Miles to Go Before I Sleep

by Rannaro

This story is AU. What would have happened if Voldemort had understood that defeat, not death, conferred mastery of the Elder Wand and did not kill Snape? And what of all the stray Death Eaters that JKR forgot to mention? Like Bella Lestrange's husband?

4. Chapter 4

Miles to Go Before I Sleep: Chapter 4

Harry apparated at a distance from the Burrow so no one would hear the distinctive 'pop' and run to see who it was. Around him the lane and the woods were empty, though he rather hoped that was only an illusion. There were supposed to be aurors around protecting the place.

Standing there, looking down the road at the Burrow, marveling again at how its crazy, ramshackle stories could have remained stable even five minutes, Harry allowed himself to remember how much he loved this place. Which led him to think about the danger it was now in. Which reminded him how many people were now at risk to protect it. And who.

I can't tell them. They're too open. All that time I hated him for the occlumency lessons, and he really was trying to teach me something important. If I'd learned it then, Sirius might still be alive. Given a choice, I'd rather have Sirius, but there isn't a choice, there never had to be a choice, I could have kept them both alive, and now I won't fail them both. I can't tell Ron. And therefore, I can't tell Hermione.

Harry walked towards the Burrow, but had not gotten within a hundred yards before the door burst open and figures flew toward him along the road. First and foremost was Ginny, followed closely by Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley. Harry was grabbed, and hugged, and patted, and dragged back into the Burrow by his affectionate captors.

"We were so disappointed when you didn't come back Wednesday night," Mrs. Weasley said as she loaded the table with food. "We got your owl, of course, but we'd have preferred you, and such terrible things have happened since then…"

Harry choked on a bit of bread and quickly recovered. "What happened?" he demanded in the first stage of panic, then immediately realized what it must be and tried not to calm down too much.

Hermione laid a copy of Thursday's Daily Prophet in front of him. "They've escaped," she said. "They've all escaped and Merlin knows where they are by now. We were afraid they might go after you."

The front page article was about Snape, Macnair, Yaxley, and the Carrows. Considering how little factual information the Prophet had to go on, it had produced a remarkably detailed account. The basic data was that the boat had left the coast during a storm with five prisoners bound for Azkaban and had not arrived at its destination. Period. The published story contained quoted conversation. It even had Snape frothing at the mouth and exhorting the other escaped prisoners to vow eternal hatred toward and vengeance against Harry Potter. The whole article was quite lurid and very entertaining.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I heard about it Wednesday afternoon in Dumbledore's office."

"You were meeting in the Headmaster's office?" said Hermione, and it was her 'I'm about to tell you something really unpleasant' voice.

"Sure," Harry replied. "Why?"

"Because it's dangerous. I've already written a letter to the Ministry and to the Daily Prophet insisting that there be an immediate meeting of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts to appoint a new headmaster."

"Why?" Harry repeated.

"Because legally Snape's still headmaster. That means that the portraits have to serve him. Don't you realize, Harry, that everything you say in the presence of any of their portraits could be passed on to Snape and the other Death Eaters in a matter of minutes? Seconds even?"

"We've been that worried, mate," said Ron. "We were afraid they'd already got you. After what you did to that lord of theirs, do think a bunch of evil gits like Snape and his pals would hesitate to smear you all over the landscape?"

It was at that moment that Harry fully realized the immense subtlety of Snape's job. He had to accept his friends' assessment of the danger while at the same time frustrating their plans to thwart Snape. He had to go along with his friends' plans to toss Snape into a dark pit, and at the same time give Snape all the logistical and strategic support he could. It looked from Harry's position a lot like walking a tightrope. At that precise moment, Harry wasn't sure he was up to the balancing act.

How did he manage to do this for the last… three years? More? Or for the time Dumbledore said he was a spy the first time, back twenty years ago? How does anyone manage to do this?

"I don't know," was what Harry said. "I'd think they'd be more interested in just getting away than coming after me. I mean, I can't be that important to him."

"That's where you're wrong, mate," said Ron. "You knew from the beginning that he hated you for getting rid of his boss the first time. You knew he always had it in for you, and you were right. We've got to protect you, and we've got to try to get him before he can get to you, the rotten git."

"Who's a rotten git?" said a voice from the stairs, and they all turned to face George, a rather haggard-looking George, who was descending from the upper rooms into the kitchen.

They all moved over to make room at the table, and Mrs. Weasley started fussing at once. "Here dear, just sit there. How's your head feeling? Can I get you something? You haven't had breakfast yet and it's lunch time. Did you sleep well?"

"Lay off, mum, I'm all right," George grumbled, but he didn't have a joke or a witty response, and Harry could see why Mrs. Weasley was worried.

The Weasley and Prewett families had gathered five days earlier, on Sunday, for Fred's funeral, and Fred now lay in a freshly turned plot at the far end of the garden where the ground rose a little to give a nice view of the house, and where Mrs. Weasley could see it through the kitchen window. George had been uncharacteristically somber throughout the event, and it concerned Harry to see he hadn't yet recovered. Of course, Harry had to remind himself, it was only a week since Fred died.

"So," George repeated, "who's the rotten git?"

"Snape," Ron replied. "Harry's got this daft idea that Snape isn't dangerous anymore, and doesn't think he needs to be careful. The rest of us –" he indicated Hermione and Ginny – "think we ought to go after the rotter and finish him for good."

"Ginny's not going after anything," said Mrs. Weasley. "She's under age." There was a strange, hard gleam in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, something that had been born in the fight against Bella Lestrange, and it was troublesome to Harry that she didn't order both Ron and George to stay home and out of harm's way, especially since she'd already lost one son.

"Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione softly, "are you saying it's okay for us to hunt for Snape?"

Mrs. Weasley's turned her back to them as she dished out plates of shepherd's pie and poured glasses of lemonade for their lunch. There was a fierceness to her movements, as though she was attacking the food instead of serving it. Then she levitated everything onto the table and joined them.

"The Ministry," she said flatly, "has had two shots at locking that man up for good and it botched both of them. I say he's fair game for anyone who can take him."

Ron's fork was already halfway to his mouth. "Two shots? What d'ya mean?"

"Just that he's slipped out of Azkaban twice, now, and I doubt he'll give the Ministry a third chance."

