Chapter 53- Did I just see what I thought I saw( part 2).

Shaking his head impatiently, he waved off the older wizard's concern. "Don't trouble yourself, Albus. It was a short, informal meeting for the express purpose of issuing orders. It isn't in his best interest to have my hands shaking or my wits addled when I'm working, so he almost never curses me when he wants potions brewed." Getting back on track, he indicated the parchment he still had in his hand. "We have had hints that the Dark Lord is planning an attack for a while now. Everyone, myself included, assumed he was going to immediately go after Potter, but now I'm not so sure."

Dumbledore nodded seriously, taking a seat in one of the comfortable chairs by the fireplace and gesturing for Severus to do the same. "Has he taken you into his confidence, then?" he inquired.

"No, he's being very tight-lipped. He seems to trust Pettigrew to a certain extent, probably because that little worm has as much to lose if they're exposed, but even that has its limits. I don't even think he's told his inner circle any details," Snape continued, raising a speculative eyebrow. "Clues up to now seemed to point to an attack on Potter's residence on his birthday, but now I am not certain of the time or the target," he confessed, handing the list to Albus. "These potions seem to suggest a different type of plan."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted sharply as he perused the list: Veritaserum, ward weakeners, fire bombs, paralyzing gas... "Nasty," he commented, absently stroking his beard. "Very nasty indeed. It does beg one to question why he is using potions instead of spells, though. It seems to add an unnecessary level of complexity."

"I wondered myself," Severus admitted, leaning forward and indicating a particular item. "The choice of this ward weakener is odd as well. It is more suited to breaking out of warded structures, not into them. In fact," he added, sneering a little at the vernacular, "it's common name is 'Jailbreak Juice'."

"You think Azkaban might be his first target?" Albus asked, frowning at the notion.

"I don't know, although I do believe he will stage an assault there sooner or later. He wants to draw the Dementors over to his side, and several Death Eaters are still incarcerated there. It would serve a dual purpose," Snape speculated, hoping with everything in him that he would not be expected to participate. If he never had to see that godforsaken place again, it would be too soon.

Albus sighed and ran a weary hand over his eyes. "Voldemort has always been difficult to accurately predict," he remarked, frowning into the fireplace for a few minutes, then shaking his head in frustration. "I do not see the connection at this moment, but I'm afraid you aren't catching me at my best, either."

Snape frowned a bit, noticing for the first time that this was quite true. The Headmaster looked a little rough around the edges, as if he hadn't gotten sufficient sleep the night before. There was a certain fatigue in his manner, his robes were rumpled, and he had dark shadows under his normally twinkling blue eyes. "Albus, are you feeling well?" he asked uncertainly.

"What? Oh, yes. Of course," Dumbledore responded, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a small yawn. "I had trouble sleeping, so I reviewed the Pensieve contents Molly, Arabella, and young Ronald were kind enough to provide. Not too long after that, Dobby the House-Elf and Kingsley Shackelbolt returned from an errand I sent them on bringing even more evidence to review," he said, gesturing absently toward his desk.

Severus automatically followed the sweep of the other wizard's hand with his eyes, and noticed an odd assortment of containers on and beside his desk. Several small Pensieves, presumably from last night's meeting were there, along with another that looked slightly larger than standard. What captured Snape's attention the most, however, was a largish container on the floor beside the desk. It had a long wooden ladle laying across its mouth, and looked remarkably like a stone barrel.

"I'm afraid I got caught up in my perusing and never made it to bed," Dumbledore finished with a self-deprecating little grin.

Severus raised a scolding eyebrow, appalled that the Headmaster wasn't taking better care of himself, but didn't voice his disapproval. Anything he said about this particular issue would be hypocritical in the extreme, and would probably encourage Albus to scold him the next time he stayed up brewing a tricky potion or researching ingredients.

"Did the Pensieves reveal anything of use?" he asked instead, wanting to change the subject.

