Title: Good Auror, Bad Auror (or No One Expects The Snapish Inquisition)

Author: Hel Bee
Team: Postwar
Genre(s): Humour/Romance
Prompt: Inquisition
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: No
ne really, a bit of violence and sexual references
Summary: Senior Auror Severus Snape has been ordered to show Auror Potter his interrogation technique. Originally written for the 2007 Snarry Games.
Word Count: 5K ish
Beta: The wonderful Rakina. Thanks to the other members of Team Postwar.

Disclaimer: JKR owns the lot. Er… yes… I also don't own the Monty Python quotes or any part of a certain sketch that might have slightly influenced this fic ;)


1: Trouble At T'mill…


The hem of his red cloak whipped around his ankles as he marched angrily down the corridors of the Ministry of Magic's Auror Division. The heels of his boots connected loudly with the flagstones giving anyone in his way warning that he was approaching and they should stay clear.

A young intern yelped at the sneer on his face and pressed herself against the wall to make way for the Senior Auror, cowering back against the stone to try and make herself invisible; however, it caused her to drop the stack of paperwork she was clutching and she floundered, hopelessly trying to pick them up without getting in his way. He growled audibly and muttered something about 'imbecilic dunderheads' as he passed by. The intern sighed in relief as he went on his way.

Reaching his destination, a rather innocent-looking door with a glass pane, he charged through it without even considering knocking and then slammed the door closed behind him. The Chief Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, looked up from his desk and smiled thinly. "Ah, Severus, I see you must have received my memo."

Severus pulled himself up to his full height; coupled with his Auror uniform that was usually enough to intimidate anyone. "I will not do it," he growled dangerously.

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow at his subordinate and sat back in his chair, evidently not intimidated in the slightest. "I think you will find that I am the commanding officer here, Snape; you'll do as instructed."

"Surely after everything I have done I should have some power of veto."

Shacklebolt sighed wearily having heard this rant from Severus Snape before. "I am more than aware – as is the whole of the Wizarding World – of your valiant efforts during the war and the years of undercover work beforehand. But you can't continue to use that as a way of weaselling your way out of assignments you don't like."

Snape opened his mouth to speak but Shacklebolt waved his unheard protests to one side. "I'm afraid there is someone whose desires outweigh even yours with the head of our department. There's no way I can deny the request of the Saviour of the Wizarding World." Shacklebolt left his seat and walked over to Snape, patting him on the shoulder. "Auror Potter has petitioned the Minister for you to be his trainer and mentor – and, no matter how much you object, that's exactly what he's going to get."

"But why? We'll kill each other," Snape said flatly, although the tone of his voice failed to hide the fact he knew he was beaten.

"This was Auror Potter's idea. Apparently he wants to learn interrogation techniques – and he wants to learn them from the best. It seems, once again, your reputation precedes you, Severus."

Harry Potter straightened his Auror robes and tried, in vain, to slick down the wayward wisps of hair that had defied him for years. Now in his late twenties, a war veteran and hero, he thought he should no longer feel like a naughty schoolboy waiting for a detention. Unfortunately, even with the past they'd shared – or possibly because of it – he couldn't escape the fact that Snape made him feel like a first year caught out after curfew.

The message had said – no ordered – him to get his short arse to Snape's office at ten o'clock sharp. Harry knew that being even a few seconds late would sufficiently annoy the other man to give him reason to back out of the arrangement. That was why he was standing here five minutes early. Merlin, he thought to himself, I should have gone the whole bloody way and brought an apple for the teacher and then see how long it would take Snape to throw me out on my arse.

Harry rapped on the door to Snape's office and entered when called. Snape's office surprised him. Unlike his dungeon-dwelling days at Hogwarts Snape seemed to prefer bright light and modern furniture. There wasn't a wingback chair in sight, nor did a single jar containing something vile grace a shelf. The man himself looked up from behind his ergonomically-designed desk and scowled. Yep, thought Harry, still the same old, ugly bastard he ever was.

"I see you've managed to learn the important life skill of punctuality," drawled Snape as he stood up. "And it only seems to have taken twenty-seven years and fifteen near-death experiences. Will wonders never cease?"

Harry bit painfully down on his tongue, holding back his natural urge to snap back. "Yes, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Potter. You're in danger of impressing me with a mature attitude."

