Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

A Potioned Affair

“I’m betting it was that bitch Romilda Vane who tried to potion him! Am I right?”

“Vi!”

There was too much fondness in Neville Longbottom’s voice as he chided his Sentinel for it to be taken as a scolding, Harry Potter observed wryly. Too much of a warm look in his brown eyes, and his bright smile.

Violet Potter rolled her green eyes at her Guide anyway. His little sister’s aura was heavy with mirth, but Harry sensed her underlying fury and irritation.

Perched on the arm of his chair, Hermione shot Harry an amused look before she turned back to the couple who were snuggled up on the sofa.

Harry’s gaze slid to the chair which was empty by the hearth. His mother’s chair. Lily Potter had moved out the autumn before after finally agreeing to a divorce from his father. She’d left the cottage to Violet who’d promptly updated the wards to help Sentinels and Guides deal with the magical resonance of the wizarding world with a financial assist from their Dad. Harry ignored the old hurt that his mother had never done it for him and focused instead on his own Sentinel.

“Ron Weasley suggested Vane as a possible suspect the day after the Ministry Christmas Ball,” she said crisply. “Miss Vane travelled abroad to the States at the beginning of December. She’s currently in California.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t her!” Violet folded her arms, distorting the cheery picture of a red-nosed reindeer on the sweater she wore.

Neville reached over and placed his hand on his Guide’s shoulder. “Easy, Vi.”

Violet grimaced and pushed a hand through her mess of Potter dark curls. “Sorry, I’m still a little all over the place.”

“You’ve only been bonded for a couple of weeks,” Harry said soothingly.

“Not to mention you awakened because you sensed a threat to your Guide when that idiot waiter tried to potion him with Amortentia,” Hermione said, tossing her head lightly, making the braid of her caramel hair swing over her shoulder. “If they’d tried it with Harry, I would have likely gone feral myself.”

Harry’s lips twitched at that. Hermione had awakened at eleven facing down a troll at Hogwarts. Since the school refused to accept awakened Sentinels and Guides, she’d been removed from the magical school the next day by Sirius.

Harry was an anomaly. He’d been born fully awake as a Guide. His arrival had immediately awakened his father as a Sentinel and Sirius as a Guide. They’d bonded platonically to help shield Harry and had become the British Southern Order’s First Sentinel and Guide.

Finding Hermione Granger, his very own Sentinel, had been the biggest blessing of Harry’s life. She had been his first friend, his best friend, and it had been easy to fall in love with her.

“You were saying about Vane,” Neville sighed.

Hermione nodded. “She’s abroad. I spoke to her by Floo. She’s on a romantic holiday with her lover.”

He saw realisation dawn in his sister’s eyes.

“Really?” Neville blurted out. “Who?”

“Astoria Greengrass,” Violet supplied, a note of glee entering her voice.

Harry wasn’t surprised at the glee. Violet hated Astoria’s ex-husband, Draco Malfoy. He’d been sentenced to life in Azkaban for his part in the conspiracy to kill Neville’s former wife, Ginny. Malfoy’s mother, Narcissa, had been sentenced to the Veil, a death sentence.

“Good for them!” Violet said approvingly.

“I thought Greengrass was seeing Wood?” Neville asked, his face creasing with confusion.

“Beards,” Violet said promptly. “Oliver’s been in a relationship with Charlie Weasley for the past couple of years.”

Harry affected a cough. “Gossip Queen!”

Violet arched an eyebrow at him. “And don’t you forget it!”

“So, the investigation into who tried to potion me at the Ball has stalled, I take it?” asked Neville.

“Unfortunately,” Hermione sighed heavily. “We’ve been a little hampered by, well, everyone really.”

Neville sighed. “Dumbledore.” He blanched and his head fell forward into his hands. “My father,” came the muffled addition.

“We annoyed a lot of people investigating Ginny’s death last year,” Harry admitted. “Scrimgeour basically argued for a joint investigation on the basis of you being the Chosen One and Vanquisher of Voldemort. Minister Parkinson caved.”

“She can’t do that, can she?” asked Violet.

Harry sighed, rubbing his chin. “Ostensibly, no, but the politics mean that we’re all supposed to work together and cooperate so…” he shrugged.

He and Hermione had tried to argue against it, but it had been a losing game once Frank had not-so subtly suggested that Parkinson’s term as Minister might be cut short if she didn’t acquiesce.

Frank Longbottom was incredibly protective of Neville, the only child he’d had with his first wife Alice. She had died saving Neville from Voldemort with a spell Harry’s Mum had invented. Lily hadn’t used it herself when Voldemort had attacked the Potters because she’d been pregnant with Violet. Luckily, Sirius and Harry’s father had managed to fight off the Dark bastard.

“Polly’s new in the job,” Neville said diplomatically, dropping his hands to look at them. “She probably doesn’t want to rock the boat this early.”

“At least she’d not Fudge,” Harry said.

They’d ousted the former Minister for fraud, although thinking on it, that was probably another reason why he and Hermione were not particularly liked at the Ministry.

“You could tell them that you’re really the Chosen One and the one to kill Voldemort,” Neville suggested cheerfully.

Violet snorted. “Right!” She froze as she took in their sheepish expressions. “No! No way!” She started laughing.

Harry glanced at Hermione who shrugged and gave him a look which said ‘she’s your sister’ without her saying a thing.

Violet wiped her eyes. “That’s hilarious. Does anyone else know?”

“Dad and Sirius,” Harry said promptly. “Mum knew I was a possibility, but she really thinks Neville is the Chosen One.”

“My Dad knows the truth, he chooses to ignore it,” Neville commented dryly.

“How did…I mean,” Violet waved her hands dramatically. “I don’t understand!”

Hermione took pity on her. “There was a prophecy given by Sybil Trelawney the year your brother and Neville were born.”

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,” Harry recited.

Neville caught his eyes. “Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.”

“And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not,” Harry continued, raising his palm with the thin silvery scar from where Voldemort had attempted to kill him, and he’d raised his hand in defence. A spell from his mother and his own burgeoning shaman gifts had saved him.

“And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives,” Neville completed.

“What does that even mean?” asked Violet, bewilderment widening her eyes comically.

Hermione sniffed. Her disgust was writ large in her brown eyes and resounding through their bond. “I think it’s a load of nonsense Trelawney made up to get herself hired.”

“Only someone overheard it and reported it to Voldemort who took it seriously,” Harry said grimly.

“And our families were targeted since Harry and I are the only two male children born that year at the end of July whose parents had also defied Voldemort three times,” Neville shook his head. “Harry was marked first on his first birthday, way before Voldemort came after me at Halloween.”

Violet looked over at Harry with horror. “You vanquished Voldemort.”

Harry grimaced and reached for his Sentinel. Hermione caught his hand in hers and squeezed it lightly. “When Voldemort kidnapped Neville at the end of the tournament, we were able to follow. I sent Voldemort’s soul onwards.”

“They also saved my arse,” Neville said brightly. “He was about to kill me when they arrived.”

“I’m just glad we got there in time,” Harry said. He looked over at his sister. “Mum doesn’t know about the graveyard, but she knows about the prophecy.”

Violet regarded him thoughtfully. “She moved out after that second Christmas with you, didn’t she? I wasn’t even a year old.”

“She loves Dad,” Harry said bluntly. “She just couldn’t live with him and Sirius being bonded, platonically back then, but bonded.”

“She’s not particularly happy about Neville and me,” Violet remarked dryly. “She sent an owl the day after the Ball congratulating us, but it stank of anxiety.” She tilted her head. “She’s really bought into Neville being the Chosen One, isn’t she?”

Harry offered a small smile, noting how Neville shifted on the sofa as the sunlight streaming through the window caught Neville’s dark blond hair and turned it to burnished gold.

“I don’t think it’s that so much as she and I have never had the easiest of relationships because deep down she blames me for awakening Dad,” Harry said. “She’s always truly loved being Neville’s godmother because of Neville himself and because she loved Alice.”

Harry felt the relief which flickered through Neville briefly.

“I knew things were difficult,” Violet conceded, “I guess I’ve just been happily oblivious to some of the…subtext?”

Hermione smiled at her sympathetically. “Your mother has also never really approved of Harry and I bonding without marriage. But she’s been better recently since we announced our engagement.”

He’d proposed the first night in their new home on the Gryffindor Estate; a lovely cottage that his father had given over for them to use.

“And after she actually divorced Dad,” Violet added.

“And after she actually divorced Dad,” Harry agreed. His mother loved living in Hogsmeade in her own place. She had made a place for herself in the community and seemed to be thriving.

“She’s going to struggle with Neville and me, isn’t she?” murmured Violet, biting her lip.

“She’s been better,” Harry reiterated.

Violet sighed. “She’s going to struggle with Neville and me.” She waved a hand. “So, you’re really the Chosen One, but Dumbledore gave Neville the mantle and you all decided to just leave it with him?! How is that fair?”

“Honestly, I didn’t want to have much to do with Britain,” Harry said. “It’s uncomfortable here for our kind in the wizarding enclaves. Very few have the wards to make it comfortable like they do in Europe. I figured it was easier just to let Neville take the glory.”

“And the pain of reporters,” remarked Neville slyly.

“I wasn’t keen on being here in Britain either after what happened to me at Hogwarts,” Hermione added.

Harry noticed Neville’s guilty wince. Hermione had told him that Neville’s greatest crime against her had been to not stand-up to those bullying her, especially Neville’s purported best mate, Weasley.

“My Dad also said it was pointless to try and get the truth out there, that most people will just ignore it because Harry is a Guide,” Neville jumped in. “I tried to tell Ginny before we married, but she was so focused on her dream of marrying the Boy Who Lived, she just ignored me.”

Harry hummed. He and Hermione had investigated Ginny’s death. They’d uncovered Ginny’s complete disrespect for Neville the Man. She’d married him to become Lady Longbottom, and when Neville failed to comply with how she wanted things done, she’d had an affair with Malfoy.

He’d never been so grateful for his own relationship with Hermione. He tangled their fingers together in another light squeeze.

“We should get back to the purpose of our visit,” Hermione said briskly. “We didn’t call on you just as you came out of seclusion just to say hello as much as we might have wanted to do that anyway.”

“Right,” Neville said, “Vane is alibied for the potion at the Ball, and you’re having to share jurisdiction on the investigation with Scrimgeour, not to mention my Dad and Dumbledore looming over everything.”

“Looming is a good description,” Harry said, the absurdity making him smile despite everything.

“I seem to recall Violet saying you were being stalked before the potion incident,” Hermione continued. “What can you tell us about that?”

“Not much more than she already told you,” Neville said. “I started getting notes after Ginny’s funeral. They’re mostly harmless like I said, but the last one did mention kidnapping me. They’re all in my office desk at Hogwarts.”

Hermione nodded. She glanced back at Harry questioningly. Harry nodded back. It was time to leave.

“We’ll follow up on that,” Hermione said.

“What about that idiot waiter with the potion?” asked Violet bluntly. “Wasn’t he able to help you?”

Harry didn’t bother to repress his very visible wince. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Unfortunately, not.”

What had happened with the waiter had been a major reason why they’d had to concede on the joint investigation.

“But you sent him to Order headquarters, right?” asked Neville.

Harry nodded and heaved a sigh. “The problem was that by the time we got there ourselves, well…” he paused trying to find a way to say it.

“Well, what?” demanded Violet brusquely.

“What Harry is trying to say,” Hermione said, pushing her braid back over her shoulder, “is that whoever hired the waiter to give Neville the love potion at the Ball, they’d already killed him; they’d given him another potion, a time-delayed poison.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “What I’ve been trying to say is that by the time we got there, he was already dead.”

o-O-o

When Harry had turned eleven, he had been bitterly disappointed not to receive a Hogwarts letter.

He’d expected the absence of one. Both of his Dads had sat him down in various settings during the month preceding his birthday to explain why he would not receive one. He had already really known deep, deep down inside that he wouldn’t be going to Hogwarts before his birthday had arrived.

The Burton Foundation had been clear from the beginning that his education would follow the Sentinel and Guide path. He’d had specialised tutors as a child, attended muggle school to help with his socialisation, and had received his acceptance letter for The Burton Academy before he’d turned eleven. Yet, it wasn’t until his eleventh birthday and the very real absence of the letter that it had hit home that he really, really wasn’t going to go to Hogwarts, the premier magical school of Britain.

Understanding that he would not attend the school where his Dads had met and had many pranking adventures, where his mother and father had fallen in love as Head Girl and Head Boy, had been difficult. Especially as he’d known Violet would attend.

His disappointment had only disappeared once Hermione had arrived at the clinic with her very firm opinion that Hogwarts was a terrible place. Even at eleven, Harry had gleaned enough from the bare bones of bullying and an actual troll attack to accept his Sentinel’s opinion was likely right, and that he’d had a lucky escape.

He’d never desired in the months or years since to visit Hogwarts.

He and Hermione had gone abroad soon after they had graduated the Academy to train for their masteries with the ICW and to learn more about their roles as the European Order First Sentinel and Guide. Their trips to Britain during that time were rare and focused on family.

Truthfully, Harry suspected that he and Hermione might never have returned to Britain at all if it wasn’t for their duty. They were the British Order First Sentinel and Guide in addition to their European status. The reality that they really did have a duty to their home country, and their avoidance of the same, had hit home during their investigation into Ginny’s death. They’d resolved to return to Britain.

In many ways, Harry was happy to be back. He loved the house on the Gryffindor Estate; he liked spending more time with his Dads and Violet. He liked spending time with the Grangers who had only ever been supportive. His mother had even softened her disapproving stance since he and Hermione had gotten engaged. He was enjoying getting to know their peers. He was delighted Neville was part of their family officially with his bonding with Violet. He was enjoying the challenge of assuming the reins at the British Order.

He should have realised, Harry mused, that being back in Britain would mean that at some point they’d have to go to Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, going to Hogwarts meant dealing with Albus Dumbledore.

Harry sighed as they trudged up the path from Hogsmeade towards the castle. Hermione’s lips were pressed into a thin line. They’d been that way from the moment that they’d received the response to their request to visit.

Dumbledore had allowed the visit, but he had refused to allow them Floo entry. He’d also demanded that they visit after school hours during the dinner time to limit the number of students who might witness them being at the school.

Pettiness for the sake of being petty, Harry mused. He was too irritated himself by it to sooth his Sentinel, which made him all the more irritated. He could feel through their bond just how much Hermione was struggling with the idea of returning to Hogwarts. At least they wouldn’t have to deal with Dumbledore himself. He had claimed to be too busy and had informed them that Professor McGonagall would be their escort.

Harry blew out another breath as though trying to expel his frustration in the act. He tried to focus on the impressive sight of the castle looming up out of the landscape ahead. And it was impressive, Harry conceded. He could already feel its wealth of magic thrum a beat under his feet, and prickle across his face.

They reached the gates and paused.

They were locked.

There was also no sign of Alastor Moody or Dora Tonks who had been assigned by Scrimgeour to work with them.

Harry’s empathy swept out and confirmed that any wizards and witches in the area were up at the castle.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tendrils of her hair were loose around her face, and they almost crackled with her frustration.

Harry felt the tug of something spiritual. Something was sleeping, waiting to be awakened.

He took a step forward and placed a hand on the gate. Behind the wrought iron, the spectral form of a guardian spirit slowly coalesced in eerie blue, a gorgeous Scottish dragon. They were an extinct breed.

“Harry,” murmured Hermione, nerves vibrating through her low voice.

“Hello, Hogwarts,” Harry said aloud as he stepped back to her side. He felt their own spirit animals shimmer onto the physical plane.

Hermione’s Aslan solidified by her side. He was a supernaturally tall lion, standing shoulder to shoulder with his charge. His golden mane shifted in the wind and crackled in the same way as Hermione’s hair. He pawed the ground.

Hedwig was in flight as she emerged from the psionic plane in a burst of white against the dark evening sky. She flew straight to the gate and perched atop it, screeching in a barky kind of way at the dragon on the other side.      