Dumbledore didn't reply immediately. Instead, he rose and walked to his desk, running a hand around the lip of the stone barrel. "I have been able to answer some questions, and verify some of Sirius', Arabella's, and Remus' conjectures," he said, when Snape followed, "but for every question I managed to answer, ten others came to take its place.

"I was able to verify Remus' chain of events. He pegged it more closely than he knew. Harry traveled to Surrey alone and discovered the property was vacant. That was what Arabella saw when her locator clock indicated he was back at Privet Drive and we erroneously assumed all was well. He tried to seek shelter or assistance at Arabella's soon after that, but she had already returned to Hogwarts. When he found her house empty, he caught the Knight Bus, intending to go to the Leaky Cauldron. It's maddening!" he complained with a frustrated shake of his head. "I'd wager they missed each other by half an hour, maybe less."

Snape couldn't believe what he'd just heard. It had been a possibility all along, of course, but he'd never really believed it. There just had to be another explanation. "Potter's relatives really abandoned him?" he asked incredulously. "He didn't just refuse to accompany them?"

Albus shook his head, looking impossibly weary and very, very sad. "No, Severus. He did not refuse. I think I might have preferred that, actually. Harry is young and could have been forgiven a bit of headstrong recklessness. As is turns out, he wasn't given a choice or even the luxury of a warning. His aunt and uncle panicked and ran when they received my letter advising them of Voldemort's rebirth, and the outcome of the TriWizard Tournament."

"You interrogated his relatives, then?" Snape asked in confusion. Dumbledore had specifically ordered that the Dursleys be left alone, for the time being anyway. He didn't usually contradict his own instructions.

"No, I got that information from an independent witness," Albus replied, nodding at two unlabeled Pensieves. They were sitting on his desk beside the ones marked "Molly Weasley", "Arabella Figg", and "Ronald Weasley". Snape frowned lightly when he noticed the last two containers didn't seem to hold the characteristic silver strands of human thought. Instead, they held a denser, weightier substance that strongly resembled liquid pewter.

"What is that, Albus?" he asked, after failing despite his best efforts to identify the Pensieves' contents.

"Memories...well, impressions, really," Albus said, correcting himself. "I shall have to ask Dobby to help me sort it out later once he's rested. This process is terribly inefficient for human magic, especially when there's so much of it," he said, waving absently at the stone barrel by his desk. With a start, Snape realized it was filled with the same matter. Merlin! Even if that came from more than one person, there must be years worth of memories in that thing! he thought, aghast.

"Do you recall the conversation we had on the fifteenth, when Arabella discovered Harry's relatives had relocated?" Severus blinked as Albus' question broke into his thoughts.

"Yes, of course," he replied. "How could I forget? That was the day I discovered Memory Potions and Calming Potions should not be mixed.**"

Albus chuckled, then sobered again. "You have a talent for picking up subtle clues, Severus," he said, retrieving his wand and holding it over Molly Weasley's memories. "Since I received my first letter from Harry, I had some rather unpleasant suspicions, and our meeting that day did little to dispel them," he said, bringing up a memory from the bowl. "Tell me what you think of this."

Snape did as he was told, and soon found himself viewing Molly Weasley, her youngest four children, and Harry Potter. "All right dears, let's go then," Molly Weasley directed, over the muted din of King's Cross Station. He watched idly as she turned and headed for what he presumed was the exit, turning every now and then to make sure everyone was accounted for, and stopping when she noticed Harry was lagging behind. He jogged up to her when she called to him, and informed her that his uncle had just arrived.

"Stop," Dumbledore commanded, freezing the memory. "Watch Harry carefully here," he instructed when Snape looked at him questioningly. "Note his facial expression and listen to what he says. It's very subtle."

Severus wondered what Albus was on about, but did as he was asked and focused on the Brat-Who-Lived as the memory continued. He noted Potter's obvious reluctance to part company with the red-headed family, and smirked a bit when Molly finally put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder and asked if he wanted her to walk over with him.

