Title: Beech Hall Part I Without Ceremony Part II Aucta Sinistrapairing: SS-HP

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Title: Beech Hall – Part I Without Ceremony – Part II Aucta SinistraPairing: SS-HP

Part I- Beech Hall

The screechmouse is one of the most difficult pests to be rid of. This denizen of older wizarding manors hides in the walls, floors and ceilings and is resistant to most expulsion spells and hexes. Only a careful and thorough distribution of the poison listed below will rid the home of the screechmouse. They are sometimes found accompanied by vampire gnats and banshee mites.

Harry sighed. Screechmice, vampire gnats and banshee mites. Three for three.

"Autoscribe."

The spelled quill began to copy down the ingredients of the screechmouse poison as he spoke them. A touch of writer's cramp had pushed him into this method of note-taking a couple of hours ago. He sat straighter and stretched his back as the quill scratched across the parchment.

Glancing out the window he saw two men in robes crossing the quad. The library was on the second floor, so Harry could clearly make out that it was the headmaster with Draco Malfoy. Surprised, Harry watched them walk slowly, Dumbledore speaking, Draco looking as if he were not listening.

Harry felt the stirrings of his old dislike. Voldemort was gone, Lucius Malfoy had disappeared along with the handful of Death Eaters who'd escaped their master's fate, Harry and his friends had long since stopped being children in any sense of the word -- but the sight of Draco still made Harry's stomach burn. He wondered what he was doing back at Hogwarts after everything that had happened. The ministry had concluded after extensive questioning that Draco had had no active involvement in Voldemort's final uprising, and he'd promptly disappeared behind the gates of Malfoy Manor. Harry'd heard nothing about him for months.

The two men stopped, and Dumbledore came around to face Draco. Malfoy refused to meet the headmaster's gaze. Arrogant little self-destructive conniving prick.

Harry realized the quill had stopped. He sighed and turned his attention back to his notes. Malfoy wasn't his problem. He had a new and different problem. He bent over the book, found his spot, and continued reading.

"Harry."

Harry looked up, blinking to lengthen the focus of eyes that had been trained for hours on black specks six inches away.

"Professor Dumbledore."

The headmaster stood at the end of the table, gazing down at him, hands clasped before him, eyes twinkling.

"Have you truly fallen this far behind in your homework, Harry?"

Harry chuckled, then grimaced as he stretched his back again.

"I saw you come in," Dumbledore said, easing one hip onto the corner of the table. "I would have come to say hello earlier, but I had some duties to tend to. What brings our most famous former pupil back to Hogwarts?"

Harry indicated the stack of books surrounding him. "Homework. Literally."

Dumbledore pulled one of the books nearest him around so he could read the title. "Home Sweet Hex: Second-hand Wizarding Homes and How to Manage Them."

He glanced at Harry. "Yes, I seem to recall some rumor to the effect that you had settled down and bought yourself a house. An old wizarding manor, is it not?"

Harry nodded. "Beech Hall, in Devon. Built around 1600. The last member of the family died several years ago and the place went on the market." Harry grimaced. "Now I know why it's taken so long to sell. The family put in all kinds of wards and spells and enchantments and things. I thought, you know, it would be a good idea."

Dumbledore smiled. "I take it from the amount of research materials around you that you are having some difficulty settling in."

Harry rocked back in the chair. "It's a beautiful place. Very private." He didn't have to explain to the headmaster why that was important. "The grounds are gorgeous, there's a stream and even a great old millhouse. But the house seems to be a little too ... um ... attached to the memory of the Beeches."

"Is it attacking you?"

"No. There was something in the spells the Beeches built into the house -- I researched it before I signed the papers, you can bet on that -- whereby it has to accept its legal owner, whoever that is. But the house doesn't have to like it -- and it doesn't. It's small things. Doors that won't open or won't close, fires that won't start or won't go out, noises, smells, magical vermin, trick stairs ... nothing fatal, just quite annoying. So I came here to find some spells or charms or something to make the house accept me."

"Good luck," Dumbledore said. He got up, then paused. "As I recall, Beech Hall is a rambling old place. Aren't you a trifle lonely there all by yourself?"

Harry grinned. "No. I offered Ron and Hermione free room and board if they'd help me figure the house out. They're both in Auror training at the ministry and the bitch -- sorry -- the house is closer than their homes. Also they were both keen to be out on their own, you know. Then a few months ago they met two other Aurors, a few years older than us. They were looking for a place to stay." Harry shrugged. "So I'm not alone."

"Do I know these young Aurors?" Dumbledore asked.

"One's Shelagh O'Bannon. She went to Beauxbatons."

"I regret to say I've not made her acquaintance. The other?"

"Kenneth Torrey."

"Ah."

"Yes. He ... um ... after what happened the ministry gave him a pension but ... he really didn't have anywhere to go. Anyway, he and Shelagh are mates, and she suggested me, and ..." Harry shrugged again.