The dragon regarded Hedwig briefly before turning its large head back towards Harry. The snout opened to reveal a tremendously dangerous set of teeth.

“Shaman,” the dragon’s mental voice whispered through Harry’s mind.

Harry bowed his head. “Guardian.”

“It has been a long time since one with your power walked these grounds,” the dragon intoned. “You have awoken me from my sleep for what reason?”

“The wards do not protect us, the Headmaster does not want our kind here,” Harry answered mentally and aloud for Hermione’s benefit.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed and stretched out its wings.

Harry had the sense that it was testing the wards itself.

A rush of magical energy snapped out from the dragon and raced across the air, over the grounds, over the castle and the lake and forest beyond.

“It is safe for you and your Protector once more, Shaman,” the dragon said, folding its wings back into its side. “It is not in my power to remove the Headmaster for simply altering the wards, but the wards are repaired.”

“The wards are repaired?” asked Harry, curious.

“Your ancestor was as you, his spirit guardian remains here to protect the children,” the dragon replied. “His Sentinel’s spirit slumbers beneath the school. Once there was more of your kind here.”

Harry nodded slowly. He turned to Hermione. “The Guardian has made it safe for us in the wards.”

Hermione clasped his hand tighter as she turned to the dragon. “Our thanks, Guardian, for your protection.” 

They bowed their head. “Call upon me, Shaman, if you ever have need of me in this land.”   

The dragon disappeared in a swirl of blue.

The chain around the gate slithered open and fell to the ground.

Hedwig pushed herself aloft and Harry held out his arm to her as the gates swung open. She landed with all the force of a real predatory bird on his forearm, her claws digging sharp pricks through his heavy woollen coat.

Hermione hummed as they walked forward through the open gates. “Wow. This feels completely different to how I remember. These wards feel better than the usual Sentinel and Guide buffers.”

Harry had to agree with her; he felt welcomed by the wards. “Was it really bad before?”

“When I awakened, it felt awful. There was just too much magic for my senses to cope with. It’s startling to realise it was never meant to be that way. I really want to hunt down the real history of Hogwarts now,” Hermione said.

She drew her wand and conjured a patronus; a ghostly form of Aslan who did not look impressed with the sudden appearance of a magical twin.

“Go to Professor McGonagall and ask her to meet us at the doors,” Hermione instructed. The patronus bounded away.

Harry wasn’t surprised when the gates closed behind them with a dull clang, the lock slithering back into place. “I had no idea that sentinels and guides attended Hogwarts in the past. I don’t think my Dads or Mum knew either.”

“The supposedly definitive guide to Hogwarts makes no mention of it,” Hermione huffed as she directed him up the path. “They must have edited the truth out!”

“You read that book cover to cover, didn’t you?” Harry teased.

Hermione shot him a glare, but it was softened by the love he always felt when she looked at him.

Harry raised their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. “What did the book say?”

Hedwig took flight, disappearing into the night sky. Aslan bounded away towards the forest.   

The recitation of the history took them until they got to the steps of the castle.

Minerva McGonagall waited for them on the top step. She had a tartan shawl over her black Professor robes which were tightly buttoned from neck to floor. They added to the severe look she had cultivated with her long grey hair piled up in a bun on the top of her head and her glasses perched on her nose.

She arched an eyebrow at them. “Sentinel Granger, Guide Potter.”

“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione greeted her warmly. “Thank you for meeting us. I hope we didn’t interrupt your dinner.”

“I believe I’ve invited you to call me Minerva before, Hermione, and I was on patrol this evening,” Minerva regarded them curiously. “Are you both well? I understand that the magic of Hogwarts can feel distressing for sentinels and guides.”

Harry tilted his head. “You didn’t feel the ward go up?”

Minerva shook her head. “Only the Headmaster has access to the wards.”

“Ah, well, the school seemed to recognise the need and established a ward before we came through the gate,” Harry said mildly.

Minerva’s brow creased in confusion. “Did Hagrid let you in?”

“Apparently the school likes us,” Harry quipped. “The gates just opened for us.”

The Professor’s lips twitched. “Well, I’m glad that they did as I’m afraid you might have had a time to wait since you’ve arrived so early,”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Early?”

Minerva met her inquiring gaze and frowned. “The Headmaster said you would not be arriving until after the dinner hour.”

Hermione took in a sharp breath and offered a tight smile. “Did he indeed. I don’t know why since he told us to arrive at the start of the dinner hour to minimise disruption to the students.”

Minerva’s eyebrow arched. “Why does that not surprise me?” She sighed and turned around leading them into Hogwarts. “I believe you want access to Professor Longbottom’s office?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione confirmed briskly. She kept her tight hold on Harry’s hand as they made their way through the entrance hall, following Minerva through the maze of corridors.

Harry wrapped his Sentinel up in a thin layer of an empathic buffer which sang with his love for her. He cast a quick glance in Hermione’s direction, and she gave him a grateful nod.

They walked for what seemed like enough time to get to the far side of the castle. Harry took in the wide corridors, walls of artwork, and strange statues. He would have loved to explore, but he felt his Sentinel’s desire to make the visit a short one and he would never deny Hermione anything.

Eventually, they came to a large door with a picture of Charlus Longbottom the Second, dressed for a ball in top hat and dress robes bearing the Alvergny coat of arms. He was the spitting image of Frank Longbottom.

“Ah, dear Minnie,” Charlus greeted the Deputy Headmistress warmly. “Will you be wanting entry into young Neville’s quarters? He is not in residence presently.”

“Neville has given permission for First Sentinel Granger and Guide Potter to investigate his office,” Minerva answered tartly. “Open up, Charlus.”

Charlus doffed his top hat, and the door opened.

Neville’s office felt cosy. The square room had a wall of bookshelves to the left, overflowing with books. There was access to an indoor greenhouse to the right and Harry suspected if he stepped inside, it would be bigger than it looked from the view he could see through the open door.

There were three comfy chairs arrayed around a large circular coffee table that overflowed with plants. Beyond that, there was a wide desk and a comfortable leather chair. The desk was neat and tidy earning a hum of approval from Minerva.

“Neville has been teaching Herbology to the younger years since his graduation, right?” Hermione checked.    

Minerva nodded, taking a position off to the side of the desk, her hands clasped over her belly. “The Headmaster originally proposed that Neville undertake a Defence Mastery with himself, but Neville wanted Herbology. He apprenticed to Pomona, and she immediately gave up teaching years one through three. He took over teaching the OWL years about a year ago.” She sighed. “Pomona has stepped back in until we can find a replacement.”

Harry looked over at her sharply. “A replacement?”

Minerva grimaced. “The Headmaster will not have an awakened Guide on staff, even one who is bonded.”

“He does realise that such bigotry goes against the anti-discrimination laws and the agreements between the Sentinel and Guide Order and the International Confederation of Wizards,” Hermione stated crisply, as they moved around to the other side of the desk.

“I know Pomona and I had hoped that he would have made an exception to his stance,” Minerva admitted. “Perhaps we can convince him if the wards have been adjusted as you say. Professor Longbottom is an outstanding teacher.”

Hermione tapped her wand on the desk. The drawers sprang open. She levitated a stack of mail out of the drawer Neville had indicated held the worrying letters he had received.

It was a substantial stack of mail.

Harry began to reach for it.

“Getting started without me?”

They looked up sharply.

Alastor Moody stood in the doorway of the office, a grim look on his scarred face. Behind him, his protégé Auror Nymphadora Tonks rolled her eyes expressively.

Harry pushed a hand through his hair. “Good to see you too, Moody. I take it Dumbledore let you through the Floo.”

No doubt Dumbledore had planned for Moody and Tonks performing the actual investigation while Harry and Hermione were stuck at the gates. Petty.

Moody huffed and limped into the office. “What’s this then?”

“Neville was being stalked prior to the Ball,” Hermione informed him, as she nodded a greeting to Dora briskly. “He told us just before the potion incident. When we spoke to him this afternoon, he let us know where the correspondence was at.”

“You think the stalker is behind the potioning?” asked Dora, bounding across the room with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy despite the fact that she had just turned thirty and was a mother of two.

Harry loved Sirius’ cousin. She was a good seven years older than Harry and had been something of a big sister to him when he was young. Her marriage to a Squib, Anthony Columbo, a Scotland Yard Inspector she had met on assignment, had been scandalous. Harry and Hermione had been among the few to attend their wedding. Sirius was godfather to Dora’s boys.  

“It’s an avenue of investigation,” Hermione said, her tone distracted. She sniffed and hummed. She lifted her wand and made a sharp gesture.

The mail separated itself into three different piles.

Harry placed his hand over the first pile. “Anger.”

“They smell of a wizard, furious and rejected,” Hermione listed out. “There is a strong smell of lemon.”

Moody looked over the piles from the other side of the desk. “The handwriting looks the same for all three.”

“It’s the labelling spell,” Hemione pointed out. “It creates the same writing regardless of who casts it.”

“So, not identifying someone through their handwriting, check,” Dora quipped.

Moody shot her a disgruntled look.

“This pile is scented lavender,” Hermione said, “and this one is scented with cherries.” Her nose wrinkled. “The underlying scent on the lavender is feminine, but I can’t tell on the cherries, the scent of them is too strong.”

“Three different people?” Dora whistled. “I guess it makes sense that Neville is popular enough for multiple crazies, especially once Ginny died.”

“He said he started getting these notes after the funeral,” Hermione frowned. “They didn’t even give him a grieving period.”

“He was getting these notes long before the funeral,” Moody stated gruffly, pointing at the lavender pile.

Harry’s gaze snapped to the old Auror. “What?”

Moody shifted his weight from his fake leg. “Frank had a mail redirect on Neville for years.” He pointed again at the pile. “There was one girl sending him notes all the way through school, always drenched in lavender perfume. We figured she was probably at Hogwarts with him. We had a psych-witch take a look at them in the DOM. She said that the girl had a crush and it wasn’t serious.”

Maybe Frank’s overprotectiveness would actually be helpful, Harry mused.

“It would be useful to see the earlier notes,” Hermione said. She turned to Harry. “Any emotional residue?”

Harry placed his hand over the lavender pile. He pressed his lips together. “She believes she loves him. It’s…worshipful in tone. She sees him as her hero.”

Minerva stirred and he felt a flicker of something from the witch, but before he could focus on it, Moody arrested his attention, tapping on the desk.

“What about this last pile?” Moody asked roughly.

Harry put his hand over the centre pile, the one Hermione had said smelled of cherries. He frowned.

There was blankness.

Nothing.

Like they’d shielded themselves from an empathic leak.

“Nothing,” Harry said aloud. “It feels like it is shielded from a Guide read.”

“We should take these back to headquarters and start reading them,” said Hermione.

Moody bristled. “We’ll be working out of the Ministry!”

Harry shook his head. “We agreed to a joint operation. Nothing more was agreed about the logistics, Moody, and the Ministry does not have wards conducive to us being able to work.” He put his hand up. “This is a fact and if you want to press the matter, I’ll be happy to have Neville insist on a Sentinel and Guide only investigation as is his right.”

Neville had offered before they’d left the cottage that morning, but Harry had declined. The politics of it were difficult, but if he and Hermione were going to make Britain home, if they were fully to take up their duties, they did need a working relationship with the Ministry. However, if Moody was going to be difficult about it, Harry was prepared to change his mind about the investigation.

Moody harrumphed. “Perhaps if you hadn’t sent that fella to your headquarters, he would still be alive!”

“You know that’s a load of bollocks, Moody,” Harry stated.

“He would have died on the Ministry’s ballroom floor or in a Ministry cell if you’d been the ones to arrest him,” Hermione said, exasperation sharpening her words. “I believe we’re still waiting on the DOM for a forensic analysis of the body, perhaps you should be chasing that up while we analyse these notes?”

Moody’s face went a bright red.

“They’ve got a point, Moody,” Dora broke in before the older Auror could speak. “You said yourself that we need to hassle Unspeakable Croaker about that only this afternoon. Why don’t you head back to the Ministry and do that, and I’ll go with Harry and Hermione to the Sentinel and Guide HQ?”

Moody raised his bushy eyebrows at his fellow Auror. “Trying to manage me, lass?”

“Somebody has to,” Dora quipped with an easy smile.

Moody harrumphed. “I’ll go rattle the DOM.” He looked over at Harry. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning at your headquarters to confer.”

“Agreed,” Harry said easily. “Eight o’clock?”

“I’ll be expecting a decent brew at that hour, lad,” Moody muttered even as he nodded. He stomped out.

There was a beat of silence.

Harry sighed.

Hermione hummed. “Thank you for your help, Dora.”

“No worries, Hermione,” Dora grinned at her. “Sorry about Moody. He’s still holding a grudge about you guys taking over when Ginny Longbottom was murdered. I can’t say I’m sorry I missed the drama.” She had been on maternity leave at the time.

“The Auror department made a complete dog’s ear of that investigation before we got involved,” Hermione pointed out even as she carefully transferred the notes to the evidence box which she had pulled out of her coat pocket and resized.

Dora raised her hands. “Nobody has ever said Dawlish was the best spell in the book.” She sighed. “If I had to guess I think half of Moody’s issue is shame about the half-assed investigation. If Dawlish had done things right, Malfoy would have been tied up long before you guys were called in.”

“Well,” Hermione gave a nod of satisfaction as she shrunk the box back to its mini size and put it back into her pocket. She turned to Minerva. “Thank you for your help, Minerva. We have what we need. I’m sure we can rely on your discretion.”

“Of course,” Minerva said. She sighed. “But I think we should go and speak to Pomona before you leave. I fear we know the identity of the girl behind the lavender notes.”

o-O-o

Harry was beginning to learn that Hogwarts made absolutely no sense logically or spatially.

Magical castles.

Hermione shot him a sympathetic look as they rounded another corner, and a staircase popped up out of nowhere. His Sentinel had no doubt picked up on his frustration.

Dora had happily bowed out of the discussion with Professor Sprout. She’d taken a copy of the notes and headed back to the Ministry to start on the analysis of their content.

Hermione felt curious as they went down the staircase. Harry cast her a quick questioning look.

“I’ve never been to the Hufflepuff dungeon,” Hermione murmured. “Once you’re Sorted, you tend to stick to your own part of the castle apart from classes as a student.”

Minerva nodded ahead of them. “Not just as a student, even the teaching staff rarely traverse to other parts of the castle than those areas they occupy frequently.” She sighed. “I had rather forgotten just how far Pomona’s quarters are from Neville’s.”

They turned right at an intersection, ending up in front of a round door covered in what looked like ivy, but with beautiful golden flowers.

“Aurea,” Minerva said politely, “please can you inform your mistress that Professor McGonagall, and First Sentinel Granger and Guide Potter are here to see her.”

“Yes, Professor,” the flowers spoke in unison in a bell-like tone which echoed down the corridor. The vines moved, sliding across the door and disappearing magically as they reached the line between the door and the jamb.

The hairs stood up on the back of Harry’s neck.

“Golden ivy sirens are only carnivorous if they deem something a threat,” Hermione stated quietly.

Harry took a deep breath. “Right.”

That really did not make him feel less creeped out about the plant.

“Aurea has been Pomona’s pet since she first attended Hogwarts,” Minerva said crisply. “She has her well-trained.”

Before Harry could assimilate that, the door was flung open and Pomona Sprout beamed at them from the other side of the portal hole, her grey curly hair askew around her head as though she had just removed a hat.

“How lovely to see you all, come along inside!” Sprout ushered them into a round living room.

There were plants everywhere. The walls were covered with them; every surface had multiple plant pots. Only the battered chairs and sofa in front of the fire were free of greenery. They were upholstered in a dull brown suede which looked covered in dust.

Minerva discreetly motioned with her wand at the seating area while her colleague closed the door, and the dust floated away in a stream to the fire.

