was the Headmaster simply waiting for Harry's lips to pinch together in sour distaste, or was there something in the sweets?
Dumbledore smiled in satisfaction and Harry, who felt his heart thump harder, had to tell it to quiet down or it might be heard. Just as the Headmaster thought that Harry ate the sweet, so too, did he not hear Harry's heart beating so loudly that it was proclaiming the boy's nervousness. Harry knew better than to show fear, to anyone, and he kept his face and posture relaxed.
The Headmaster leaned forward, with an aggrieved sigh. "Tell me, my boy, have you ever heard the story of the Philosopher's Stone?"
29 Sept 1991 - Saturday, cont.
Harry had learned from his relatives, and from everyone else he encountered, how to read people. Whether it was their eyes, body language, or tiny twitches and tics most people would quickly dismiss, Harry knew what they all meant. He'd had no chance but to learn this skill. Although his relatives were the first to hurt him, and to teach him most of these skills, he soon discovered as he attended Primary school with his cousin, that everyone had to be carefully watched.
There were too many people out to hurt him.
Albus Dumbledore looked like a kindly, old man. Quite a bit like the Merlin illustrations in some of Dudley's books. Harry knew that it wasn't real, though. He had distrusted the Headmaster the moment he'd met him in the Infirmary after his professor had rescued him.
As he had done then in the Infirmary, Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes studied Harry's reaction to the question he'd posed - have you ever heard the tale of the Philosopher's Stone? Harry blinked and then shook his head as he felt that horrid itchy feeling again. With the return of the itchiness, his headache, which had abated for a bit, came back to life. Deep down inside of Harry he knew there was something wrong. This affable, sweet, charming old man, was somehow causing Harry's headache. He forced his eyes to look over the man's shoulder at all the portraits of the past Headmasters and Headmistresses.
"Let me tell you the story, then," said the Headmaster as he directed Harry's gaze away from the portraits and back to him by gently grasping the boy's chin between his thumb and index finger.
Harry did his very best not to flinch at the older man's touch. The Headmaster's blue eyes were twinkling as he told the story about a brilliant alchemist, but that twinkle had a hard edge to it that made Harry very uncomfortable.
Pay attention! Harry chastised himself within his mind. How many times had he not paid attention to Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia when they were shouting at him and it only made the punishment worse? Truthfully, he could care less about some dumb alchemist, but since he had no choice but to listen, Harry did so.
Dumbledore's story continued as he explained that the alchemist created a miraculous stone that would give anyone who brewed a particular potion with it, an extended life. This alchemist, this wondrous wizard, had stopped ageing and had lived to be nearly 600 years old.
Impossible, thought Harry. But, he was a wizard. He went to school in a castle that was filled with portraits that talked, paintings that moved, ghosts that ran through the Great Hall, armour that would run after you, and three-headed dogs hidden behind large doors on deserted corridors. Like Alice in Wonderland, Harry had gotten used to believing at least three impossible things before breakfast at Hogwarts.
Harry suddenly made the mistake of squirming uncomfortably in his chair and darting a glance towards the Headmaster's closed, office door. When his eyes snapped back to settle their attention on Professor Dumbledore, that eerie, hard edge was back, glittering in the pale, watery blue eyes. The itching was back and with it pain bloomed so harshly, Harry would have thrown up if there had been any food in his stomach.
Frightened as he was, he pushed all of that fear into a cardboard box, closed it up, and shoved it with dozens of other boxes, into a cupboard. He blinked at the Headmaster and the pain faded, but that sharp twinkle was still in the man's eyes.
Dark Man, please help me! a very small, helpless boy deep inside Harry whimpered.
Dark Man
Lucius didn't watch as Narcissa with their son and the Granger girl were escorted to the visitor's tower by the house elf, Niccy. He needed to find Snape, and he only knew of one place to find the man; in the dungeons.
One would not think that Lucius Malfoy would run for any reason, and perhaps they might think he'd never run in his life. Lucius would sneer haughtily at such a statement, and then declare in a haunted voice, that an adult had many things to run from.
The wizard's long legs carried him through the twisting corridors of the dungeons first towards Slytherin House and then past the portrait of Salazar Slytherin and on a few more feet to Snape's office. He paused, breathing smoothly, and knocked on the heavy oak door. It was locked and there was no answer. Lucius cursed.
"Severus!" he snapped.
Snape had just arrived through his personal Floo from Hogsmeade after visiting Mrs. Figg. He was to join the Malfoys in the visitors tower for lunch, so he went straight to his bathroom to freshen himself and to change into his preferred black robes.
