Disclaimer: I don't own this. All the characters and many other things belong to J. K. Rowling.

A Forest Tale

Chapter 7

The Stag and the Doe

His surroundings were not only dark, but increasingly foggy as well. It was a remarkable and abrupt change after the light of the bright orange moon. Snape could not see the trees any more, just the eerie, uncharacteristic fog, which seemed to have settled onto his brain, making it uncommonly difficult for him to think. He was getting rather cold, too, giving a shiver now and then, as the night wind coming from the sea cooled his body, previously heated by the fight with the wolf.

Oddly enough, old school memories were whirling in his mind, making him gradually oblivious to his environment: His first encounter with the werewolf, Potter's appearance in the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, Black's wild laughter, his own anger and shame... and later the Headmaster's piercing gaze in the circular office...

Then his thoughts jumped to Lily, and he remembered the happy hours which, as children, they had spent experimenting with potions. When they had become confident enough about their potion making skills, they had begun improving the potions they knew, at first for fun, later with a real, shared passion. He had been most interested in the effects of the potion and in the brewing process; therefore most of his improvements were focusing on those two aspects. Lily, however, had loved to improve the "good potions", as she had called them, taste-wise. To her, a potion was in dire need of perfection while it had an unpleasant taste, and he had always been happy to oblige.

Of course, most types of seasoning would have spoiled most potions, but precisely that was what made it an exciting game to find the ingredient that could add taste to a given potion without robbing it of its effects. They had discovered that sometimes a combination of flavours could be used where no single flavour was possible. He had been looking for strong spices or other flavours of "serious" character, including black coffee and even dark chocolate; but Lily had preferred sweet flavours like the flavours of fruits, honey, cinnamon or vanilla.

It was all very far away now. The chill in the air brought him back to reality, where he was alone, wounded, trapped, cold and marked by dark powers.

He started when he noticed something large materializing by his side out of the fog and the darkness. The deer had come back. It stood still and so close that Snape could feel the warmth of its breath, and he recognized the shape of a stag, a magnificent, strong animal. It bent its head over him as though proudly showing him its enormous, pointed antlers or maybe as though it was going to thrust those antlers into him. For a moment, the latter seemed quite probable, but Snape did not stir. The stag was an unearthly, dreamlike image; and he had the distinct impression that whatever was happening had already happened before - although it could have been only a recurring dream that he had almost forgotten...

There it was. The stag began to lose its contours in the fog, and Snape could just barely register what he was witnessing when it was not a stag any more, but a human being, bending over him. James Potter.

Prongs.

All of a sudden, the fog cleared up and disappeared as thoroughly as Snape wished Potter would disappear; but Potter was solid, and he stayed.

"What the-" Snape began, but Potter was a portion of a second quicker with his question.

"Are you all right?"

"Never been better," he answered, making sure to put a lot of extra meaning into the tone.

"You are not injured, are you?" Potter asked.

"I am," said Snape.

"Lumos," muttered Potter, raising his wand.

In the wandlight, Snape saw a cloud of anxiety pass through Potter's forehead.

"Where is the wound?"

He was holding his wand above Snape now. It was the first time Snape had been alone with Potter ever since they had come to the island; it was the first time that they had met without Lily, Moody or both being present; and the sight of Potter with a wand directed at him made Snape want to fight back. It was a well-conditioned reflex but he could not satisfy it now.

"My leg is broken," he said with some difficulty.

Relief spread on Potter's face.

"You were not bitten, then?"

Snape was sure that from Potter's viewpoint all was well now.

"Not bitten," he groaned, "but everything else-"

He hissed suddenly as Potter touched his fractured leg. Obviously, Potter either did not know how to handle a serious injury, or was doing it on purpose. Potter let go of his leg.

"Have you got your wand?"

"It was in the werewolf's mouth the last time I saw it," he muttered reluctantly.

With his wand, Potter illuminated the forest ground around them.

"I don't know how it happened," he said quietly, surveying the undergrowth below the trees. "Sirius will stay with him now, so it should be all right."

The mention of Black revived Snape's fury. He did not answer. Potter gave up looking for Snape's wand.

"Why aren't you in bed at this time of the night?" asked Potter suspiciously.

"This is the trap zone," Snape replied bitterly. "I ... stepped into one."