"I thought Dumbledore spoke up for Snape the first time and that's why he was never accused of anything," Hermione said. "That's what Harry told us."

"Never accused!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "Not only accused, but tried and found guilty of treason, conspiracy, and being an accomplice in more than fifty attacks on wizards and muggles, including the deaths of my two brothers. He was sentenced to fifty-five years in Azkaban."

"Mum, why didn't you ever tell us this before?" George asked, clearly stunned at the information.

"Because Dumbledore took charge of him, said he was a spy for the good side. They suspended the sentence for as long as he stayed at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's authority. Everything about the trial was made top secret. You have no idea how angry I was about it. I wanted every Death Eater to pay for what they'd done, and there were so many of them wriggling out of their punishment. He was one of them."

George whistled softly. "Dumbledore got him out of a fifty-year stint in Azkaban and Snape pays him by tossing him off a tower? I always knew he didn't have a heart, but that…"

"…is the kind of treason you'd expect from a Death Eater," Mrs. Weasley finished for him. "Do you know what they were saying last week, Harry, after the battle was over? That there in the Great Hall when you were facing You-Know… Drat! Habit! Voldemort! That when you were facing Voldemort, he was going to hit you in the back to save his master. I'll never forgive Hagrid for stopping the hanging."

Harry stared around the table at the fierce, almost fanatical faces of Hermione and the Weasleys. This is what I sounded like, he thought, all those times when Dumbledore was trying to make me understand that I was wrong about Snape, but he couldn't tell me everything. I wouldn't just take his word for it, and they won't just take my word for it. And I can no more tell them the whole story than Dumbledore could because we don't know who all the free Death Eaters are – there might be some right here in Ottery St. Catchpole, we're not that far from Bristol – and if even one gets wind of it… Harry didn't know exactly where the safe house was, but he knew the odds in a fight there were thirteen to one and would soon get worse.

"I don't think we should go after Snape," Harry said slowly. "We wouldn't even know where to start."

"Of course we would," Hermione snapped. "Honestly, Harry, what is wrong with you! A year ago you'd have moved heaven and earth to get at Snape for killing Dumbledore. Well he still hasn't been punished for killing Dumbledore, and in the meantime look how many other people have died because Dumbledore was gone. Snape made it possible for Voldemort to take over. Snape's responsible for Fred's death. And Lupin, and Tonks, and Moody, and Colin, and Dobby…"

"Stop it!" Harry shouted at her. "You don't…!" Then he stopped. He'd almost blurted it out… almost. He switched course quickly. "You don't know where to start, where the boat is, what the Ministry is already doing to round them up. We'd just get in the way."

"Hermione's right," said Ron. "There's something wrong with you. We know Snape's out there with at least four other Death Eaters. We know the Ministry is still disorganized and might not be capable of any immediate action. And us? We're seasoned fighters. We know what we're doing. We can get him, pay him back for everything this has cost us, and you? You want to lie down and take it easy for a while. It's like something in you has died. Well we're going to resurrect it. Where do we start, Hermione?"

"I was thinking that Mr. Weasley might help us," said Hermione. "The Prophet says they were going to Azkaban on a boat from northern Scotland during a storm. There's no indication the escaped prisoners used magic, and I don't think a bunch of wizards would know how to steer a boat, so if they managed to get to shore it was because the storm blew them ashore. If Mr. Weasley knows where the boat sailed from, we could get wind speed and direction from the muggle government…"

"They know things like that?" George asked.

"Naturally," said Hermione, no longer surprised by such questions from wizards. "We could calculate where the boat might have landed and start our search there. If they managed to get their hands on a wand, we might still be able to detect magic. It's only been two days. Maybe we could find out where they went."

"Great!" Ron pronounced enthusiastically. "Could we get hold of Dad now?" He looked appealingly at his mother.

Mrs. Weasley pushed her chair back, stood, and went to the fireplace. There she threw a handful of floo powder into the fire and said, "Arthur Weasley!" a moment later Mr. Weasley's face appeared in floo-green flames.

"Is something wrong, dear?" he asked, a worried frown creasing his brow.

Mrs. Weasley quickly explained what they needed, and Mr. Weasley agreed to look for the information. He contacted them after an hour, during which time Harry sat uncomfortably, forced to listen to plan after plan of what to do with the five Death Eaters once they were recaptured.

All six of them gathered around the fireplace to hear Mr. Weasley's report. "It's the oddest thing," he said, "but the information about the boat and what happened to it seems to be classified at the highest level. It's not that my contacts in Law Enforcement won't tell me, it's that they don't know either."

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived.

"So," continued Mr. Weasley, "I looked up the records for the last big transport two years ago, after the fight in the Department of Mysteries. That isn't classified." He gave them the location on the coast of Scotland, and the name of the owner of the boat. He also provided the approximate location of the island where Azkaban prison was.

Hermione then apparated home and was back in half an hour with the information on Wednesday's storm.

"How'd you get that?" Ron demanded.

"I telephoned the Public Weather Service," she replied as if it were the most common thing in the world.

Taking Ron's hand, Hermione dragged him toward the door. "Well," she asked, looking back at Harry, "are you coming or not?"

They apparated to the site given them by Arthur Weasley. There was the low cliff, the house that was little more than a hut, the two grizzled seaman who could have been twins, and in a small inlet at the foot of the cliff, a boat rocked at anchor. Everything looked perfectly normal.

"Excuse me," Hermione said. "Do you take people to Azkaban prison?"

"Who wants to know?" one of the seamen asked.

"I'm a reporter with Witch Weekly, and we want to do a human interest story about what happened here Wednesday."

"Didn't nothing happen here Wednesday, lady. We weren't even here Wednesday. Go away."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron. Harry said nothing. Ron started, "But The Daily Prophet said…"

The man laughed. It was a rough sound, like the land around him. "I'd have taken you for too smart to believe everything the Prophet says."

"But you do take the boat out to Azkaban," Hermione insisted. "Maybe not Wednesday, but sometimes."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Who are you really?"

"We were at Hogwarts a week ago," Ron blurted out. "For the battle. One of the men the Prophet says was on that boat killed my brother. We want to be sure he doesn't get away."

