Ron waited until Harry had drunk half his beer before starting in with, "You should have seen the mess your team made of the match this morning."
"They're not my team anymore, Ron," Harry reminded him.
"Yes, but they could be. You know how brilliant you were. They'd take you back in a second, if you wanted. They're just pathetic without you, truly horrid."
Harry suppressed a smile as his friend continued along that line for the next ten minutes. Hermione wasn't even listening to him. As she munched on her raisin scone, her nose was buried deep in a leather bound tome.
Finally, Ron's diatribe on the Cannons' poor showing seemed to wend to a finish. Hermione actually looked up from the page she was reading when Ron enquired with as much innocence as a Weasley could manage, "So, how'd it go with Michael last night?"
"Ronald, that's rude," Hermione reprimanded him, but Harry could tell she wanted an answer as well.
Harry was lucky that they were accepting enough to care how his dates went. He knew that most wizards like himself, those who were drawn to members of their own sex, were fortunate if their family and friends simply ignored their predilections. It was a sad fact that in most cases a wizard had to make a choice between loving whom he wished and keeping his friends and family. He'd never been put in that position with these two. Hermione and Ron had supported him through everything. But even though Harry appreciated their concern, it was still hard to dredge up these disasters that passed for his love life.
Harry sighed. "It went about the same as it did with the Cannons this morning. I had another nightmare. Michael and I are quits."
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," Hermione said, closing her book and laying it aside. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"What's to talk about?" Harry shrugged. "I, er, apparently used mage fire to defend myself during the nightmare."
"Mage fire?" Ron asked, paling.
Harry nodded. "I didn't hurt Michael, thank God, but I scared him – badly."
"Oh, Harry, this isn't good," Hermione stated the bloody obvious.
Harry wanted to snap her head off, but he knew she was only worried about him. Hell, he was worried about him.
"Can you do it now?" Ron questioned. They were all aware that his new abilities often had a tendency to appear and disappear at will.
Harry shrugged. "I haven't tried."
Ron tossed a nearby quidditch magazine onto the stone floor a few feet away from the grey area rug. "Go on. Try it on that."
Not sure if he wanted to know, Harry rose to his feet, stretched out his hands, and called upon the wellspring of power he'd felt rushing through him last night when he'd ruined that pillow. To his surprise, the power answered immediately. Blue and silver sparks flashed around his fingers, and then, as Harry concentrated his will on the magazine, a lightning bolt of blinding energy flashed from his fingers. The magazine ignited and burned in seconds.
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered as the smoke blew over them.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, sinking back down onto the couch.
Hermione murmured a spell. A second later a cool breeze blew through the room to disperse the smoke.
"Mage fire's not necessarily a bad thing, Harry," she said.
"It is when you're doing it in your sleep," Harry answered.
"We just need to get you past this whole nightmare business," Hermione's optimistic tone belied the fact that he'd been trying to do just that for nine years now.
Before Harry could completely lose his temper, a flare in the hearth attracted their attention. The torso of a grey haired, dignified-looking wizard with a strong, square jaw and hard blue eyes, dressed in scarlet Aurors robes appeared in the hearth.
"Good afternoon, Ron. I'm sorry to disturb you on your day off," the Auror said by way of greeting.
"No problem, sir. This is my wife, Hermione, and my friend, Harry Potter. Harry, Hermione, this is Chief Lawrence," Ron introduced.
"Pleased to meet you both," Lawrence said. It was a testament to the urgency of his business that, although his gaze rested on Harry with open curiosity a moment longer than polite, the Auror said nothing else before returning to his purpose for flooing in on a Saturday afternoon. "I need your help, Ron."
"Of course, sir. Do we need privacy?" Ron answered.
"No, it will become common knowledge too soon as it is, I'm sure," Lawrence answered with a grim expression.
"What can I do for you, sir?" Ron asked, sitting up straighter on the couch.
"Dan Martin and Tom McGregor flooed to the Headmistress' office two minutes ago. I've instructed them to wait for you. I want you to oversee the arrest," Lawrence said.