He thought it uncanny how lucky everyone else was. He alone was in that horrible position.

"You mean, you are-" Potter mouthed incredulously.

"Trapped."

Snape would have preferred another werewolf attack to this confession, but he could hardly avoid it now. Potter's jaw dropped open.

"You mean... hey, you mean you have fallen into your own trap?"

Potter could certainly appreciate the irony of the situation. He laughed out aloud, and to Snape, that was the very last straw. It was easy for Potter to taunt him now... But he would refuse to take it - lying down -, he thought, and with the ambiguity of the phrase emphasizing his helplessness, he was angered even more.

"Don't you dare laugh at me," he hissed in his most menacing voice.

Potter gaped at him. He did stop laughing, but then there was a familiar glint in his eyes, which evoked memories of school fights in Snape's mind, and he almost expected to be hexed now, as he had been back then, but Potter merely turned his wand around in his hands.

"I dare worse things than that," he said coolly. "But I'm here to help you."

"I don't need your help," snapped Snape. "Leave me alone!"

Much to his shock and irritation, he saw a vague expression of pity flicker across Potter's face. It was worse than a hex. He was not being pathetic.

"Too late, pal," said Potter nonchalantly as he took Snape's broken leg into his hands again. He was either doing it more carefully this time, or Snape was too angry to feel the pain properly.

"Remember, you saved my life a few months ago. An eye for an eye... you know."

He began baring Snape's leg and examining the fracture in the wandlight.

"You don't owe me anything," Snape protested, wriggling helplessly in the trap. "I did not do it for you! You can.... leave me alone."

He propped himself up on his elbows to see what Potter was doing. Potter was studying the injury.

"Very well, because I'm not doing it for you either," he said calmly.

"Then why do it at all?" growled Snape.

"You are my wife's best friend," Potter answered. "For her sake, I won't let you die here."

Snape fell onto his back again. Clearly, it was another detestable joke, and he loathed the way Potter said "my wife". And then:

"When did she tell you that?"

He had not wanted to ask that. He had most definitely not wanted to say anything like that. He was betraying his emotions, which was weakness; and he hated to find himself weak.

"She told me when she almost worried herself to death about you," said Potter, now cleaning Snape's wound with his wand. "The devil looks after his own, but she did not seem to believe it. She was afraid that you would get killed."

Snape made a futile, kick-like movement with his unbroken leg.

"Easy there," said Potter. "You don't want another fracture. I'm not a healer," he added, "but I know the spell, and I think I can try to heal this."

Snape propped himself up on his elbows again. If he had the misfortune of having to accept help from this arrogant peacock, at least he wanted him to do it adequately.

"Mind how you do it," he seethed through his slightly chattering teeth. "The wand and the injury must be precisely in right angles. I say precisely!"

Potter nodded impatiently, adjusted the position of his wand, and did not listen to Snape any more. To his credit, the magic was successful. Snape could quite decidedly feel the fracture mending. He shuddered and sighed.

"Now," said Potter, "how are you going to open that trap thing?"

"I can't do it," muttered Snape. "It is impossible for someone who is ... inside. You must open it."

"I don't know how it is done," said Potter, shaking his head.

Snape raised his eyebrows.

"I explained it to all of you the night that I placed them here."

"I know," said Potter slowly. "But it was more like early morning, and we had been working all night. Not the best time to learn something new."

"I can tell you again ... just follow my instructions."

Potter agreed, and Snape began, with some effort, to explain.

"Since the trap is invisible, first you have to find its exact place and outline with your wand. When you are on the right track, the wand will become a little heavier. Once you know the exact shape of the trap, you have to trace it with your wand while saying the spell. It is very important that you finish the spell and the wand movement at the same time."

He had to pause as though speaking had exhausted him.

"It sounds complicated," said Potter grimly.

"Setting up the trap is complicated," Snape answered irritably. "This is not. You just have to concentrate."

"What is the spell?"

"It is ... Expedio."

He waited a few moments before continuing.

"If you do it correctly, you will hear a clicking sound, and then you can say the password. It's "Secret Snare". I thought ... you would remember it easily... There will be another click, and the trap will open. After that, you will have to give the trap a new password ... the old one can no longer be used."

Hardly had he finished, when they heard someone come running and stop with a gasp.

"What's going on here?"

