Another unusually large chapter for you lucky bums!

Wow…gotta thank you reviewers again. Your feedback has been so uplifting, and I really crave it when it comes to this story. I want to know whether readers are picking up on all of the weird little plot thingies. Now is definitely the time to start reading suspiciously, if you haven't already. There's a lot going on. There are actual reasons when people act strangely (and yeah, I realize pretty much everyone's been acting weird).

By the way, I'd like to point out to one wonderful reviewer that although this story was published in 04, that was a different version, called "Stay, Hermione." It was 80 pages long when I decided to dump it and make the story post-HBP. I've kept many of the old story's ideas, but am writing them in different situations. There are only a few pivotal scenes I've decided to keep pretty much as they were; certain Millicent scenes, and the very first scene I ever wrote for this story, which was never posted, and will take place in chapter eleven.

Updates: I'll have to slow them down to at most twice a week. I work full time now and I'm taking a full load of classes, so I don't have as much time as I did. And I have Bermuda's Triangle to work on, too (it's great, and on my favorite's list if you're interested). I'm still devoted to this story, though!

Damp earth crumbled under the servant's foot. Damp earth, stretching above them, threatened to fall and suffocate them both. "Is it working?" the elder asked.

"Yes, master."

OOO

"At the turn of the sixteenth century, Western Europe began growing out of the Middle Ages. The future looked bright as that artistic and enlightening age of the Renaissance swept the land. Our dear Heinrich Gibbous traveled to Vienna to continue his experimental work on illuminating potions. Studies show that he was likely on the brink of concocting just the potion to restore his poor father's eyesight when he was suddenly struck with symptoms of powerful infatuation. His lab assistant, Esther, by all accounts a homely witch, began to occupy his every waking thought, as was indicated by his experiment-journals-turned-diaries.

"Esther seemed to love him as well, and accepted his advances, but one fateful night, Heinrich returned to his lab to find Esther and another man embracing upon his apothecary table. In a fit of jealous rage, he attacked the man, not even bothering to use his wand. Esther's lover proved stronger, or at least more level-headed, and a large chopping knife was the end of our dear Heinrich-"

"Stop!" Hermione said loudly, cutting Ron off. "What's the bloody point?" she asked waspishly, "when he died before he was any use?" She turned her unseeing face toward the window. The day seemed to be growing brighter, even though it was four in the afternoon.

"You know," Ron said carefully, "I've got to go and help Harry sort those salamander eyes." Hermione heard Ron put Potions Masters of 1450-1600 down and slink delicately out of her room.

"Ron! You know perfectly well that I sorted those all yesterday!" Hermione called, but it was no use. He'd abandoned her, and her search. Hermione stood up and clutched at Millicent's bed, searching for the book. Her fingers hit its smooth cover and she pulled it into her lap, sitting back on her bed.

Oh, to read again, Hermione thought – no, felt – with all of her being. She brushed her palms lovingly over the large tome, feeling that sweet, nearly imperceptible give when she applied pressure. The title was pressed lightly into the leather and Hermione could almost fool herself into thinking she could distinguish the letters with her fingertips. She opened the front cover slightly, lifted the pages up, then let them flutter down again, reveling in the solid flumping sound, in that yellowy smell of ancient parchment and crusty ink. "Stupid," she whispered sharply, taken aback by the tears that had sprung to her eyes at the beautiful sensations brought on by an old book.

Blindness was an extremely rare and usually curable wizarding occurrence. Hermione had been to St. Mungo's to speak with the Healers, but none of the common solutions had worked. She was left to solve the puzzle on her own, for with the war, no one had the time to research the cause of her sudden inability to see.

Muggle doctors hadn't been any help, either. Ron had taken Hermione first to the local doctor, and then a specialist deep in the heart of London. Each of them had taken one thorough look at Hermione's sightless eyes and glazed over, saying "your eyes are quite fine. If the problem continues, you might want to take these." They'd given her itchy-eye drops. This strange behavior had left Hermione with the impression that her trouble was caused by magic.

And Snape was the only culprit to think of. Harry, with a bottle of Skele-Gro, and a few tricky spells, had mended her bruised head very well. Ron had read to her while she lay bed-ridden and headachy for two days. Millicent had made broccoli soup, and even Draco had been careful not to make too much noise when her head was still throbbing. Her recovery had gone well. Hermione just couldn't understand how something like this could have happened unless Snape had hexed her while she was unconscious.

