June 1976

Severus nearly ran from the parlour and past the bar, pushing roughly past Tom on his way out. The landlord let slip a foul word before he saw that it was Professor Dumbledore's guest who had all but collided with him. He bit his tongue on the rest he'd meant to say.

Out in the street, Severus blinked for a few moments in brilliant sunshine contrasting with the gloom of the parlour and his failure there. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked, faster and faster, past shops whose shining windows and colourful signs reflected the glory of the summer day. He ignored them all, even his favourites, the Apothecary and the Magical Menagerie.

His mind a dejected and fearful blank, Severus wasn't sure how much time had passed before he found himself on a corner from which wound an alleyway of a very different character. Here, in darkness drifting out like mist, carrying an indescribable and indescribably unpleasant odour, summer light died. Severus caught sight of the pocked street sign: Knockturn Alley.

Knockturn Alley, the street of Dark magic, as winding, narrow and shadowy as Diagon Alley was straight, broad and bright. And yet Severus could never remember being afraid of Knockturn Alley, even when he'd been a quite tiny boy, clinging to his mother's Muggle skirt on the days when she'd slipped away from Spinner's End, or later, when he was older, and they'd taken a detour from school shopping.

Mother had known her way around Knockturn Alley, and Severus thought he could remember his. He remembered well enough what was in the shop windows: the skulls, the shrunken heads, enucleated eyes afloat in mysterious potions, daggers on display in cases lined with black velvet--a treacherous sort of knives, Mother had said when Severus had begged for one, knives that might turn on an ignorant or careless owner. All the implements of a powerful, often lethal magic, a magic for enemies.

Craning his neck, Severus took a step toward the oozing darkness. He could see shadowy figures, and the murmuring of words he couldn't quite discern wafted to his ears. He could walk right into Knockturn Alley. He was of age, with only one year left until he was fully qualified; even the witches who press-ganged the lone and unwary for body parts didn't frighten him.

Did Dumbledore? It didn't occur to Severus to ask himself that. Dumbledore was simply so much a part of his life now that the reason he gave himself for not entering Knockturn Alley was that he might be late for dinner with Professor Dumbledore.

****

Severus could have skipped the dinner, for all that the conversation mattered. Dumbledore spoke a bit to him about his single extracurricular activity, the Duelling Club, but that didn't go far, since duelling comprised the casting of aggressive spells like Sectumsempra, and it was abundantly clear by now, if it hadn't been before, that Dumbledore didn't want to encourage anything like that. So they proceeded to the headmaster's interests. First Professor Dumbledore talked about a Muggle sport called ten-pin bowling. It wasn't a game Tobias played (he played nothing but cards), so Severus knew nothing about it.

After a few monosyllabic replies which amply displayed Severus's ignorance of bowling, Professor Dumbledore proceeded to chamber music, another Muggle pastime, Severus judged from his total ignorance of its existence. This time, Severus's ignorance did not faze Dumbledore. He chattered on, lost in his own world of long-dead musicians with names like Mozart, Handel and Bach, until Severus, altogether in spite of himself, grew fascinated.

But the moment the last bite of trifle was gone, Dumbledore stopped. "We may have a long day tomorrow, so it might be best to end our evening early. Or at least it's best for an old wizard like me." He rose. "You, of course, can stay in the common room as long as you like. But I have asked Tom to serve us breakfast at seven so that we can resume our lesson at eight o'clock sharp."

Severus had no desire to sit in the common room watching the odd people nurse their drinks into the night. So he followed Professor Dumbledore up the stairs to bed.

****

The next morning at breakfast, Dumbledore sat before an open Prophet, commenting on the news of the day.

"I could wish the Ministry were a little less ham-fisted in their pursuit of this latest so-called Dark Lord," he said, finishing the last of his coffee. "I know the Blackwoods, and old Blackwood's in-laws, the Boardmans. I'd swear on Merlin's tomb, Merlin's wand and anything else Barty Crouch would like to place before me that Algernon Blackwood is not a Death Eater. But Barty will find that out soon enough, and besides it's none of our business." Dumbledore snapped the paper shut and folded it under his arm. "We have work to do."

****

Dumbledore closed the parlour door and cast the Imperturbable Charm. Then he sat down at the table and gazed at Severus until Severus felt an almost irresistible urge to twist his hands into a knot and scuff his shoes against the flags.