"You have a good heart, Harry Potter."

"He's nice," Harry said. "He's been a big help. He knows a lot of spells to help keep the vermin in check, and he's the only one of us who can actually cook. Sometimes the bitch won't let the house elves --" Harry reddened. "Sorry, sir."

"I see the house has acquired a nickname," Dumbledore said with a suppressed grin.

"She earned it, sir," Harry said feelingly. "I'm trying to be patient, but if there's anything in here that will help me nudge the process along..."

"I understand, and I wish you luck."

"Thank you. Um, how are things here, sir?"

"In the greater scheme, Hogwarts changes very little over the years."

Harry smiled, recognizing the invitation to be more specific. "I saw you talking with Draco. What's he doing here?"

"There was an ... unfortunate incident a few days ago."

"To do with his father?" At Dumbledore's mildly censuring look of fake-surprise, Harry said:

"I live with one Auror, one ex-Auror, and two Aurors-in-training. They don't say much, but I do hear things." He'd known, of course, that Lucius Malfoy had been among the handful of Death Eaters to escape the destruction of Voldemort, but no certain word of his whereabouts had been revealed.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Lucius Malfoy has resurfaced. He called a gathering of surviving Death Eaters."

"How?" Harry asked. "Without control of the Dark Mark ..."

"There are other methods of getting in touch with people surreptitiously, Harry."

Harry nodded.

"Severus volunteered to attend when he was summoned, in the hope that we might nip Lucius' plan in the bud, whatever it was. I was reluctant to risk it, since there was a chance Lucius had discovered Severus' ... actions, but we had no better alternative. Now I see how much worse things would have been if not for his presence." Dumbledore fell into a silent, grim remembering.

"What was it?" Harry urged. "He's not -- is he trying to raise Voldemort again?"

"I'm afraid so. Worse, he planned to use Draco in the incantation to revive and reincarnate the dark lord." "How?" Harry blurted. The only spells he knew of capable of reviving someone as dead as they'd left that bastard ...

Dumbledore saw the horror on his face and nodded.

"His own son?" Harry whispered. He'd never liked Draco, and his own father had been considerably less than perfect, but ... "He was going to sacrifice his own son?"

"I think that none of us fully realized how wholly Lucius had been in Voldemort's thrall. That even dead and gone, his power over Lucius was such that the man was willing to trade his son's life for Voldemort's..." Dumbledore shook his head as Harry thought that he would not wish that on even Draco Malfoy.

"Since Draco's here, it obviously didn't work," Harry said. "What happened?"

"I and others were on the way to the meeting place, but it was sufficiently hidden and warded that we were late. When Professor Snape realized what Lucius intended he did the only thing he could. He stalled for time as long as possible, then created a distraction, took Draco, and fled. Or at least tried to."

"What?" Harry sat bolt upright. "He's not--"

Dumbledore held up one hand. "Professor Snape is alive. Though somewhat the worse for wear. It is no easy thing to dodge the curses of half a dozen Death Eaters while carrying an unconscious man. They had stunned him and were preparing to kill him when my colleagues and I finally arrived."

"Well, Draco didn't seem hurt," Harry said, not without resentment. "How badly off is Snape this time?"

During the months leading to the final battle Snape had more than once returned from Death Eater meetings bruised, bloodied and blackened. Not that he would ever admit to weakness or pain. Those times had added greatly to the weight of evidence that had finally forced Harry to respect the pissy potions master.

"He'll live," Dumbledore said. "But he won't be very cheerful for some weeks."

Low, Harry said, "And this will be different how?"

Dumbledore smiled, rose. "I'll let you get on with your homework."

"But, professor--"

Dumbledore forestalled him briskly. "I'd love to stay and chat, Harry, but I have a pressing matter to attend to. Why don't you come up to my office for tea, once you've exhausted either our resources or yourself? Shall we say 4:30?"

Recognizing that he wasn't going to get any more details out of the headmaster now, Harry bit back his questions. You chose not to become an Auror. You chose to retire to the country; you no longer have any right to be privy to these matters. "Thank you, sir. I'd like that."

An hour later Harry got up to stretch his legs and took a brisk walk along the main corridor, to its end at the professors' lounge then back to the library, dodging the students but not their curious stares and whispers. To himself he muttered, "Yes, it's me, the boy who lived, hero of the wizarding world, savior of mankind, killer of Voldemort, now fucking get over it." The last, said a little too loud, was followed by a gasp. Harry looked up from the flagstoned floor to see a seventh-year Hufflepuff edge by him, eyes wide. Harry snorted.

His gaze, lengthening, fell on Professor Snape, laboriously climbing the last three stairs, one hand hard on the stone balustrade, his face white, pinched.

"Professor!" Harry moved around a clutch of first years -- god, they were infants! -- and hurried to him, taking his arm.