Sprout bustled back and urged them to take a seat. “Apologies for the untidiness. I don’t allow the elves in here without me because of the carnivorous plants so sometimes things can get a little dusty.”

That wasn’t at all alarming, thought Harry. He sat beside Hermione on the sofa gingerly. It was surprisingly comfortable despite the sagging cushions.

“May I offer you some refreshments?” Sprout said cheerfully. “I have a lovely robust black cherry wine.”

“Nothing for me,” Hermione said politely.

“Nor me,” Harry shook his head.

Minerva pursed her lips. “I’ll take a glass, Pomona. Filius is on duty this evening. Perhaps I could have some food to go with it as I missed dinner.”

“Excellent idea, Minerva,” Sprout was already waving her wand. The half-full bottle of wine floated into view along with two crystal wine glasses.

Harry watched amused as the wine poured itself into glasses. Magic was ace.

“Grumby!” Sprout called firmly as she floated one of the glasses over to Minerva who had sat down in one of the chairs. She plucked the other out of the air.

A house elf popped into the room beside Sprout’s chair.

“Please bring Professor McGonagall a plate of whatever is easiest from the kitchen, and I’ll have a helping of whatever was for pudding. I rather rushed through dinner,” Sprout glanced across at Harry and Hermione. “Also, please bring a plate of biscuits and some tea for our guests.”

Gumby bowed and popped away. An instant later a tea tray appeared on the coffee table, the pot pouring out two cups which floated over to Harry and Hermione. They murmured their thanks.

Sprout sat down with a thump in the chair situated next to a Fanged Geranium.

Trays appeared on the professors’ laps. Minerva had what looked like cottage pie while Sprout’s bowl was some kind of dessert pudding and custard. Harry felt his mouth water. He and Hermione hadn’t eaten before their trip to the castle. He reached for a biscuit.

“May I ask how Neville is?” Sprout asked, waving her spoon in the air. “I assume you’ve seen him? And the lovely Violet, of course,”

“He and Violet are doing well, Professor Sprout,” Hermione answered as Harry had a mouthful of biscuit.

“Pomona, please,” Pomona insisted, “and that is good to hear.” She looked over towards Hermione. “It is good to see you again, Miss Granger. I was sorry I could not visit with you before your departure in first year. You were a wonderful student! Not naturally green-fingered, of course, in the practical sense, but you made up for that in hard work and your theoretical understanding was outstanding.”

“Please call us Hermione and Harry,” Hermione said quickly, “and that is very kind of you to say.” She nudged Harry subtly through the bond as she grabbed her own biscuit.

Harry jumped in. “As you may know, we’re investigating the incident which awakened Neville and Violet at the Ministry Ball.”

“Terrible thing,” Pomona said forcefully. “All love potions should have been banned years ago! To use one is tantamount to cast the Imperious curse in my book!”

Harry nodded and sipped his tea. He and Hermione held the same opinion. “We followed up this morning with Neville and have retrieved some notes that he received ahead of the incident. Minerva believed you might have insight into some of them which had a lavender scent?”

Pomona glanced towards Minerva briefly, confusion written all over her homely face.

“I think it is likely Sally-Anne,” Minerva said bluntly.

“Surely not!” Pomona explained.

“Perhaps if you can explain fully, Minerva, we can determine if she has been sending the notes,” Hermione offered. “By the sound of the content, she’s unlikely to be behind the potioning. It would be good to rule her out.” 

Minerva nodded. She gestured at her tray. “Pomona, if you could?”

“It is an unfortunate tale, one which we were instructed not to share,” Pomona sighed, her entire round face drooping with dismay.

Minerva grimaced. “I know the Headmaster originally instructed for the events not to be discussed outside of Hogwarts, but I believe that we have a greater duty here to inform the investigation and ensure Neville’s safety.” She motioned at her friend with her knife. “I will take full responsibility, Pomona, and we are still in Hogwarts.”

“As if I’d just let you throw yourself in front of an exploding wand!” Pomona snorted. She turned back to Harry and Hermione. “The tale begins with your first year, Hermione.” She took a deep breath. “You remember that I usually pair students by ability.”

Hermione inclined her head. The wisps of her caramel hair which were free of her braid fell forward. “I remember. You paired myself and Neville in our class.”

“Yes,” Pomona nodded, “much to Mister Weasley’s dismay.”

“Ron was always very possessive over Neville,” Hermione agreed.

“Part of the reasoning behind his bullying you, no doubt,” Minerva added.

Harry felt Hermione’s surprise at the admission flare along their bond.

“We were not unaware of the bullying, Hermione,” Minerva said softly, “unfortunately…”

“The Headmaster forbade you to interfere,” Hermione cut in. She smiled tightly as she set her cup onto the tea tray. “I woke up briefly in the infirmary. I overheard you and Professor Dumbledore speaking.”

Minerva breathed in sharply. “I apologise that you had to hear that.”

“I’ve always wanted to thank you for asking him to allow me to stay,” Hermione said simply, clasping her hands on top of her lap. “I know magical sentinels and guides are not usually educated here and I was grateful for the thought.”

Harry pressed his shoulder against hers. “So, you paired Neville and Hermione together. Once Hermione was removed from the school, you paired him with someone else?”

“Sally-Anne,” Hermione theorised out loud, “she would have been the next best student in Herbology.”

“Quite right,” Pomona nodded. “She was a Hufflepuff student, top of her year.”

“Was?” asked Harry delicately, putting his tea down.

“She was removed from the Hogwarts’ lists during the summer after her first year,” Minerva said. “Her parents homeschooled her thereafter.”

“But…” Hermione leaned forward, “I thought she was muggleborn? Like me?”

“She was,” Minerva sighed, clearly struggling. “Perhaps we should return to the beginning.”

“Which is that I paired Sally-Anne and Neville together,” Pomona jumped back in. “I want to say that I thought Mister Weasley would have learned not to bully others after your incident, or that he might have behaved better given Sally was not in Gryffindor, but,” she heaved a huge sigh, “the truth is that I did not think.”

“So Ron Weasley bullied her,” Harry summarised, “because he was jealous that she was paired with Neville in a class.”

The more he learned about the youngest Weasley male, the more Harry was pleased that he had avoided spending any time with him over the years. Because magical enclaves were badly warded for sentinels and guides in Britain, Harry had only been able to go into wizarding spaces as a child if Sirius had helped buffer him.

Even then, he’d been so removed from his peer group that he’d never really met most of them in any kind of meaningful way. Then he and Hermione had taken up their positions as the European Order First Sentinel and Guide making the distance even greater. The exception was Neville and that was primarily because they’d met in the graveyard when Harry had banished Voldemort and had bonded over their shared experience and the madness of the prophecy.

“Only with Sally-Anne, I was able to convince the Headmaster that we should intervene,” Minerva said with satisfaction. “Weasley was given detentions for the bullying.” She paused. “Ultimately, Neville intervened himself after the third incident and detention. He told Weasley that he needed to stop or that he wouldn’t be friends with him.”

“I’m glad Neville found the courage to make that decision,” Hermione said neutrally.

“The three of them seemed to bond after that,” Pomona said. “They were often in the library together or playing on the grounds as a trio.”

Minerva placed her cutlery down on her empty plate and the tray disappeared from her lap. “Unfortunately, at the end of their first year, it came to light that Professor Quirrell had been possessed by a remnant of Voldemort. He kidnapped Sally-Anne and took her into hiding in the castle where Professor Dumbledore was keeping an important artefact.” She waved a hand to stop them asking further questions. “The exact details do not matter. The important point is that Neville went to rescue her and saved her somehow, but she was grievously harmed by the incident.”

Pomona sighed. “She lost a great deal of her magic.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. He nudged his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he’d never grown out of when he was perturbed by something.

“How?” asked Hermione sharply.

“We’re not really certain,” Minerva looked frustrated. “The Headmaster was the first to the scene once the alarms sounded on the ward he had placed. According to his account, Sally-Anne and Neville were unconscious, Quirrell was dead. Weasley was lying conscious but injured in a trap that I had set-up to protect the artefact.”

“It was when the Headmaster got her to the infirmary and Poppy did the diagnostic on Sally-Anne…” Pomona sighed and set her cutlery down. Her tray disappeared. She took a gulp of her wine.

“Perhaps Neville’s account will reveal something more when provided directly to you,” Minerva continued, “but the reported version from the Headmaster had Neville recounting that Sally-Anne was always unconscious throughout his encounter with a possessed Quirrell. Albus theorised that Voldemort had stolen a portion of her magic to help maintain his possession of Quirrell ahead of the confrontation with Neville himself.”

“Sally-Anne was taken straight to Saint Mungo’s,” Pomona said. “I went with her and Minerva retrieved her parents. It was confirmed that she had no more magic than the average Squib.”

“Her parents immediately withdrew Sally-Anne from Hogwarts, and arrangements were made to transfer her to Guy’s,” Minerva sighed heavily. “We settled a rather large sum of money from the Hogwarts Trust to compensate for her injury. The Perks made it clear that our involvement in their lives going forward was unwanted and the Headmaster determined that the matter was over and should not be discussed further.”

“But…” prompted Harry after a few moments of silence.

“Frank came to see me that summer,” Minerva said crisply. “Sally-Anne had written to Neville and he had intercepted it. He told me that he wanted the correspondence to cease, and I should inform her parents that he had removed her from Neville’s sanctioned correspondents. He shared the letter with me. It was in her own handwriting, an innocent expression of gratitude for Neville saving her life.”

“You scented lavender on the page,” Hermione deduced. “That’s why you think she’s sending the lavender-scented notes.”

Minerva tapped her nose. “The benefit of being an animagus, but that isn’t the only reason.” She looked over to Pomona with a sharp look.

“I went to see her parents and they agreed for me to meet with Sally-Anne,” Pomona sighed heavily, pushing a hand through her already messy hair. “I told her that she wasn’t allowed to write to Neville, but that she could write to me.” She waved her wand.

A stack of letters appeared on the coffee table by the tea tray.

“Lavender,” Hermione identified the smell straight away. She picked up a letter. “This is written with the labelling spell.”

“Yes, I, uh, taught it to her,” Pomona admitted sheepishly. “I was afraid if the Headmaster caught wind of it, he would stop it rather in the same fashion that Lord Longbottom did for her writing to Neville.”

“She has enough magic for the spell?” asked Hermione, tilting her head.

Pomona nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed! Small magics, not a lot, but enough. She’s still wonderful at Herbology and has the most marvellous garden of herbs and…”

“Pomona,” Minerva interrupted her, “has she said anything at all about Neville in all the years you’ve corresponded?”

Pomona deflated like a pricked balloon. “No,” she shook her head vehemently only to stop, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Well, she was upset at his marriage to Ginny. She said he deserved better.”

“How would she know?” asked Harry sharply.

Pomona looked at him blankly.

“If her only point of contact has been you…” Harry let the sentence trail away.

Pomona flushed a purplish red. “Ah, well, I believe she did remain somewhat in contact with Lily Moon too. She was another muggleborn and they were friends. However, I may have expressed some injudicious thoughts of my own about his marrying Ginerva Weasley. I thought he was doing it to make everyone else happy and not for his own happiness, and Ginerva, well, I could tell you…”

“Pomona,” Minerva cautioned her loudly.

“That is the only time she has said anything about Neville, really, although…she did remark in a letter soon after Ginerva’s death that she hoped Neville would have a chance at happiness after all,” Pomona hurried on. She raised her hand. “She got that news from the Prophet.”

“Because Squibs can maintain links with the wizarding world,” Hermione said, “and Sally-Anne is an adult now and not subject to her parents’ wishes for no contact.”

“Just so,” Pomona nodded briskly. “She’s grown into an accomplished young woman.” She shook her head. “I find it doubtful that she would be behind some plot to have Neville ensorcelled!”

“Well, we don’t know for certain that she is the sender of the lavender notes and if she was, by all accounts, the ones sent prior to Ginny’s death were deemed to show nothing more than an innocent crush,” Harry said soothingly.

Pomona offered him a grateful smile.

Harry glanced at Hermione. The agreement to wrap up was made silently, but they both stood at the same time.

“May we take your letters?” asked Hermione politely. “It would be useful to do a comparison.”

“I…well, I suppose…” Pomona stuttered.

“Thank you,” Hermione brought out another small evidence box from her pocket, resized it, and with a swish of her wand had all the letters safely inside of it. The box was reshrunk and placed back in her pocket in the blink of an eye.

“I hate to say it, but we must ask for your discretion until we can speak to Miss Perks ourselves?” Harry added.

Pomona nodded, her mouth downturned, but there was understanding in her gaze along with a fierce certainty. “I won’t say anything, but I have every confidence that your investigation will prove that she’s not the person behind the attempt to potion Neville.”

o-O-o

“Fancy digs,” Dora whistled as she strode into the conference room at Burton Hall.

A box of evidence toddled along after her. Behind it, a disgruntled looking Moody brought up the rear.

“We like them!” Sirius bounded over to greet his cousin.

Dora accepted his hug with an enthusiastic squeeze of her own which made him yelp.

Harry turned to share his amusement with his father and found James Potter already grinning and rolling his eyes at the antics of his Guide and lover.

“Lord Potter,” Moody nodded at Harry’s father respectfully. He grimaced as he turned to Sirius. “Black.”

Sirius rolled his silver eyes at the old Auror. “Good to see you too, Moody.”

“Are they sitting in?” asked Moody bluntly, turning back to Harry and Hermione.

“We thought their perspective might be useful,” Harry stated briskly.

Hermione nodded. “They’ve got more experience with Britain than we have.” She gestured at the carafe on the side table. “Coffee?”

Harry helped with the refreshments while Hermione and Dora got together and sorted the evidence on the centre of the table.

They all settled into the comfortable leather chairs. Harry had urged his father into the chair at the end of the table knowing Moody would accept that better than either Hermione or himself taking the position of authority.

Sirius had taken the chair to his Sentinel’s left.  Moody took the seat to the right, and Dora grabbed the chair next to him. Harry sat next to Sirius and Hermione sat next to him.

“Let’s recap what we know so far,” Hermione began. “Neville has been receiving notes from admirers since Ginny’s funeral. He kept these notes,” she pointed at the table, “and they are from three different individuals.”

“At the Ministry Ball,” Harry picked up, “Neville received a drink from a waiter laced with Amortentia. The threat awakened his and Violet’s gifts. The waiter was apprehended but died in a cell. An autopsy found that he had been dosed with a poison. He was a walking dead man at the Ball.”

“We cannot know for certain that one of these three is the person who tried to dose Neville and eliminated the waiter,” Hermione continued, “but it is likely.”

“And it’s our only lead,” quipped Dora.

“And it’s our only lead,” Harry confirmed.

Moody huffed. “Forensic analysis of the waiter’s body was a big waste of time. They confirmed he died from a slow-acting poison. They confirmed that from everything they’ve found in the tissues it is likely a bespoke potion, likely ingested with food or drink.”

“Great,” muttered Sirius. “So our stalker could poison anyone at any time without us knowing.”

“It also means that we’re looking for someone exceptionally skilled in potions, or working with someone exceptionally skilled in potions,” Moody said pointedly.

His father frowned heavily and exchanged a short look with Sirius.

Hermione cleared her throat. “The culprit is unlikely to be the person sending the notes in lavender.”

“Yeah, mostly it’s standard fangirl stuff,” Dora agreed. “She’s definitely got a childish crush on Neville, but the notes are innocent stuff. They talk about how great Neville is and how much she considers him her own hero.”

“Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout identified the lavender notes as potentially being from Sally-Anne Perks,” Hermione said. “Sally-Anne was a Hufflepuff student in the same year as Neville at Hogwarts. They were friends until there was a confrontation with Voldemort at the end of their first year.”

“Albus never reported anything like that to the Ministry,” Moody grumbled, but his lack of surprise at Dumbledore’s reticence was not a denial that the events had happened.