"It's not that you're evil, as you seem to think I believe," Dumbledore said, just as Severus was about to succumb. "And it's not that you're incapable. We both know that you are. Except for being the object of our efforts, James Potter has nothing to do with it. So we can narrow this down, I think, to one of two difficulties. You haven't found your single, very happy memory. Or you haven't found out how to immerse yourself in it." He paused, and Severus jammed his hands into his pockets to keep them apart. "What do you think?"

"Erm, I reckon you're right."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and made an expansive gesture. "Go ahead, then."

Was that it? Severus gritted his teeth, but then he remembered he was supposed to be immersing himself in a happy memory. He drew his wand and summoned his and Mother's near-escape from Tobias. "Expecto patronum!" A bubble of white cloud emerged from his wand and drifted lazily to the ceiling, where it broke apart and disappeared. He gripped his wand harder. "Expecto patronum!" This time, nothing happened.

"Not bad, not bad," said Dumbledore. "Just try to concentrate--"

Severus flung his wand to the floor, and its clatter cut Dumbledore off. "I am not wasting another day at this!"

Severus's wand spun under the table and stopped at Dumbledore's feet. Dumbledore stooped to pick it up, then came round the table and returned it to Severus.

"You don't want to keep throwing this around," he said. There was a thin edge of irritation to his voice. "Wands will lose themselves if they're treated too cavalierly. Or they'll break, and it's the devil of a job to repair them."

Severus stared at Dumbledore. He opened his mouth, then shut it before anything escaped. Something seemed to flash from Dumbledore's mind into his. Not a thought, an emotion, but an emotion which Severus could put into words.

"You're as sick of this as I am," he said. "You'd rather I were the one bleeding to death and James Potter were the one you were teaching to conjure a Patronus. You like him, and it'd be easy, you think. You don't doubt he could do it."

Shock glanced through Dumbledore's eyes. In the next second, it was gone.

"I am sorry you feel that way," Professor Dumbledore said. "You need to immerse yourself in happiness just long enough to bring forth a Patronus, and clearly I'm an impediment to that. I can't leave you alone. But I'll try to get out of your way. Perhaps then you can find your happy memory. And when you do find it, Severus, simply enjoy it."

With that, Professor Dumbledore backed into a shadowy corner of the parlour and disappeared. Severus blinked in confusion for a moment. Then he realised that the headmaster had Disillusioned himself. He stared into the corner for another few moments, but saw and heard nothing.

Severus turned away and fixed his eyes on the floor. Complete silence reigned: Professor Dumbledore's Imperturbable Charm was working perfectly. It was easy to believe he was alone, easy to accept the calm that solitude so often bestowed on him. He took a breath and sorted through his memories once again.

The memory of his midnight flight with Mother had of course not been happy enough, but what else was there? He searched his mind and found only shreds. A game of Gobstones on the kitchen table, Mother very clearly letting him win. Learning bits of magic or mixing up vats of potion while Tobias was at work. Clinging to Mother's hand in Diagon Alley and staring at the bright shops, just staring.

Those things had been pleasant enough. But nothing had made Severus happier than racing down Spinner's End on that warm summer night, thinking he was free.

It was all right. He was alone. He would empty his mind and open its doors, just to see what would come in.

Lily came in, of course, the moment he stopped impeding her. She was shy and wispy at first, then bright and clear, giggling at him, or silent, her eyes round as he recounted tales of the wizarding world. He should never have tried to keep her out; he should never have thought Mother would replace her. He'd repudiated her after she had repudiated him, but how did that change the memories? He'd been wrong to think it would. They crowded into his head, as fresh as the day he and Lily had made them. He chose the happiest one and let it fill his mind....

"Tuney's gone to Aunt Rose's for two weeks...."

Two weeks. Two weeks of summer, of long golden days and blue-tinted evenings. Or two solid weeks of mist and rain, who cares? It'll be two weeks free of the bony limbs, the shrill voice, the bitter envy of Lily's Muggle sister....

"Want to go to the playground, Lily?"

She does. She smiles, her green eyes alight, because she knows what they'll do. And soon they're doing it: soaring side-by-side on the playground swings, higher and higher. Just before touching the sky, they seize each other's hands and jump, flying clear of the swings, far above the asphalt, laughing, landing lightly at last on the little ribbon of rough, weedy grass between the asphalt and the chain-link fence.