"No, thanks all the same," Potter refused, shaking his head. "Uncle Vernon will likely be angr-uh, in a hurry to leave..."

Severus scowled at the image. "Again," he ordered, bending closer to the memory floating above the small Pensieve and watching intently when Albus obligingly played it again.

"Quickly now, what was Harry going to say before he changed his mind?" Dumbledore asked, carefully gauging his reaction.

"Angry," Severus said, blurting out his first impression. He'd bet two measures of Unicorn horn that Potter had been about to say 'Uncle Vernon will be angry' before he'd stopped himself. The boy also appeared to be horrified at the very notion of Mrs. Weasley walking over with him.

Snape was honest enough with himself to admit he probably would have dismissed that bit as the typical 'how dare you treat me like a child' mentality of adolescence if Albus hadn't focused his attention. Molly evidently thought so as well, because after a brief flash of annoyance crossed her face, she simply embraced the boy, telling him she'd see him soon, and instructing him to keep in touch.

Snape rubbed his chin as he watched the interaction. Potter clearly didn't want to be treated like a child, so that was undeniably part of it, but something in the boy's tone and body language suggested there might be something more. Odd. It was almost as if he was trying to shield her . But why? And what from?

Dumbledore nodded in response to his opinion on Potter's halted sentence. "That was my reaction as well," he said, watching as the Weasley children said goodbye and Harry stood waving before fading from sight. "I just wanted a second opinion," he went on, looking like he would not have minded being proven wrong. "That was the last time Harry was seen-by a human, I should say. This stubborn bird knows Mr. Potter's location but will not divulge it," he said, directing the last bit at Fawkes who had swooped over and settled on his perch. "I have threatened to pluck him, but as you can see, he is far from concerned."

"You can speak to him?" Snape asked curiously, looking between Albus and Fawkes. It was something he had wondered in the past, but somehow never got around to asking. The firebird noticed the attention and paused in the act of grooming his feathers. Albus smiled fondly and shook his head in gentle exasperation when Fawkes favored the two wizards with a glance then carried on with what he was doing, obviously dismissing them.

"I have learned to interpret his sounds and read his expressions and body language," Dumbledore replied, indicating the phoenix. "The communication is sufficient, but not nearly as comprehensive as a Parseltongue with a snake or Basilisk."

"Ah," Snape responded, Dumbledore's example bringing to mind the bottles of Basilisk venom he had in his private stores. That had been a job well done, even if he said so himself. Since Gilderoy Lockhart had proven himself incompetent even before he had been hit with his own memory charm, it had fallen to the resident Potions Master to harvest any usable ingredients, and dispose of the Basilisk's carcass. The thing had been enormous, so getting rid of it was no small feat. All in all, it was a bloody miracle no one had gotten killed.

"Speaking of Basilisks, Potter and Miss Weasley were lucky to escape unscathed from the Chamber of Secrets," he commented at length, straying a little off topic. "That was a magnificent specimen. It was easily the longest one I've ever seen, and its venom was so potent I had to put reinforcing charms on the storage containers."

"Oh, I wouldn't say unscathed, Severus. Tom Riddle's memory very nearly drained the life out of Miss Weasley and Harry-" Dumbledore blinked and broke off sharply, with an arrested expression on his face. As Snape watched in amazement, all traces of fatigue fell away. The Headmaster had started to look like a man in danger of nodding off, but something had evidently clicked just now, because his eyes lost their sleepy look and sharpened considerably behind his half-moon glasses. "Severus," Albus asked slowly, with the attitude of a man reaching toward the answer to a problem, "given the strength of the poison, how long would you estimate it would take to kill a person?"

Snape was a little taken aback by the question, but considered it carefully all the same. "If a sufficient amount was injected into the skin with a needle or by the Basilisk's tooth, I'd wager the poison could kill a grown man in five minutes or less," he theorized.

"What about a child? A first or second year?" Albus pressed, watching him intently.