Standing at his sink, in a clean pair of trousers and bare feet, he stared at himself in the mirror.
Dumbledore had never looked in on the boy.
Snape splashed the cool water upon his face, but it did little to help the gnawing deep in his stomach.
Dumbledore intends to send the boy back.
"Why?" Snape asked his reflection and was pleased that his mirror was not one of those obnoxious ones that talked back.
I never knew where he was. I never asked where Dumbledore had put Harry. Would I have taken the boy if I'd known the only alternative was Petunia?
That question stopped the Potions Master cold. Indeed. Would he have taken a baby, Potter's brat, to raise?
He had been brushing his teeth during these thoughts and angrily spat the mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. He then rinsed his mouth and put away his toothbrush.
It was useless to ask himself such a question. He had been taken to Azkaban seconds, it seemed, after being caught. Snape had not the access to the Prince inheritance since the Ministry had seen fit to freeze his assets. Neither did he have the good fortune that Lucius had used to stay out of the accursed place. Ohhh, Dumbledore had come to Snape's 'rescue', but that was three months later.
The Headmaster had never visited him once while he was in the wizarding prison. He'd been stripped of his robes, beaten upon by his guards, and his nightmares had been some of the worst ever as the Dementors fed upon any and all happiness that ever he had.
And what glorious evidence had the Headmaster brought to his trial, to present to the Wizengamot? His word. And a pensieved memory of Dumbledore's that had laid bare his repentance, his tears, and then his promise to spy upon the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters for... not the Light, but for Dumbledore.
"There was no Vow," Snape muttered as he buttoned his white linen shirt and tucked it into the waist of his trousers. "All this time I have been free and not once did I think about where Harry was, or if he was all right."
He bowed his head as he held onto the open doors of his wardrobe. Snape had made a Vow, but it had been to Lily. He had Vowed to protect her son and he had failed.
A gentle, cool breeze that ruffled his unbuttoned cuffs curled around him, causing the ends of his hair to lift, and fall. Snape raised his head as he felt... fingertips? A hand touched his cheek. Closing his eyes, he tried to lean into the touch but it faded.
"I will not fail him this time, Lily," he whispered in a choked voice.
Sometimes a student might bother Snape on Saturday but he had made it clear via a memo he had his prefects post in the common room last night that he would be unavailable this weekend. The chime that he had spelled on his office door was insistent and so he adjusted his robes and left his private quarters to emerge through a door hidden against his office back wall.
A familiar voice shouted, "Severus Snape! Open this bloody door!"
Snape had a scathing rejoinder on the tip of his tongue, but it died when he opened the door of his office to Lucius Malfoy. The man declared, breathlessly, "Dumbledore has Harry!"
Snape was momentarily frozen in place as Lucius continued, "I do not know what he means, Severus, but I caught a glimpse of the boy's face as we left his office and Harry is not at ease with the old man."
That was enough. Snape broke from his frozen posture and without replying to Lucius, broke into a run, headed for the Headmaster's office. Lucius knew that Snape would take care if there were any trouble, so he did not follow, but returned to his family.
Snape was barely breathing hard as he finally reached the door of the Headmaster's tower office. To his anger, it was tightly shut against him. Wielding his wand, he did his best to cool his temper as he used several spells to break through the locking wards that Dumbledore had put up when the Malfoys and Hermione had left the office. Snape wanted to break in, but he did not wish to show his emotions by allowing the door to be blown off its hinges.
As it was, when the door finally, and gently, swung open, he heard Harry declare, "The Philosopher's Stone? That's what the three-headed monster is protecting!"
"Ah, Severus! There you are!" The Headmaster showed no sign that he was disturbed by the interruption, or the fact that the younger wizard had broken through his simple locking spells. As the old man stood, he leaned over and absently patted Harry's knee before returning his full attention to his Potions instructor. He did not see Harry flinch back from the touch so strongly that he knocked the back of his head against the back of the chair.
"Headmaster," Snape bowed slightly. He was the perfect picture of calm, and not even a ragged breath betrayed the mad dash he'd just made from the dungeons, despite the fact that his lungs and heart were burning within his chest. "I do apologise for interrupting, but it seems that I was not informed that Mr. Potter had been summoned to your office. As he is one of my Snakes, I was... concerned that he might have gotten up to some mischief." Snape glanced over towards Harry who gave him a relieved smile. "Three headed monster, Mr. Potter?"