Stepping out from behind his desk, Snape moved noiselessly to a bookcase and extracted three slim volumes and handed them to Harry. "They are not the current thinking in Auror training and investigation techniques… in fact they're not even Auror books. I don't expect you to read them cover to cover but you will recognise a number of pertinent chapters."

"Thank you, sir." Harry looked down at his homework, expecting cleverly-titled wizard textbooks, but was surprised to find that they were manuals from the Muggle Metropolitan Police Force and one on SAS survival skills. "Er…"

Snape smiled at his confusion, it was rather unnerving. "I didn't stay alive this long by following the same rules as everyone else, Potter. Muggles don't have magic, but they can be very inventive when they need to be."

Harry nodded dumbly. He really shouldn't be surprised that Snape was so surprising. "So where do we start, sir?" he asked with respect.

Snape leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "I have read your record, Potter, and you've had quite an impressive career to date. So really the question should be: want do you want from me?"

Harry had been ready for this. Snape was as suspicious now as he had ever been. And the man could spot bullshit from a mile away. "I've heard about your ability to get information out of a suspect." He smiled apologetically before continuing, "The other lads call it the Snapish Inquisition. I'm curious; I want to know how you achieve the results you do. I want to be able to do the same."

"But why?" pressed Snape.

Harry smirked. "I don't like the thought of someone being able to do something better than me, sir."

From the twitch of Snape's lips Harry could tell he'd amused him. Just how different was this Snape from the one he'd known at school? Where was the malevolent, sniping git who lived to make his life a misery? Harry couldn't answer that question, but he added it to the list of many things he wanted to find out from his old teacher.

"You're a cocky bugger, aren't you, Potter? Let's see if you can finally learn something from me. Next time I'm called to interrogate a suspect you will come with me."


2: Amongst Our Weaponry


Harry stood outside the door of Interview Room Three. Snape was skimming through a number of sheets of parchment he was holding, rereading sections and constantly looking back over sentences. His dark eyes finally looked at Harry. "Most of the people who come to my attention are either immune to truth serums or under a Fidelius charm. The individual behind this door falls into the first category and is suspected of dealing with magical explosives which cause spatial and temporal rips in the universe. I have been asked by the Unmentionable Division to have a little chat with Mr Calib Heminster."

"Bloody hell," exclaimed Harry. "That sort of magic has been banned since the 1842 Act of Tempus Constructus."

"I am perfectly aware of that. Though I suppose I should be surprised that you knew. Come on, we've a suspect to …" Snape smirked, "… visit."

Harry stepped forward but Snape stopped him with a hand to his chest. "One thing, Potter. You are here to observe. You will watch, not speak, not interfere. You of all people should know that any reputation I may have earned will have been well deserved."

Nodding dumbly, not really knowing how to reply to Snape, Harry followed him into the interview room. To be honest he had expected Snape to say something of the sort but not quite so plainly, but that had been a clear warning and now he was even more apprehensive at just what Snape's technique consisted of.

Interview Room Three was nothing more than a bright, square space containing three chairs and a table. The suspect was sitting on one of the chairs and the young Auror who was guarding him saluted and disappeared as Snape pointed towards the door. Harry moved to stand against the back wall so as not to get in Snape's way and stood facing Heminster.

Heminster had dirty blond, shoulder-length hair that lay lank against gaunt, tanned cheeks. His eyes were dark brown but sparkled with recognition as Harry watched him. There was a smirk on his face. "I am honoured," Heminster rasped out, "the Saviour of the Wizarding World here to see little old me."

"Auror Potter is here in the line of duty," said Snape tonelessly. He threw the parchment he'd been reading on the table. "As am I."

The smirk dropped from Heminster's face. "Snape?"

"Yes, Heminster. It seems you remember your old Head of House. Your father would be ashamed."

"If you hadn't killed him!" spat Heminster. "You're a fucking traitor, you lying, two-faced bastard!"

Snape appeared not to hear the tirade and instead sat in the unoccupied chair. "Dabbling in family magic, I see, Calib. Tut, tut, tut," said Snape, waggling his finger in Heminster's direction. "Hardly the brightest, were you? Yes, Lord Heminster would have been mortified that his son had been so stupid."