"Hey, Pete," the man called, and his twin joined the group.

"Yeah, Charlie?"

"You been listening?"

"Yeah."

"What d' you think?"

"How much is the Ministry paying us for Wednesday?"

"Nothing. You know that."

"Then we owe them nothing."

Charlie turned aside to spit on the ground. "Never liked the Ministry anyway. Yeah, we take them out. Never brought any back though. Tuesday we had two groups. Five and five. Then the storm came and they said not until Thursday. So we went down to Aberdeen. Weathered the storm there, came back on Thursday and took out another five. That was it. Didn't see the Prophet until the afternoon. Still don't know why they printed that story. Sure didn't talk to us."

"What direction is Azkaban from here?" Hermione asked.

The man pointed north by northwest.

"Thank you." She turned to Ron and Harry. "Let's go back," she said. "We won't find out anything more here."

They apparated back to the Burrow, where Hermione demanded and got complete silence while she did her calculations. "Here," she said finally. "They most probably got washed up somewhere along this twenty-five-mile stretch of beach." She stood and folded up her maps and papers. "Who's coming with me? The more of us who come, the more beach we can cover."

All six came, even Ginny after Ron explained to his mother how empty and deserted the north coast was. On arrival, Hermione cast a magic-detection spell. "Nothing," she told the others. "No wizards ever come here to use their magic at all. This could be easier than I thought."

Quickly Hermione taught them all the spell, and they traveled in pairs. Mrs. Weasley and George stayed next to the water. Harry and Ginny moved along the cliff edge. Ron and Hermione were a little further inland. They would cast the detection spell, then focus on a spot a hundred yards ahead of them, apparate there, and cast the spell again. Thus they were able to move rather quickly down the coast.

They'd covered nearly twelve miles when Hermione sent sparks up from her wand and they all joined her. "It was here," she said, indicating the ground around them. "Someone used magic here fairly recently."

Hermione took several minutes to explore the area while the others watched. "Here," she said finally, pointed to a small ravine. "Here was a shield spell, a warming spell, and a drying spell. Right where you're all standing there were several disapparations, and there was a single disapparation and then a reapparation over there."

"So what do we do?" Ron asked.

"Well," Hermione mused. "It looks like one of them left and then came back, and then they all left, one apparation at a time. So I'd guess they only had one wand. I suggest following the one to find out what he was doing, then follow the group."

Harry, who'd been watching passively up to this point, suddenly realized what the one apparation was. He stepped forward. "I'll check that one out," he said. "As soon as I get back, we can follow the others."

The rest agreed. Harry focused on the apparation trail, spun, and found himself, as he knew he would, on the moors of Lancashire behind the row of cottages where Snape lived.

Harry did no exploring whatsoever. Instead he waited a decent interval of time, then apparated back to the north coast. "Nothing," he told the others. "A muggle community, but one with clotheslines in the back yards and clothes hanging on them. My guess is Snape knew a place he could go to steal clothes."

"Why'd he want to do that?" asked George.

"Because," answered Hermione, "they'd all be dressed in prison clothes. You're probably right. The best guess is Snape because of his muggle father. So he must be the one with the wand."

The next step was to follow the multiple apparations. This involved some discussion and weighing of the risks.

"The problem is," Hermione explained, "that if they apparated to different places from the same spot, a person trying to follow them could get caught in a multiple splinch. I'll go first."

"No you won't," Ron countered. "I'm not risking you in a multiple splinch. I'll do it."

"It's only logical," Hermione retorted, "for the one who's best at apparating to go first. And I'm a more qualified…"

"I don't think so," interjected Mrs. Weasley calmly. "I've been apparating since long before you were born, and I think I might be equally well qualified for this task. I'm going to do it."

Off to one side, Harry remained silent. He, alone of all of them, knew there was no danger of splinching because he, alone of all of them, knew where they were going. The trail, all four trails, led to Glasgow. In the end, Mrs. Weasley got her way and spun out of sight. She was back a moment later.

"No splinching," she said, "obviously. They all go to the same spot. It's an alleyway in a big city, I don't know which one. I did your spell, Hermione, dear. The detect magic one. There's been magic happening in that alley recently. A lot of it."

Now Harry was getting worried. What if the Death Eaters had disapparated from the same alley when they went to Norfolk? From Norfolk, Hermione would follow the trail to Bristol, and once they were in Bristol, Snape would be exposed to the other Death Eaters as a traitor and then…

Harry paused as a totally new thought hit him. What if they apparated into Bristol right into the hands of the Death Eaters? There were six of them, and thirteen Death Eaters, and Snape. Not good odds. But who were among the six? Harry Potter, Molly Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Ron Weasley – exactly the people the Death Eaters wanted revenge against. He, Harry, was allowing his friends to walk right into the clutches of people who intended to kill them! He couldn't let it happen, and he couldn't tell them why.

Hermione was stepping into the center of the spell activity. Harry had to do something. He did the only thing he could think of. He said, "No!" and he said it loudly.

"What do you mean, no?" Hermione demanded. "We're hot on their trail."

"Yeah. Well," said Harry, and then found his bearings. "So we go to this city, and then we follow the other apparation trail. What if you apparate right into the middle of a Death Eater meeting? What are you going to do then? I say we don't go jumping into places without a plan. I say we go back to the Burrow and come up with a plan of action, because right now we're just jumping around blindly, and that's going to get us killed."

Surprisingly enough, everyone agreed. Just because they could do it, they all apparated to Glasgow, still not knowing what city it was, and thence to the Burrow. That way, they would be able to start from Glasgow rather than from the bleak northern coast. Once in the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley made tea and asked everyone about supper. It was, indeed, nearly seven o'clock in the evening. Nearly time for Mr. Weasley to arrive home from his job at the Ministry of Magic.

Mr. Weasley arrived, supper was served, and all had a good time around the kitchen table. Then they decided to postpone planning the next move (it was Harry's suggestion) until the following morning when they were fresher. Shortly after that, Harry remembered that he'd promised to check in with Shacklebolt at the Ministry, but that he could be back in an hour or so. He excused himself and left the house to disapparate.

"Follow him!" Hermione hissed at Ron.

"What?"

"Follow him and mark where he disapparates from. I'll be there as soon as he goes."