Hermione knew why he'd done it. He'd helped her twice now. There was no denying that, not after he'd all but handed her Hufflepuff's Cup. His actions affirmed the trust Dumbledore had shown in him. Harry must have gotten something wrong up on that tower, which was forgivable, after all he'd been through that night. So Snape had blinded her in order to cover his tracks, to dispel as much blame as possible by making sure that she'd been injured while taking the Horcrux.

In the beginning, when she'd first sorted out the reasons why the darkness had descended upon her – to protect the reputation of a spy, to further the cause, to end the war – she'd been proud. She'd pointedly ignored the fact that she'd been saddled with a crippling disability by a man trying to save his own skin. She had enjoyed her newly focused senses. She could smell all Ron's soap and goodness and was able to take even more joy from Harry's laughter, which was becoming a more frequent occurrence. She'd carried on in this way, bravely, for several weeks. But then reality had settled in.

Hermione couldn't read.

There was no spell to make books talk aloud, and even if there was, she couldn't find it without help. Braille was proving incredibly complicated, especially without a teacher. No one wanted to read to her. The research she'd been conducting, all the books she'd bought or borrowed, were dull and tedious to everyone else.

Hermione hadn't been aware of just how many hours a day she'd spent reading. Now, almost all that time was replaced with sleep and thought. Hermione seemed to be catching up on years of sleep, and at the most inopportune time. Without her superior researching skills, the already pathetic Horcrux-hunting operation slowed to a near stand-still. Hufflepuff's Cup hadn't been rid of Voldemort's soul. They were no closer to discovering the whereabouts of Ravenclaw's book or the Gryffindor Horcrux. Almost all that useful potion-brewing had stopped. Draco and Millicent both displayed some talent with the concoctions, but they didn't have the patience to continue with Hermione's many projects.

And now, weeks after she'd woken up to the sounds, and not the sights, of a household full of worry for her, Hermione hated Snape. He'd left her completely helpless. She couldn't find a cure. She couldn't go back to the way she'd been. She had no idea what to do.

Hermione longed for Crookshanks. She'd sent for him soon after her injury, but her parents had replied with the horrible news that the caustic old cat had hacked his final fur-ball. That had been almost too much for Hermione. She needed something soft and warm to hold, but had only the big book, so she held it to her chest, settled down into her bed, and went to sleep.

She awoke to a most unpleasant sound.

"Hermione," someone called lightly, "Hermione." Hermione felt the book being pulled from her and sat up quickly, suddenly awake. Draco had woken her. More than a month had passed since the Slytherins had arrived, and Hermione still hadn't gotten used to their presence. It was beyond strange that Draco Malfoy had access to her bedroom.

He put the book down on the bookshelf between Hermione's and Millicent's beds. "What?" Hermione asked. "What are you doing in here?"

"Everyone's been talking about what to do." He sounded tentative, but he sat down boldly on her bed, right next to her.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione snapped.

"No one's been able to find anything. We aren't getting anywhere without you." He was talking about their Horcrux research. They'd been reasonably diligent, but no one could match Hermione's boundless tolerance for reading musty books. "And no book's going to tell you how to fix your eyes when you don't even know what the problem is," Draco said firmly.

"So?" Hermione said sharply. It was true that finding just the right charm or potion was next to impossible when she didn't know what spell she was trying to counter, but Hermione had given up on restoring her original sight. She would settle for any improvement, even if it was only marginal. Limited success seemed the only viable option.

"So, we've all come to the conclusion, hoping for your agreement of course, that it's time for another move."

Anger flared in Hermione at the thought of them all concluding without her. "And when will we be moving?"

"Tomorrow, but you should be asking where we'll be moving," Draco hinted.

"Where will we be moving?" Hermione asked stiffly.

"Egypt," he said, "We'll be staying with Ron's brother Bill for a while." Draco's voice held no repulsion at the mention of staying in a Weasley home.

"Egypt," Hermione repeated. "Why are we moving to Egypt?" Shortly after their marriage at the end of the summer, Fleur had gotten pregnant, and begged Bill to move away from the war. He had taken up treasure seeking again, though it wasn't very much less dangerous than working closely with the Order.

Hermione could sense some sort of excitement coil up in Draco. "We're taking you to a wiseman, to have your eyes fixed."

Hermione's mouth fell open. They had all been talking over more than just the move; they'd been talking about her. "What?"

"I know," Draco continued. "There's a few left who still practice the old magical Healing methods that ancient Egyptians used thousands of years ago. They're even rumored to be able to wake the dead."