"You are not fit to speak his name!" Heminster was nearly on his feet leaning across the table, his fists balled in anger.

As fluidly as he had sat, Snape stood and walked behind his prisoner. He weaved his fingers into Heminster's hair, the younger man flinching at Snape's touch. With a painful jerk Snape pulled Heminster back into his chair. He moved in close, their noses almost touching. "Behave yourself," Snape almost whispered. "Your father was made an example of; don't let your fate run parallel with his."

Snape returned to his seat, removing his wand from its holster and placing it gently on the table in front of him. "Now, back to business."

"I want my lawyer," demanded Heminster.

"What you want is not of interest to me, to my colleague Auror Potter here, or – quite frankly – anybody else within screaming distance."

Harry saw that Snape had kept eye contact with Heminster, making him squirm uneasily. The unveiled threats were also starting to take their toll but surely they couldn't be the only weapons in Snape's armoury. What else did the man do to suspects to obtain information? A not-so-small part of Harry wanted Heminster to hold out as long as possible just so he could see what Snape was really capable of.

"You're not my teacher now, Snape. I won't let you bully me," said Heminster defiantly, despite the squirming.

Snape reached forward and laid his hand on his wand and mumbled something that Harry didn't hear and from the look on Heminster's face he hadn't understood. The power of Snape's magic made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up and a warm, sensual sensation slithered over his skin. He worried his bottom lip to contain a moan. It wasn't having the same effect on their suspect and Harry took a number of deep, calming breaths to steady himself. Snape's magic was obviously sympathetic with his own. He'd witnessed this before with others, but Snape was the last person he'd expect to be truly compatible with. Blinking away the lust, Harry focused on the sight before him.

Heminster was shaking his head, seemingly to clear it. Snape was standing again but now a young woman around Harry's age stood next to the table. Harry could tell immediately that is was a powerful illusion but Heminster couldn't. He stood staring at the woman; his hand came up to touch her. "How? You. I…"

Harry watched Snape's hand hover above his wand, each twitch or slight moment affected the apparition. "Oh, Calib," she sighed wearily.

Heminster stepped towards the young woman, but with a wiggle of Snape's little finger she moved out of his reach. "Emma, please," Heminster implored.

The young woman gently shook her head, her long, blonde hair falling to obscure her face. "You've proved me right," she said sadly. "I was right to leave."

"No, my angel, please…" Heminster fell to his knees, his hands reaching out to her.

"I can't believe a word you say, Calib. You need to show me I can trust you. Tell me the truth about what's been going on."

Heminster was by now oblivious to anyone around him apart from Emma. Harry saw him bury his face in his hands and sob loudly. Snape's technique, while breaking most of the Ministry's rules for interviewing suspects, was certainly effective. Words that condemned him fell from Heminster's lips as he unburdened himself to the ethereal Emma. Much of the particulars of the magic he'd used were beyond Harry's current knowledge, but Snape was smiling crookedly, no doubt pleased at the results he was getting.

Harry wasn't sure how long Heminster continued to talk, but as he came to an end he sniffed noisily and wiped his nose on his sleeve. For the first time since they'd entered the room, Snape looked at him and gestured with a flick of his eyes for them to leave. With a complicated hand movement Snape banished Emma and together Snape and Harry left the defeated Heminster kneeling on the floor.

Harry was bursting to ask questions but Snape glared at him as he began to speak. "Not until we reach my office," he ordered.

They marched shoulder to shoulder down the corridors to Snape's office, Harry deliberately keeping pace with his new mentor, not letting Snape get the better of him with his longer stride. Once behind closed doors, Snape pointed to a chair in front of his desk and Harry sat down. "Right, we will start the debrief. Any comments?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. He'd learnt to pick his battles; he knew it was relatively easy to upset Snape and a careless word now would end this arrangement. "How did you do it?"

Snape stood facing away from him, his hands clasped behind his back. "Let's start with the basics, Potter. What did I do?"

"The only thing I am certain of was that whatever you did it wasn't in the Ministry's protocols and procedures."

Snape laughed. "Hardly unexpected. Now don't waste my time on niceties."

Harry decided not to argue for once. "I'm not sure how you did it but you managed to manipulate him using someone close to him."

"Correct." Snape turned around. "Will wonders never cease? Emma is Heminster's ex-wife. She left him four months ago, taking their young son with her. All you need to know is what buttons to press; the rest is child's play."

