Severus Snape stood at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, clad in a werewolf's skin. His enhanced sense of smell made his nose wrinkle slightly. It was as if they hadn't even dared venture out the door to clean up the filth.
Pathetic.
Taking a deep breath, and dropping the sneer, Severus Snape moulded himself into the relatively friendly features of a certain werewolf.
He knocked on the door, palming a flask in his left hand.
"Remus!" Potter incautiously said, before pausing, "What did you say to me before you turned?"
Snape nearly smiled, this was easy as taking candy from a baby, "Run." He then picked up the flask and threw it into the house. So much for the werewolf, he thought grimly, uncorking a smoke grenade for chaos - and to prevent fools from apparating. The softer, the quieter this was done, the better.
Snape's wand caressed the air, coaxing a wind to whisk the contents of that flask higher. Sleeping gas, combined with a minor paralytic - to prevent injury, mostly.
Stepping inside, Snape shut the door, rolling up his raggedy sleeves to reveal coils of rope. Magically-resistant rope. Methodically, he started from the top of the house, tying up each order member. The Weasleys were missing, except for the youngest boy, which was no surprise. They tended to be sent out on missions, because they were purebloods. And Molly could carry a mean dozen eggs, courtesy of the Twins.
At last, Snape reached poor, pathetic Potter, taking just a moment to brush the hair out of the idiot's eyes, before tying him up too. He brought them all into the tatty living room.
He strode up the stairs to the Black Library, picked up the darkest book he could find, and returned downstairs. This was going to be a while.
Snape stretched, as the dose of polyjuice wore off, his body lengthening, and most importantly, losing the werewolf's self-destructive scars. He was always more comfortable in his own body. Safer that way, even when he was in the house of his enemy. Fleeter and defter in his own form, always.
Almost as soon as Snape was in his original body, the spectre of Albus Dumbledore arose. Snape looked at the simulacrum, and boomed out a baritone laugh. "Ah, Albus, you soddin' old codger! The gang's all here, then?" The mouldy old spectre tried to curse him, but Snape just shook with suppressed laughter.
Snape sat down again, reading the book and occasionally asking "Albus" for commentary, in that slyly sardonic manner of his. He roughly quenched this amusement long before his audience woke up.
Ten wands, for ten Order Members, lay on the living room table.
Ten order members lay either on the couch, or like kindling beside it. Oddly, Potter stirred first. "YOU!" Potter shouted, as his eyes cleared and blinked enough to see Snape, his legs crossed at the ankle, as he read on the stuffed Queen Anne chair. "I'm Going to Kill you!"
"Arrogant as always, Potter." Snape's eyes sparkled with amusement he knew the child would never see. "Do you really think you can succeed where the Great Albus Dumbledore failed?"
"Only one way to find out!" Harry growled through gritted teeth, his body wiggling like a worm, as he made a manful effort to inchworm his way towards Snape's... well-worn shoes. There were holes in those soles, from pacing.
Potter got within a foot, and Snape swiftly uncrossed his legs, in the process placing his shoe atop Potter's neck, pressing down lightly. "Do you yield?" Snape asked, sounding bored.
Potter just growled, trying to wriggle without breaking his neck. If there was one good trait about the idiot, it was his determination. Rather futile in this case, however.
Snape drew his wand lazily, using a transfiguration spell to give Potter pangolin-like plates of keratin, over his entire body except his face. Unlike the Pangolin, Harry's were exclusively intended to keep him immobile. "You should have yielded," Snape said softly, "You'll find this far more humiliating. I should know." Snape absently booted Harry's well-protected side. The skillful kick sent Potter onto his back, his hands and feet up in the air.
Snape looked over, abruptly interested in the lack of movement thereabouts the couch. Contemplatively, He stalked over, silent as ever. Granger and Weasley were unable to keep their faces straight. Still, if he'd meant to murder them, it was an unlikely scenario.
"Now that Potter's been taken care of," Snape said mildly, "Do either of you have anything to say for yourselves?" Snape's face broke into a ghastly smile. "Or were you hoping that I wouldn't notice?"
"Standard strategy, if you are vulnerable - act more vulnerable, and hope to exploit your enemy's lassitude." Ron Weasley spat. Somehow, the Weasley was still coherent. Snape had halfway thought he would have dissolved into mundane profanities.
"Both, sir," Hermione said firmly, her clarity of thought showing through even with such small words, "Of course, we hoped that you wouldn't notice. You could hardly mean us well, leaving us all tied up like this." Snape's eyes glittered at Hermone, who swallowed. "I'll ask the question Harry's dying to. Why did you kill Dumbledore."
"You will abide until the time comes for that answer, as will Potter." Snape said calmly and clearly.
"You have an answer then," Hermione said calmly.
Snape nodded, "You will generally find, in times of war, that even your closest allies may sometimes need restraint to see the cold clear light of logic and reason."
[a/n: Minor prequel to "Grace Note" - I hate stories that say, "Snape showed up, or skulked back into the Order's good graces" - no, he's a Slytherin. He'll have the top hand if at all possible. And he's heard people's passphrases before.
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