Chapter 7

At What Cost

Albus Dumbledore stepped out of a dark shop and headed down Knockturn alley. He understood wizards' fascination with the dark arts and obscure antiques, but he wished there were stronger laws in place to police stores like Borgin and Burkes. The shop always gave him an uneasy feeling when he visited, as if an icy finger was sliding down his spine. The store's staff had gone from unhelpful to downright hostile in these troubled times. He would have given a sack full of Galleons for just a glimpse of the store's customer list for the past year, thousands of untracked galleons passed through the store's coffers on any given month.

As he rounded out of Knockturn alley and headed towards the Leaky Cauldron, Dumbledore noticed he wasn't being stopped as often as he had in the past. He had just turned down the opportunity to become Minister of Magic for the second time and was quickly becoming one of the most well-known wizards in all of Britain, if not the world. In previous years, it would have taken him hours to make his way through Diagon Alley, stopping to speak with everyone that hailed him.

But times were changing Dumbledore thought sadly – people scurrying about their business, not wanting to linger or chit chat. He had once read a muggle book in his youth describing a police state, the claustrophobic air of suspicion and mistrust that hung over that society had seemed unbearable. It now felt as if the wizarding world was headed dangerously close to that type of oppressive environment.

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, he stopped a newspaper boy and purchased a Daily Prophet. Another troubling headline – Bones Family Murdered, Ministry has More Questions than Answers. Scanning the article to read about what he already knew, Dumbledore felt weary, deep down in his bones. He had just turned 100 and had finally started to feel his age. He still maintained his light, airy attitude in the presence others, but found his disposition turning sour whenever he found himself alone with just his thoughts for company.

The Leaky Cauldron was a shabby pub and inn, located on Charing Cross Street. It had an open bar area, large communal dining table and small parlor rooms on the first floor, with rooms for rent occupying the next two floors. It had been established to act as a comfortable gateway between the muggle world and Diagon Alley. Dumbledore tapped on the pub's back stone wall and several bricks slide aside to create a doorway. He stepped through the wall, past a little courtyard and into the pub.

"Hello Tom, how are things?" asked Dumbledore. He ran his finger along the bar, dragging an inch of dust with it. "I see you're keeping things tidy as usual."

"People don't like to stay for a drink nowadays. I'll be out on the street soon, this keeps up," replied the long time barkeep.

"Sorry to hear it Tom, but don't fret. Amazing location you've got here, you'll always be in business. I wonder if I could trouble you for a brandy and the use of one of your rooms upstairs, just for an hour or so?"

"Don't rent em by the hour."

"Very well, I'll give you a night's rent for an hour. Sound good?"

Dumbledore placed several galleons on the grimy bar. The gold seemed to lift Tom's spirits, as he quickly measured out a generous thumb of brandy, tossed Dumbledore a numbered key and pointed towards a staircase in the back.

Tom turned away, biting down on the galleons and then quickly adding the coins to his till. He didn't notice a dark stranger at one of the back tables silently rise and slink after the headmaster. The stranger quietly crept up the stairs and spied Dumbledore entering a room at the end of a dimly lit hallway. He moved soundlessly down the hall and was surprised to find the door ajar. He stepped inside and hurriedly shut the door.

"Hello again Severus. Care for some brandy? Contrary to the disheveled appearance of the bar, this drink is quite tasty."

Snape slumped down on a chair, looking like he had aged a lifetime since their clandestine hilltop meeting.

"I didn't come here for a bloody drink. What do you want?"

"I summoned you days ago Severus. Having second thoughts about keep your word?"

"I sent you messages, have you not received them?"

"Yes I did. A rally at your Dark Lord's castle. Another warning about the danger the Potter's face. But I feel as if you're still withholding from me Severus. You never mentioned a second boy with regards to the prophecy."

"Lies! I've told you everything important. The Longbottom boy isn't in any real danger, the Potter child is the true prize. He's convinced the prophecy refers to him."

"So the Longbottom family's safety means nothing? I should focus only on keeping Lily safe?"

Snape opened his mouth as if to voice disagreement, but thought better of it. "No…of course not. You're right, I should've mentioned the other family as well…how did you discover about the Longbottoms?"

"Never hold back from me again Severus, ever – I alone will decide what is important and what is not…you swore me an oath. You gave me your word! Should I have asked for the unbreakable vow? I thought you truly loved her."

"I do love – I didn't think – I've kept my word! I'll make the vow, right here, right now! I didn't think mentioning the second child was important! He's obsessed with the Potters and no one else!"

"Tell me where the Death Eater castle is!"

"You know I cannot! I'm not the Secret Keeper!"

"Why didn't you come at once when I called for you?! Does your word mean nothing?!" The hidden fury of Dumbledore was threatening to appear.