"But how did you know?"

Snape sighed dramatically. "Legilimency, idiot."

Harry's brow crinkled. "That's not possible. You didn't cast the spell or have eye contact."

Snape chuckled darkly. "I didn't need to, my skills are well beyond that level. I had all the contact I needed when I grabbed his hair. Once I knew his weakness I exploited it using a little-known Arabic illusion charm."

Harry sat dumbly in his chair. Snape was a devious bastard, a man with negligible scruples and a very dark sense of humour. He shivered involuntarily as he remembered how Snape's magic had slithered over his skin. Bloody hell, he thought, I'm doomed!


3: Poke Her With The Comfy Cushion


Thanks to a hastily arranged assignment, Harry hadn't been at headquarters for nearly two weeks. He'd hardly had time to check his looming pile of messages when an airborne memo smacked painfully against the side of his head. Unfolding the missive he wasn't surprised to find a short note from Snape:



You're back – about time. Interview Room 3 – now!

Senior Auror S. Snape


Harry hurried towards the Interview Rooms, arriving slightly out of breath. Snape looked him up and down and tutted. "You're supposed to be in the prime of health, Potter, not panting like an overweight hippogriff!"

"Sorry, sir," he said catching his breath, "I got a faceful of lungimelt dust on my last assignment; the healers have given me the all clear but evidently I'm not one hundred percent yet."

"Well, just don't pass out while we're in here – its bad enough having you about without you being an embarrassment."

Snape pushed past him and once again Harry followed Snape to watch him work. Today's suspect was already waiting for them, seated demurely at a table. This time it was a young witch. She sat with her head bowed, her hands clutched together in her lap and her body trembling. Harry thought she looked petrified but Snape either didn't notice – which was unlikely, to say the least – or he didn't care.

The witch was young: late teens, early twenties maybe. She lifted her head to look at Snape as he sat opposite her and Harry saw her large blue eyes were red-rimmed with tears and her cheeks were flushed. Part of him felt sorry for her, but another part knew that she must have done something to deserve being confronted with Snape. As far as he had heard no one had been brought before the Snapish Inquisition without good reason.

"Marsha Folentine?" asked Snape and the witch nodded. "You are accused of breeding vampiric wyverns."

"Oh, sir!" she cried sounding desperate. "This is all some terrible mistake. They weren't supposed to be like that."

Snape sneered. "Auror Potter over there might look gormless enough for you to believe he was born yesterday, but I can assure you, Ms Folentine, I certainly wasn't."

"Sir, it was a simple mistake that I am unable to fully comprehend. Somehow my blood-sucking Venus Flytrap managed to bite one of my pregnant wyverns and before I knew it I had a clutch of thirsty babies springing out of eggs."

Harry could see that Snape was not convinced. "Balderdash! Do not underestimate my knowledge by concocting such a wildly ridiculous explanation."

Snape removed his wand and placed it on the table in front of him; Harry saw Marsha flinch. "Your so-called explanation did not convince any of the other investigators, and quite frankly it does not convince me."

Like the previous occasion, Snape held his hand over his wand and waggled his fingers without breaking eye contact with the suspect. Snape was obviously practising Legilimency but seemed to struggle for a brief moment, shown only by a slight tic of his right eye. Then at his feet a small child sat on the floor by the table. He was probably no more than three, a sticky, chocolate-smeared urchin who giggled happily as he played with the toy dragon in his hand.

The rush of lust once again assaulted Harry, Snape's magic causing a delicious throb in his crotch. He shook it away as Folentine wailed at the apparition in front of them. The child waved his dragon at her and she sobbed loudly. Snape had gone too far this time, this was unacceptable. He had to stop it.

Harry stepped forward. "Snape!" he barked. "You are out of order."

Snape whirled around to glower at Harry. "This is not your business. Keep your mouth shut, you cretin."

The interruption had distracted Snape and the phantom child had disappeared. Now Folentine's cry was one of anger and before they could do anything to stop her, Folentine flung herself at Snape, her long canines bared and aiming for his jugular.

"Fucking hell, Potter, do something!" ordered Snape has he lay splayed on the floor trying to hold the struggling vampire at bay.