Harry left, Ron followed, and Hermione brought up the rear. Less than two minutes after Harry had apparated, Hermione's pop and then Ron's succeeded him. The two looked around. They were in Hogsmeade. They ran for the Hogwarts gate and were in time to watch Harry stride up the hill to the castle.

"Ron," Hermione whispered through clenched teeth as her eyes followed Harry's disappearing form, "has it occurred to you that he may have been Imperiused?"

Hermione and Ron apparated back to the Burrow to wait for Harry. Once there, Hermione filled everyone in on what they'd seen and voiced her doubts and fears.

"He's acting so strangely," she said. "Half the time he's just standing there listening while we plan. Have any of us ever known Harry to stay in the background during planning? And then he wants us to back away from Snape and the Death Eaters. Merlin, he's been dying to get at Snape ever since he watched Snape kill Dumbledore. Now he wants us to back away?"

"Why?" said George, and the lack of Fred by his side was highlighted in the seriousness of his tone. "I mean, what could affect him like this?"

"I think it's the Ministry," Hermione said with the gravity of a seer revealing an oracle. "Even though Voldemort's gone, I think the Death Eaters still hold the Ministry. They may even control Shacklebolt. We know that Snape can still control all the portraits of the headmasters because the Board of Governors hasn't replaced him yet. What if Harry's been Imperiused by Shacklebolt? It could happen. Where did Harry go tonight? He went to talk to the portrait of Dumbledore, the portrait that has to obey Snape. Harry's the one who didn't want us to follow the Death Eaters, and now he's the one who's passing information to the portraits and through the portraits to Snape. I say we can't trust him anymore."

"So what do we do?" Ron asked. "Do we tell Harry, 'Hey, you can't come to meetings anymore 'cause you're a servant of the dark side?' Do we have two totally different plans, the one we let Harry in on and the one we really intend? because I don't think I could remember both without mixing them up."

"And what exactly is your point?" Hermione asked scathingly.

"My point is that now we have to have a plan about Harry. Up until now we had to have a plan about us and Vol… Voldemort, and now we have to have a plan about Harry. Harry's always been the one thing we could depend on. The one beacon on the one right path, but now you say we can't trust him and we have to work around him. I hate this."

"Ron," Hermione said, and now her voice was gentle, "where did Harry say he was going?"

"To the Ministry," Ron replied miserably.

"And where did he go?"

"To Hogwarts."

"Ron, there's something he won't trust us with. How can we trust him if we don't know what it is?"

It was agreed. Harry had to be kept out of the real planning until it was certain whether or not he'd been Imperiused. It was decided that if ever Harry's action seemed about to thwart the plans of the group, Ron would immobilize him. Ron was chosen as being the one Harry would think the others would be least likely to trust with such a task.

Harry returned to a Burrow ostensibly at peace and in the process of retiring for the night.

xxxxxxxxxx

On the morning of the same Friday, Severus Snape awoke in the Death Eater safe house in Bristol to the melodious sound of Yaxley's snores. Mulciber, too, was still asleep, but Macnair had stepped out of the room. There was a window with a shade, so Snape looked out at dawn just beginning to lighten the sky.

Nearly five o'clock. Macnair's wandering about. Who else would probably be up? Snape immediately ruled out Crabbe, Goyle, or Rowle, but thought that the Lestranges or Travers might already be awake. Is a cup of coffee worth the chance of running into Macnair? All I have is a borrowed wand, but that's all he has. A stalemate is a decent price to pay for the coffee.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Snape sat up and found there was a washstand next to the chair with his clothes. It was good having the elf. He quickly washed and got dressed, then quietly left the room. No one was in the corridor, and as the Carrows were in the kitchen, Snape simply stopped there and said, "Coffee, please."

Jergy appeared instantly with a mug of hot coffee. "Mr. Snape wants breakfast?" the elf asked politely.

"Not yet. Thank you," Snape said, and the elf vanished. Snape decided to explore, so he took his coffee out of the office area into the main building of the warehouse. This is a functioning muggle business, he thought as he examined the massive elevator. How do we move in and out without attracting attention. Entirely by apparation?

"Another early bird," Macnair's voice came from behind Snape. "I'll bet you're worried about security. Avery's already up and gone, trying to arrange somewhere else for us to be that'll be quieter and less public. A country cottage, maybe. I've been snooping, too. I'd show you what I've found except none of it's the slightest bit interesting."

"I already have a pretty good idea," Snape said, sipping the hot coffee. "Places like this are part of the cultural background."

"Ah, yes. The muggle blood. I've 'worked' with muggles from time to time and have been amazed by their resilience. It's probably where you get that strength I admire so much."

"I'm not strong," Snape said quickly.

"Not to lift weights," Macnair agreed. "More on the order of endurance. The ability to hold on, and by holding on to survive. I've always wanted to test that quality in you."

"I'll pass," said Snape and started to return to their suite of rooms, but Macnair blocked his path.

"I really do think it has something to do with the muggle blood. In some ways, muggles are stronger than wizards."

"Isn't that heresy? I'm surprised you'd be so open."

"Oh, but the Dark Lord thought so, too. About you, I mean. Not many would accept the punishment, the pain, and turn it into a tool. You never tried to run, never tried to deflect his wrath onto someone else… He valued that; it even saved your life at least once. I value it, too."

Macnair was taller than Snape, so Snape didn't see Rabastan come out of the suite. He heard him, though. "As I live and breathe, a tryst in the early hours. Bella always did love the tender affection you two had for each other."

"There," Macnair said triumphantly, "I'm not the only one. Others have noticed it as well."

"I," said Snape, glaring at Rabastan, "am going to kill you the first opportunity I get, you rotten back-stabber."

Rabastan laughed. "I wouldn't do me in just yet if I were you. You may end up with me as the only defense you've got. Lovely picture, that. Meanwhile, having you here makes the rest of us sleep easier. As long as it's you he pines after, Severus, and not us, we're happy, and we'll take very good care of you."

"Thanks a lot," said Snape, not meaning it.

The freight elevator clanked and groaned into action at that moment, and soon after Avery joined them there in the corridor. "Is everyone awake?" he asked. "We need to be moving soon."