Severus raised his wand and wordlessly cast the charm. Something bounded from the end of his wand into the centre of the parlour. It was a silver-white doe, made of light yet looking solid as life, nothing like the vague mists his previous attempts at the Patronus Charm had produced. The Patronus--his Patronus--looked so real that Severus could see the individual hairs gleaming on her hide.

Then she turned her head. Feeling his jaw slacken, Severus stepped back. Her eyes, fringed with long white lashes, were among the strangest and most beautiful things he had ever seen. They were dark grey shot through with silver, and they made him think of the Milky Way spilling across the night sky.

"Great Merlin," murmured Dumbledore. The headmaster, having shed his Disillusionment, stood beside Severus. His eyes shone and his glasses, sitting on the crook of his nose, twinkled in the reflected light of Severus's Patronus. The doe turned and leaped. Just before striking the parlour wall, she disintegrated into glittering dust and disappeared.

"Severus," said Dumbledore. The light was gone, but the wonder hadn't faded from his face. "That was a truly lovely piece of magic. On the conjuring of a Patronus, it seems I have nothing more to teach you." He glanced at the parlour wall, and Severus thought he could almost read the question in his mind: had it really happened? Had the silver doe really leapt there the moment before? "Do you think you could do it again?" Dumbledore asked.

For once Severus didn't blame him for his doubt. He looked wonderingly at the tip of his wand, not quite able to believe himself that something so beautiful as the silver doe could have come from that ordinary-looking, thirteen-and-a-half inch ebony stick. But if a Patronus was born of a single, very happy memory... well, he couldn't doubt that, whatever had happened afterward, lifting off from that swing with Lily was one very happy memory.

Severus raised his wand. "Expecto patronum," he whispered, and the doe sprang forth. She wasn't a fluke. He really could conjure her.

Dumbledore smiled. Severus could see relief in his eyes, and something more. He wasn't sure what that was until a dazzling white phoenix shot out of Dumbledore's drawn wand and reflected the headmaster's own joy back into his face.

For a moment the doe looked as startled as Severus felt. Then, side by side, the phoenix flew and the doe trotted away.

"What a beautiful creature," said Dumbledore. "Imagine receiving a message from her in your voice!"

"Sorry?" said Severus.

"Oh, just a little trick of mine. I've made up a bit of a spell to help the conjuror send messages by his Patronus. There, you've had enough of me, I think; let's call it a day. Off to Diagon Alley with you. I'd recommend Florian Fortescue's. The lemon-lime sorbet is delicious."

Severus needed no encouragement. "Yes, sir," he said, and in the next moment he'd left Dumbledore and the parlour behind him.

****

"It was one of most remarkable Patronuses I've ever seen," Albus Dumbledore said to Constance Meed in her office that evening. "You could tell this happy memory was one Severus clung to...." His voice faded and he looked thoughtful. "So I do wonder why he took so long to find it."

"Had he so many happy memories to choose from?" Healer Meed asked.

"He didn't strike you as the sort who would, did he?" said Dumbledore with a wry little smile.

"Not at all. I'd have said he could easily put his hand on any happy memory he had." Healer Meed paused. "He likes to hide things, and by now he may know you're a Legilimens. Perhaps he was hiding his memory from you."

Professor Dumbledore looked at her in surprise. "That's quite possible."

"It's also possible he was hiding it from himself."

"Hiding his happiness from himself," Professor Dumbledore repeated musingly. "Who would want to do that?"

"Happiness can be a quite complicated emotion, even in one as young as Severus."

Professor Dumbledore looked for long moments into the shifting-sea grey of Healer Meed's eyes. "Especially when happiness has to do with love.... Yes, I think I understand you."

Healer Meed nodded. Professor Dumbledore considered again the Patronus lesson in the Cauldron's parlour, as one memory pushed itself to the forefront of his mind.

"You're as sick of this as I am.... You'd rather I were the one bleeding to death and James Potter were the one you were teaching to conjure a Patronus. You like him, and it'd be easy, you think. You don't doubt he could do it."

"Have you noticed that he has a gift for Legilimency?"

"Ah. So he discovered a guilty secret," said Healer Meed, not exactly answering Professor Dumbledore's question.

"One of many. One which I very much regret, especially since seeing his Patronus." Professor Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "At any rate," he said, rising, "I thought I should mention the Legilimency."

"He won't need it," said Healer Meed, accompanying Professor Dumbledore to the door. "I'll open my mind for him. Severus will see everything there that he ought to see."