Snapped out of his reverie Harry drew his wand and transfigured it into a stake. He leaped to Snape's assistance and drove the wood through the vampire's back and down into her heart. Folentine was quickly reduced to ash and Snape lay panting on the floor.

Snape's face contorted into a grimace; he looked as angry as hell. "What the fuck did you do that for?" he demanded, getting to his feet. "You of all people should realise that witches are just as deadly as wizards… what with that infernal dog-father's untimely end at the point of Lestrange's wand."

"It had nothing to do with sex," shouted Harry in reply. "You were tormenting her with the child. To me that was unacceptable!"

"How dare you question me? My methods work!" Snape loomed over Harry, the flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. "I warned you not to interfere."

Harry stood his ground. "Your methods only work because no one dares to report you! What would happen if someone complained?"

"Well, thanks to you that won't be a problem in this case," Snape drawled sarcastically, but he appeared to back down slightly. "If you're so brilliant, Potter, where is your answer to the department's difficult suspects?"

Harry nervously licked his lips. His brain worked frantically to give Snape an answer which wouldn't result in his innards being used to make potions. "I'm not stupid, or green enough to think that all cases can be solved by simply asking questions politely. But we could work as a team…"

"I beg your pardon?" said Snape, nonplussed.

Harry wasn't sure from where in the darkest regions of the organ he called his brain the idea had come from, but it had bypassed his usual logic synapses that stopped him blurting things out. "Have you ever heard of the Muggle phrase: 'good cop, bad cop'?"

Snape blinked, his expression frozen in a grimace that, although unattractive, still couldn't remove the thought of how good the man's magic had felt from Harry's mind. "Potter, you do realise that Muggle television is not real? Those 1970s TV series weren't true."

"Oh course I do," said Harry abruptly.

Before Harry could continue with his idea Snape's demeanour changed dramatically. He stepped back and appeared to be thinking. "Actually, Potter, you might have something there."

"I do?" said Harry, trying not to sound surprised.

Snape clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "What would unnerve a suspect more? You, the boy with the golden bollocks, the Wizarding world's pin-up, and me with a reputation so bad that it would make my own grandmother cry – and believe me she was a tough old bird. They'd trust you – stupid fools. I could threaten them and you could step in like the nauseous knight in shining amour they all think you are. Excellent!"


"I'll jot down some ideas and send them to you."

Harry's jaw dropped and Snape bared his crooked, yellow teeth in a smile and winked at him. "Maybe the Ministry did something right for once making you an Auror. Next time I send for you, we'll try out your plan."

Dazed and somewhat confused, Harry watched Snape walk away, kicking the pile of ashes that had previously been Marsha Folentine to one side as he went. A slow grin spread itself across Harry's face.


4: Confess! Confess! Confess!


Harry tapped the nib of his quill impatiently against the inkpot; the Ministry's quills were as unreliable as the quality of the food in the canteen. He tried again to fill out an incident report on a recent case but the ink blotted messily over his clean sheet of parchment.

"Stop wasting time with sub-standard stationery, Potter." Harry's head snapped up to see Snape leaning over his desk.


"I've got the perfect suspect to test our plan." Snape jerked his head as if to say 'come with me'. "Daisy Parkinson was arrested yesterday and so far we've not been able to get a word out of her. Like her little sister, Pansy, Daisy was in my House at Hogwarts, and has seen first hand what I am capable of. She'll be scared shitless, but not enough to tell us where the rest of the Death Eaters are hiding. But you can convince her otherwise, I'm sure." There was a malicious glint in his dark eyes, and Harry could tell Snape was really looking forward to this.

Harry stood up. "I've been thinking about this..."

"Not your forte, Potter. Leave that to me."

"No, Snape, I'm serious." Harry grabbed Snape's arm, ignoring the scowl. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will. Trust me. Promise Parkinson the moon on a stick if you need to. But it will work, just follow the general themes of those ideas I sent you."

To Harry Snape seemed overly confident, but he shrugged his shoulders and followed the senior Auror to the cells. Through the hatch of one the retention cells the painfully thin form of Daisy Parkinson could be seen. She sat on a bench wearing a Ministry-provided robe and shoes. Although now clean, Harry thought that she must have showered since being brought in. No one, not even a Parkinson, could stay clean and presentable after over a year on the run.