"Dolph is awake, but I doubt he's up," said Rabastan. "As for the rest, I haven't seen or heard from them yet. Just these two lovebirds."

Avery gave Rabastan a look of pure disgust. "I wish you wouldn't encourage him in his 'peculiarities.' It's not fair to Sev, and it disturbs the rest of us."

"I think it's funny," Rabastan grinned.

"Let's get the others." Avery headed for the door to their rooms. "This place will be full of muggles by seven, and we want to be far away from here before then. I've found a place we can go that's a lot bigger and more comfortable than this. Once we figure out what we want to do, we can start bringing in the troops."

Waking up the rest of the Death Eaters turned out to be a monumental task, especially in the cases of Crabbe, Goyle, and the Carrows. By the time everyone was up, dressed, and ready for breakfast, the first of the muggle workers was arriving.

"We leave now and breakfast later," Avery insisted, and instructed Jergy to transport all their supplies to the new location. Then they established an order of apparating, Avery first and the others on his apparation trail, ending with Rabastan.

When it was Snape's turn, he focused and turned, and after the usual discomfort, found himself once again on the coast, this time a coast of rolling green hills and scattered woodland, that dropped in a low cliff to tumbled rocks and wide water that might have been the sea but for the still perceptible direction of its slow movement – the mouth of the mighty Severn river.

Snape stepped quickly away from his apparation point to make room for the next Death Eater coming in. Avery and the others stood to one side. A ways behind them, across a neat field where horses grazed, was a good-sized country house, not quite a manor house, but not a cottage either.

When all fourteen Death Eaters had arrived, they strolled up the green hill to the house.

The owner of the house and the land around it was Nathan Nutcombe. He ushered the group into his home with the obsequiousness of a man whose only claim to status was the fact that the last time a muggle married into his family had been in 1827. If blood status wasn't important, than it was a given that Nathan Nutcombe wasn't important.

The man had the gall to look down his nose at Snape. "What's this?" he asked in the rounded tones of Oxford, what people in Snape's neighborhood had referred to as 'BBC English.'

"Who's this?" Snape corrected in equally affected BBC. "Mustn't forget the distinction between animate and inanimate, what?"

"Just so, just so," Nutcombe replied, not sure how to respond.

"Quite," Snape countered, and with a nod sailed into the entry hall.

They all entered the dining room where a long, formal table had been set, and the buffet loaded with a hunt breakfast. Crabbe, Goyle, the Carrows, and Rowle were at the buffet like flies on honey. The others held back with some amusement. Then Snape took a plate and joined the lower classes, at which point no one held back. Gathered once more around the table, they ignored formality and sat where each willed, which left Snape neatly sandwiched between Mulciber and Macnair.

Here, over breakfast, the fourteen Death Eater commanders were introduced to their host. When they got to Snape, Nutcombe cried out, "Oh, you're the teacher chappie!" to a round of thunderous laughter.

"Have I said something amiss?" Nutcombe asked.

"Only that he's still officially Headmaster of Hogwarts," Rabastan crowed. "You know, in the shoes of Albus Dumbledore…"

"But Albus was so impeccably…" Nutcombe was now deeply embarrassed.

"That's all right," said Snape. "I don't think I've ever been impeccably anything… except a servant of the Dark Lord's. And that makes us all equals, does it not?"

Everyone raised a glass and toasted the Dark Lord, and then breakfast began in earnest. The perennially hungry made several trips to the groaning board. The more peckish, like Snape, were content with what they had originally taken. Nutcombe extolled the virtue of his house-elf, Snape forbore to mention that a week earlier he'd been feasting on Hogwarts fare, and everyone got along swimmingly.

Then breakfast was over, extra pots of coffee and tea appeared, and the real discussion began. It became immediately clear that Rodolphus Lestrange and Cecil Crabbe shared a common vision – instant, violent action.

"I say we go right in and hit them now!" Crabbe had been banging his fist on the table for a good fifteen minutes, repeating the same words over and over like a litany. "Right now they're not expecting anything. Right now is a complete surprise. Get them now, fast, and deal with them slow later, after we have them."

"And run right into their security spells. That's really bright, that is," Mulciber sneered. "We need to scout the terrain a bit. Find out what we're facing. Then go in."

"No," cried Rodolphus, "we can't wait. Every day makes them more secure. I say we get them before they have a chance to make their defenses stronger."

"That would just be giving ourselves to them like turkeys on a platter," was Macnair's opinion. "A little reconnaissance wouldn't hurt, and it could do a lot of good."

"We may," Snape said calmly, "even be able to assure better success by holding off longer."

"Why do you always go against me!" Crabbe screamed at Snape, to Snape's great astonishment. "Are you trying to protect Potter and the Weasleys?"

"I was merely suggesting we lull them into a false sense of security…"

"No! You don't want to do this at all! You don't even care that my son's dead. You never had any respect for Vincent, for who he was or what he could do! You treated him like dirt…"

"That's a lie!" Snape shouted back at him. "I treated Vincent exactly the same way I treated every other Slytherin student…"

Crabbe launched himself at Snape which, considering there was a heavy table between them, was not a wise thing to do. Snape jumped back, knocking over a chair in the process and nearly falling himself. Mulciber and Macnair interposed themselves between Crabbe and Snape, as Snape desperately tried to figure out how the situation had deteriorated so quickly.

"I'm not the liar! You're the liar!" Crabbe screamed. "You never treated Vincent the way you treated Draco! Never!"

They wrestled Crabbe into a chair where he sat hunched over, his shoulders shaking. After a few minutes to allow the man to calm down, Snape knelt on one knee next to him.

"Cecil, Draco's different. I knew Lucius and Narcissa long before they were married. I held Draco on his naming day. I come close to being a sort of an uncle. How I treated Draco had nothing to do with Vincent or with any other student in Slytherin."

"You were friends with Lucius?"

"Yes, of course. What other reason would I have for sometimes paying more attention to Draco? I never let it affect his marks, his privileges, or his punishments."

"You never let him… let Vincent play on the Quidditch team."

"I'm not the one who decides who plays on the team, the team Captain does. But Vincent did make the team. He became a Beater in fifth year."

"But he said… They could've won if he'd been the Beater."