Snape's head snapped up. "Mr. Potter, whatever are you doing back here?" He drew breath, probably for one of his usual sarcastic digs, but his eyes traveled Harry's face (thinking about it, Harry imagined he must have appeared at least somewhat as stricken as he'd felt seeing the potions master so frail) then widened, and he said nothing, even permitting Harry's hand on his elbow.

"They've revoked my diploma, professor," Harry said with false gaiety as he guided Snape into the library, trying not to look like he was helping -- and trying not to help too much, knowing Snape's pride. "Just like you always said they would."

Two Ravenclaw prefects, arms loaded with books, walked past, stared, then started whispering frantically to each other as they left the library.

Snape pulled his elbow out of Harry's grasp as soon as they got near enough to a chair that he could lower himself into it. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own, Mr. Potter."

"Professor Dumbledore told me what happened. No details," he emended at Snape's swift scowling glare. "For instance, he didn't see fit to mention you'd been hurt this badly."

Snape sneered. "No doubt he feared to worry you, as we have always been so close."

Harry forced a smile. "I am worried. You're white as a banshee. If you really wanted something to read, couldn't you have sent a student? Or a house elf? Or levitated yourself up here?"

"It is not my magic or my power of giving orders which needs exercise, Potter," he said. "It is my body." He touched his brow, looking faintly dismayed that his fingers came away damp. "However, I am forced to admit that I might have overestimated ..."

Harry tried not to grin. "Which books were you after, professor?"

Snape glared at him, listed the books, and added, "They are all--"

"In the restricted section?" Harry teased.

Snape's brows arched. "Five points to Gryffindor -- oh dear. As you are no longer a student I cannot award you points after all, can I?"

Harry released the grin. "You are an evil man, professor. Take it easy. I'll be back directly."

A quarter of an hour later Harry plunked the heavy stack of books down in front of the expectant professor. "Here you go." He regarded the pile, scowling. "Maybe I should carry them down for you."

The brow arched, but Snape's tone was almost without malice. "It will be a simple matter to levitate them to my chambers, Mr. Potter. It was my leg that was broken, not my wand."

"Broken leg," Harry said calmly, feeling a strange rush of mingled anger-fear. "What else did they do to you?"

"Writing a book, are you, Potter?"

Harry didn't let Snape's nasty tone stop him. "It'd be more accurate to say I'm keeping a tally, professor." He smiled without amusement.

Snape looked up at him, almost surprised. "Vengeance is a most unGryffindor motivation, Potter."

"It's the Slytherin in me, sir," Harry said.

Snape braced both hands on the desktop. "In any case I can wreak my own vengeance should the opportunity arise. I don't need your help."

"I never thought you did, sir."

Again Harry was favored with the almost-surprised glance. As if Snape were reevaluating him, or some perceived quality in him. Harry remembered that look from their work in the Order. He'd come to the conclusion then that it was the result of his having said or done something to make Snape hate him just a little less -- even if only briefly.

"Why are you here?" Snape asked.

"I missed you," Harry said immediately. "Just needed a glimpse of your smiling face, sir."

"Obnoxious brat," Snape said. "Don't tell me, then. I assure you the mystery won't keep me awake at night."

"It's nothing interesting, sir. Just some research on household pests."

Snape glanced over at Harry's vast array of reference materials and his expression became more skeptical. He levered himself into a standing position and whipped out his wand.

"Thank you for fetching these, Potter," Snape said, muttering wingardium leviosa over the stack.

"You're very welcome, sir."

Harry half expected Draco to be joining them for tea in Dumbledore's office. Whether through a sixth sense or simply knowledge that the headmaster was always up to something, Harry believed there was more to this little tete a tete than beverages and biscuits.

It was only himself and the headmaster, however. They chatted for a while about the school, the search for yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (the last one, competent, had left Hogwarts for sunnier climes and an alleged romance with a Mediterranean witch) and general matters of the wizarding world. Then the conversation turned to Beech Hall, and Harry felt a niggle of suspicion at the interest the headmaster seemed to be taking in the house, its nature and particularly its wards.

"It sounds nearly as well protected as Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "Which shouldn't surprise me. Anastasius Beech, the man who built it, was a powerful wizard, one of the best Slytherin ever produced."

"Slytherin," Harry muttered against the edge of his teacup.

Dumbledore smiled. "If the house is everything you wanted, you must acknowledge that some part of you wanted the protections that only a Slytherin would be ... paranoid ... enough to install."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement, but said, "There is a thing called overkill ..."

"I'd like to ask you a favor, Harry."

Dumbledore was now all seriousness. Harry put down his cup. "Go ahead."

"It's rather a large one. Now that Lucius Malfoy knows who betrayed him and saved his son's life, he and the all the other surviving Death Eaters will be on the hunt for them. Hogwarts is well protected, but neither impervious nor secret."