Harry slipped off his chair and scooted around the Headmaster until he was at Snape's side. Without even knowing that he was mirroring the little boy's drawing, Snape draped one arm over Harry's shoulders, allowing Harry to lean in closer.
"Professor, the Headmaster was telling me a story about...!" Harry suddenly gripped Snape's arm as he caught that twinkling, glitter-edged glance from Dumbledore. The smile the old man sent his way, despite its supposed warmth, only chilled Harry to the bone. Harry had seen such an unspoken threat before; in his Uncle Vernon's eye the few times his teacher from Primary school had visited the Dursley home to speak about their 'odd' nephew. It clearly meant he was to keep quiet, or there would be consequences.
Snape caught the look the Headmaster gave Harry and understood it all too well. Ignoring it, he asked, "About the Philosopher's Stone?" Snape eyed the older wizard sharply. His gaze was accusing, though his expression remained neutral. "So I heard, Mr. Potter." Snape deftly interposed himself between the child and the Headmaster and gently extricated Harry from himself. "Have you had lunch today, Mr. Potter?"
Harry shook his head, slightly confused as to what was silently going on between the adults. He spoke softly, "Mr. Malfoy wanted the Headmaster to send me to the visitor's tower."
"Then you should go before they have to wait much longer," Snape gave the worried boy a very small smile that caused Harry to let out a breath of relief. "Once you are down the spiral staircase, summon a house elf and ask it to escort you to the visitor's tower. I'll be along shortly."
"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. He looked up at his teacher and saw that the stern and stoic expression familiar to all the students at Hogwarts had returned. Within the Dark Man's obsidian gaze, Harry found further assurance that all was well. With that, he turned, and did his best not to embarrass his Head of House by running. Once he left the Headmaster's office, though, Harry's heavily beating heart finally calmed itself down. Following his Head of House's instruction, Harry summoned a house elf and he was soon following it to the visitor's tower.
Snape turned back to the Headmaster when Harry had left the office. "The Philosopher's Stone, Headmaster?" asked Snape solemnly. "That is the artefact you brought into Hogwarts?"
"I ask you to remain silent about this, Severus," spoke the Headmaster gravely. The twinkle, of course, was long gone from his eyes, and Snape was sure he'd be reminded, once again, of his debt to Dumbledore.
"For what reason would you have, then, of telling Mr. Potter of the Stone's existence? And that blasted Cerberus?! Mr. Potter is aware of Fluffy?" Snape couldn't help but snort at the incongruous name Hagrid had given the beast.
Dumbledore smiled dismissively and Snape could not fully repress the sneer that marred his expression. The Headmaster ignored it, though, as he explained, "It seems that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy got themselves lost and found themselves up on the third floor corridor. They had hoped to use the only door they saw as a way back to the way they had come, but... well..."
"Fluffy," seethed Snape. "They could have been killed, Albus!" Snape's temper finally broke free as concern mixed with frustration. Why did the Headmaster speak as though this were some children's lark of an adventure? "Fluffy is not a benevolent creature!"
Dumbledore frowned at the younger man's temper, but did not correct him. "All you need know, Severus, is that the Stone is safe."
Snape wanted to gape at his Headmaster, but only tightened his scowl. "My concern is not for the Philosopher's Stone, Headmaster," he spoke slowly, as though trying to get a point across to a dimwit. "My concern is for the safety of the children."
Dumbledore eyed the Potions Master shrewdly, "Is it, Severus? You appear overly concerned about Mr. Potter, not your Snakes. Do you no longer view him with the same contempt you viewed his father?"
Snape glared. What had this to do with anything? Was Dumbledore trying to say something without saying anything? "My feelings towards James Potter have no bearing on how I treat the son and I am insulted that you believe it to be a factor." He did not admit that had the boy simply shown up at Hogwarts along with all the other little cretins, he would have seen James Potter, and only James. And that would have affected the way I would have treated the child, he thought to himself in shame. As it was, he not only saw James in the child, but Lily, as well. Finally, he saw Harry in Harry; a unique child.
The Headmaster smiled sadly. "I do apologise, my boy. I can see that you have taken the boy under your wing as you do all of your Snakes." Dumbledore moved over to one of his bookshelves and began to run his long fingers over their bindings. "The boy is going to need someone he trusts, Severus."
"He should trust you, sir," Snape declared with care. The Headmaster's secrets and manipulations were frustrating him to no end. He felt a sourness in his mouth as he wondered if he would not only have to protect Harry from Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, but a barmy, old Headmaster as well.