“Sally-Anne was rendered a Squib,” Hermione said. “She retained enough magic for small spells like the labelling spell, but not enough to be considered a witch. She initially wrote to Neville as his friend to thank him for saving her life, but his father intervened. Professor Sprout maintains a correspondence with her.” She glanced down the table to Sirius.

“We’re running a muggle background check,” Sirius confirmed. “While it is unlikely that she is involved with the whole potioning thing, we need to establish that as a fact.”

“Harry and I will go to interview her when we have the check complete,” Hermione said crisply. “Hopefully we’ll be able to fully eliminate her as a suspect at that point.”

“Which leaves us with these two very different piles of possibility,” Dora jumped in. She waved her wand and the pile at the end moved to the front. “This is the most problematic in respect of content.” She tapped the pile.

Words appeared in the air above the table, reforming into sentences.

Harry frowned as he read one aloud. “’It is your fault she is dead.’”

“’You killed her,’” quoted Dora, poking the words floating by her. “One out of the three follows this style.” She made a sharp gesture with her wand.

Other words floated up from the notes as the first set disappeared.

Sirius grimaced. “’I’ve always loved you.’”

“’I’ve always thought you were beautiful inside and out,’” quoted James with a pained expression.

“It’s like Jekyll and Hyde,” Hermione commented.

“Who?” barked Moody.

“Wizard Jek and Werewolf Vide,” supplied Dora. “That’s the wizarding equivalent.”

Harry figured that being the daughter of a pureblood witch and a muggleborn wizard had given her a rounded exposure to both cultures.

“It’s clear that this is a conflicted person,” Hermione said, clasping her hands on the table and leaning forward. “On one hand they blame Neville for the death of a woman, maybe Ginny since it started after her death, and on the other hand, they genuinely love him.”

“Luckily, we don’t need to guess at their identity,” Dora said. She poked the pile with a twisty gesture. Half of the letters stacked themselves into a fourth pile. “It turns out that Ron Weasley is a bit pants at the labelling spell.”

Hermione gave a snort.

“These letters are in his own handwriting or are only partially transformed,” Dora said brightly, waving at the notes. “I matched him with the signature on his witness statement from the summer.”

“Not to mention the scent on the notes is Molly Weasley’s bespoke furniture polish,” James said. “I recognised it as a Weasley scent as soon as I sniffed it.”

“I’m not surprised it’s Ron,” Sirius said quietly. “Every time we’ve run into him since the trial, he’s been a cauldron of emotions.”

“It can’t be easy for the lad,” Moody murmured with a surprising amount of sympathy. “His sister was in an unhappy marriage with his best friend, had an affair, and ended up dead. Malfoy was a good target for his hatred and grief until justice was done. Once Malfoy and his mother were dealt with…” he shrugged. “I’ve seen it before; people will find someone else to blame trying to deal with their grief.”

“So, for all Neville is his best friend and he loves him, Ron also sees him as the architect of his sister’s unhappiness and blames him for Ginny’s fate,” Harry mused. “That tracks. He did say at one point that if Neville had just done what Ginny wanted, she would never have been with Malfoy.”

“But it’s highly unlikely that Ron is behind the love potion,” Hermione said. “The waiter did say ‘she said it was a prank.’”

“He could have used Polyjuice to pretend to be a woman to throw off suspicion,” Sirius suggested, “but I agree that it’s unlikely.” He glanced down the table towards Hermione and Harry. “I don’t think Ron’s the type to premeditate a murder and potion the waiter. He’s the ‘murder someone in the heat of the moment because he loses his temper’ type, not ‘murder someone with forethought and malice.’”

Moody harrumphed, but Harry could sense his agreement.

“Not to mention that his potion skills aren’t the best,” Dora said. “He failed his OWL.”

“You should talk with Ron to completely eliminate him,” Hermione suggested. “He associates us with Ginny’s murder.”

“Makes sense,” Moody conceded. “We can do that.”

“Well,” Dora said cheerfully. “We think the lemon scented pile is Ron and the least likely to be the person behind the potion.”

The notes restacked themselves into a single pile and hopped to the end of the table.

“We think the lavender scented pile is Sally-Anne and that she is unlikely to be who we’re after given her content is pretty tame stuff,” Dora continued.

The lavender pile moved to sit just in front of Ron’s correspondence.

“Which leaves us with this stack of notes which are actually pretty disturbing,” Dora gave a mock shudder.

Hermione nodded grimly. “The notes start off as harmless; expressions of admiration for how Neville has conducted himself since Ginny’s death, how he conducted himself during their marriage.”

“Then they slide into heavy flirting, discussion of what they’d like to do with him sexually, before they take a completely sinister turn,” Dora sighed heavily. “The last note stated that they want to kidnap Neville and keep him with them always.”

“I couldn’t get an emotional read on these notes which is unusual,” Harry stated.

“That’s unusual?” barked Moody sceptically.

“Harry’s the strongest Guide outside of the States,” Sirius replied. “He is a Shaman. If he can’t sense anything then something has been done to mask the empathic print on the notes.”

“They also only have the faintest hint of a cherry scent,” Hermione said. “And for the record, Auror Moody, that I can only pick up on that is also unusual.”

“And I can’t scent anything but cherry either,” James sighed as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Whoever wrote these notes warded them somehow against sentinels and guides.”

“Why though?” asked Dora bluntly. “There are very few magical sentinels and guides.”

“Maybe because we are getting involved in investigations now,” Harry suggested. “Between Ginny’s murder and the Fudge fraud, we’ve gotten a lot of attention.”

“Maybe it’s not just a preventative measure,” Hermione mused. “Maybe they knew Neville was latent. Maybe they were concerned that he would pick up on who they were if they didn’t mask the notes.”

“Good point,” Harry smiled at his Sentinel.

“Either theory has merit,” Moody conceded.

Harry’s Dad cleared his throat. “The notes smell of cherry.”

They all turned to look at James Potter.

He grimaced. “I hate to say this, but I think you need to speak with Lily.”

Harry felt momentarily bewildered and breathless at the idea. His Dad couldn’t possibly mean…

“Why?” asked Hermione bluntly, under the table her hand landed on Harry’s knee helping to ground him.

James squirmed in his chair. He adjusted his glasses and glanced over at Sirius questioningly.

Sirius nodded slowly. “You should tell them, Prongs.”

His Dad grimaced again, a twist of his lips and a furrow of his brow. He pushed a hand through his messy Potter hair. He finally looked directly at Harry. “You know your Mum was distraught when you were born as a Guide. Some of that was rooted in what that meant for our marriage since Sirius and I awakened to help protect and shield you.”

Harry nodded.

“We tried to make it work as a couple for over a year and a half,” his Dad said quietly. “After Violet was born, just after your second Christmas, your Mum and I conceded that it wasn’t working. She moved into the cottage.” He paused. “About a year later, she invited us for a Sunday lunch which was unusual and…”

It was clear that his Dad was struggling.

Sirius reached out to clasp his Sentinel’s forearm.

“Usually we were the ones to arrange to visit to see Violet and give you time with your Mum, so we were pleased at her attempt to reach out,” Sirius said softly. “The invitation was surprisingly blank to read. I couldn’t pick up anything from it but James said it smelled of cherry.”

Harry’s heart sank at the information. That sounded like his mother knew something about how to hide the empathic print on a note.

“It was a good meal until she tried to serve you dessert,” Sirius continued roughly. He stopped and looked towards Harry’s father.

“Hedwig appeared and almost scratched her eyes out,” James said bluntly. “Your owl brought both of our spirit animals onto the physical plane too for protection.”

“There was a potion in the dessert,” Hermione said quietly.

“A prototype guide suppression potion,” Sirius shook his head. “She thought if she could reverse Harry’s awakening that she and James could reconcile. She’d used another experimental potion to mask the empathic print on the invitation.”

Harry breathed in sharply. He clasped Hermione’s hand tightly. He’d known his mother had blamed him and his status as a Guide for the breakdown of her marriage. It wasn’t a surprise to him. That she had actually tried to suppress him…

“You didn’t arrest her, Lord Potter,” Moody stated gravely. “Unless the investigation was done through the Sentinel and Guide Order.”

“That was how we handled it,” Sirius answered when Harry’s father stayed silent again. “Lily pretty much broke down in the wake of the potion discovery. It was clear she wasn’t mentally well. We had her admitted to a clinic abroad and we took custody of Violet for a couple of months until Lily was declared well by her healers.”

“At the time, the European Order First Sentinel and Guide were the ones to investigate,” James rubbed his chin. He shook his head. “They confiscated all the potions Lily had and any documentation about her experiments. Lily claimed she was the only one involved.” He glanced at his Guide before turning back to Moody. “We knew it was a lie and warned Lily that anyone she might have conferred with should be warned that if they tried to use the potions or continued with them, they would be subject to prison terms since they didn’t have the same excuse as her impaired emotional state.”

Harry shook his head. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because your Mum was unwell and she never tried anything like it again,” his Dad replied immediately, his gaze careening to Harry and holding Harry’s firmly. “It was over and done with when you were a small child. She had mind healing at the clinic and…I know your relationship with her has had its ups and downs, but she’s always loved you, Harry. What was the point of us telling you except to do harm?”

Harry nodded slowly, feeling the truth of his words resonate across the psionic plane.

“I wouldn’t have said anything now, except…” his Dad motioned at the final stack of correspondence. “I think someone is using the same formula to hide their imprint. I don’t think it’s your mother who is the culprit, Merlin knows she’s always considered Neville another son, but…”

“But you think her conspirator might be the culprit,” Hermione cut in.

James and Sirius exchanged another look before his Dad returned his gaze to him. “If it is who we think it is, it is unlikely to be him, but he might know who it is.”

Harry pressed his lips together. “Then, you’re right, Dad. We need to talk to my mother.”

o-O-o

His mother’s home in Hogsmeade was tucked away in a residential zone a good walk away from the main streets. There was a steep climb up a particularly challenging hill before it branched. The road headed towards Edinburgh on one side, and on the other, tucked away behind a large hedge, was Honeysuckle Lane.

Harry and Hermione had avoided the climb and apparated just in front of his mother’s cottage. He stopped abruptly at the gate at the feel of new wards. Harry had only been to the cottage a couple of times since he and Hermione had moved back to Britain and the lack of sentinel and guide warding had made visiting for any length of time deeply uncomfortable.

He took a breath and tried to ease away the hurt that she’d settled wards on the house with Violet’s awakening but had never bothered for him. Or maybe it was because of Neville’s awakening, Harry mused bitterly. His mother had always taken pride in being Neville’s godmother.

Hermione had stopped with him at the gate. She took a deep steadying breath and he followed her lead.

“Right,” Hermione muttered, “now they are wards.”

Harry squeezed her hand. “Maybe we should have let Moody and Dora take point on this.”

Hermione shook her head. “Neither one of us is going to settle with the fact that she tried to push you into dormancy until we face her with it.” She grimaced. “And this…” she waved a hand at the cottage as though to indicate the invisible wards, “this is part of it. She should have done this long ago as your mother, Harry. That she didn’t doesn’t speak well of her. I won’t settle with it until we faced her with her actions.”

Because the Sentinel in her considered his mother a threat.

She tilted her head towards him. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

He had to admit he was more conflicted about facing his mother with her past actions. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the reasons why she’d decided to do it. But they had a greater duty than simply confronting Lily Potter about how she had tried to send him into dormancy. They needed to find who had tried to potion Neville.

“Let’s get it over with,” Harry sighed.

They pushed open the small wooden gate and made their way down the winding path through the beautiful garden to the old front door his mother had painted a bright red Gryffindor colour.

Harry politely used the doorknocker.

It took a few moments before his mother opened the door to greet them.

At fifty, Lily Potter was still a beautiful woman. She’d seemed to have relaxed in the wake of the divorce. She wore a comfortable jeans and jumper combination whereas Harry had rarely seen her out of wizarding robes before. Her vibrant red hair was loose, still free of any grey, and her freckled complexion had only the finest lines around her mouth and eyes.

“Harry, Hermione!” She opened the door wider to usher them inside. “How lovely of you to visit!”

“We’re actually here on business, Lady Potter,” Hermione asserted, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them into the pockets of the heavy woollen coat she had chosen to combat the bitterly cold Scottish weather.

Harry tugged his own gloves off as he leaned in to kiss his mother’s cheek. “We’re here about the potion incident that awakened Neville.”

He was watching closely enough to observe the flicker of discomfort that passed over her face, her mouth tightening.

“Of course,” Lily directed them into the front parlour.

It was a cosy sitting room with cream walls accented in a deep red, and a comfortable cream leather seats arrayed with floral cushions. A fire crackled steadily in its depths warming the room.  

Harry and Hermione chose the two-seater sofa by the window.

Lily sat down in the chair by the hearth. “Are you sure I can’t get you any refreshments?”

“No, thank you,” Hermione said.

“How can I help then?” asked Lily bluntly, placing her hands on her knees and regarding them with a cool stare.

“Neville received notes before the Ministry Ball, disturbing notes which were scented cherry and blocked a guide’s ability to take an empathic read,” Hermione said crisply.

Lily closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. “I see.”

“Dad told us about the potions you created,” Harry tried to keep his tone even and mild. He didn’t want to show how much he cared about what she would say.

His mother opened her eyes and looked at him sorrowfully with the same green gaze that he saw every morning in the mirror. He could feel her regret like it was a living organism in the room with them.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lily said softly. “You must hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Mum, but I’d like to understand why,” Harry said simply.

Hermione reached for his hand and tangled their fingers together in silent support.    

Lily breathed in deeply, reaching up to tuck her hair back behind her ear. “Even with everything going on with the war, the time I was pregnant with you was joyous, Harry. I was so looking forward to being your mother and to motherhood. But then…”

“I was born a Guide,” Harry supplied when she trailed off.

Lily nodded, shame stampeding in red across her cheeks. “You needed constant shielding by Sirius, and it felt like you didn’t want me.” She gestured at him when he opened his mouth to protest. “I know that you had no control over anything. Your empathy picked up on my jealousy and hurt about Sirius, my upset over James suddenly being more Sirius’ Sentinel than my husband, my devastation that my baby had been born with an ability which was hurting him, and…it was no wonder you didn’t want to be held by me.”

“It must have been difficult,” Hermione murmured sympathetically.

“I was younger than you both now, too young probably, and I was very scared I was losing my husband, my family,” Lily replied bluntly. She stood up abruptly and crossed to the sideboard on the other side of the room to pour herself a glass of whisky. “Are you certain that you don’t want one?”

Harry shook his head, Hermione doing the same.

Lily returned to her seat, cradling the glass in the palm of her hands. “That first year I blamed Sirius more than anyone. I was terrible to him.” She grimaced, looking towards the fire. “I probably still owe him a thousand apologies for everything I said and did.” She looked back to Harry. “I was mostly scared that I was going to lose you to Voldemort. Being a Shaman Guide was unheard of at the time. It is such a rare ability. It felt like you had to be the one in the prophecy. I developed the spell Alice used with full intent to sacrifice my life for yours, Harry.”

A shiver shot down Harry’s spine.

“I told myself you had James and Sirius, you barely needed me,” Lily shook her head and sipped her drink. “If I died saving my son, it was a fair exchange.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, what could he say? He was horrified at her motivation.

“Only you fell pregnant with Violet,” Hermione murmured, wrenching Harry’s attention back to the discussion.

“Only I fell pregnant with Violet,” Lily agreed with a sigh. She looked directly at Harry. “Never tell your sister, but she was a complete accident. James and I were still trying to make our marriage work, but we weren’t planning to add to our family given our troubles…”

Harry waved his hand at her as though he could wave away the implication of his parents having sex. “Tell me about the potions.”

Lily sipped her drink and set it on the side table by her chair. “When Neville was declared by Dumbledore to be the target of the prophecy to end Voldemort, something just…broke in me.”

Harry twitched at the reference to the Headmaster. Usually his mother was much more respectful in her tone. He could feel her irritation with the old wizard and wondered at what had prompted it.