"What arrest?" Ron asked as Harry and Hermione stared at each other in surprise.
Little happened at Hogwarts that was a secret. An event important enough to merit Aurors and an arrest should have been all over the school in minutes. Remembering that it was a Hogsmeade weekend, Harry wondered what type of mischief the upper class students might have gotten up to in town. It had to have been bad if Aurors were involved.
Hermione and he watched Ron summon his Aurors robes with a mumbled spell and a flick of his wand. Ron was shouldering into the red garments that clashed horribly with his hair as his boss answered, "I've sent them to bring in Severus Snape."
All three of them stared at Lawrence in shock.
"On what charge, sir?" Ron finally asked in a confused voice.
"He's been accused of molesting a third year student in detention this afternoon," Lawrence replied with obvious distaste.
Molesting . . . .
Harry's blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins at the accusation; so unbelievable was it. "That's crazy. Snape would never touch a student!"
Ron's boss continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. "I want you to arrest him and turn him over to Azkaban's warden for holding until trial, Ron. And be careful," Lawrence counselled. "He's the last of You Know Who's living henchmen."
"He wasn't Voldemort's henchman!" Harry heard himself object, still too numbed by the shocking charge to properly react.
Lawrence affected not to hear him. "Let me know when he's in custody."
Ron stood there frozen for a moment before seeming to shake himself into motion, "Are we certain of the charge, sir? I know Professor Snape and –"
"Hogwarts' mediwitch examined the boy and questioned him under Veritaserum. He named Snape as his attacker," Lawrence practically spat. "Bring the bastard in."
"Yes, sir," Ron answered in a shaken tone.
Lawrence retreated into his own hearth and the floo connection was cut, leaving only dancing flames.
All three of them stared at each other in open shock. The crackle of the logs seemed cheerful and out of place in the sudden pall that had fallen on the room.
"There has to be some kind of mistake," Hermione got to her feet and smoothed down her robes.
"Yes, a mistake," Ron repeated, though he didn't sound too certain.
A Veritaserum testimony was difficult to disregard, Harry recognized.
"You don't believe it's true, do you?" Harry asked his best friend. Ron's hesitation was answer in itself. "Ron, it's Snape! We've known him for fifteen years!"
"I know, but . . . Harry, it's a Veritaserum testimony," Ron said.
"But we know Snape. Have you ever heard even a whisper about him touching a student?" Harry demanded.
Ron's face darkened. "I've dealt with this kind of situation before. Most times, the molester continues to prey on his victims for years. There are memory charms to ensure the victim's silence, and even when they aren't used, shame and threats can keep the poor kid just as silent. It's a dirty business, Harry. The worst of the worst," Ron looked quickly away, but not before Harry had caught the nearly haunted expression on his face.
Harry couldn't imagine what it was like having to deal with that type of depravity as part of your job. He supposed they were just lucky that the situation hadn't cropped up here at the school before this. Only, it hadn't cropped up this time, at least, not the way they were saying it had.
"But Snape wouldn't do this," Harry insisted. "You know that!"
Ron expression was torn as he answered, "Look, I don't know that at all, all right? I want to believe he didn't, but . . . we've known him for fifteen years, and in all that time I never once saw him so much as look at a woman, or another man, for that matter. Well, except maybe for you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped.
Those familiar blue eyes were regarding him like he was an idiot. "He watches you all the time. He pretends he isn't, but he always is. But since you've been doing the same thing, I reckoned you knew about it."
Flabbergasted, Harry didn't know how to answer the accusation.
Hermione inserted herself between them where they stood arguing in front of the hearth. As she'd been doing since they were eleven, she focused their attention on the problem at hand. "This isn't the time for this. Ron, you've got to go sort this mess out."
"There isn't anything to sort out. I've been ordered to arrest him," Ron reminded them.