Dumbledore turned away from his books and eyed Snape over the rims of his half-moon glasses. "I would wish the boy to trust me, Severus, but I can see in his gaze that he does not."
"Headmas... Albus... you know that I am pledged to protect the child, but how can I when I know the things I know?" Dumbledore quietly regarded the younger wizard. Snape continued, "You intend to send Har... Mr. Potter back into an abusive situation, you tell him of the Philosopher's Stone and... Bedeviled Merlin! Have you put the entire school in danger for some mad scheme?!"
The Headmaster glared at his angry Potions instructor who had lost enough of his composure that he was yelling by the end of his tirade. "I do what must be done, Severus. As I always have. Do you truly believe that I wish to see Harry abused by his relatives?"
Snape did not answer. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Dumbledore sighed heavily. "So it appears you do."
For several minutes Dumbledore paced. Snape only watched. He remained, as a statue, neither offering nor asking, only waiting to see if the Headmaster might provide him with some clue as to what he was thinking.
When Snape had realised how he'd been manipulated by Dumbledore, and flat out lied to, it had hurt. It had sickened him to know what a fool he'd been all these years knowing that he'd been a free man. When it came down to it, though, Snape admitted to being a willing sacrifice. He blamed himself for his only friend's death and, after rescuing Harry, he felt partly to blame there as well.
What angered Snape, now, was that it seemed the sacrifice was no longer his, but Harry's. There had to be more than just Blood Wards behind the Headmaster's insistence that Harry be returned to his relatives. There had to be some reason for telling Harry, an eleven year old child, about the Philosopher's Stone. And there had to be some reason for bringing that damn Stone to the school. Had not there ought to be a reason for any of this? Snape asked himself.
Just when Snape thought that nothing more was to be, or could be said, and he was planning on just leaving, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Harry cannot trust me, Severus, because, I do not trust him."
Dumbledore ascended the stairs to his private chambers. Not once did he look over his shoulder to acknowledge the look of utter shock on Snape's face.
The Visitor’s Tower
While Snape rescued Harry from the clutches of the Headmaster, Lucius was now in the visitor's quarters assigned to he and his wife for their weekend stay. He assured Narcissa that Snape was going to take care of Harry. Until Harry arrived, Lucius would have a much needed talk with his son.
Lucius shut the door to the bedroom and cast a Silencing Spell as his son scooted to a safe distance over by the bed. Draco's father leaned back against the closed door and crossed his arms over his chest. Draco watched as his father deliberately, and smoothly, sheathed his wand back into the hollow of his cane.
"Explain yourself, Draco," drawled Lucius, not yet looking at his son.
"I... well, there was... we did... but I... and Harry... uhm..." Draco looked up at his father who now had his grey eyes trained heavily upon his son. Draco swallowed. Slowly his hands went to protect his backside. Lucius was entirely aware of the movement and had not ruled out a possible spanking to get his son to grow up. He hoped, though, that he wouldn't have to resort to such a punishment.
Draco scuffed the carpet with the toe of his boot, then faced his father's gaze once more. He didn't want a spanking. He was a big boy, now. His father had told him so. And Draco really wanted to prove to his father that his judgement wasn't misplaced. It took every ounce of courage he had to not look down at the toes of his boots. With a deeply held breath he confessed, "I lost my temper, father."
Lucius nodded once. "What have I warned you about that temper of yours, Draco?"
"That it will always get me in trouble," he replied softly.
"And why would losing your temper cause you to get into trouble, Dragon?"
Draco sniffed and let out a sigh of relief. When his father used his nickname, it meant that his father's anger was dissipating. "Because when I lose my temper, I stop thinking, father."
Lucius moved to sit beside his son who now leaned against his father's thigh. Lucius didn't push his son away, but neither did he touch the boy. "There will always be people who anger you, Dragon, but if you allow your anger to explode and to take over everything it is they who are in control, not you. It is imperative that you not allow that. It is perfectly acceptable to be angry, but you must control it so that you are still in control of all your faculties."
"Father?" he asked in a small voice. "Are you going to spank me?"
Lucius allowed his stern gaze to linger upon his son a moment longer before freeing his son from it. "No, Dragon. You are too old for spankings and as you've been entirely truthful with me, I am pleased with you. You are growing up."
Draco let out a great breath of relief. "Am I too old for hugs, Father?"
Lucius smiled and held his arms open. Draco embraced his father, hugging him tightly. Lucius' gloved hand cupped the back of his son's head. "Let us hope that you're never too old for hugs, Dragon."