She grimaced and looked back into the fire. “In hindsight, I had postpartum depression, probably from your birth and compounded with Violet’s. Losing Alice, Dumbledore being so certain about Neville and dismissing your guide abilities as nonsense…” she shook her head. “I just thought…you didn’t need to be a guide. You weren’t going to face Voldemort. Why should my son be the one burdened with such a terrible gift?”

“What did you do?” asked Hermione briskly.

His mother’s head snapped around to her. She glared briefly at the bluntness of the question before settling again into the chair with a weary sigh. “I didn’t do anything at first. Then…” she shook her head again, “I met up with an old friend.”

Suddenly everything clicked into place for Harry.

“Severus Snape,” Harry said grimly. He only knew of the wizard from his Dads’ stories, but if his mother was going to call anyone an old friend…

Lily nodded.

“The Hogwarts’ Potions Professor?” Hermione’s voice rang with incredulity.

“He and Mum grew up together,” Harry explained, “they were best friends until things got too political at Hogwarts.”

“Severus joined the Death Eaters,” Lily added, “I went from being his best friend to a mudblood within the space of weeks.” She hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms. “He’d tried to apologise a few times after Alice died and it was revealed he had been a spy for Dumbledore, but I had refused to see him except…” she sighed heavily, “Violet was confirmed as a latent Sentinel, your father and I had a furious row about it. I stormed out and sent a Patronus to Severus telling him to meet me in our childhood park.”

“I can understand reaching out to an old friend when your circumstances were so stressed,” Hermione said mildly.

“Severus apologised and everything I was feeling, everything I was thinking, it all just came tumbling out,” Lily sighed again. She rubbed her head with one hand. “He told me that he had been working on potions to counter Sentinels and Guides with Voldemort. They’d gotten stuck just before Neville was attacked, but Severus thought that it was possible. He proposed a collaboration as a way for him to make…make things up to me.”

Harry wondered at the hitch in her words. What had made her hesitate?

“I refused and went home. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I told your father we should separate,” Lily said dully. “As a Sentinel, it wouldn’t take James long to work out that I was meeting regularly with Severus or that I was experimenting with potions.”

“You kept the wards off the house to make it uncomfortable for us all to visit,” Harry said out loud.

“Yes,” Lily nodded absently, her gaze affixed to the fire, but more likely her inner memories. She took a deep breath and shifted to face them. “The potion to mask the note was our first success.” She grimaced. “I ran a few experiments with you, and with James and Sirius although they never knew it. James always picked up on the underlying cherry scent from the lapin syrup we used to balance the acidity, and I had to pretend to be experimenting with cherry desserts. That was its only flaw.”

“And the second potion,” Hermione prompted with a narrow gaze.

Harry could feel his Sentinel’s anger through their bond. He was more resigned than anything to the news that his mother had experimented on him.

“It took longer to refine. Severus had found a muggle guide who had lost their sentinel and wanted to suppress their gift in the wake of the loss,” Lily said quietly. “We tested the potion on them with their agreement. They went dormant.”

“Which is when you decided to try it on me,” Harry said bluntly. His stomach churned.

“Looking back, I can see I was not mentally well, but at the time,” Lily met his eyes sorrowfully. “The clinic your father sent to stay in helped me understand how my depression led me into a spiral and…it is not an excuse, but it is a reason. I am sorry, Harry.”

Harry nodded stiffly. He wasn’t sure if he was emotionally ready to forgive her for attempting to harm him, but he intellectually understood that she hadn’t been in her right mind.

“You didn’t tell the investigation about Snape,” Harry pointed out.

Lily shook her head. “I thought I was the architect of our actions. I took responsibility.”

“When did you realise that he’d used you?” asked Hermione shrewdly.

Lily’s lips twisted. “As soon as I got back from the clinic. He owled me; he wanted to meet. All he was interested in was doing another attempt.” She paused. “He confessed to me that his father had been a latent guide, but Severus had been born without a gift and his father had never let him forget it. He said we had the opportunity to suppress all sentinels and guides, make it so that nobody would ever feel inferior to them again.”

“You still didn’t turn him in,” Hermione noted.

“I told him that if he ever put his plan into motion, I’d go to the press with his deepest secrets,” Lily said simply as though blackmailing Snape was an everyday occurrence.

Harry wondered if she knew he knew that Snape had been the one to inform Voldemort about the prophecy. He took a breath and focused on the problem at hand. “Someone else has the potion formula.”

“I told him to destroy it,” Lily grimaced, “but I should have known that he wouldn’t.” She sighed heavily. “I doubt that he’s the person responsible for trying to directly potion Neville or sending him the notes.”

“But he will know who might have had access to the formula,” Hermione said, repeating what James had noted at the meeting.

Lily nodded.

“Would he have given it to someone else if they knew whatever it is that you blackmailed him with?” asked Harry with a touch more bluntness than he had hoped.

Her face twitched with a faint flinch at the harsh description he’d used. “The only other person I know who knows is Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry pulled a face, twisting his features into a scowl before letting go of the feeling.

“As much as the Headmaster likes to control Neville’s life, I doubt that he’d stoop to potions like Amortentia,” Lily remarked dryly. “It wouldn’t be in line with the Leader of the Light image he likes to project.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up and he felt Hermione’s shock reverberate through their bond at his mother’s harsh words for the Headmaster.

Lily flushed red under their scrutiny and waved a hand vaguely in their direction. “I guess it’s evident that my…my opinion of Dumbledore has changed recently.”

“May I ask why?” asked Hermione evenly.

Lily sighed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “When you came to ask myself and Violet about Ginny during your investigation last summer, I realised that I had missed a lot of…just a lot.” Her gaze met Harry’s again with more apologetic chagrin. “Violet was rather blunt with me when we talked afterwards. It made me take a good long look at how I’ve treated you both, how I was living, my relationships.”

“Is that why you finally requested the divorce?” asked Harry.

Lily nodded. “I didn’t like the idea that I wasn’t much better than Ginny in how I’d approached my own marriage to your father. Not agreeing to the divorce was petty.” She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Albus tried to dissuade me from moving forward with it anyway. It was then I began to realise just how much I’d allowed him to influence my decisions and behaviour.”

“He encouraged your dislike of sentinels and guides,” Hermione said calmly.

“He played on my resentments,” Lily agreed, “and I let him. I realised I’d alienated myself from my children because I’d prioritised Neville’s safety and happiness and Dumbledore’s vision for that over my own children’s.”

Harry frowned. “Is this about Violet saying it was clear everyone wanted Neville to marry a good Gryffindor girl from a Light family?”

“Partially,” Lily said, more chagrin storming over her face in a wave of red. “I realised that I’d completely missed Violet’s feelings for Neville because I’d been so focused on encouraging his relationship with Ginny. I’m glad Violet and Neville have found their way to each other now.” She took a breath and leaned forward. “But my rather larger transgression was in allowing Dumbledore to alienate me from you, Harry. Looking back, I realised that he’d subtly encouraged me to be there for Neville but at your expense. And I let him because I felt guilty at what I’d done with the potion, and because I still resented losing the vision of the happy family I’d once pictured in my head. I haven’t been the mother you deserve and I’m sorry.”

Harry felt as though his heart was being squeezed. He’d never expected her to admit to her failings as a mother. Hermione sent a rush of support through their bond and he wrapped the feeling of his Sentinel’s love around himself like armour.

He held his mother’s gaze. “I won’t say that you’re wrong about the alienation. I’ve never felt comfortable in your home and the lack of wards were only part of the issue. It hurts that you’ve placed them now that Violet and Neville need them but didn’t do that for me. I felt your resentment. Perhaps I should have spoken with you years ago myself,” he admitted, “especially with the way you’ve treated Hermione.”

Lily’s gaze dropped from his to her lap. She grimaced and looked up, focusing on Hermione. “I owe you an apology too.”

“I’m a sentinel,” Hermione said evenly. “James is a sentinel. You’re projecting your dislike of his being a sentinel onto me. I’ve always known that it wasn’t personal.”

“It wasn’t, but I should have moved past it years ago,” Lily said. “You love Harry, that’s clear as day. So, I am sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione gave a slow nod. “I accept your apology, Lady Potter.”

Lily’s lips twitched. “Please call me, Lily, Hermione. It’s long past due for me to invite you to use my name.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Lily.”

“Besides, I’m definitely not Lady Potter anymore, and Miss Evans will make me feel like I’m back at Hogwarts,” Lily said with a hint of humour in her words.

Harry was about to thank her when his mother shifted back and looked at Harry. “I’ve been planning to get the wards done since I moved here. I’d hoped to save the money for the wards myself rather than having to ask your father to help me or use the settlement he provided for me.”

He could feel her shame and grimaced.

“With Violet’s awakening, I went ahead and used the settlement money to get them done because it suddenly felt like I couldn’t wait, but you’re right,” Lily said. “I should have swallowed my pride and done it before so they could always have been in place here for you. I’m sorry that I’ve allowed my pride to hurt you again. That wasn’t my intent.”  

Harry took a breath. His mother’s admissions, her apologies, it felt momentous. Earth-shattering.

He gave a slow nod, unable to speak.

“I’ll get you Severus’ address,” Lily offered, getting to her feet. “You’ll want to follow up with him.” She was gone before they could agree, leaving them alone in the room.

Hermione leaned against him, placing her head on his shoulder. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. For a moment they wallowed in their bond, regaining their equilibrium.

They heard his mother’s footsteps returning and they both stood up. It was time for them to leave.

Lily handed Hermione the parchment paper with the address. “He returned to Cokeworth after leaving Hogwarts. He had an affair with a muggle woman there. He thought I didn’t know about her until I faced him with it. They have two daughters, both magical.”

“You think one of his daughters might be our suspect,” realised Hermione.

“I really don’t know,” Lily shrugged, “but Severus is not the kind of wizard to share his knowledge with anyone other than someone close to him.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Harry said.

They followed her out to the front door and paused on the front stoop.

“Thank you, Mum,” Harry said quietly.

Lily smiled sadly. “No need to thank me.” Hesitation stampeded all over her face before it was chased away with a stubborn determination he’d often seen in the mirror. “Perhaps you’d both come to dinner when your investigation is complete? We could discuss the wedding plans.”

Harry exchanged a quick look with Hermione. He nodded. “We’d like that.”

His mother smiled warmly. In a surprising move, she reached over to hug him quickly before she retreated, the front door closing with a firm click.

Hermione looped her arm around his and steered him out of the garden and back to the road. “You alright?” she asked softly.

Harry knew she knew he wasn’t. He leaned over and kissed her. “I will be.” He pushed away the muddle of his feelings, the scattered thoughts about his mother, and gestured at the parchment in her hand. “Let’s go talk to Snape. I have a feeling he’s the key to our suspect.”

Hermione nodded and grasped his arm as they disappeared with a crack of apparation.

o-O-o

Cokeworth was situated in the Midlands, not close enough to Birmingham to be considered part of the sprawling city, but close enough that a hint of the distinctive accent still coated the voices of the residents.

Harry had visited a few times in his childhood.

Once with his mother when she had taken him and Violet to meet their aunt, Petunia. That time they had stayed at a rundown hotel on the outskirts which for all the carpet was worn through had made the effort to maintain great sentinel and guide shielding.

The other two trips had been on the anniversary of his grandparents’ deaths. His mother had brought him along when his visits with her had coincided with her annual pilgrimage to the cemetery.

Spinner’s End, Snape’s house, was located in the rougher end of the town. The streets were grimy with litter and unartistic graffiti promoting anarchy splashed across walls. The air stank of rubbish and rotten vegetation.

Harry kept his empathy well-shielded as they walked down the street searching for the right house number only for it to be the one at the very far end. He shivered despite his heavy woollen coat and silently cast a warming spell against the chilly wind.

The magical wards shimmied in Harry’s mage sight only as soon as they were close enough to trigger them. It was an ingenious design and spoke to the wizard’s intelligence.

“So much for the element of surprise,” quipped Hermione.

Harry smiled and rapped on the wards magically at the same moment he pressed his gloved finger down on the doorbell.

Snape opened the door abruptly. He loomed in the doorway, a tall thin man with a sallow complexion and slicked-back black hair that did nothing for him. His tight black wizarding robes gave him a severe look that was compounded by his hook nose.

“Master Snape,” Hermione began. “We are here to ask some questions regarding an investigation into a recent attempt to potion Neville Longbottom. May we come in?”

Snape arched an eyebrow but he stepped back and they entered the narrow hallway. They caught a brief glimpse of the front parlour as they passed the open door to their right. It looked dark and crammed with bookshelves.

Snape led them into a back dining room which was clearly outfitted as his lab. Harry recognised the shape of a stasis spell holding the cauldrons in situ. The table was littered with ingredients and an incongruous box of popular chocolates.

Snape walked around to the other side of the table using it as a barrier.

There was no seating available which left Hermione and Harry both standing in the small space between the door and the dining table.

“Ask your questions, Miss Granger,” Snape sneered, folding his arms over his chest.

“First Sentinel Granger in this matter,” Hermione corrected him sharply.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “My apologies,” he said mockingly, “First Sentinel.”

“Neville was receiving notes from a stalker,” Hermione pushed on.

Harry let her take the lead because he knew without even attempting it that Snape would not respond better to him. He felt Snape’s disdain for them, the flickering of hate that happened every time he looked in Harry’s direction. Harry had a feeling that looking so much like James Potter was not doing him any favours with Snape at all.

“They had a hint of cherry scent but otherwise blocked any ability for a sentinel or guide to read the notes,” Hermione continued. “The former Lady Potter informed us that she had worked in partnership with you to create a potion which could do that.”

Snape maintained a very good poker face. “You cannot honestly believe that I have been sending stalkerish notes to the Boy Who Lived.”

“No, but you are the only person with the recipe besides Lady Potter,” Hermione said firmly. “She confirmed that she asked you to destroy it and the one for the suppression potion after she took responsibility for creating them with the Sentinel and Guide Order.”

Snape huffed.

“You would have received a prison sentence had she reported you to the investigators at the time,” Hermione said. “Conspiring to harm sentinels and guides carries a prison term. Lady Potter only escaped that judgement because of her compromised mental state.” She held Snape’s glowering gaze without fear. “We could still arrest you for it regardless since the potion has clearly been used in a crime.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“I am not the only one with the recipe,” Snape replied abruptly. “The Headmaster has copies of all my work. It was part of my contract during my tenure as a professor that I had to hand over all my own work to him.”

That’s unfortunate, Harry mused. He wasn’t particularly happy at the idea of the old wizard having access to potion recipes which could be used against Sentinels and Guides. However, Snape throwing Dumbledore into the mix felt like a deflection.

“I see,” Hermione said. “And your own copy? Where is that kept and who else might have access?”

Snape’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Gringotts. Only I have a key and…” he broke off, coughing suddenly and violently.

Harry felt Snape’s alarm flare. “Master Snape…”

“Bezoar!” Snape rasped as he hunched continuing to cough. He gestured with a shaking hand towards a sideboard to the left.

Hermione whipped her wand out and went to help Snape as Harry went to the sideboard.

“Accio bezoar!” Harry held out his hand commandingly.

There was a murmur of voices behind him as one of the drawers slammed open and a stone sailed through the air and into Harry’s hand. He hurried back around the table.

Snape was curled up on the wooden floor, coughing. Blood bubbled out of his mouth.

Hermione was crouched beside him and a diagnostic lingered in the space beside her. She looked up at Harry, urgency written in her warm brown gaze. “Hurry.”

Harry knelt beside the stricken wizard and reached to put the stone in Snape’s mouth.

Suddenly Snape’s hand snapped up to wrap around Harry’s wrist stopping him. Harry flinched at the cascade of emotions flooding him. Horror, pain, fury and betrayal…

Snape’s eyes met his and Harry flinched as a memory was pushed into his head with all the delicacy of a hammer hitting a nail.

“Lily…” Snape murmured.

Snape’s spirit snapped abruptly away from his body, the life behind his eyes snuffed out in an instant leaving them sightless and glossy. The hand which had held his forearm dropped away.