Hermione did not like the way Draco was talking, like he cared about what was happening to her and was eager to find some sort of solution. It made her decidedly uncomfortable. And it made her aware that he was an attractive man, with a deep voice, and some expensive-smelling manly scent – all facts she'd been trying to ignore since going blind. "Why are you the one telling me about this, Malfoy?"

"I found the information," he answered simply.

"I thought Ron and I were the only ones doing this research," Hermione said sharply. "Shouldn't you have been studying up on Ravenclaw's book?"

"Hermione," he drawled, "You can't solve everything on your own. Besides, we need you in top condition in order to defeat the Dark Lord."

Hermione frowned. This was just time taken out of their search for the Horcruxes. Harry would probably say it would speed things up to have her able again, but Hermione knew that with just a little more research into these illuminating potions Ron had been reading about, she'd probably be able to find some sort of temporary or alternative fix for her sight. She wondered whether superimposing some sort of illuminating vision on her eyes would have any negative effects.

"I hear Bill Weasley's a real charmer," Draco mused, disrupting Hermione's thoughts. "Got a mug like a house-elf's whip-scarred back." Hermione shot a disgusted face in Draco's direction. "It's just an expression," he explained.

"It's horrible," Hermione said.

"But he's got to have something going for him," Draco continued, ignoring her, "if he bagged Fleur Delacour. I can tell you I won't mind seeing her face again. Did you know," Draco said, turning to Hermione, "that she asked me to the Yule Ball? I was already promised to Pansy, of course, but she probably wouldn't have wound up with your boyfriend's brother if I had been available."

Hermione shook her head and laughed in spite of herself.

OOO

"Everyone packed?" Harry asked cheerfully. He held his magically compacted trunk in one hand and Millicent's hand in the other. "I'm still for flying, personally."

"Fly all the way to Cairo?" Hermione said dourly. "I don't think so. I can't see, remember?" Harry couldn't think of anything he'd be less likely to forget, especially with the way Hermione's eyes never quite focused, even when her tongue was as sharp as a whip.

"That's no excuse," Harry retorted. "You could never fly."

Hermione glared in Harry's general direction. "If wizards were meant to fly, there'd be a charm for it."

"If you two are finished," Draco interrupted, "I suggest we actually leave."

"If you're so anxious to get there, why don't you disapparate already?" Hermione asked. Harry grinned. She still gave Draco such a hard time.

"A Malfoy? Arrive unescorted at a Weasley hovel?" Draco spoke only practicality. It really wouldn't be a great idea for him to appear first. The Weasley family hadn't been too impressed when they heard of the new additions to Harry's group.

Ron rolled his eyes and grimaced. "Shut it, Malfoy," and with that, he disapparated.

"Hermione, are you sure it'll be safe for you to apparate?" Harry asked her seriously.

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think so, Harry, but there's only one way to find out." She disappeared with a pop.

"Milly, you go next," Harry said, and watched her go, feeling a ridiculous, cold pang when she disappeared from his sight. "Draco," Harry nodded at him. Harry was the last to go. He looked around the small, bare house with a sigh. It had been the site of his new love. Ginny would never leave his thoughts, or the locket he kept constantly in his pocket, but Millicent was simply amazing.

He could hardly believe how quickly they'd bonded. It was incredible. In just that short amount of time that Ron, Hermione, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had left the house, they'd forged such a strong connection. Millicent was completely different from the girl he'd known all those years at school. Talking to her that night had been like meeting her for the very first time.

"Harry?" Millicent said, sitting down on the couch next right next to Harry, after Ron had left to find Hermione. Harry eyed her sideways, noting that the fire burning under the Pepper-up Potion brought out the dark brown highlights in her hair.

"Yes?" Harry swallowed. His throat felt dry.

"I know you'll never really be able to trust me or Draco, and I know you think I'm ugly-"

Harry felt his throat get even drier, closing up with panicky guilt. "I don't think that, I swear, Millicent. I think you're-you're-" he reached out to touch her cheek "-the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." It hadn't occurred to him until a moment before, but it was true. Harry thought she was the most gorgeous, sweetest girl he knew.

Millicent turned her face away from him, her straight hair hiding her features. "I once heard you thought I look like a hag."

"No," Harry said vehemently. "I said that once, but I didn't really mean it. I was mad Slytherins in general and had never had the chance to really look at you." Harry slipped a knuckle under her chin. "Millicent, look at me."