The Headmaster's Tower
Severus Snape didn't think he'd ever been so gobsmacked before in his life. After several long minutes, that might have only been seconds, the only thing he knew to do was to leave.
As he left the Headmaster's office and made his way to the visitor's tower, his mind was irreversibly numb. Snape wanted to think, or to shout, to throw things, or to allow his accidental magic to bring the castle down stone by stone.
He couldn't do anything but pretend that all was well.
Less than ten minutes after leaving the Headmaster's office, Snape entered the quarters assigned to the Malfoys for their weekend visit in the visitor's tower. He made polite greetings as he joined everyone for lunch.
Later, he'd be unable to recall what was for lunch. It had all tasted like sand.
At some point, amidst the children chattering animatedly, or Narcissa talking to Hermione, or Lucius going on about some party, Harry had drifted away from the group to join his teacher where he sat upon the sofa. Harry just simply sat next to the man, sensing quite correctly, that he was feeling immensely off-kilter. Snape emerged enough from his chaotic fugue to drape an arm over the child's shoulder and draw him to his side. As Harry's hand went to worry the buttons on his coat, Snape's long fingers rested against the boy's hand. With a soft sough of a sigh, Harry leaned his head against his professor's chest; both not entirely realising that they were comforting each other.
Narcissa, engaged in a discussion with Hermione about etiquette and Wizarding customs, had looked up to see the Potions Master and Harry upon the sofa, quiet, lost perhaps, but content with each other. She caught her husband's eye and they shared a gaze of concern for the younger man.
A few hours later, Snape wasn't entirely aware that the Malfoys quarters had become quiet. Not until Lucius held a glass of fire whiskey in front of his face. Snape took the glass and easily drained it in one gulp. Lucius refilled the glass and then took a chair opposite his friend.
"Can you speak of it, Severus?" Lucius asked, doing his best to keep any concern he might have from his voice. He knew that his friend rarely admitted to any weakness and Snape was behaving as though someone had given him a great shock that weakened him. As astute as his observation was, he was not prepared for what the younger man replied.
"Dumbledore does not trust Harry." Snape drank down the second whiskey and then stood. "We will speak after dinner. I need to sleep now." With a nod, the Potions Master turned on his heel, and departed.
Lucius found his wife seated upon a conjured chair by the lake. The day had been decently warm, but the seasons were changing and the chill would soon bring snow to Hogwarts.
Narcissa, seeing her husband, enlarged the chair she was in, and he sat down beside his wife, taking her gloved hands into his. The three friends were seated some distance away, but still in sight, talking together as if they were sharing Life’s great secrets.
Lucius released one of his wife's hands and draped an arm over her shoulders until she leaned in contentment against his side.
"Was Severus ill?" asked Narcissa.
"I think so. He will not be joining us for dinner as he was in need of a lie-down. He and I will talk when he awakens." Lucius kissed his wife's brow before leaning back in the chair. Snape's last words echoed uneasily in his mind.
"Dumbledore does not trust Harry."
28 Sept 1991 - Saturday, That evening
"It's called Quidditch Little League," Hermione explained as she put a few croutons on her salad. Harry and Draco were intrigued because they thought that Hermione had something up her sleeve. The Malfoys, at first, listened politely.
"Draco, you know Roman Bosco?" she asked.
He nodded before taking a gulp of his pumpkin juice. "Yeah. I mean, yes. He played for the Chudley Cannons before retiring two years ago."
"Well, he's the player I read about in your Quidditch Monthly magazine," she smiled. Draco dragged his fork through his mashed potatoes. He rarely read his magazine unless the articles dealt with his current favourite players. "He moved to the States and he began the first Quidditch Little League for kids our age there." Hermione looked up guilelessly at Lucius. "Wouldn't it be great if we could have our own league here at Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy?"
Lucius chuckled at the girl and wiped his lips with his napkin. "Your delivery needs a bit of polish, but that was an excellent Slytherin maneuver, Miss Granger. A Quidditch Little League seems much more benign to sponsor than that blood... I mean," he inclined his head to his wife in apology for his almost crude language, "that blasted Tri-Wizard Tournament."
Hermione beamed at Lucius, then gave Harry and Draco, who each had an admiring look upon their faces, a wink. "I owled for more information, Mr. Malfoy," she added. "Should I send it to you?"
"Please do so, Miss Granger." He rose from the table and then leaned over to kiss his wife's cheek. "I am going to take a brief walk before meeting with Severus, my dear." He then gave each of the children a soft glare. "One pudding only."