Harry didn’t attempt to follow Snape’s spirit into the afterlife.

His head ached with the intrusion of the memory Snape had forced upon him and he felt like he could barely breathe having had the sensation of Snape’s physical ailment accompany the mental assault.

“Harry,” Hermione reached across and placed a hand on his arm.

“He forced a memory into my mind,” Harry managed to say. He felt nauseous. “My head is killing me.”

Hermione got to her feet and helped him to his. She took them out of the dining room and through a narrow kitchen at the back to the outside yard. He slumped to sit on the back steps, taking in greedy gulps of cold air.

“I have to…” Hermione murmured.

Harry nodded. She had to report the death and start the official investigation into it.  He caught her hand as she made to move away.

“Box of chocolates,” Harry said, blinking back the spots in his vision. “They’re out of place.”

“Agreed,” Hermione reached down and kissed the top of his head. “Stay here and recover, Guide.”

She left but he felt the looming comfort of Aslan at his back, protecting him. He closed his eyes and felt Hedwig’s weight on his shoulder.

He focused on meditation.

Deep breath in. Hold. And out.

Deep breath in. Hold. And out.

Deep breath in. Hold. And out.

His headache eased a little.

He tried to focus on the memory, but it hurt to even think of it. He let it go. He returned to his breathing.

A moment later, a familiar presence wrapped their shields around Harry cocooning him in love and safety.

Sirius.

Harry opened his eyes and found the man who had been his second father from the moment Harry had been born crouched in front of him.

Sirius’ grey eyes were filled with worry. “Snape did a number on your shielding.”

“He forcibly pushed a memory into my mind,” Harry said, trying to ignore the way his body trembled at the memory of the assault. “He did nothing to lessen the empathic feel of it so I got all the anger, pain and horror of his dying attached to it.”

Sirius’ face flashed with his own anger. “Bloody Snape.” The hand which cupped the back of Harry’s neck was gentle. “Let’s get you home. I’ll get Andi to come and take a look. She’ll be able to help with the mental damage.”

“Hermione…”

“Your Dad’s here with Brydon and Elise, and she wants you safe,” Sirius said firmly. 

Harry took a shaky breath. The muggle Sentinel and Guide had been Seconds for James and Sirius for years. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

o-O-o

Harry sat down at the conference table and tried to shake the sense of déjà vu storming through him.

Hermione placed a mug of tea in front of him and took the seat next to him. “Drink some tea.”

Harry sighed. His Sentinel’s answer to any kind of illness was to ply people with tea regardless of their ailment. He dutifully picked up the mug and took a sip. He hummed. It was good tea.

Across the table, Brydon and Elise slid into seats down from Moody and Dora. They were a study in contrasts. Brydon was a pale blond haired burly Welshman who refused to wear anything more formal than jeans teamed with a blazer. His hair skirted his shoulders and his beard was full and bushy. His Guide Elise was a beautiful woman with skin the colour of ebony, and bitter chocolate eyes. Her hair was shorn short leaving only a black fuzz shaped with hard geometric lines. Her business suit was a gorgeous teal colour with a matching silky blouse. He felt Hermione’s admiration for it.

Hermione had dressed that morning in a favourite crisp white shirt teamed with a sharp black suit with skinny trousers, black heels. Her caramel hair was swept up into a chignon and her lipstick was bright red. She looked gorgeous.

Harry sipped his tea as his father and Sirius sat down, both looking exhausted. He’d found out from Hermione as they’d gotten ready for the day that his father had been the one dispatched to inform his mother of Snape’s death.

Harry cleared his throat. “Let’s start with the simple stuff first. Weasley?”

Moody harrumphed. “The lad’s an idiot.”

Dora sent the old Auror a chiding look before wincing dramatically. She wore her base form that morning: her own brown hair, the pale complexion of the Blacks, and brown eyes she’d inherited from her muggleborn father.

“He’s not wrong.” She clasped her hands on the table. “Bill, Ron’s older brother, apparently advised him to write notes as a kind of therapy to deal with his conflicted feelings.”

“Not a bad strategy,” Hermione noted evenly.

“Except Ron didn’t tell his mother what he was doing so whenever she spotted a note addressed to Neville…”

“She sent it on,” Harry deduced out loud with a sigh.

“Since she’s been using the Weasley owl, there’s no way that Neville doesn’t know those notes are from Ron,” Dora continued. “I’m thinking he forgot when he told you about the others that he’d put these in the same drawer.”

“Weasley’s bloody mortified as he should be,” Moody said grumpily, reaching for his mug of tea.

“His mortification was very, very genuine,” Dora said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone turn such a bright shade of red. I’m happy to eliminate him.”

“One suspect down,” Sirius quipped.

“We didn’t get to see Sally-Anne yesterday with everything else that happened,” Hermione said.

“The background check came back,” Sirius said. “She lives in Northumberland on her own and has a small holding with a popular garden centre. The only thing of note is that she makes a pretty decent living providing potion ingredients to a few apothecaries here in Britain. All typical herbs and plants; nothing dodgy.”

“But she might know someone who knows potions,” Hermione said. “We can’t rule her out without talking to her.” She glanced at Harry.

Harry inclined his head a touch. “Which brings us to Snape.” He motioned with his tea. “Bring me up to speed.”

“It was murder,” Dora said crisply, no hint of her usual good humour in her face. “DOM ran the forensics. The chocolates were laced with a slow-acting potion. There are enough markers in similarity to the death of the Ball waiter to conclude that this is likely the same poison.”

“She’s killing whoever can identify her,” Moody said grimly.

“The chocolates had a gift tag Snape had kept,” Elise said. “Block writing which Sentinel Granger identified as a labelling spell. No empathetic print and Bry detected a very faint cherry scent. The tag claimed that they were from Lily.”  

Brydon leaned forward with his large hands clasped on the table. “We have no reason to believe that the chocolates were from Lady Potter…”

“I asked her anyway,” James cut in. He pushed his hand through his messy hair. “She said she hadn’t spoken to Severus since their parting of ways after she returned from the clinic. She was telling the truth.”

“Lily is also the name of his eldest daughter,” Brydon said calmly. “Snape had a sexual relationship with Angela Moon from the age of sixteen to when he took up the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts. His oldest is the same age as you, Harry, Hermione. His youngest daughter, Mary, was actually born a day after Violet Potter.”

“Angela went onto marry and have two more children,” Elise added. “The younger children are muggle. Mary was adopted before Hogwarts and attended under her adoptive father’s surname while Lily was enrolled under their mother’s maiden name.”

“I remember Lily,” Hermione said. “She was in Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout said she and Sally-Anne Perks remained in some contact because they were friends.”

Harry could feel her discomfort with the coincidence.

“According to Angela, Lily and Mary have had little contact with Snape beyond him being their teacher at Hogwarts,” Elise continued. “She claimed that Snape signed over his parental rights when the kids were still toddling.”

“Lily married Justin Finch-Fletchley two years ago, they have one son,” Brydon said. “They’re currently residing in Kensington. Finch-Fletchley has a job at the Ministry as a liaison to the muggle government.”

Harry had vague memories of receiving a wedding invitation. The Finch-Fletchleys were an old aristocratic family and the wedding had been a society event. He and Hermione had declined to attend as they’d been busy with an investigation in France at the time.

“Mary is estranged from her maternal family,” Elise said. “Her mother said that Mary drifted away during her Hogwarts’ years, and the last she had heard from her was the summer after she left Hogwarts. She’d landed a job with…” she checked her notes, “Ebbingdon Apothecary Incorporated?”

“They’re a potions company,” Hermione said. “They make most of the medicinal potions available for sale in Britain.”

“There is no muggle record for her after leaving home that summer,” Elise stated. “Her mother took her off the electoral list for the household that same year.” She motioned to her left, to the Aurors.

“We called EAI,” Dora said. “They confirmed Mary Moon works for them. Apparently she dropped the adoptive Dad’s name. Sh was offered a job straight out of school. She’s held the position of Senior Potions Designer for the last two years. She’s well-liked and respected according to the HR Manager. I was able to contact her late last night. She’ll be here shortly for an interview.”

Moody cleared his throat. “The older Moon girl studied potions abroad with Basil Bouchon although she never sat for her mastery. She also agreed to come in for an informal interview when we informed her of Snape’s death yesterday. We thought you guys might want to take that.”

Harry nodded. “The memory Snape pushed on me was a visit from her. She was pregnant in the memory and worried about the baby being a possible latent Sentinel or Guide. Snape told her about the potion.”

“So, our suspect is Lady Lily Finch-Fletchley?” Dora surmised brightly.

Harry shook his head. “The memory is false, or rather something about it is false. I was able to tell as soon as my head stopped feeling like it was bludgeoned. The memory lacks any kind of real emotion. It’s something he conjured in his head and pushed into mine.”

They all looked at him except Hermione who sipped on her own tea completely unbothered by the revelation since he’d already told her.

“Wouldn’t the memory have to have some basis in reality?” asked Dora.

Sirius shook his head. “He was a master leglimens according to his Wizengamot testimony about his spying. All he needed was fragments of memory to construct a falsehood. Maybe he used a visit from her when she was pregnant as a template? We can ask if she ever visited when we talk with her. Anyway, most wizarding folk don’t have the benefit of Harry’s empathy and shamanic senses. They’d probably be fooled by it.”

“Well,” Moody growled, “I’ll be the one to ask the obvious question: why?”

“We discussed a few theories this morning,” Hermione said primly. “One, he hated us and just wanted to throw us off course.”

“Two,” Harry followed up, “he genuinely believed his daughter Lily was the one to send him the chocolates and it was an attempt to throw her off the broomstick.”

“Or, three,” Hermione said, “he was protecting the real culprit by giving us another suspect.”

James slumped back in his seat. “If he thought the chocolates were from Lily, our Lily, I mean not his daughter, that last one would make sense.”

Sirius huffed. “True, he was always mad about Lily. He’d forgive her even if he thought she’d actually killed him.”

“The chocolates were delivered by mail though,” Elise cut in. “We found the packaging in the bin at the back of the house. Wouldn’t he have suspected that they weren’t from the Lady Potter because of that? She would have sent them by your magical birds, right?”

“Right,” Harry said. It was a good point. “Which brings us to him thinking that they were from his daughter and he was attempting to make sure we knew she was the suspect.”

“We might never know his motivations,” Hermione said softly.

“So, we talk with Snape’s daughters,” Dora said, “maybe one of them is the culprit, maybe not.”

“Do you want us to visit with Sally-Ann Perks while you do that, Harry, Hermoine?” asked James. “We can eliminate her from enquiries.”

Harry tilted his head. “Don’t you have a Wizengamot sitting this morning?”

“Why do you think we’re asking?” quipped Sirius with a grin.

Moody snorted. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get out of that nonsense.”

Harry shook his head fondly. “If you really want to get out of the Wizengamot, someone should go and update Violet and Neville.”

“And give them the warning not to eat or drink anything that is delivered to them,” Hermione added. “They’re being careful because of the Amortentia but…”

“We can’t count on them sensing this poison, and our spirit guides are not infallible,” Harry concluded.

“Right,” James nodded, “we can do that.”

Harry motioned at Brydon and Elise. “Thank you for all your help with this.”

Brydon gave an easy shrug of his large shoulders. “We have a muggle investigation to help with this morning if you don’t need us?”

“We always need you,” Hermione teased, “but we can take this investigation from here.”

A knock on the conference room door prevented them from saying anything further.

“Come in, Grace,” Hermione called out.

Their elderly muggle secretary entered the room. Grace was the personification of ‘grandmother’ in Harry’s mind. She had been with the Order for years and was part of the fabric of his childhood. White-haired, apple-cheeked, and always in the same blue twinset jumper and cardigan matched with tweed grey trousers.

“I have a Mary Moon waiting for you in the London room,” Grace said crisply.  

“She’s early,” Dora noted. “It could be a sign of innocence.”

“Or guilt,” Moody retorted.

“Thank you, Grace,” Harry interrupted before they could start arguing. “We’ll be there shortly.”

Grace nodded and stepped back out, closing the door after her.

“Moody, Dora, there’s an observation room right next to London,” Harry instructed them. “You can watch from there.”

“And why do you get to interview them when we did the legwork?” asked Moody brusquely.

“Because we’ll know when she’s lying,” Hermione said tartly.

Moody glowered at them. “Fine.”

Harry swallowed down his frustration and got to his feet. It was time to get some answers.

o-O-o

Mary Moon was a hard-looking woman. She had inherited her father’s dark hair which she’d wrangled into a very tight high bun. She also had his sallow skin, but she had been blessed with a much nicer nose and good teeth. Her dark eyes were guarded as they entered the room and took their seats.

“Master Moon,” Hermione began, “we are…”

“I know who you are,” Moon said brusquely.

“We have to follow Ministry protocols for the recording of this interview,” Harry said firmly.

There was something about her that was pinging his senses.

He observed her while Hermione introduced them, informed Moon of her rights, and began recording.

“I didn’t kill Snape,” Moon said bluntly, “even if the bastard deserved it.”

It was the truth. They could both sense the veracity of her statement with their gifts.

Harry rubbed his forehead. “You’re a guide.”

“Yes,” Moon’s strong chin tipped upwards, “I am. I was diagnosed as dormant.”

Hermione sighed beside him. “Your father suppressed you with a potion he created.”

Moon shifted in her chair. “You found about that then? Was that why you were there?”

“Partially,” Hermione said, her gaze narrowing on Moon. “You know about the potion.”

Moon huffed. She sat back in the wooden chair and crossed her arms over her old-fashioned tightly buttoned day robe.

Harry cleared his throat. “We know you told the truth and said that it wasn’t you who killed your father. Why don’t you tell us exactly how you came to know about the potion?”

Moon pressed her lips together. He could almost see the thoughts whirling in her head as she decided whether or not to tell them. She suddenly gave an abrupt nod.

“Fine,” Moon muttered. “Snape was never a father to me. According to my mother, he ran out on her the Halloween after my birth. He came back around Christmas time the following year and gave Lily and I a present but said he didn’t want to continue and for her to move on. He signed away his rights. That was the first I’d heard anything about Barry not actually being my Dad.”

“That must have been a tough conversation,” Harry said.

“It was,” Mary agreed. “At the time, Barry said all the right things, even adopted me.”

“And then?” prompted Harry after a long pause.

Mary stroked the side of her head as though concerned that her hair was falling out of the bun. “He lost interest in me.”

“Is that when you reconnected with Snape?” asked Hermione, redirecting her.

Mary shook her head. “Lily went to get tested the summer she turned sixteen. Mum’s always followed the muggle law that way and said it was important since there was a history of sentinels and guides in the Snape family. She was found to be dormant. Nobody could understand why. The Order physicians tested me early and found the same thing. The Order interviewed us back then and couldn’t understand why either. The muggles eventually put it down to Snape’s abandonment.”

“How did you find out that it wasn’t?” asked Hermione keeping her tone matter of fact even though Harry could hear how badly she wanted to be gentle.

“Lily and I suspected magic,” Mary said. “It just felt too coincidental. One of us being dormant because of paternal abandonment? Maybe. Both of us, especially me? I was just a baby when he left. Something didn’t feel right and we knew about magic in a way that Mum didn’t, doesn’t.”

Harry and Hermione both nodded in understanding.

“We didn’t think it was him then,” Mary conceded with a huffy sigh. “We just thought he would be able to help us find out what it was that had made us dormant, maybe see about getting a cure.”

It made a horrible kind of sense.

“Lily tracked the bastard down and went to see him,” Mary continued tersely. “I wanted to go with her but one of us needed to cover with Mum. When she came back, she told me what he’d said. He’d admitted to it bold as brass. He’d dosed Lily with the Christmas chocolates he gave her, and me through the juice in my sippy cup. He’d told her that as a magical, we were better off dormant because sentinels and guides had no place in the wizarding world.”