"You can't just march Professor Snape off to Azkaban," Hermione told him in a tone that would brook no argument. "Ron, Harry's right. This doesn't make any sense. Promise me you'll keep an open mind and at least give him a chance to defend himself?"
"What kind of defence is there for raping a child?" Ron challenged.
"He didn't rape a child," Harry shot back. "Or if he did, he was under Imperius."
"He never leaves the bloody school. Who here at Hogwarts even knows how to cast Imperius besides the three of us? Minerva? Hagrid? Flitwick? The spell books with the Unforgivables in them aren't even in the restricted section of the library anymore," Ron said. "I don't have time to argue with you. If you're coming, come along."
Harry nodded. "All right. Let's get up to Minerva's office and see what's going on."
"Flooing's faster," Hermione pointed out as he and Ron turned for the door.
"You're right," Harry agreed, reversing direction towards the fireplace.
"I wonder which student is involved," Hermione fretted as Ron threw a handful of floo powder into the flames and said, "Headmistress McGonagall's office."
A moment later, Harry was hurtling past the fireplaces in Hogwarts. He stumbled as he staggered out of the floo into the Headmistress' familiar office. Ron was already there, along with a very worried-looking Minerva McGonagall and two unfamiliar men in scarlet Aurors' robes.
He and Ron both turned to steady Hermione as the fireplace spat her out.
"I must admit I feel better that you're handling this case, Ron," Minerva said. She hadn't changed much since their schooldays. There was a bit more silver in the dark bun at the back of her head, but she was still one of the most formidable witches of the Wizarding World. "It's just terrible. In all my years at Hogwarts, we've never had a situation like this."
Rarely had Harry seen Minerva so openly upset. Every line on her lovely face was etched twice as deep as they had been yesterday.
Hermione crossed the room immediately to stand beside Minerva and put a hand on her arm. "Which student is involved?"
"Mr. Westfield," Minerva answered. Her wavery voice was strained to the point of sounding on the verge of tears. "Poppy has him sedated in the infirmary."
Harry grimaced. The third year Hufflepuff was one of their best students. The boy had the face of an angel, and the disposition of one as well. As far as he knew, Westfield had never given anyone a bit of trouble. With any professor other than Snape, Harry wouldn't have understood how Westfield could even earn a detention, but Snape would give a pupil detention for breathing too loud in class if the Potions master were in a foul mood.
"Hello, Tom, Dan," Ron nodded to his subordinates, and then introduced them to the Hogwarts' representatives. Tom McGregor was a stocky brunette with brown eyes who put Harry in mind of his dead schoolmate Goyle. Dan Martin, his partner, was a sandy haired, hazel-eyed man who was nearly as tall as Ron.
When the introductions were finished, Dan Martin said, "Ron, Chief Lawrence said we were to answer to you."
That fact made Harry feel somewhat better about all this. For all that Ron was often hot-headed, he was one of the fairest people Harry knew. He'd give Snape a chance. But Ron's orders were to bring Snape to Azkaban. Unless they could find Westfield's actual assailant or prove beyond a doubt that Snape hadn't done it, Snape was going to end up in Azkaban prison. Harry wouldn't condemn his worst enemy to that dementor-infested hellhole, let alone a man he'd known for more than half his life.
"That's right." Ron nodded. "I suppose we'd better get down to the dungeons and make the arrest."
Ron was clearly no more enamoured of his assignment than Harry was.
"Professor Snape isn't in the dungeon," Minerva said as Ron and his associates turned towards the door.
"He's not?" Ron asked. "Where is he, then? He's always in the dungeons."
"When Poppy told me about Mr. Westfield's charge, I called Severus up here. He's waiting in the next room," Minerva answered, gesturing towards a door off to their left where Harry had often been asked to wait during his schooldays when Albus had occupied these rooms.
"Has this room got a silencing spell on it?" Ron asked, his hand slipping into the pocket that held his wand.
Minerva was obviously more concerned about her privacy than Professor Dumbledore had ever been because she gave a peevish, "Of course."
All three Aurors were visibly relieved by her answer.