She turned her face back to him then and Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sight of tears in her eyes. He swept the hair away from her face. He knew it was completely irrational after knowing her so shortly, but these next words were truer than any he'd ever spoken: "Millicent, you're so brave for working with us to fight Voldemort, even though I'm sure your family and most of your friends hate the idea. You've been so helpful here, and I know I don't know you that well yet, but I think I love you."

Harry smiled at the old couch and disapparated.

The terrible sensation of being squeezed almost unbearably overtook him as he concentrated on arriving at Bill Weasley's adobe house in Cairo. Within a moment, however, he was in the Weasleys' comfortable living room. He found himself enveloped in Fleur's pale arms before he could even set his trunk down. "Oh, 'arry, it is so nice to see you." Her growing belly poked a little into his middle.

"You too," Harry said, giving her an awkward pat on the back, and looking at Millicent from over her shoulder. She was smirking at him. Draco was standing against the wall, trying to be inconspicuous, and Ron and Hermione were arguing quietly in the passageway between the small, elegantly-decorated living room and the dining room.

"All right!" Bill said, clapping his hands together. "Now that you're all here, we can have lunch and you can tell me all about what you've been doing." Harry winced inwardly at the sight of Bill's face. He'd hoped the scars would have faded a little since the wedding, but that didn't seem the case. The cool-looking Bill of old was gone. But Bill was one of many. Harry doubted anyone would survive the war unscathed, whether the scarring was physical or not.

The seven of them filed into the dining room. Harry tried to get a seat next to Millicent but found himself caught between Ron and Hermione as they sat down to the sandwiches at the table. They were good, if simple; Harry wondered whether Ginny would have faulted "Phlegm" for not preparing elaborate meals like Molly Weasley's. "Harry," Hermione whispered sharply, "while we're here, we should find something to purify Hufflepuff's Cup." She carefully felt at the table and found a sandwich. Bill was busy interrogating Draco and Millicent while Fleur ran into the kitchen for drinks.

"I told her, Harry. This trip's about getting her sight back," Ron said from his other side, leaning forward to glare at Hermione across Harry's front.

"He's right," Harry told Hermione. "You're top priority. With you patched up, we can work much faster."

"I'm not top priority, Harry," Hermione hissed. "We can visit this wiseman, fine, but Cairo's full of ancient magical devices. We should use the opportunity."

Harry considered for a moment. "We'll split up."

"Yeah, that always works out," Ron said sarcastically.

"No, it's a good idea," Hermione said brightly. "I'll go see this person and you two and the Slytherins can start by asking Bill for help."

"Hermione," Harry admonished, "you're blind. You're going to need someone to help you navigate."

"All right, Fleur can take me."

"I think one of us should come along," Harry said.

"No," Hermione said stubbornly. "You and Ron should find something that will destroy the Horcrux."

"Well, Draco will have to go with you then," Harry said, purposefully not offering Millicent's help. He wanted Millicent to come along with him. Hermione frowned. It was quite obvious what she was thinking. "Hermione, you've got to learn to trust Draco and Millicent. They've been helping us for over a month, they took Veritaserum, and look at them now, even Bill is beginning to look pleased with them." A few places down the table, Bill was indeed looking happy with the answer Draco had just given about Lucius' guilt.

Hermione continued to frown petulantly. "I don't see why anyone else needs to come along."

"Fleur's a little preoccupied right now," Harry answered. "I'll put it this way; you've either got to trust Draco to take you to the wiseman or trust him to help us with our search or have one of us take you instead."

Hermione bit into her sandwich forcefully. "I wouldn't trust any Malfoy near a piece of Voldemort, or a weapon to destroy him," she mumbled. It was with exactly such an argument that she'd convinced Harry to let her hide Hufflepuff's Cup.

"All right," Harry said briskly. "It's decided; Draco will take you to the wiseman. And that'll be nice, won't it? He's obviously interested in your recovery."

Ron and Hermione both glared at him.

OOO

"Are you ready?" Draco asked, slipping a sly hand to the small of her back.

"Yes," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. She heard Draco lift the tent flap and felt him push her through. The tent smelled dusty and confined. A faint fluttering, the sound of parchment (or perhaps money) being sorted, could be distinguished from the general commotion of the street outside. Draco propelled her forward through a narrow aisle and stopped her about ten paces from the entrance.

"Good afternoon," croaked a foreign, singsongy voice. Hermione was only able to make the vaguest distinctions between shapes and shades, and what she saw before her was a dark blob against a lighter background.

"Good afternoon," Hermione returned. "My name is Hermione Granger. I believe my friend here informed you of my predicament."