"A child?" Severus echoed incredulously. "A child would likely be dead instantaneously or in a matter of seconds. They would have a minute, maybe two if they were particularly robust. Why?"

"Because Harry was bitten by the Basilisk. One of its fangs pierced his upper arm when he drove Godric Gryffindor's sword through its skull."

Severus frowned, running calculations. "How deep was the puncture? If it was shallow or he was merely scratched, he would have had more time."

"I'm not sure, I didn't see the actual wound. Fawkes got to him in time and healed him in the Chamber," Dumbledore responded, still sounding very preoccupied. "He had the fang with him, when he came back, however. If memory serves, Harry appeared to have been bitten very deeply indeed. Judging from the visible bloodstains, the fang probably struck his humerus."

Not sure he'd heard correctly, Severus blinked comically and sought confirmation to Dumbledore's ludicrous assertion. "Potter was bitten to the bone by a Basilisk as a second year and he's still alive?" he demanded, incredulous disbelief coloring every syllable.

"Yes. It does seem unlikely, doesn't it?" Dumbledore speculated, frowning deeply and steepling his fingers in front of him. "I suppose I didn't dwell on it at the time because I found out very much after the fact, and Harry was obviously all right. I may have presumed this particular Basilisk's venom was weaker than the norm, but given the vehemence of your reaction that is not the case."

Severus snorted in spite of himself. "Quite, but when has Potter ever followed the rules?"

Albus gave him a mildly reproving look, then frowned thoughtfully again. "So how is it possible for a second year to survive a Basilisk bite, Severus?"

"How is it possible for an infant to survive the Killing Curse?" Snape shot back, throwing both hands into the air. "Perhaps the boy is immortal," he suggested, only half joking. "If he can shrug off Basilisk poison, perhaps he can't be killed."

"No, according to Miss Weasley, Harry looked very weak and sick before Fawkes got to him. She was understandably concerned for his welfare," Albus countered. Abruptly he stood and headed for the fireplace. "Give me a moment please, Severus," he requested, disappearing into the fireplace with an order of "Hogwarts Hospital Wing," and reappearing a couple of minutes later with a folder.

"Potter's, I presume?" Snape asked, when Dumbledore returned to his desk and flipped the file open.

"Yes," Albus said absently, running a finger down the entries. "Hmm. Except for his encounters with the Dementors, all the rest of these entries are for injuries only...although, I suppose the Dementors' effect could be considered an injury of sorts. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

It took Snape a second to grasp the significance of that. When he did, he eyes narrowed. "No illnesses?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "None. Madam Pomphrey has also made several notes about how quickly he recovers from physical injury."

"So...Potter doesn't get sick?"

"No, he does..." Albus said thoughtfully. He turned to the two Pensieves filled with the strange pewter-colored liquid, and tapped the smaller one with his wand. "Hold on, this gets a little rough."

Before Snape could ask what, he was plunged into a memory with shocking force. The Headmaster's office vanished, and he found himself standing on the front step of a house.

A dark, empty, and very Muggle house.

In the middle of a blistering storm, no less.

Lovely.

What's Potter gotten me into now? he snarled inwardly, automatically flinching back from the weather before remembering that this was a memory, and the phantom rain fell without touching him.

The hoot of an owl, barely audible over the noise of the wind and rain drew his attention. Turning toward the sound, he saw a very bedraggled-looking Harry Potter and an equally wet snowy owl. Taken aback, Snape considered the boy before him and decided the 'pathetic half-drowned kitten look' didn't suit Potter at all. The owl hooted again, more insistently this time, and held out a leg as though demanding to deliver a message. Well at least his bird has a little sense, he thought snippily, watching the boy purse his lips thoughtfully in response to her request.

"Thanks, Hedwig, but I really don't want to send you out in this storm unless I have to," Potter said, obviously responding to the owl's suggestion. He didn't speak again for several minutes, but it was easy enough to read the play of emotions flitting across his face. Snape fancied he could hear unused gears begin to squeak and grind as the boy frowned in concentration. He appeared to consider and dismiss several options before letting loose a gigantic sneeze, and grumbling, "Hang it all!"