Draco nodded. Hermione smiled, and Harry replied dutifully, "Yes, Sir!"
Snape slept much better than he had expected, despite taking a liberal dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion. Upon waking, though, he had to face what the Headmaster had told him about Harry.
Rising from his bed he subjected himself to an almost cold shower in order to clarify his mind. Upon emerging from the cool water, he threw a fluffy towel around his waist and a second over his shoulders, and leaned towards his non-speaking, non-magical mirror for the second time that day.
Taking out his straight razor Snape tackled the stubble on his chin that was just beginning to appear. Normally he used a spell to charm away the stubble, but he needed the precise and dangerous risk of the straight razor. In minutes, with a steady hand, he was finished. He sighed, rather too disappointed to see that he had not managed to slip once.
Leaving the bathroom behind, he quickly dressed and used a Drying Spell on his still wet hair. Just as he was about to leave his rooms to find Lucius, he stopped.
Harry had comforted me.
Dumbledore did not trust Harry.
"What in the name of Merlin are you afraid of, you old coot?" he demanded of no one as he stood in the middle of his living room.
A sharp knock on his door that led into a dungeon corridor announced that Snape would not have to go looking for Lucius. He waved his wand at the door and it opened, allowing the aristocrat into his living room.
"You look much improved, Severus," remarked Lucius as he held forth a bottle of elven brandy.
Snape took the bottle, decanted it while Lucius seated himself before the fire, and poured two measures of brandy into two crystal snifters. After he handed one glass to Lucius, he sat in a chair opposite the older wizard.
After a few delicate sips of the mellow liquor, Snape spoke darkly, "Do not ask me to explain what that old man meant, Lucius. I do not have the answer."
Lucius did not reply, nor did he press the younger man for details. When he was nearly halfway through his brandy, he spoke up, "I do have an answer for you, though, my friend."
Snape, whose attention had been on the flames in his Floo, centred his inquisitive attention upon Lucius. "To the matter of Harry and his relatives?"
Lucius nodded. "I spoke to my solicitor who has a contact in the Muggle world who did some research for me into Mr. Potter's situation. I think you'll be pleased to know that as Mr. Potter does have living relatives who... allow him living space, such as it is, the guardianship that Dumbledore has over the child is fraudulent." Snape perked up at this news and Lucius gave him a satisfied smile.
"Technically, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts he has a responsibility to the child, however, he does not have the legal right to either detain the boy from visiting relatives or friends, nor has he any right to determine where the boy resides. As you are his Head of House, you have the legal right of In Loco Parentis, acting on behalf of the parents in much the same manner as Narcissa and I shall act upon Miss Granger's behalf."
"What sort of guardianship does Dumbledore claim?" asked Snape.
"Godfather. When Sirius Black was arrested for the murders of those Muggles and Peter Pettigrew, Dumbledore stepped in as godfather to Harry Potter. His claim, at the time, was not disputed by the Ministry due to the chaos of the time, and for the simple fact that Dumbledore placed the baby with blood relatives. However," and here Lucius' smile was similar to that of the cat that ate the canary, "the Ministry is unaware of Mr. Potter's relatives and are under the impression that Dumbledore has directly seen to the raising of the boy."
Snape's eyes glittered sharply and he scowled. He finished his brandy. "Am I able to adopt Harry?"
"You are," Lucius smiled sublimely. "You have one of two ways to accomplish this. Either you can get the Dursleys to give up all rights to Mr. Potter, or you may involve the Muggle authorities in a child abuse investigation. I would suggest the former as the other could involve the Ministry as well and you'd be tied up in court for a very long time. This could also mean that the Ministry could legally get their hands on Mr. Potter, thus endangering his life."
"I have the feeling that the Dursleys will not hesitate in giving up their nephew." Snape's smile was thin, but no less satisfied than Lucius'.
"I must mention one other thing my contacts in the Ministry discovered, Severus." He swirled the remainder of his brandy in his snifter for a moment before continuing. "An abuse report was intercepted from an Oculist Healer by the name of Dymshank. He has been appropriately thanked and assured that the WCS will look into the abuse. However, that report will not reach them unless it is necessary.
Severus nodded. He had forgotten about that report and silently thanked his friend for having found it.
After a moment, Lucius gave the younger wizard a conspiratorial smile. "Tell me, Severus, what do you think the Headmaster might say to a Quidditch Little League for the first years?"
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