"I don't know what he told you. I know he was the Beater. We did lose to Gryffindor, both then and in sixth year, but it wasn't because of his playing. Maybe he wanted to give you only wins."

"That would've been like Vincent, always trying to make me happy."

Snape paused. Timing was everything. "Cecil," he said gently, "did you ever hear the saying, 'Revenge is a dish best served cold?'"

Crabbe looked up then, his eyes glittering. "Served cold," he repeated. "I could do that."

Rodolphus, too, now appeared to be hooked. "What's your idea?"

"I'll tell you what I think," Snape replied, "but I'm open to discussion. Both of you have lost far more in this than I have. We've all lost the Dark Lord and our positions, but you've lost loved ones as well. But remember, the Ministry knows we're out here. They know the five of us didn't make it to Azkaban, and they know the rest of you are unaccounted for. It's only been a week. They've got to be expecting us to do something. Either that or run like rabbits. The longer we wait, the more it's going to look like we ran like rabbits, and after a while they'll lower their defenses. That's when we strike. When they're not expecting it."

"I don't know," said Rodolphus. "I want her to suffer for what she did to Bella. How is that going to happen if we wait?"

Snape rose to face the younger Lestrange brother. "Right now, the danger is too near. Right now they haven't yet started thinking about the future. Right now another death will be a blow, but not a tragedy. But – I want you to picture a time five years in the future. Ginny Weasley is an attractive young woman about to be married. Molly Weasley is in heaven dreaming of a rosy future filled with grandchildren. It's so real and so imminent she can taste it. And then you step in and say, 'Remember what you did to my wife? Well you can kiss your dream goodbye.' And you snatch it from her, just when she has it in her grasp. The icy water of revenge thrown in her face just when she was so sure that happiness was secure. Isn't that something to work for rather than take a chance that we'll be stopped before we can execute our plans because we went ahead too fast, without planning?"

"I don't want to wait five years," said Crabbe.

"I'd be willing to wait twenty to be sure the revenge was right," Snape retorted. "But it doesn't have to be that long. It just has to be carefully planned. It just has to be right."

Mulciber chuckled. "Why didn't I notice, when we were students together at Hogwarts, how evil you were?"

"I wasn't," Snape replied. "Not then. It takes sixteen years living under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore to make you truly evil. I only regret that when it happened, my revenge came too quickly. But he knew before he died that it was because of me."

"Wicked," said Mulciber, and behind him Macnair ran his tongue over his lips.

Priorities now shifted, and instead of plans for the immediate abduction of Ron or Ginny Weasley, the group of Death Eaters talked about surveillance and using local, unsuspected operatives as agents. It was with a map and a train timetable in his hands, working out distances and timing for spy work that could not be magically detected, that Snape asked the first truly important question.

"Just how many people are available to assist us in this?"

By this time Avery, too, had been sucked in to the scheming. "Seventeen," he said. "Plus us. That makes thirty-two." He looked significantly at Nutcombe. "I assume you want in."

"Oh, of course," Nutcombe replied. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

The next step, at least in the opinions of the Lestranges, Crabbe and, less openly, Snape, was for all the available Death Eaters to meet together. Avery did not agree. "I'm not putting all my people together in one place until I know it's absolutely secure," he insisted.

"Just exactly who here," Rabastan demanded, "don't you trust?"

"When it comes to the safety of my cell," Avery replied, "I don't trust anyone."

"Does that mean," Snape asked quietly, "that we're never going to meet all together in the same place?"

"Not until I'm sure it's safe."

"We need information. If they don't already have it, they need to reconnoiter," Rabastan pointed out. "We've got to talk to someone. Maybe not everyone together in the same place, but someone."

Avery was being stubborn. "I can pass on any instructions. You don't have to meet anyone."

A thought occurred to Snape. "Do all the members of your cell know each other? Are you nervous about them finding out who else is in the cell?"

It turned out to be the right guess. Avery admitted that he'd been operating the cell as two distinct entities. That way operations could continue even if one group was blocked.

"Sounds dangerous to me," said Mulciber. "What if the two halves of the cell started fighting each other, not knowing they were on the same side?"

"There's a ban on initiating independent action. They know there are more of them than their own group. They just don't know who."

"Why don't we meet with one half first," Snape suggested, "then half of us stay with them while you take the rest to meet the other half. That way only you and the group with you would know everyone. You could select the group that accompanies you."

Avery agreed, and went with Nutcombe to another part of the house to make floo contact with his people. He was back in half an hour. "They have a lot of calls to make, but we'll meet the first group around three o'clock this afternoon, and the second group around five."

Rabastan spoke up. "We should know before we meet them who stays with who. We don't want the rank and file witnessing any arguments in the upper levels. When we split, it should look natural."

That was also something they could all agree on. Avery would lead one group, and Rabastan the other. Rodolphus and Mulciber naturally went with Rabastan, while Crabbe and Goyle just as naturally stayed with Avery. The old Bella/Lucius rivalry was being perpetuated. Selwyn, Travers, and the Carrows chose to go with the Lestranges. Rowle, Macnair, and Yaxley stayed with Avery. Snape chose to accompany Rabastan. Macnair joked about absence making the heart grow fonder, and Snape didn't argue. It was, after all, Macnair who had the trace, and Snape who had the portrait. This way both groups were covered. Nutcombe would, for the moment, stay in his own home, keeping it as a safe house for them.

There was time to roam the grounds, time which they all took advantage of, Snape going to the cliff that looked out on Severn's mouth and the Bristol Channel where he was able to take out Dumbledore's picture and open it. The picture frame remained empty until Snape said, "It's all right, we're alone."

"Thank goodness," said portrait Dumbledore. "We were beginning to get worried. We did get your message, and there are aurors all around the Weasley home and in the town. The Weasleys, however, have not yet been informed. We didn't want them to know about you. Harry knows, of course, and will help keep a watch on his friends."

"Good," said Snape. "We've decided to lay low for a while as we check out the situation. Nothing will happen today, though I can't guarantee further than that. Both Dolph and Cecil are powder kegs ready to blow. Avery's cell has seventeen active members. We're meeting half of them at three. Then half of us are going on to meet the second half of the cell. Avery's obsession with secrecy is mind-boggling. Macnair is following Avery, so you should have a trace on both locations, assuming the first group will hang around while we meet the second. Do you have a fix on this place?"