"This was the night of July first when Harry made his way back to Surrey. He doesn't appear to be very well at all, does he?" Dumbledore remarked, speaking for the first time. Snape frowned consideringly as Potter finally seemed to make a decision, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. That particular pose made him look more like the stubborn, arrogant Gryffindor he was accustomed to dealing with, but Albus was right. There was no doubt the boy was showing signs of illness. Pale, flushed, soaked and sneezing, he'd wager the boy had a bad cold at the very least.

"I believe this is when he gets the idea to try to contact Arabella," Dumbledore remarked, when Potter raised a speculative eyebrow and looked intently in the direction of Wisteria Walk.

The two elder wizards watched Potter wrap his owl collect his trunk, and pelt off into the storm. "Wait," Severus blinked, suddenly hauled up short. "This memory takes place well after Molly Weasley saw Potter at King's Cross, does it not?"

"It does," Albus verified.

"And this memory is from an independent witness?"

"Correct."

"Then Molly was not the last person to see Potter the night of July first! Why did this witness not come forward before?" Severus demanded, his dark eyes flashing angrily at the thought of all the time and unneccessary effort they'd expended.

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped a bit as if the weight of the entire world was upon them. "Because, Severus, until last night, this witness had no voice. Can you not see? We are immersed fully in the memory and there is no point of view. There is no extra person in the scene." Snape continued to look uncomprehendingly at him, so Dumbledore tried again. "We are viewing the impressions of the property known as 4 Privet Drive."

Whaaaaat? Snape shook his head in disbelief before meeting Dumbledore's gaze. "Albus, I have every respect for you as a scholar and a wizard, but I don't believe even you can read a house's mind. Particularly since there is no mind to read!"

"True, very true," the Headmaster agreed readily, making the impression fall away with a wave of his wand. Snape had just enough time to irritably reflect on Dumbledore's unprecedented talent for confusing others before the older wizard let the other shoe drop. " I cannot, but Dobby the House-Elf can."

"House-Elf?" Snape asked weakly, still struggling with the concept. Albus noticed his confusion and elaborated.

"The method is very complex, and not commonly used," he explained patiently. "House-Elves usually guard their masters' secrets very jealously, but Dobby's 'freed' status and his devotion to Harry Potter make him a special case. He was able to successfully 'communicate' after a fashion with Harry's former residence, and gather the house's impressions of his life there. I requested it hoping to gain some insight into Harry's disappearance when he became untraceable."

"And Shackelbolt?"

"Was a credible, verifiable witness," Dumbledore said, shrugging. "His word that Dobby tapped the right houses will be good enough for many should this evidence be necessary in court. I had been planning to try and tap the house even before, when I was endeavoring to find sufficient evidence to have Harry removed from the Dursleys' care, but the more acute crisis guaranteed Kingsley's cooperation."

Warming to the subject, Snape indicated the larger Pensieve. "What is the other?"

"Arabella Figg's property on Wisteria Walk. As you can see, Harry spent considerably less time there," he explained. "The mechanics are beyond my comprehension, but from what I understand, this cannot always be done with guaranteed success. The structure must be forced to 'remember' a person who dwells, or has dwelled within it. The age of the structure and number of inhabitants it has had over its life complicates the process. It would be very nearly impossible to force Hogwarts to recall a specific student, for example."

"So did you find any...evidence of Potter being mistreated?" Snape asked reluctantly, not liking the cold ball of dread that was forming in his stomach.

"I have not attempted it as yet," Dumbledore admitted. "As I said, the process of searching through non-sentient memories is difficult. I had just managed to piece together Harry's activities the night of July first when Arthur Floo'd me."

