Chapter 30

"A very unusual specimen, I must say," said Bathsheda Babbling, running a pencil lead back and forth over a piece of fine parchment, the etching on the blade of Harry's knife gradually appearing. "Where did you get this weapon? The script is unlike any I've ever seen." The Ancient Runes professor prided herself on her knowledge of the languages of magical folk, ancient and modern, and was delighted to find something with which she was completely unfamiliar.

"A Christmas gift," said Harry. "A friend - Hermione, in fact - bought it for me in a flea market." The professor looked up at this, wondering if Harry was making game of her.

"A flea market is a Muggle thing, professor," explained Harry. "They don't sell fleas there, just all kinds of stuff."

"Hermione bought this from a Muggle? I'm sure Muggles aren't allowed to possess objects like this."

"Just what is it, Professor?" asked Harry, eager to know more of his present.

"I'm really quite baffled by it. The blade looks superficially of Goblin manufacture, but the quality is not good enough to convince me it's Goblin-made. But the writing though - that's the real mystery. The alphabet is like none I've ever seen. The inscription is rather short, so I won't be able to easily decode it, if it's a known language that has been encoded. It is either in a language that was previously unknown, or it is an alternative, previously unknown alphabet of a known language."

Harry had mixed feelings about the professor's opinion. He had hoped that the runes professor would be able to tell him what the inscription said. But on the other hand, the mystery surrounding the object made it all the more special. The professor sheathed the dagger and returned it to Harry, advising him that she would examine the tracing at her leisure that evening. Harry attached the sheath to his belt, and then rushed off to his next class, hooking up with Ginny and Hermione on the way.

"Babbling was really interested in the dagger," said Harry, and explained to them everything the Runes professor had said. Hermione kept her face expressionless during this, and waited for Harry to finish.

"Harry," she said, "If you don't mind a bit of unsolicited advice, it might be a good idea not to mention that knife too much. It's obviously much more significant than I realized when I bought it. It might have properties that you wouldn't expect. I'd hate one of the teachers to take it away from you for testing or safekeeping."

This admonition brought back echoes of Harry's temporary loss of his broom in third year, when Professor McGonnagal McGonagall had confiscated it, fearful that the broom had been cursed. On that occasion, it was Hermione's fault, for she had warned the Professor about the broom. Harry appreciated that unlike last time, on this occasion Hermione was trying to make sure no one would take something away from him.

"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry. "I'll keep that in mind." Hermione hoped that the dagger would not be displayed so much. It had occurred to her that any of the school's Muggle-born student might recognize the dagger for what it was.

The three joined the lineup outside Snape's potions class. Harry had seen a lot of Snape over the holidays, first at 12 Grimmauld Place, and the off and on at the Burrow, where Snape occasionally dropped by, usually to help Sirius in his efforts to master the making of Polyjuice potion. The change in the Potions Master, especially in his attitude towards Harry, had been profound. At first Harry thought that Snape simply did not want to mistreat him in front of others, but as time passed without any sneering or insults, he wondered what could have happened to Snape. He'd asked his godfather about this.

"People do change, Harry," said Sirius. "They say even Grindelwald has mellowed a bit - not that he'd ever be allowed out. But you get my point. People sometimes, for some reason, change."

"How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb, Sirius?"

"I don't know."

"One - but the light bulb has to want to change."

"That might be funny, but I don't know what a light bulb is, nor a - whatever it was. Another bit of obscure Muggle popular culture, I suppose."

Sirius did not know what a psychiatrist was, but Snape certainly did, and he was in deep contemplation of psychiatry in general as he heard the students lining up outside the door for the first double-potions class of the term. Snape was an expert at reading minds, but at some point during first term - certainly by October, but possibly even a bit earlier - he'd been struck by just how little he understood about himself. He found himself wishing that he could use his powers as a Legelimens to read his own mind. He'd even made attempts in this regard, staring into a mirror, and seeking to force his way past the various barriers his mind had built up against itself. He got nowhere, of course, but the fact he would even try was a measure of his misery and desperation. Staring into the mirror on these occasions, he was struck by his appearance. He was not old, certainly, but the tired, haggard face that stared back at him clearly was no longer young.