Using a spell that only the senior Aurors, knew Snape unlocked the cell door and they entered. Parkinson looked up, her eyes narrowing on seeing Snape but unlike Heminster she bit her tongue and held the diatribe that Harry was sure she wanted to release at Snape behind her teeth.

"Daisy, it's been a long time," said Snape coldly. "Let's not beat about the bush: where are they?"

Parkinson sat back, leaning against the wall of the cell and crossed her legs primly. She smiled. "Who do you mean, Severus?"

"The rest of the band of not-so-merry men you've been enjoying spending time with for the last year." Snape's tone was pleasant, almost jovial. He stood neutrally, examining his hands, without looking at Parkinson. "Those fellows who have a penchant for maiming Muggles and murder."

"I remember the days when you could have been counted amongst such gentlemen."

Quick as a flash Snape's hand shot out and grabbed Parkinson around the throat. "Don't push me, you little bitch!" he hissed, his face inches away from the witch. "I've snapped more worthy necks than yours."

Harry knew it was time to play his part. He strode forward and pulled Snape's hand away. "Merlin sake's, man." He made the pretence of examining Parkinson's throat for damage. "This is not the way we work."

"It's how I work, Potter. Leave me alone and I'll have the answer I want within the hour."

Harry saw the look of terror in Parkinson's eyes at the prospect of being left alone with Snape. "Not a chance."

The terror was replaced with gratitude and for the first time Harry thought that his idea might just work. She smiled weakly. "Mr Potter," she began, pointing at Snape, "this man is an animal."

"I am fully aware of what Auror Snape is, madam. But you must realise one way or another we need to obtain answers. Now you can either tell me, and I will do my utmost to protect you – not just from Snape but from your companions – or I am afraid I may have to leave him to his methods."

Snape threw his hands into the air. "Want do you want to protect this worthless tramp for?" he demanded.

"She is a witness, an important part of the case. I'm sure we can get her to cooperate."

Snape snorted derisively. "Bollocks. Let me do it my way!"

"No," whimpered Parkinson. "I'll talk to Mr Potter. But I want protection and I want him to leave."

"Agreed," said Harry and Snape hid his smirk well as he left.

"My office when you've finished, Potter," Snape shot back over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.

Harry returned to Snape's office with a spring in his step. When Snape opened his door Harry knew that the man was in an equally good mood. Harry took a seat and Snape opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a bottle and two crystal tumblers.

"I think that was most successful, Auror Potter," said Snape. He poured two glasses of Talisker, handing Harry one of the whiskies. He raised his glass. "To our continued success, Harry."

Harry returned the toast and smiled. "Definitely, Severus."

The same tingle he had witnessed before caressed Harry's skin. From where he was sitting Severus didn't appearing to be casting a spell, but he could feel the other man's energy coming off him in waves. Again Harry had to bite his lower lip to stop the moan escaping and closed his eyes.

"You feel it too?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and he stared at Severus who was smiling ruefully. "Do I really have to answer that?"

Severus chuckled darkly and knocked back the remainder of his whisky. "I take it that you wouldn't be averse to investigating it further?"

"I certainly wouldn't mind you being my inquisitor."

Following suit, Harry finished his whisky in one swallow and stood up, finding himself face to face with Severus. Snape was not a facially attractive man, his nose was too hooked, his skin sallow and his teeth in dire need of an orthodontist, but none of that mattered. Snape closed the gap between them and Harry felt his whole body thrum with excitement as their magic mingled. His vision began to swim and his eyes closed. Just before he fell unconsciousness, he was sure he heard Snape chuckle once more.


5: (Not) The Comfy Chair


Harry's head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. He opened his eyes but saw nothing, his vision impaired by the blindfold. Shaking his head to clear it he realised he was sitting down, tied in place, his arms bound together at the wrists behind him and secured firmly to the chair. He tried to move his legs but they too were tethered. A breeze across his flesh made him realise, all too slowly, that he was also naked. There was a click from behind, the sound, he believed, of a door closing quietly. He heard three gentle footfalls, barely there but he could just make them out. Hot breath ghosted over his ear. The delicious sensation of a familiar magic washed over his naked body and he moaned lustfully in anticipation.

"Time for you to discover, Harry," came the deep, purring voice, "why no one expects… or forgets… the Snapish Inquisition."