"From the moment Macnair arrived. Robards says they had no idea Nutcombe was a Death Eater. Are you sure these are going to be all the Death Eaters still at large."

"No," Snape sighed, "there's no way to tell. I'm assuming it's everyone still under Avery's command, but I haven't yet heard a word about Nott or Jugson. None of the others have any link to active cells, though, so the number still out there has to be small." Snape kept glancing at the house and now saw Mulciber coming toward the cliff. "Company," he told Dumbledore. "I don't know when I can contact you again." He closed the portrait and latched it shut, slipping it into his pocket.

"That's quite a view," said Mulciber as he reached the cliff edge. "Where's Ottery St. Catchpole from here?"

Snape looked around. "Due south, I think. Near Exeter and the English Channel." Neither man spoke for a while, then Snape continued. "I think they're going to get us all killed or captured."

"Whoa," Mulciber said with a grin. "When did the Cursemaster become so cautious?"

"I was always cautious. I always planned everything down the last move in the last second. That's why I was generally successful. And even then it was only generally."

"You fooled the rest of us then. We thought you were a daredevil."

"Daredevils end up dead."

"You really don't trust them, do you Sev? Which do you think is going to be the biggest problem?"

"Dolph."

"Why?"

"Cecil takes orders. Dolph's a hotshot who has to have his own way. He's had power for too long."

They stopped talking because Rabastan was approaching from the house. "A word with both of you," he said. "When we split up, I want one of you to go with Avery."

"You don't trust him." Mulciber was grinning. "I say Sev goes with the Avery group." Rabastan nodded.

"Why me?" Snape growled. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Simple," said Rabastan. "He'll trust you more than he'll trust Al. He'll follow your advice, and maybe he'll tell you things."

"I thought we were on the same side."

"I guess it just depends on how many sides there are to chose from. Besides, Macnair's going with Avery, too. It'll give the two of you a chance to be together."

"Rabs," said Snape with narrowed eyes. "You are evil. Truly evil."

At three they were all ready, and apparated one by one to Tiverton where they met seven of Avery's cell and explained the mission and the general plan. Avery gave orders for the cell to follow Rabastan's instructions. Not all of them seemed enthused by the idea, but they agreed. The Carrows, Selwyn, and Travers stayed with the Lestranges and Mulciber, while Snape, Yaxley, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, and Rowle then followed Avery's apparation trail two hours later to a safe house in the upper story of an eighteenth century stone building in Plymouth's Old Town.

The remaining ten members of Avery's cell were already waiting, and had even thought to provide a light repast, sort of a cross between tea and supper. They were clearly impressed that their little provincial group was the focus of attention of so many upper level Death Eaters. They also seemed more loyal and dedicated than the first, smaller group that were now in Rabastan's charge.

Introductions were made, refreshments served, and then the maps were pulled out and planning began. There was even a detailed map of Ottery St. Catchpole, on which the location of the Weasley's house had been circled in red. Snape was asking about contacts in the village when suddenly there was a slight vibration, a shimmer in the air, and a hum outside the windows.

"Aurors!" Rowle yelled, and spun before Snape could stop him, throwing himself full force against the anti-apparation shield that now enclosed the house. Rowle slumped brokenly to the floor, bleeding from mouth, nose, and ears.

"We've got to fight our way out!" Avery bellowed over the panicky cries of the surrounded Death Eaters. "Once you're outside the shield, apparate anywhere, then run like hell and apparate again. Three to five jumps and you should lose them. Don't wait for the others. Go!"

They pushed and shoved their way down the stairs, several not even bothering with the steps but jumping over the railing of the staircase to the floor below. Aurors were forcing their way in through the back yard and door, and the Death Eaters crashed through the front door out into the narrow, curved street. More aurors awaited them there, and the roundup started in earnest.

Avery was one of the first out the door, and was hit by two different aurors with simultaneous stun spells. Right behind him were Crabbe and Goyle, and the ten members of Avery's cell, with Snape, Yaxley, and Macnair bringing up the rear. Crabbe made it through like a battering ram and disapparated, but Goyle was brought down with Impediment spells.

Spells were now flying all around, and the aurors had their hands full holding and keeping the members of the cell. As much mayhem was caused by the percussion of shield spells as by the combat spells and Snape, thrown back against the wall of the building he'd just left, turned to his right and found himself face to face with Gawain Robards. A green bolt of light slammed Snape in the middle of his chest, and he crumpled at Robards's feet, still clutching his wand.

Robards seized the collar of Snape's jacket, and there was sudden, sharp pain as a needle-like object was thrust down and under Snape's collarbone, near the shoulder, then pulled out again. "That's your trace," Robards hissed. "You're escaping again." He took Snape's wand, dragged him to his feet, and started to bind his hands, but was hit by a red stunner that threw him backwards.

An arm slipped around Snape's ribcage, and Macnair's voice shouted, "Hold on!" Then Macnair spun, sucking the two of them into an apparation current and depositing them on open, deserted moor. "Run!" Macnair screamed, dragging the staggering Snape down the rocky slope toward a one track road. Just before they reached it, he spun again.

Macnair pulled Snape through five sickening, dizzying, bewildering apparations before ending up in a little alleyway between two townhouses in an area that looked remarkably like Bloomsbury. Stairs led down from the pavement to a flat that had once been the kitchen and scullery and the cook's quarters. Macnair hustled Snape down those stairs and into the dim lower rooms. There Snape was deposited gently on a threadbare sofa while Macnair checked that they hadn't been followed.

All was clear, so Macnair returned to where Snape reclined on the sofa, breathing heavily from the exertion and the pain in his chest. "What did he hit you with?" Macnair asked. "At first I was afraid it was a Killing Curse. You went down like a felled tree."

"Since I really do feel like a ram just smashed his horns into my sternum," Snape gasped, "my guess is Arieto."

"That would do it," Macnair said. "He got your wand, too. And these are quite nice." He was examining the cords that bound Snape's wrists.

"Lovely," said Snape. "Now take them off."

"I'm going to have to think about that," said Macnair. "I let you loose, and you might cut and run. I rather like the idea of you wandless and trussed up like a Christmas goose."