"Hermione Granger, I am Paki," came her answer. The old man could barely speak English, and small talk didn't seem to be his strong suit, for he abruptly placed his rough, scratchy hand on Hermione's forehead. "I must feel what it is," he said by way of an apology.

Hermione struggled to bite down her questions. Draco had told her this wasn't any form of Legilemency, and the old wiseman's practice would not invade her privacy, but she nevertheless felt an odd sense of connection with the man when his hand rested on her forehead. She understood that he was no fraud, that his form of healing didn't involve spells and potions so much as a naturally attuned perception of her problem. Hermione closed her eyes and he brushed his fingertips over her eyelids. She felt closer to him than before; he was steeped in old magic that they had never studied at Hogwarts. She felt his strength and calm, the calm of a wizard not really involved with the war or the current generation.

The wise old hands moved and a cracked thumb was placed between her eyebrows. With a sudden, sharp pain deep under the thumb, Hermione's own feelings came into focus; Draco was standing too close, he was always stood too close for her own good, this shaman couldn't help her, Snape really was the only one who could help them, but they were going to be defeated, there was too much to accomplish, she didn't know who she was anymore, her very body had been feeling different, there was more to the Slytherins' professed reasons for working against Voldemort, Harry's judgment was clouded, he was –

The fierce throbbing behind her eyes grew so strong that Hermione gasped in pain and swiped the man's hand away almost involuntarily.

"Draco, Slytherins, Harry," the old man said, the words sounding unfamiliar from his mouth. Hermione thought she could make out his head nodding assuredly. "These disturbances must be mended, but first, remove the magic that binds you, for it is the reason your vision is clouded."

Hermione inclined her head. Crackpot old fool, she thought fiercely, but there was no point in being disrespectful. "Thank you," she said. She turned and walked toward the exit. She heard Draco asking Paki a few hurried questions before he followed her, about what could be done and what the cause was, but the wiseman only repeated what he had said earlier.

Hermione felt for the flap and stepped outside, into the warm afternoon. The climate was so much nicer here during this time of year. Hermione turned her face up to the sun. Draco emerged from the tent and brushed up next to her. "He didn't have anything more useful to say, stingy old codger. He made me pay full price for that."

For once, Hermione agreed with Draco wholeheartedly. "I heard." She pushed her hair away from her face and took in the smells of the bustling street. She'd never been to Egypt before, and it seemed so much louder there than anywhere she'd visited. People were walked up and down the street, babbling noisily, buying and selling from the street vendors.

"Er…you're bleeding," Draco said, touching a finger under her nose.

Hermione wiped the rest of the blood away hastily. "It's nothing," she said hurriedly.

"I thought this would be more of a success," Draco said disappointedly. "Are you even under any binding spells?"

Hermione shook her head. The vow she, Harry, and Ron had taken months ago shouldn't have made a difference, for neither of them had suffered the same problem. The only possibility was the one she'd known of ever since she awoke to blindness, but Hermione wasn't going to talk to Draco about that. Looking up into the bright, blurry sky, Hermione decided she was going to do something about that possibility just as soon as she could get her hands on a Quick-Quotes Quill.

Draco cleared his throat. "Hermione, would you like to get something to eat? There's a restaurant half a block down the street."

Hermione spun in his direction in surprise. He'd certainly been tolerable since moving in with her and the boys, but this was unheard of. "What?" she asked bluntly.

"Come on," he said impatiently, and with his hand once again at the small of her back, they took off through the crowded street.

OOO

Forty minutes later, Hermione felt Draco sliding his chair so near hers that their shoulders were actually touching. Her cheeks flushed. Dining out with Draco had gone too well; she'd learned too much more good about him. His hand came up to pull her hair back, and he let his fingers slow against her neck. "Hermione, did I ever tell you how much I like your hair?"

Hermione laughed heartily. "Do you really think I'm going to believe that?"

"You should," Draco said. His fingers were working their way over her hair, smoothing it, stroking it.

Hermione took a sip of her water. She was growing warm. It must have had something to do with the meal, which had been fairly spicy. "Well, however much you like it, even after you've been making fun of it for years, I don't think you should touch it." Her voice sounded too loud, too brassy.

His mouth brushed against her cheek. His lips were cool and smooth. "I've always rather liked your face as well. Can I touch that?"

Hermione's heart felt like it was going to hammer a hole through her chest. She wondered if anyone in the restaurant would notice if she and Draco started kissing wildly. "I-I-" Hermione paused for a moment, trying to assemble her thoughts. "Ron," she said firmly. "Ron is my boyfriend."