Harry wondered if the visit was the memory Snape had used as the template for the false one before another thought occurred to him.

Christmas chocolates.

Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that Snape had been poisoned with chocolates sent at Christmas.

Mary took a breath. “When we got back to Hogwarts, I decided to go and talk with him myself. I tracked his quarters down and waited in an alcove further along the corridor when it became clear that he wasn’t inside. I figured I’d see him come back and talk to him then.”

“I take it that it didn’t go well,” Hermione murmured.

Mary snorted. “I must have fallen asleep. I woke up to the sound of voices. Snape was with the Headmaster so I stayed where I was. The beginning of the conversation wasn’t all that interesting, just something about the return to school, but then…they stopped outside of his door and…Snape told him that Lily had come to visit with him; that she’d confirmed that she and I were both dormant.”

Harry held his breath as she paused seemingly to gather breath.

“Then,” Mary spat the word out, “Snape asked the Headmaster about Neville. ‘Has your precious Chosen One been tested?’ he said. I’ll always remember how the Headmaster answered.” Her dark eyes gleamed brightly. “He said ‘He had the same result as your Lily, I’m afraid. Frank has deemed it best that the world and young Neville continue to believe that he is latent, so he’ll arrange for someone to provide lessons next summer.’”

Harry breathed in sharply.

“Would you be prepared to provide the memory?” asked Hermione crisply. Her fury crackled along their bond.

“I can give you that,” Mary nodded without hesitation.

Which meant that it was very likely to be true memory. 

“What happened after you heard Dumbledore tell you Neville was dormant?” Hermione prompted.

“Snape made a remark about how he was glad Neville had always enjoyed the chocolates he’d sent for his birthday,” Mary grimaced. “The Headmaster said he’d leave Snape to it and left.” She smoothed her hair back again. “I waited until Snape got into his quarters and bolted back to Ravenclaw.”

Hermione regarded Mary for a long moment. “That’s not the end of your story.”

“No,” Mary agreed, “it’s the beginning.” She paused again and used the break to reach for the glass of water on the table. She sipped it and set it aside. “I was furious. I decided that night that I was going to become a Potions Master and find a cure.”

Harry sensed Mary’s hidden excitement. She was practically vibrating under her skin. “You think you’ve found it.”

Mary nodded quickly. “Well…” she tilted her head to the side in a considering manner, “I can’t be certain Neville didn’t overcome the dormancy under his own power especially given he was facing a threat when he awakened. The tests I did on myself with the same formula have not been successful so far to revert me to true latency although it might be that it has given me the ability to awaken too, I just haven’t been threatened enough for it to trigger.”

It was also rare for an awakening once someone was over twenty-five. Neville and Violet were anomalies.

“How did you obtain the formula for the dormancy potion?” asked Hermione briskly, pulling Harry back from his musing.

Mary touched her hair again. “You might not know but Dumbledore taught potions the year after my father left because he couldn’t get anyone else. Arnold Smith ruined my book and Dumbledore gifted me a copy of Snape’s. I’m sure he thought he was being kind giving me something of my father’s. His original formula, the basis for the recipe he went onto develop was scribbled on one of the back pages, I don’t think Dumbledore realised. It gave me a starting point.”

Harry felt her hesitancy. “There’s more to it than that.”

Mary sighed. “Lily came to see me when she got pregnant. She’s not interested in the cure for herself, but she was worried that she’d pass on the dormancy to Alex. She went back to see Snape and got the actual formula from him by claiming she wanted to give it to Alex. She gave the full potion recipe to me and I suddenly had the missing pieces.”

“You came up with a counter then,” checked Harry, assimilating that the memory Snape had pushed in his head had been rooted in a real one.

She nodded again. “Experimental and it took months. Then, I needed a test subject.” She winced. “I mean, I did check it wasn’t harmful or toxic but then I needed someone to try it on. Lily just recovering from her pregnancy so…”

“You used Neville,” Harry said evenly.

Mary picked up her water. “Yes and no. Did I use him? Yes, but my motives were not just self-serving. I figured if anyone deserved to have the cure it was him. He saved us all from Voldemort and he got Snape and Dumbledore screwing with him as thanks.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that.

Hermione tapped the table and the stack of cherry scented notes appeared atop of it. “These are how you administered the cure?”

Mary nodded. “The potion is painted onto the paper, imbued in it. It works with the first skin contact.”

“Some of the later ones read as threatening,” Hermione remarked. “Was that your intent?”

“There was a paper written a long time ago by Doctor Burton which suggested that the more threatened a sentinel or guide felt, the more likely it was to trigger an awakening,” Mary replied.

“Why didn’t you just approach him?” asked Harry. “Why the pretence?”

“I didn’t want to actually talk with him,” Mary snapped. “Besides the notes were the best way to do it once I heard he was actually receiving his mail again after Ginny’s death instead of his father standing over it like a dragon.”

There was a whisper of something that told Harry to pursue the thought that had popped into his head.

“Where did you hear that?” asked Harry putting his thought into words.

Mary glanced at him. “My sister Lily. She sent Neville a condolence card and he sent her a reply back instead of Lord Longbottom.”

Lily again. Everything kept circling back to her.

“Why did she tell you? Did you tell her about Neville?” asked Hermione clearly having the same thought.

Mary shook her head. “She was just excited about it because she was going to tell her best friend that she could finally write to Neville again.”

She?

Harry felt a chime through the psionic plane.

Hermione leaned forward, her gaze holding Mary’s. “She?”

Mary’s nose wrinkled. “Sally-Ann something. I forget her last name. She’s a squib.” She sniffed. “Personally, I think it’s always been creepy how obsessed she is with Neville but apparently he saved her life.”

Sally-Anne Perks.

Hermione nudged him through their bond and he was ready for her to stand, getting to his feet beside her. “We will have to discuss this matter with Neville,” Hermione said crisply. “He may want to press charges for being potioned without consent which is an assault regardless of how it turned out. However, you have been fully cooperative.”

Mary’s mouth twisted a touch but she gave a sharp nod of understanding.

“We’ll send someone in to take a copy of your relevant memories and go over your statement. Thank you for your time, Master Moon,” Harry gave his own nod in farewell and followed his Sentinel out of the room and into the corridor.

Moody and Dora met them in the corridor, grim looks on their sombre faces.

“Lily Finch-Fletchley hasn’t come in for her appointment,” Dora said.

“Then you should go to her,” Hermione said briskly, “and while you do that, we’ll visit Sally-Anne.”

Harry felt a jolt of urgency chase down his spine like a shiver.

Lily and Sally-Anne.

One of them was their murderer. He was certain of it.

o-O-o

Perks Garden Centre was located in the same county as Alvergny, the estate of the House of Longbottom. It was situated on the outskirts of a town called Skillet on the other side of the county, but it was close enough that Harry was discomfited by it.

“Not a coincidence,” Hermione murmured as they walked up to the counter, navigating their way through a profusion of muggle planet all seemingly displayed haphazardly.

“Hello!” A muggle employee bounded up to them with a broad grin. They had a sweatshirt which bore the centre’s logo, combined with jeans and hard-wearing boots. Their brown hair was a mess of cowlicks and there was a smear of dirt across their right tanned cheek. Their badge proclaimed them to be George.

“Hello,” Harry reached into his pocket for his Order identification. “We’re looking for Sally-Anne Perks.”

George did not lose his smile. “I’m afraid she’s out today but she should be back in tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Harry said politely. They had decided to try the Centre first since it was in the middle of a working day, but Perks’ house was situated on the same land. They could try there next.

They headed back through the greenery towards the front entrance. They’d need to find a good spot to apparate…

Hermione suddenly clasped his arm. “This way.” He felt her notice-me-not spell hit him as they went left at the entrance.

They skirted around a clump of baby pine trees and headed down a path towards the greenhouses at the side of the Centre.

Hermione kept walking past the first set of greenhouses and the second until they reached a low fence with a gate with ‘No Customers Allowed’ sign. Hermione opened the gate and beckoned for Harry to follow her.

He inwardly shrugged. They were definitely not customers.

Hermione paused in front of another greenhouse. She waved her wand in a diagnostic that would reveal wards. Faint lines of magic shimmied in the cold winter sun. Harry realised his Sentinel had felt the magical vibration.

Harry drew his own wand and sent a cancelling spell against the matrix. They dissolved in a shower of magical sparks.

Hermione immediately shot an unlocking spell at the door and entered. He followed close behind her.

They found themselves in a magical greenhouse.

“All of these are magical plants,” Hermione said briskly. “All of them are potion ingredients as far as I can tell.”

“Professor Sprout did say she had a garden,” Harry said, “and we know she supplies to apothecaries.”

Hermione’s nose wrinkled suddenly. “There’s a potions lab.” She strode away to the far end of the greenhouse. She unlocked another door and they both stepped through to a clinical potions lab which was impeccably clean except for a potion brewing under a stasis field at the far end of the lab.

Harry breathed in deeply. The empathic resonance was thick in the air. Lust and adoration; fear and regret; determination.

Hermione discontinued the stasis field and sniffed. “I’m not really sure what that potion this is.”

“Maybe the poison?” suggested Harry.

Hermione nodded and froze the potion again. She took out a miniaturised containment box from her pocket and resized swiftly. She directed the potion and its equipment into the box with her wand before tossing a portkey at the box to send it to headquarters.

“Harry,” Hermione turned to him concerned. “The stasis spell is not a small magic. It cannot be done by a squib.”

Harry knew the conclusion that Hermione had leaped to because he leaped to the same one. “She got her magic back?”

“Or had help.”

Lily and Sally-Anne. He hadn’t considered that. Maybe both of them were in on it.

Hermione pointed to a desk off to the back of the lab. They made their way over and Hermione opened a drawer while Harry picked up the desk diary and began leafing through it to that day’s entries.

There was nothing noted.

He put the diary back down.

His communication mirror buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open. “Dora.”

“Lily is dead,” she said briskly. “It looks like the poison although there’s nothing obvious to suggest how she ingested it. Kid is at nursery and the husband is at work. We’re going to inform him. Forensics have just arrived.”

“Perks has a working potions lab,” Harry informed her crisply. “She’s not at her workplace. We’re going to head to her home address next.”

“She may have scarpered,” Dora suggested grimly. “If she’s taking out the people who could identify her, she has to figure we’re on her trail.”

“Taking out…” Hermione murmured, her eyes opening wide. “Professor Sprout!”

Harry hurriedly closed the call and reached out a hand to Hermione to anchor himself. He breathed in and closed his eyes. He breathed out and opened his eyes.

The blue hue of the spirit plane greeted him.

The guardian spirit of Hogwarts stood in front of him, majestic in all its dragon glory.

“Spirit, I fear a professor is in danger,” Harry said out loud even as he mentally projected how Sally-Anne may have sent Professor Sprout poison.

Hogwarts sent back an image of a package arriving that morning for Pomona; a bottle of cherry wine. There was the image of a smiling Pomona setting it aside in her quarters for later. There was a sense from the guardian spirit that they could not determine if there was poison or not. Harry watched as Hogwarts poked one of the plants to grab it and throw it in the slumbering fire.

Danger averted.

“Beware,” Hogwarts murmurs, “I sense there was much damage to the girl when she was within these walls. Her obsession with the supposed Chosen started here.”

Harry’s eyes widened with alarm. He bowed to the dragon. He closed his eyes and breathed in. He breathed out and opened his eyes to face his worried Sentinel.

“She sent Sprout wine, Hogwarts has dealt with it,” Harry informed her.

Hermione nodded and started casting a series of spells. “Let’s seal this place up for forensics and get to her house.”

“She’s not going to be there,” Harry said with certainty. “She’s going after her obsession; she’s going after Neville.”

And as though the universe wanted to underscore his deduction, Violet’s falcon shrieked into the lab, projecting his sister’s urgent need for help.

Harry reached out for his Sentinel and they apparated immediately.

o-O-o

They popped out of apparation without making a sound directly at the front door thanks to Harry’s magical power.

The scene in front of them was fraught with tension.

Violet stood just behind them at the open door of the cottage guarded by Neville’s black bear. Neville stood in the centre of the garden path talking with a small woman who had to be Sally-Anne. Neither of them seemed to have noticed Harry and Hermione’s arrival although Harry felt Neville’s relief echo through him.

Sally-Anne did not look like a woman who had murdered three people, attempted to murder another, and attempted to criminally drug someone into being in love with them, all in the space of a couple of weeks.

She was a slim slip of a woman, shorter even than Hermione who was below average height. She was pretty in an understated way; brown glossy hair was tied back into a utilitarian ponytail, her clear complexion had a touch of freckles across her sharp cheekbones, and she had accentuated her brown eyes with a dark liner and mascara.

She was underdressed for the cold weather. She wore one of her Centre sweatshirts but only had a puffy vest over the top of it rather than a winter coat. At least she’d dressed the rest of her in skinny jeans and wellington boots. She held a potion vial in her left hand, clasped to her heart.

Harry glanced swiftly at his sister. She had a hand on the doorjamb as though physically preventing herself from moving forward. He wasn’t surprised when he reached out empathically to find her on the edge of feral.

Without talking about it, Hermione stepped back to stand beside Violet. As First Sentinel she would be able to subdue Violet if she did go feral.

Harry focused on the exchange between Neville and Sally-Anne.

“…and so you see why I had to find you,” Sally-Anne finished.

Neville cleared his throat. “Sal, you’re not making a lot of sense. Yes, I’m a Guide, but I’ve found my Sentinel.”

“But that’s just it!” Sally-Anne said loudly. “I’m your Sentinel!” She waved the hand not holding onto the potion. “We were meant to be together. It’s why Snape and Dumbledore stole my magic!”

Harry frowned.

“What?” Neville stuttered.

Sally-Anne heaved a sigh as though she couldn’t believe Neville didn’t get it. “I was a latent Sentinel.”

Violet started growling.

Harry took three quick steps to bring himself parallel to Neville and projected calm.

Sally-Ann blinked at him owlishly; her brow creased into a confused frown. “First Guide.”

“Hello, Sally-Anne,” Harry said soothingly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here before. You’re accusing Potions Master Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore of suppressing your gift?”

He reached out tentatively to give her an empathic scan, but before he could even begin there was a flicker on the spirit plane and the image of a dead wolf pup appeared briefly by Sally-Anne’s foot before it flickered away again.

“Could you tell me what happened?” asked Harry gently, capturing her gaze.

Sally-Anne swallowed hard. “You believe me?”

“I believe you,” Harry said. “Your spirit animal was a wolf.”

Her eyes shone with tears. “I named her Kiche after the mother wolf in the book White Fang. I loved that book as a child.”

“What happened?” Harry asked again.

Sally-Anne heaved a deep breath and swiped at the wetness on her face. “Voldemort possessed Professor Quirrell and kidnapped me to lure Neville into a trap. I don’t really remember much after he stunned me.”

“You were still unconscious when I got to the room,” Neville said quietly.

“I started to come to and everything was so loud and,” Sally-Anne shuddered. “Snape was in the room with the Headmaster and they were with Neville who was out cold on the floor across the room.”

Harry glanced at Neville who shook his head a touch to indicate his own lack of knowledge about the incident.

“Snape realised I was waking up and he came over and did some kind of spell and he swore,” Sally-Anne said. “He told the Headmaster I was on the cusp of awakening and I saw that Kiche was right next to me.” She bit her lip. “The Headmaster came over and I think…he said something like ‘not again’ and cast a spell at me. I was knocked out again.”

Harry waited as she visibly collected herself.

“I woke up in the infirmary and I could hear Snape telling someone that he had no idea if the potion would even work on an awakening Sentinel,” Sally-Anne grimaced. “Then Snape was right beside me. He must have spelled the potion straight into me. Everything went dark then.”

“I don’t remember you even being the infirmary,” Neville murmured. “They said they took you straight to Saint Mungo’s when they realised how badly injured you were from Voldemort’s attack.”

