"If you want to throttle him, Severus, it will have to wait until after the interrogation," Shacklebolt said, his voice cutting through my thoughts. Blinking, I turned to Shacklebolt, feeling as though I were emerging from the depths of a lake, breaking through the water's surface, with the cool, clarifying air hitting me. My mind cleared. "Fine," I muttered grumpily, just to keep up appearances, because inside me raged a war, a storm of emotions that I futilely tried to suppress. "Will he be present during the interrogation?" I asked Kingsley, nodding in Harry's direction, but avoiding meeting his gaze again. The Minister nodded.

The interrogation began, and being not only a highly skilled potion-maker but also a more than capable Occlumens, it proved difficult for them to extract my statement. Kingsley unnecessarily informed me that my testimony under Veritaserum would carry no weight before the Wizengamot if it weren't for the memories I had entrusted to Harry. My gaze drifted to the boy, but he didn't look at me; instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the door, and I noticed a faint blush creeping over his cheeks. Once again, anger surged within me, and I would have liked to stand up, but the magic in the room held me to my chair. I contented myself with the thought that, judging by the blush on his face, he was at least a little ashamed, and I didn't miss the slight tensing of his hand in his pocket. Guilt, Potter? Kingsley pulled a vial from one of his voluminous sleeves and poured the silvery, swirling liquid into the stone basin in the middle of the table. I watched in shock as images, painfully familiar to me, formed and then disappeared inside the basin. "These are the memories that undoubtedly prove your innocence and your close cooperation with the Order, which we obtained from Harry," Kingsley explained. "Today's interrogation is to determine whether these memories have also been manipulated." I snorted, and my gaze returned to Potter, this time not because I was rightfully angry with the brat. No. He moved his hand, the one that had been in his pocket. He pulled it slightly out of the pocket, revealing the neck of a vial in which memories, like those in Shacklebolt's hand, floated. What did this mean? I didn't show any sign of surprise and listened to the Minister's explanations about the further procedure and the rules I had to follow to ensure that the interrogation went smoothly. Harry leaned against the wall behind Shacklebolt, following the conversation without interrupting us even once. Well, at least he had learned that much by now: to be quiet and pay attention.

"Do you want the serum diluted in water, or do you prefer to take it directly?" Shacklebolt asked me, scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes. He signaled to Potter with a wave of his hand and said to him, "Three drops directly on the tongue." "Very well!" Harry stepped away from the mirrored wall and approached me. It was only now that I noticed he was wearing the uniform of an Auror in training. If I had been captivated by the sight of his eyes before, I was now held in awe by Harry's perfectly fitted uniform and the aura that came with it.

He wore the uniform, midnight black like all Aurors during training. His feet were clad in leather boots, tightly laced up. The black trousers fit snugly and perfectly. He had his wand holster strapped to his right leg with fine leather belts.

The uniform jacket fastened over his chest with five dark, gleaming buckles. Its collar stood tall. He wasn't wearing his cloak, allowing glimpses of his Quidditch-toned body underneath. He approached me. Severus, pull yourself together. As he stepped into the light of the lamp, I saw his face. He looked serious and focused. His face, which I hadn't noticed during our last two encounters, seemed more mature. His high cheekbones were more pronounced than they were a year ago. He hadn't shaved; black stubble spread across his chin and cheeks. He had trimmed his hair; it was shorter on the sides, but wild tufts still stood out. Has he grown? As he stood before me now, I had to admit that his demeanor resembled that of an approaching storm, not menacing from afar but one knows of its strength and power. He exuded not only confidence but also something darker and more ominous. He no longer resembled the young boy who once sat so ignorantly and naively in my class.

He had said something to me, but the words didn't register. "Stick out your tongue!" he repeated, and I resigned myself to my fate. I felt exposed and awkward, chained to a chair in this room with invisible bonds, in the presence of the Minister and the two strangers. But eventually, I extended my tongue to Potter. He looked into my eyes as he held the dropper over my tongue. I saw something flicker in his eyes. Curiosity? He dripped the three drops of Veritaserum onto my tongue, but still held my gaze afterward. Then he grinned and briefly ran his tongue over his lower lip. Warmth flooded over me, and I took a deep breath. Potter walked around the table and leaned back against the mirrored wall behind the Minister. Damn it, you fool! What is this? You don't deserve this boy, Severus, even if he wanted you. What the hell game is Potter playing? If he knew what I had done, he would only hate and despise me even more. My elation vanished at the thought of my atrocities, and I finally resigned myself to the Minister and my interrogation.