"Ron's not here," Draco said, his voice low in her ear.

"You should know I don't think that way," Hermione said harshly, her resolve strengthening.

Draco drew back, though his hand had somehow managed to come to rest on her shoulder. "Yes," he said, "that's something else I like about you."

Hermione let out a frustrated breath. "Since when?"

"A long time, long enough for me not to want to wait another minute. I don't see how Ron can put this off," Draco said coolly.

Hermione bit her lip. "Ron and I have certain obligations."

"Obligations? To kill Voldemort? I have the same obligations. I can meet them, but I want you. Now." He was so forceful. Hermione could feel his desire tugging at her, nearly pulling her into his arms.

"I can't do that," Hermione said, and she mentally slapped herself, for she had nearly said won't.

Draco moved his chair back to its original place, across the table. "Fine," he said coldly, "but you just let me know when the heat gets too much for you."

OOO

"Did it work?" Ron asked as soon as Draco and Hermione walked in the door.

Hermione shook her head. "No. It was a complete waste of time, but I have some other options I can look into." She took a few steps inside and felt for the sofa.

"Well, did you two get a chance to do some bonding?" Harry asked.

Hermione could feel her cheeks go red immediately. "Yeah," she answered shortly.

"Great!" Harry said, and Hermione could hear the genuine enthusiasm in his voice. He'd been so eager to get along with the Slytherins, and Hermione was finally beginning to understand why. "We have some good news for you."

"You found something?" Hermione asked excitedly.

"Yes," Harry said triumphantly. "Bill was able to get it out of the Gringotts safe in an hour. The treasure seekers had just found it a couple of weeks ago. It's an amulet, made to cleanse the soul from Amenhotep's body thousands of years ago."

"And it cost Harry a neat knut," Ron added. "I've never seen so much gold." Harry's inheritance had been financing their entire endeavor. Hermione hoped this didn't set them back too much.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "all we have to do, according to the ancient papyrus on the amulet, is fill the Cup with water and place the amulet inside. We were just waiting for you to get here."

OOO

Snape sped further into the dark, cabbage-smelling alley. He glanced over his shoulder again. Something was following him, but he couldn't discern the figure from the other shadowy street people. The heart of Muggle slums in London was not the place to initiate a confrontation. He shot down another side-road, hoping he'd lost them.

"Fulkes?" someone whispered from the stoop of a grimy wooden door.

"Yes?" Snape hissed back, squinting down, eventually sorting the man out from the litter.

The vagrant stood up. "Come inside," he said, pushing the door open to reveal a tiny pub with a four-stool bar and a single table pushed against the far wall. A man was passed out over the counter, his mouth hanging open. There was no bartender in sight. The man from the outside shuffled to the table and sat down.

Snape followed him and sat. "Do you have it?" he asked.

The beggar smiled toothlessly. "Got it off my friend. Do you have the money?"

"Two hundred pounds," Snape said, placing the Muggle money on the table. "Now hand it over."

The man seemed to consider. "You know, it was an awful lot of trouble. I might just have to raise the price."

Snape's lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "I thought you might say that. Here," he said, adding more bills to the pile, "Fifty more."

The man looked at the money thoughtfully. "Fair enough," he said. He reached into his pocket slowly and drew out a paper bag, which he passed under the table to Snape. "All right," he said, grabbing the money and standing up. "Buy you a drink?" he asked, jerking his head at the bar. "No? I didn't think so," he said after taking a short look at Snape's expression.

Snape slipped the bag in his pocket, went quickly to the door, and stepped outside. He walked a ways down the alley, looking for a place where no drifters would see him disapparate. The irksome feeling of being followed returned. He spun around, wondering whether the tail was a Muggle prowler or something worse. "Show yourself," he called softly.

Great, flapping wings reflected the light from a curtained window as the creature abandoned the shadows. It was an owl. Snape let out a breath of relief, and then tensed again. He knew that owl, that large, white owl. "Potter."

Hedwig perched on the garbage bin a few feet from Snape, pecked the parchment loose from her leg, and took off. Snape picked the letter up, and, glancing around, disapparated.

He reappeared a moment later in front of Spinner's End, stormed into the house, and sat down in his armchair. He opened the letter, which had no address, no markings. The short note inside was written with the regularity of a Quick-Quotes Quill.

PM,

The owl made sure you were alone. I admit now we need your help. What did you do to me? I need to go back to the way I was.

KIA