"Of course it does, but I can't just go traipsing off whenever you summon me! Sometimes I am…indisposed."

Dumbledore tossed him the Daily Prophet, its headline shouting at Snape.

"Indisposed indeed. Your last message spoke of a rally deep within the castle, a new direction you and your friends were moving in. Tell me Severus, what have you been up to these past few weeks?"

Snape looked hard at Dumbledore, his black eyes flashed red with indignant anger…and then shame. Without taking his gaze from Dumbledore's vivid blue eyes, Snape raised his wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his long, dark hair. When he withdrew his wand a silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand. It was white and translucent, a flimsy strand that threatened to break apart at any moment. Longer and longer it stretched until finally it broke off at the temple, swinging from the wand like a small pendulum.

Dumbledore reached out and wrapped the silvery substance around his finger.

"Is this a reflection or the original memory?"

"The original of course," replied Snape. "What's a reflection? A copy of one's memory?"

"Don't know everything I see…"

"Did you bring your pensieve?"

Dumbledore drew his wand and waved it over his silvery finger, muttering ancient words that Snape had never heard before. The silvery strand wrapped around Dumbledore's finger gave a quick shiver and then a white mist rose from it, as if it was shedding its skin. Dumbledore reached out and cupped the semi-solid mist that had risen from Snape's memory strand. He then held out his finger and Snape reached out with his wand to take back the memory. Snape touched his wand back to his temple and the strand slowly wriggled back into his mind. Dumbledore then held his hand over the brandy and gently guided the silver mist into the alcohol.

"How did you do that? Is it a perfect replica?"

"Memories always taste like their original owner. Please don't take offense Severus," Dumbledore said with a wry smile, "But I believe I'll need to mix in some alcohol with this."

Unlike viewing memories in a pensieve, ingesting memories was quite an uncomfortable experience. Dumbledore would feel queasy until he had experienced the memory in full and it had passed through him. But an advantage was that he would be able to completely immerse himself in the memory, experience it firsthand, rather than merely being an outside observer during the process. Dumbledore would be able to sense everything Snape had during the memory, all his feelings and emotions.

Ingesting a memories was a tricky business; it could have serious deleterious effects on both parties. The original owner could lose the memory completely, causing damage to his mind. And the new owner could begin to confuse and destroy his own memories, with an alien one permanently residing within him. Powerful incantations and spells in the hands of wizards not capable of properly implementing them was a recipe for disaster as Dumbledore had found over his many travels.

Dumbledore swirled his cup, the brandy mixing with the silver mist. Then, with a quick wink to a dumbfounded Snape, he gulped it down…


…Snape sat in a wooded enclosure, tending to a small fire. An amber potion was bubbling in a small cauldron in front of him, smoke lazily drifting up from the hot brew. He was surrounded by a few vacant tents, men were idly chatting nearby. Clearly some kind of encampment deep within a dark forest.

Snape added a few greenish brown leaves and began stirring the simmering potion with short, clipped strokes. The surrounding conversation grew louder, a restlessness in the voices.

"I'm tired of waiting," snarled Igor Karkaroff. He was a tall thin man, with closely cropped salt and pepper hair. He had a gaunt, spindly look about him, eyes darting to and fro. He walked towards Snape, with Avery and Mulciber alongside him.

"Is it ready yet Severus?" asked Mulciber. "The other two have arrived, it's time to go."

"A few more minutes. Who was sent to us?" asked Snape.

Avery gestured behind him.

Snape saw Walden Macnair striding towards them. He had been one of the very first Death Eaters and was fiercely loyal to the Dark Lord. Macnair had long grey hair that framed a weathered face – one could tell he had been very athletic as a younger man. And behind him – it couldn't be!

Shock coursed through Snape and he gripped his wand tight, ready to send a curse flying. It was Bartemius "Barty" Crouch, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was known to be as vicious and cruel as the Death Eaters he was appointed to capture. But somehow he seemed different, younger almost.

"Relax," said Macnair as he reached the group, sensing the tension growing in Snape. "Allow me to introduce the newest member to our cause…Barty Crouch, Jr. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement's own son."

At this comment Barty took a wide bow and the rest of the Death Eaters started laughing, Snape included.

"The ministry, a bunch of clueless mugs."

"We'll have them all soon enough."

"Severus, the potion?

"It's ready, everyone grab a cup."

Snape ladled out cupfuls to his companions, then poured himself a measured dose. The amber brew shone in the dark shadows, with the consistency of tomato soup. They all quickly drank it, save for Barty – he sniffed at it suspiciously.

"What's this then?"

"It's chicken broth. Now shut up and drink as you're told," barked Macnair.