Indicating the long-handled wooden ladle laying across the mouth of the stone barrel, Dumbledore continued. "Dobby said he would assist me later, but left me this tool to use on my own. He's a dear little fellow," the Headmaster said fondly. "Before he left he told me not to worry, and he knew Harry Potter was just fine." Getting back to the matter at hand, he picked up the ladle. "This is supposed to be able to find impressions that I specify," he explained, noting Snape's interest.

"You plan to look for signs mistreatment?"

"Yes," Albus said sadly, transfiguring several additional Pensieves on his desk. "Was Harry Potter ever beaten by Vernon or Petunia Dursley?" he asked, tapping the ladle with his wand and slipping it into the metallic liquid. He stirred a few times, then brought the device out, looking amazed when it was completely empty.

"Hmm. Try 'struck' instead, it's more general. And include the cousin in your queries," Snape advised. Dumbledore tried again, with 'Was Harry Potter ever struck by his muggle relatives?' and this time came up with a generous spoonful. Frowning, he poured it into one of the waiting Pensieves.

When he moved to spell the ladle again, Snape stopped him. "Wait Albus. Take a small look first. Make sure it isn't Potter and his cousin engaging in boyish foolishness."

"Very well," the old wizard said, setting the ladle aside and reaching for his wand with obvious reluctance. As he prodded the contents of the Pensieve, his office fell away again, and was replaced by the same Muggle home he'd seen just moments ago. As he and Albus stood curiously on the front steps, a Muggle transport device arrived carrying a much younger Harry Potter, a horse-faced woman and another boy who had to be Potter's cousin. Snape sneered disdainfully as he observed the obviously overweight boy. Another obnoxious brat, he noted sourly. It must run in the family.

Refocusing his attention, he noticed the woman was obviously angry about something. Her motions were jerky and irritable as she unlocked the front door and herded both boys into the house. As he and Albus followed the family inside the house and back to the kitchen, Snape was struck by the wealth of photographs on the mantel and walls. Everywhere he looked that blond-haired brat was grinning insipidly back at him. It wasn't until later that he would realize that there wasn't a picture of Potter in sight.

Potter's aunt, meanwhile, put her shopping bags on the kitchen table. Her expression softened for a second when she bade the other boy to "run along and play," then she rounded on her nephew, slapping him just as hard as she could. Snape and Dumbledore watched in shocked silence as young Harry was knocked off his feet by the force of the blow. When the boy tried to defend himself, his aunt proceeded to scold and belittle him to such a degree, even the jaded Potions Master found himself appalled.***

Of course if he was appalled, then Dumbledore was in a towering rage. Albus, Snape noted, was looking uncharacteristically bleak as the scene unfolded. Potter's aunt was probably very fortunate that she was well out of reach at that particular moment. She had raised an ugly red mark on the boy's face- "Wait!" Reaching for his wand, he raised it instantly, blurting the command to freeze the memory.

"What is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, frowning, then he caught the younger man's body language. "What did you see?"

Without replying, Snape stalked over and knelt next to the frozen memory of Harry Potter. The boy was staring up at his aunt with wide green eyes, and was caught in the act of wiping away tears. "Look here, Albus," Snape said, indicating the swath of perfectly normal skin left in the wake of the boy's small fingers, and the angry red mark beyond.

"Merciful Heaven," Albus breathed. "No wonder no one ever noticed injuries. He has some sort of latent healing ability!"

"Mmm," Snape agreed. "But is it his touch or his tears?" he asked pragmatically.

"I don't know. Perhaps we can make a determination when we find him," Dumbledore sighed, letting the impression fall away. He sat heavily in his chair and for once looked to be at a loss. "How will I ever tell Sirius?"

* This was back in Chapter 12: What We Have Here is a Failure to Communicate.

** When Snape interrogated Wormtail in Chapter 15: Mr. Wrong.

*** If the Petunia slapping Harry bit sounds familiar, it should. Dumbledore randomly scooped out the scene Harry recalls in Chapter 14: Ms Wright.

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