“I woke up there,” Sally-Anne grimaced, pain flickering across her face. “I knew straight away that I was dormant, I could feel Kiche was gone and…” she wiped her tears away furiously, “and my magic. I couldn’t feel my magic.”

“That must have been horrifying,” Harry said, feeling the echo of her emotions.

She nodded. “My life was just…but I knew Neville had saved me and I knew, I knew he was meant to be my Guide.”

Harry hummed. “That’s why you wrote to him.”

“I kept hoping that his Dad would let one of my letters through but…” Sally-Anne sighed again as she turned back to Neville. “You’re my Guide. I just…I wanted the connection. I thought…I thought…”

“You thought if I was in your life, it might help you,” Neville said gently. “Or if I awakened, it might help you.”

Sally-Anne nodded. “Foolish, I know, I just…” she sighed, “I was desperate.”

Harry pressed his lips together as the threads started to come together in his head. “Tell me about Lily Moon.”

Understanding shimmered in her eyes before Sally-Anne pressed her lips together. “Lily’s family let her stay in contact with me and I managed to convince mine that it was good for me. We saw each other in the holidays and her Mum would send on my letters with her own.”

“And when she was sixteen, Lily found out she and her sister were dormant too,” Harry stated.

Sally-Anne nodded. “She confided in me and I told her what had happened to me.” She pushed a floating tendril of her hair back behind her ear. “She was furious about what her father had done. After that, both Lily and her sister decided to become Potion Masters themselves to try and get the cure, I even built Lily a lab at the Centre. By the time I was an adult I’d manage to recover some of my magic so she taught me how to make some useful potions to use myself. Once Alex came along she got too busy for the lab herself.”

“Is there where you developed the Amortentia?” Neville questioned.

Sally-Anne shook her head. “When your wife died, I thought…I thought there might be a chance again. Lily and I we thought…we thought maybe the Amortentia could give you a jolt, make you see you were meant to be with me. Neither of us has the skills for it though so Lily blackmailed her father into making the potion. He also gave her a Forgetting Potion to give to the guy she found to deliver it; he said it was to make sure she wouldn’t get caught.”

Harry breathed in sharply. Snape. The bastard.

“Then it all went wrong, of course,” Sally-Anne wiped away fresh tears. “You,” she gestured at Neville, “did awaken but I wasn’t with you, and…” she glanced behind them towards the door, “someone else took my place.”

“Violet’s my Guide, Sal,” Neville repeated. “I have no doubts about that.”

Sally-Anne flinched.

“When did you realise Snape had set up Lily for murder?” asked Harry briskly.

She sighed. “When it was reported in the Prophet that he had died.” She grimaced. “We knew it was only a matter of time before we were discovered.” She looked away towards the sky. “Lily had some of the potion Snape had given her. She came to the lab and we worked out how to make more. She laced a box of chocolates and sent it to Snape; she said he deserved it and it was the only way we would all get justice.”

“And this morning she took the potion herself,” Harry deduced softly.

“She knew our time was up when the aurors asked her to come in for an interview,” Sally-Anne lifted the potion in her hand. “I took mine and then…”

“Was there poison in the bottle of wine you sent Professor Sprout?” asked Harry.

Shock skated over her face. “No! Of course not! I just…I wanted her to have something to remember me by, to say thank you for all her help and kindness.”

Harry felt momentarily guilty that he’d had the guardian destroy the wine.

Sally-Anne turned back to Neville. “You see why I had to come?”

“Sal…” Neville said regretfully.

Harry stepped between them. “Why did you come here with the potion?”

“I thought…Neville is my Guide. If he took the potion with me, we could be together like we’re meant to be,” she brushed away more tears as she looked past Harry to Neville. “I just wanted you to be with me.”

Neville sighed. “Maybe if Snape and Dumbledore hadn’t interfered we would have awakened together and been bonded, Sal, but they did interfere and you’re not my Sentinel. Violet’s my Sentinel.”

Sally-Anne shook her head.

Harry stepped forward again, blocking her view of Neville. “He can’t be with you, Sally-Anne. I think you know that deep down. You’re not his Sentinel. You haven’t been from the moment Snape gave you the potion. Neville is not going to take the potion and join you in death and as much as his compassion wants to say he’ll stay with you while you die, he knows that would be incredibly unfair and hurtful to his Sentinel.”   

Sally-Anne slumped, her shoulders curling in. “I don’t…”

“Come with me,” Harry offered her his hand. “We’ll go to Burton Hall. You’ll be made comfortable among our kind, and I will walk with you all the way.”

Sally-Anne took his hand.

Harry looked towards Hermione. Beside her, Violet’s relief was written all over her; she fairly vibrated with the need to get to her Guide.

“It’s alright, Harry. You take her home. I’ve got things here,” Hermione confirmed. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

Harry smiled at his Sentinel. His gaze caught Neville’s as he turned back. Neville mouthed ‘thank you’ at him silently.

Sally-Anne looked up; resignation at her fate haunting her eyes. Maybe her obsession with Neville and the lost opportunity for a bond was creepy, but she hadn’t deserved what had been done to her and there was no doubt in his mind she’d been mentally compromised by her trauma.

All Harry could do was make the end easy for her. He kept a tight hold of Sally-Anne and apparated to the Order’s headquarters.

Epilogue

In the end, it was only the core investigative team who made the journey to talk to Albus Dumbledore. Hermione had managed to talk Neville and Violet out of attending with them, citing it as a conflict of interest.

Harry felt for Neville. His friend and fellow Guide definitely deserved to have the opportunity to confront Dumbledore with the crimes he’d perpetrated against him, but the meeting was going to be volatile enough without the presence of a newly awakened Sentinel and Guide.

They Flooed from the Ministry with Moody leading the way, Harry and Hermione sandwiched in the middle and Dora bringing up the rear.

Dumbledore’s wrinkled face soured as soon as he clocked Harry and Hermione, but he offered them seats on the other side of his desk along with the others as he retook his own thronelike chair behind it.

“We won’t be staying long, Albus,” Moody declined crisply. They had all agreed he would take the lead.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said. He rested his hands on his chair arms. “You said you had an update on the investigation.”

“We’re here to give you a formal warning from the DMLE and the Order,” Moody said bluntly.

Dumbledore’s blue gaze narrowed on Moody. “I beg your pardon?”

“In the course of our investigation, we uncovered evidence that Severus Snape had used an experimental potion on children to suppress their Sentinel and Guide gifts,” Moody said. “That evidence also suggested that you were aware of his actions and implied your complicity.”

That had been a hard pill to swallow, but Dumbledore had been savvy.

Mary Moon’s memory was insubstantial. It had been Snape who had inferred his own criminal behaviour and Dumbledore had simply responded to a query. There was nothing explicit enough to suggest that Snape had sent the chocolates to Neville at Dumbledore’s request or with his prior knowledge of what the chocolates contained.

Sally-Anne had also given them her memories before her death. It showed Dumbledore’s disgust at her awakening state; it showed his callousness in stunning her abruptly. But he was not visible or audible in her memory of the infirmary.

“While the evidence is circumstantial and not enough for a prosecution, we are putting you on notice, Albus,” Moody continued, his disgust for his old friend coating the words.

Dumbledore spread his hands out as though showing them they were clean. “I have done nothing to warrant your disdain, Alastor.” His gaze flickered to Harry and Hermione and back. “Sentinels and Guides have no place in the wizarding world you know this.”

“I know that it is wrong to purposefully use magic to suppress them,” Moody countered, “not to mention against the law! I know you, Albus, and I know Snape would never have harmed Neville unless he was following your orders. You had him on a tight enough of a leash that he wouldn’t have dared.”

“Then if that is all you came to say, perhaps it is best for you to leave,” Dumbledore said evenly.

Harry felt the old wizard’s anger bubbling under his calm demeanour.

Hermione cleared her throat as Moody visibly reined in his temper. “The Order considers you an enemy and threat to the tribe, Headmaster Dumbledore. You are banned from Sentinel and Guide spaces, and you are banned from working or interacting directly with any Sentinel and Guide without supervision from this point forward. That includes Neville for the record.”

Dumbledore’s anger flared in his eyes.

Harry shifted his weight subtly drawing Dumbledore’s attention to himself. “Neville is fully informed about the investigation. He has seen the evidence for himself. He wanted to be here today but accepted his gifts are too new for him to retain control in a discussion with you about what happened.”

“He’s already told Frank,” Moody stated tersely.

“Good luck with that,” Dora added under her breath.

Dumbledore shot her a furious look, his calm slipping away as his magical aura flared.

Dora faced him without flinching. “I think you fully understand that Lord Longbottom is not the type of wizard to allow harm against his heir to go unanswered even if we cannot throw you in a cell for what you did. You may want to consider retirement before Lord Longbottom takes action.”

“I believe when I speak with Frank, he will understand that all I did or did not do was in Neville’s best interests,” Dumbledore rejoined lowly. “I believe he will see fit not to consider us enemies.”

Harry hummed. “Maybe,” he allowed because Frank had skeletons of his own and who knew if Dumbledore knew about them, “but I should also tell you that I woke up the guardian dragon spirit of Hogwarts when I was here last.”

Alarm raced over the old wizard’s face.

“The spirit can remove anyone from the school if they feel they are a threat to the children here,” Harry continued, trying to keep his inner glee out of his voice. “You might want to consider leaving before you’re evicted.”

Hermione’s smile was more a baring of teeth. “Good day, Headmaster. We’ll make our own way out.”

“Tonks and I will be right behind you,” Moody said.

Harry nodded. He offered his arm to his Sentinel and they sailed out of the office confident that the Aurors were protecting them from any kind of retaliation.

They did not linger in Hogwarts’ corridors. Most students were at lunch, but they’d occasionally run into a surprised gaggle or duo who ran or walked by them with wide eyes.

Minerva and Pomona met them on the main steps. Both women were dressed for the cold weather with heavy thick wool robes and leather gloves. Pomona also wore a bright yellow knitted bobble hat.

“The Headmaster said he had a meeting with you,” Minerva explained. “Let us walk with you to the gates.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course.”

As they set off, Minerva asked Hermione a question about the wedding and by the time they’d turned the corner to follow the main pathway out of the grounds, Hermione and Minerva were a few paces ahead walking side by side, and Pomona was walking briskly beside Harry.

“Apologies for ambushing you, but I wanted to say thank you for allowing Sally-Anne to write to me in her last moments,” Pomona said abruptly.

Harry glanced at her. “You don’t have to thank us for that. Your relationship with her was clearly a source of comfort for her.”

“She confided everything although you probably know that already,” Pomona pressed her lips together.

Harry did; he’d read the letter before it was sent.

“I feel terribly guilty,” Pomona confessed, emotion thick in her throat. “The Headmaster ordered us not to talk about what happened to her, and we acquiesced thinking it was You-Know-Who who had harmed her, but…” she heaved a heavy sigh, “if we had spoken up, called the aurors anyway, perhaps justice might have prevailed back then.”

“It’s doubtful that it would have amounted to anything,” Harry commented. “I have no doubt that Snape and Dumbledore would have wiggled out of it. Sally-Anne was a muggleborn without an important family to champion her cause with the Ministry, and it’s not as though there aren’t others who feel the same way as Dumbledore about Sentinels and Guides.”

Pomona grimaced. “Her parents asked me to stay away from the funeral. I respected their wishes, of course, but I was sad not to attend.”

“They asked everyone to stay away,” Harry couldn’t blame them. They’d lost their daughter. On the other hand, Lily’s husband had already buried her in a large public funeral.

“Minerva has suggested a small ceremony of our own on the evening of the same day,” Pomona said. “Perhaps raising the last glass of the cherry wine she sent me for Christmas.”

Harry felt guilty again about the bottle he’d had Hogwarts destroy. “That sounds like a nice send-off for her.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Pomona’s impulsive gesture felt genuine but he shook his head. “We’re actually scheduled to have dinner with my mother that night to talk wedding plans.”

“Ah,” Pomona brightened. “How lovely.” She stopped and nodded at him. “Safe travels, First Guide Potter.”

“Professor,” Harry inclined his head. He watched her momentarily as she set off across the grass, heading in the direction of the greenhouses.

He caught up with Hermione and Minerva at the gates.

“I see the press reporting blamed everything on Severus and kept Lily and Sally-Anne out of it,” Minerva commented. “I assume that was your doing?”

Harry shrugged as he registered her slight note of disapproval. It had been his Dad’s idea but he had executed it. “In many ways what happened was rooted in Snape’s crimes against them both.”

Minerva huffed, but her face drooped with sadness. “It is awful they felt the only way out was to take the potion themselves.”

Hermione nodded. “The idea to potion Neville to try to awaken his Guide ability was misjudged, but both of their thinking was compromised by the initial crime of suppression of their gifts. There is a lot of scientific evidence to suggest the suppression might have damaged them mentally and emotionally.”

“Well, at least you got to the bottom of it all,” Minerva sighed. She looked up towards the castle. “It’s going to change things, isn’t it?”

Hermione looped her arm around Harry’s. “Quite a bit, I would expect.”

Minerva gave a sharp nod. “I’d best get back before the lunch hour is completely over. Safe travels to you both.” She was gone before they could do anything more than murmur a goodbye of their own.

They held onto each other as they apparated to Godric’s Hollow. They were welcomed into the cottage by Violet and soon ensconced in the cosy living room with mugs of hot tea and a plate of biscuits.

“Is it done?” asked Neville. He and Violet were curled up on the sofa together leaving Harry and Hermione to sit in the chairs.

Harry nodded. “He’ll have to retire from Hogwarts. The guardian spirit there won’t accept his presence for long.”

Neville sighed. “It feels like too little justice.”

“It is,” Hermione said bluntly. “Even if we can’t prove it, we all know he was in on Snape suppressing Sally-Anne. Perhaps the results were more complicated than they had anticipated but they essentially assaulted her and left her permanently damaged.”

“Not to mention he definitely conspired to suppress you,” Violet chimed in.

“He also knew about Snape’s suppression of his daughters. Legally he should have reported Snape,” Harry said tiredly.

“Except Snape’s potion was very useful to Dumbledore,” Hermione finished, “although I suspect that even if Dumbledore hadn’t been complicit in all of the crimes Snape perpetrated, he would never have reported him. He hates us.”

“Bigoted old tosser!” snorted Violet.

Neville huffed a laugh. He shook his head. “My Dad’s not happy that I said no on prosecuting Mary Moon.”

“You could change your mind,” Hermoine pointed out.

“No,” Neville looked at Violet and he raised their clasped hands to his heart. “I think losing her sister is probably painful enough. She has to know if she had confided in her sister about her potential cure, the whole Amortentia thing probably wouldn’t have happened.”

Harry sipped his tea silently agreeing with him.

“She’s accepted working with the Order to perfect the antidote potion and to work out a way to test if someone has been made dormant because of the potion,” Hermione said.

Violet frowned. “You think Dumbles will try to use it in the future? He’s the only one with the recipe now, isn’t he?”

“Moody and Dora were tasked with getting that from him,” Hermione admitted, “but even if he hands over his only written copy…” she shrugged. She wrapped both hands around her mug as though cold. “Best we get a counter; that’s the safest option.”

“That’s…”

The hearth flared with a bright green flame as the Floo ignited.

Harry’s Mum stumbled out of the grate, her wand in her hand, her lips trembling in a too pale face.

“Mum?” Harry hurriedly set his tea aside and stepped over to her.

His mother grabbed hold of his arm. “Harry! I think someone just tried to kill me!” She suddenly collapsed against him sobbing.

Harry held onto his Mum and looked over at his Sentinel. Hermione looked reassuringly back at him and he drew strength from her calm.

Someone had tried to kill his Mum?

It looked like they had a new case to solve.

fin.

Please like, share, and comment if you enjoyed the story – it helps to support the website.

I’ll never ask you to pay to read my fanfiction – you can subscribe for free to see the subscriber exclusives, but if you would like to support my original writing, you can donate via the website here or buy me a cup of coffee over on ko-fi.