"It's an old potion, from Albania. I don't know its name. It provides energy bursts over a short period of time. More adrenaline, your senses sharpen, increased tolerance to pain and so forth," explained Snape.

The others stalked off, a bounce in their step, towards a wooden house standing solemnly in the distance, leaving Snape alone with Barty.

"I don't like have my senses dulled or changed, I want to feel everything that happens."

"It might give you a bolt of courage, Bones is a tough wizard."

"I'm not coward – I won't drink a potion you don't even have a name for!"

"Suit yourself," replied Snape. He got up, stamped out the fire and headed off towards the others. "Even the Dark Lord drinks it."

Barty stopped himself from pouring out the potion and then, deciding the Dark Lord knew best, gulped it down. The amber potion tasted salty and he felt it slide down this throat and settle deep in his gut, sending a jolt of energy through him. Dopamine began flowing through his body, his endorphins kicking into overdrive. Barty's eyes flashed with nervous anticipation as he hungrily thought about what lay ahead.


"Edgar Bones! Come out now! We only want you! We've no interest in your family!" bellowed Macnair. He and the other five Death Eaters were standing outside a large wooden home, standing on the sandy beach of a small lake. The Bones' summer house was soon to become the family's tomb.

"We've removed your magical defenses!" yelled Avery.

"And placed a Sanctum charm!" screamed Mulciber. "No apparition, no floo network, no portkeys!"

Snape, Karkaroff and Barty slowly moved towards the back of the house.

"Watch the windows," hissed Karkaroff. "They may try to fly off on brooms."

When the Dark Lord wanted someone dead, he got his wish. There was no hope for Bones outnumbered and alone. Snape knew four of the Death Eaters well. They were nasty, controlling men who all had a penchant for violence, but they had been through enough fights to realize the Dark Lord was only interested in Edgar.

These veterans were experienced in restraint and limiting collateral damage. And although the Dark Lord had no true concern for the rest of the Bones family, he had cautioned his soldiers against unnecessary brutality. Slaughtering women and children never made for good recruiting headlines and the Dark Lord was no fool.

Snape was glad for this edict – he saw no reason for additional pain and loss of life, especially of children. In private moments Snape had admitted to himself that he did not like the direction the Dark Lord's holy war was heading, doubts and regret had begun to creep more steadily into his mind. But what really concerned Snape today was the unfamiliar member of their attack party.

Barty Crouch was an unknown entity. He was young, impetuous, itching for a chance to prove himself. Snape had seen that fanatical gleam in another's eyes before – Bellatrix Lestrange. And that look normally accompanied wanton violence and death.

"Stay behind me," hissed Snape to Barty. "Watch my back."

"I'm here to help kill the old man, not play lookout. I don't take orders from you!"

"Disobeying a superior during a raid, ignoring the Dark Lord's rules already?"

"Fine, fine, just get on with it," snarled Barty. His eyes shifted from Snape's back to the wooden house. "Come out and play Bones!"

The Death Eaters waited but there was no movement…then a loud bang sounded, screams echoing from within the house.

"What the bloody hell was that?" snarled Karkaroff.

"One of them tried to apparate. The Sanctum charm probably caused a painful splinching," answered Snape.

"We're going in, watch the back!" yelled Macnair from the front yard.

"Reducto!" sounded a yell and the front of the house exploded, showering the beach with wooden bits. Snape, Karkaroff and Barty could hear yells and screams rattling from inside the home as the Death Eaters and Edgar dueled.

Barty was heaving, his breath coming in excited gasps – he was longing to get inside and wreak havoc.

"What the hell are we waiting for?!" yelled Barty, barely able to contain himself. An awful grimace appeared on his red face.

"Okay," said Karkaroff, "It's time!" He pointed his wand at the back door and it flew inward, smashed off its ball bearing hinges.

Snape was the first into the house and spied Edgar up ahead a long hallway dueling with Macnair. Avery was laying prostrate on the ground, Mulciber nowhere in sight. Snape pointed his wand at Edgar's back, but before he could cast a spell, he was roughly pushed aside by Barty. "Out of the way!" Barty yelled as they both tumbled to the ground.

"Stupefy!" yelled Macnair and Edgar ducked. The spell flew past him, over the fallen pair of Snape and Barty, and hit Karkaroff square in the chest, who froze midstride and fell stiffly to the ground.

Barty scrambled over Snape and began firing off spells at Edgar, but his aim was all over the place. The wayward spells flew haphazardly around, hitting every inch of the house – bits of furniture and wall were blown to smithereens. Snape struggled to his feet and pushed forward, close behind Barty.

"Enough! Drop your wand Edgar or I swear to God we'll burn this goddamn house to the ground – with your family still inside!" bellowed Snape.