For years he'd made frequent use of his Pensieve, but this did little other than allow him to very temporarily get rid of unwelcome thoughts so that he could sleep. It was not just memories that he sought to banish, but also the questions he kept asking himself. Why had he no friends? Why did he drive people to hate him? If he were to die that night, would anyone care, or even notice? What would school have been like, if he'd been sorted to a different house?

For reasons which he could did not quite understand, in early October he'd gone to see Madam Pomfrey. He not capable of complete candor, but he opened up to her as much as his personality would allow, and only then because he knew her Healer's Oath made it impossible for her to share with anyone what she discussed with a patient. Madam Pomfrey listened, and then suggested that perhaps a Cheering Draught would be a good remedy.

"No," said Snape. "I finally quit taking the Cheering Draught only a fortnight ago, and I'm barely over the withdrawal symptoms."

"A calming potion, then?"

"I'm afraid not. I've had far too much of that over the years." Madam Pomfrey named several other potions, and received similar replies.

"Severus, would it be fair to say that you've run the gamut of all the usual remedies in a Healer's repertoire? That any potion I could possibly name you've already tried, and probably can at least as well as I can, and possibly better?"

"Not better, surely," said Snape. "But yes, I have tried everything that I can."

"Then we must look elsewhere for a remedy. How long have you been having the symptoms you describe?"

"I cannot remember any time in my life when I did not have the problems I am telling you about today," replied Snape. "Ever since I was a child, I have always felt a terrible sense of foreboding, a feeling that nothing would work out. A desperate desire to control the people around me. Nameless resentment. Lashing out for no reason at people who've done me no wrong."

"You've suffered long enough," said Madam Pomfrey. "I think we should consider a different approach, and leave pharmacopoeias behind. If you really want to make progress, you must leave off on self-medicating, and place your trust in me. Are you prepared to follow my direction, and take whatever course of treatment I prescribe for you?"

Snape, who had never trusted anyone except Lily, took a great leap into an unknown void.

"Yes."

Madam Pomfrey drew out her wand and removed a piece of parchment from her desk. Rather than write with a quill, she made a few idle flicks with her wand, filling the paper with writing in a small, neat feminine hand. She folded the parchment over a couple of times, and applied the sealing wax. She handed the paper to Snape.

He read the address.

"You're sending me to London? I've never been to Warwick Avenue - it can't be anywhere near Diagon Alley. And who is Bianca Ricci?"

"She's a psychoanalyst. Most psychiatrists would just give you a pill. But Dr. Ricci specializes in lengthy, complicated analysis, and I think that's what you need."

"I've never heard of this before. I'll have to look this up in the library." Madam Pomfrey laughed at this.

"You won't find anything. After all, the Hogwarts library is a wizarding library, and Dr. Ricci is a Muggle."

Snape was snapped out of his reverie by the increasingly loud sounds of the students outside the classroom door. He opened it with a wave of his wand, and the students streamed in. Soon everyone was seated, and the classroom silent.

"In the rough and tumble of the wizarding world," began Snape, "often we do not get to choose our opponents - it is common that our opponents choose us. Sometimes we do not get to pick our weapons, either, and only have the use of whatever happens to be at hand. On occasion, we do not even get to pick our allies: mere circumstance can dictate whom we must work with in order to survive. And so in today's lesson, random chance will play a role. Your job is to make the best of what you've got, for that is all any of us can do. Miss. Parkinson, come forward. Thank you. Please walk among the students, and let each of them pick a number from this hat." Pansy, in misery because her beloved Draco was still missing, rather mechanically took the proffered hat, and walked up and down the aisles as each student stuck a hand into the hat and drew out a small piece of parchment with a number.