"Very funny," said Snape, but he was beginning to feel decidedly nervous.

"I'm serious," said Macnair. "All fun and games aside, I want to be able to sleep tonight. I won't be able to do that if I have to worry about you taking this wand. Let me check where that spell hit. It was pretty close to the heart." He piled pillows on one end of the sofa and helped Snape lie back more comfortably. Then he unbuttoned Snape's jacket and shirt. "That's a nasty little bruise. Let me get something for it."

Snape watched warily as Macnair searched the flat for ointments and salves. "I really would be more at ease if you untied my hands," he said after a moment. "I'm not going to run, and I'm not going to go for the wand. You just saved my neck, and I'm grateful."

Macnair stuck his head out of the kitchen, grinning. "Grateful. I like the sound of that. We'll see how grateful." Then he went back to rummaging in cupboards. "Here's a couple of things that might help," he said at last, and brought three jars into the front room. There he stood looking down at the tense and apprehensive Snape.

"You really are scared of me, aren't you?" Macnair chuckled. He pointed his wand at the cords and said, "Solvo," and they unwound, releasing Snape's wrists. He then handed Snape one of the jars. "This one would probably be the best."

Snape took the jar, removed the lid, and sniffed the ointment inside. He dipped a finger into it and began to massage the medication into the bruise on his chest. It helped. It helped a lot. "Thank you," he said to Macnair. "That's much better."

Macnair went back into the kitchen and returned with bread, cheese, apples, tea, and a bottle of firewhisky. "We need to figure out what we're going to do," he said, and poured Snape a glass of the whisky.

"Crabbe got away," said Snape. "I think they have Rowle, Avery, and Goyle. I saw them all go down. I don't know about the others."

"Rowle's an idiot," said Macnair. "He panicked and tried to go through a shield. I saw Yaxley disapparate, though, so four of us made it out. I don't think any of Avery's people got away. If they knew about us, do you think they knew about the others? Or about Nutcombe?"

The only thing discussion brought them was the resolve not to go rushing into anything. Macnair kept pouring Snape more firewhisky until Snape was decidedly lightheaded, then Macnair pulled him off the sofa and into a back room that was a bedroom. There he set up a cot and got out pajamas. "Put these on. I'm hiding all the clothes. And I'm using restraints. You're not wandering off anywhere tonight."

"There's no reason to bind me…" Snape began, but Macnair stopped him.

"I don't trust you. I'm tying you up. Just be happy I don't slap you in a full body bind. Now lie down."

Snape did as he was told. The bonds had enough play in them so he could shift his position a bit, but he couldn't free himself. After the regular sound of Macnair's breathing indicated he was asleep, Snape tried a few unbinding spells. None worked without a wand. Finally Snape, too, slept.

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Saturday, June 13, 1998

Snape was wakened the next morning by sudden, searing fire in the lower right side of his ribcage. His body jerked involuntarily against the restraints that held him to the cot, restraints that had tightened during the night, and he cried out in pain. The burning was succeeded by violent cramps in his intestines and what felt like a hammer blow to his right kneecap. He screamed, and would have doubled up in agony if he hadn't been securely tied down. The worst of the pain vanished almost immediately, leaving a residual ache and soreness that was almost as bad. Snape lay panting on the cot, his eyes closed, trying to get his bearings.

"That," said Macnair's cold voice next to him, "was a wake-up call. A friendly reminder of who's in charge here, and an expression of, shall we say, disappointment in finding trust and friendship misplaced."

Opening his eyes, Snape found Macnair sitting in a chair next to him, the tip of his wand again pressed against Snape's ribs. "I've place a silencing spell around the room," Macnair continued, "so this can get as entertaining as I want it to get." He was looking down at his left hand, rather than at Snape. Then he looked up and smiled. Macnair's smile was a terrible, cruel thing to see.

"What was that for?" Snape gasped, his mind racing over the previous day, trying to find a reason for Macnair's unexpected change of mood.

For answer, Macnair held up his left hand. He was holding a small rectangular object that might have been a miniature book or a large locket. "What's this?" he asked. It was Dumbledore's portrait.

There was no percentage in lying. Any attempt at subterfuge would only lead to worse treatment. "It's a portrait," Snape replied.

"Whose?"

"Albus Dumbledore's."

"Really? You carry around the picture of a man you killed, a man you say you hated? I'm intrigued, Severus. Do elaborate."

"He's a source of information. I'm headmaster; the portrait has to obey me. I carry it so I can send him to different locations to find out what's going on."

"Why Dumbledore? Why not one of the others?"

"Dumbledore has portraits in more different places than any of the others. He's more useful."

Macnair nodded in understanding, smiling again. He flipped open the portrait, but the frame was empty. "Pray tell then, Severus, dear boy, how you managed to acquire this portrait, when we started our little adventure in prison pajamas on the North Sea. You didn't happen to conceal it in a body orifice, now did you? That would be charming."

Stick as close to the truth as you can - that way you won't be tripped up as easily. "No," Snape confessed. "I lied to you. When I left you on the coast to find clothes, I apparated to my own home. The things you're wearing belonged to my father."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want you to ask me to take you there. I got the portrait at home. I thought it might be useful."

"Has it been?"

"Not really. I haven't been replaced as headmaster yet. It seems the staff is staying away from all the portraits of former headmasters as a security precaution. The same in the Ministry." Snape yipped in pain as Macnair tickled him with another burning spell. "What was that for?"

"Just a reminder. And to stay in practice. Would this picture help us find the Lestranges, or Crabbe and Yaxley, or see if anything was happening at Nutcombe's?"

"I doubt they'd be anyplace where there was a picture of Dumbledore. He can only travel between his own portraits when going from building to building."

"Call him for me." Macnair held the empty picture frame in front of Snape.

"Professor Dumbledore," Snape said. "Come here, I want you."

Instantly, Dumbledore's face appeared in the frame. Its expression was wooden and its voice mechanical. "Yes, Headmaster. How may I assist you?"

"Say good morning to Walden Macnair."

"Good morning, Mr. Macnair. I hope you are well. Is there something you need me for?"

"No," Macnair laughed. "Go back to sleep." He closed the portrait and looked down at Snape. "I'm going to let you get up," he said, "but put one foot wrong and you're immobilized."

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