Edgar kept his wand in front of him, slowly backing away into a corner – indecision plastered on his face. Blood was splattered across his face, a deep gash shining red high on his forehead. The poor man was slowly accepting his fate, hoping against hope his family could somehow remain unscathed.

Just as Edgar was lowering his wand, footsteps pounded from overhead – his wife and their two young sons came charging down the stairs. They were brandishing their wands wildly above their heads in frantic desperation – they were not going to stand idly by while their loved one met a violent end.

Barty waved his wand at them, causing a loud explosion on the stairs – one of the boys disappeared in the blast. With an earsplitting shriek, Edgar's wife pointed her wand at Macnair and fired off a stream of metal spears.

"Protego!" yelled Macnair as he rolled out of the way.

Edgar turned and yelled "Incarcerous!" at Barty, who ducked immediately. Thick black ropes sailed through the air, past the now prone Barty, and struck Severus. They wrapped themselves tightly around him like pythons and he fell to the ground, a useless doll relegated to the sidelines. His wand slipped from his grasp, inches from his now binded hand. Snape scrunched up his eyes, frowning in concentration.

"Accio wand!" Snape yelled. "Accio! Accio wand!"

The wand wiggled slightly, but moved no closer to him. He was no Lord Voldemort. He was no Dumbledore. Wandless magic was not in the young man's repertoire.

"Accio wand!" Snape let out a frustrated yell, the ropes still tightly coiled around him. The ropes began to pulse, slowly squeezing the breath out of him. All around him were yells and screams of pain. Despite his nature, he found himself silently rooting for the Bones family.

"Please not my son!"

"Run baby run!"

"Damnit Barty, control yourself man!"

Snape lay helplessly on the ground as duels raged around him – bits of debris and splinters of wood flying around and slammed into the ground all around him. He could barely turn his head, only able to catch glimpses of the wild fight being waged in the broken house. Snape's breathing became ragged, stars popping in his eyes – the cords squeezing tighter than ever.

Finally, the screaming and explosions stopped and Snape felt the thick ropes choking the life out of him vanish into thin air – the original caster was either incapacitated or dead. Snape rolled onto his back, coughing violently as he tried to suck in mouthfuls of precious air.

Snape found himself being helped to his feet by a battered Macnair. Looking around, the house was in complete shambles, total destruction evident – a tornado had passed through the home. But the most unsettling thing was the empty silence – no screams of pain or anger or desperate pleading, just a yawning emptiness. Bloodied bodies lay silent and unmoving, alongside wrecked furniture.

Snape stumbled out of the destroyed foyer, through a massive hole that had been blown through the front door. Hot disgust and shame welled up inside of him. He feel to his knees on the beach and puked out his repulsion.

He could hear the other Death Eaters straggling out of the house behind him and tried to control his breathing, taking deep breathes to compose himself. Weakling! Stop it! What will they say if you start crying!

Snape had been part of attacks before, had even found them thrilling at first. But those battles had been waged against trained aurors, the missions made sense back then – they had a clear and direct purpose. Attacking one lone wizard, with his family nearby…this was not what he had signed up for. How was murdering a pure blood wizard helping to advance the Dark Lord's vision of a safer and more secure wizarding future?

Snape turned around – Macnair was helping Karkaroff carry an unconscious Avery towards their makeshift campsite. Mulciber limped along behind them, holding a cloth to his bloody and broken nose. The house was in shambles – part of it was smoldering, angry flames licking the roof. Snape couldn't bear it anymore – he trudged off after Avery, pondering the decisions that had led him to this very moment.

The only sound behind Snape was Barty's heavy panting. But it didn't sound as though the young Death Eater was tired from the fight. Rather, it sounded as though Barty was thrilled, in the final throes of ecstasy and Snape had to swallow down another wave of revulsion…


…Snape stared at Dumbledore – it had been almost an hour since the headmaster had gulped down Snape's memory. The headmaster sat peacefully in a leather chair, slowly breathing, his eyes fluttering every once in a while. Dumbledore was in a deep trance, completely unaware of his surroundings. Is he able to see everything that I did? He looks so helpless, so unguarded – I wonder if he can sense me right now…Snape's mind jumped to the Dark Lord, who would have given anything to be here in this room…right now…with Dumbledore's guard completely down…

Suddenly, the bright blue eyes fluttered open as Dumbledore let out a shocked gasp and then began sucking in air as if he had been underwater for a long minute. He then at up in his chair and glanced at Snape.

There was no shock, no anger, no repugnance, no loathing in the old man's face – just a look of empathy with a twinge of disappointment.

Dumbledore's look of pity stung Snape more severely than the young man thought possible.