Lily turned up unexpectedly, Snape's wand in her hands. Her face reflected shock, as she was staring at the sight before her: Snape lying on the ground, Potter standing by his side, his wand directed at Snape, who very much wished Lily had arrived a few minutes later.

"Nothing to worry about," said Potter conversationally. "Snape is teaching me Dark Magic."

"WHAT?"

Snape closed his eyes. He could already see what a great story this would make the next time Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail got together for a chat. Lily might be there as well.

Potter explained to Lily what had happened and what he was going to do. Lily was horrified.

"How did Remus get free?" she demanded. "I thought he was going to be locked into a cabin!"

"I have no idea," replied Potter.

"Perhaps it was a prank," Snape growled, remembering that Black had mentioned the Whomping Willow just the day before.

Lily bent over him, waved her wand, and Snape's robes instantly became comfortably warm, almost hot, as though he was resting by a fire-place; and although he had not been moved an inch, it seemed he was lying on a soft bed now instead of the hard ground. The magic eased his discomfort, yet the cold deep inside was not going away...he kept shivering mildly.

"How can you say that?" Lily said reproachfully. "Who would think of such a dangerous prank?"

"Black, for example," said Snape. He wanted to add "and Potter", but he changed his mind. "It is exactly his idea of a prank."

"No!" Lily almost laughed. "I can't believe that even Sirius-"

Snape raised his head and cast a sharp look at Potter, who was busy moving his wand where he suspected the invisible outline of the trap. Snape saw with some satisfaction that he flushed.

"This time," he said uncomfortably, "I think I can vouch for Padfoot. But I don't know what happened. Moony will be mad when he transforms back."

"Mad?" snorted Snape. "That will be a difference indeed."

"He was planning to leave the island and come back when the night was over, but," Potter sighed, "Padfoot and I persuaded him to stay... He won't be in top form in the morning either."

Snape frowned. He was not convinced about Black's innocence at all. He shivered again, a little more violently than before.

"Are you sure you were not bitten?" Lily asked, and her hands were softly touching his neck, surveying his torn robes.

Snape gave no reply. He was quite certain that he would know it if he had been bitten, but he did not object to Lily wishing to check it herself. Even if they made him slightly embarrassed, how could he refuse those tender touches of her hand? Potter would just have to ... put up with it now.

"We'll have to take you to a warm place soon," said Lily. "James will open the trap in a minute."

But Snape stared at her with a sudden fright, because the warmth in his robes reminded him of something that he should have remembered a long time ago.

"The Dark Lord ..." he groaned, struggling for every single word, "the Dark Lord called his ... Death Eaters ... to himself tonight. It may be ... because of ... us. Pettigrew..."

"Did you get a message from Peter?" Lily asked quickly.

"No, not from him," Snape tried to explain. "It is about the ... Dark Lord and his servants. But it may have ... something to do ... with Pettigrew... If he was caught ... We must tell Moody."

"How do you know that?"

"I could feel-"

Snape broke off and straightened his left sleeve with an unconscious movement of his hand. He found himself unable to explain the burning of his Mark to Lily, who had just been as kind to him as she had never been before and who had perhaps called him her best friend in front of Potter. It was impossible to tell her how his body had become and remained a mere vessel for the Dark Lord's message network. If she knew such details about Death Eater life ... about his life ... if she knew to what extent he had given himself into the Dark Lord's power once, she would be disgusted. Still, he had to stress the importance of the information.

"I know it," he said firmly, although speaking was becoming increasingly difficult. "They had a meeting tonight."

Lily exchanged a bewildered glance with Potter, who had stopped surveying the trap with his wand.

"I never knew you were a Seer, Snape," he said.

"James, stop that," snapped Lily. "This is serious."

She bent closer to him and put her hand on his forehead.

"You've got a fever," she said to him, then turned to Potter again. "Hurry up with that spell, will you? Severus must be taken to the tent immediately."

"It's not that," Snape panted, though he suspected that Lily was right regarding the fever. "I'm not ... delirious... Moody..."

He tried to sit up, but, of course, he could not.

"I've never done this magic in my life," Potter put in. "If you don't stay still, Snape, I cannot promise anything."

Snape was continuously shivering with fever now, but he allowed Lily to soothe him like a child and to keep him still while Potter performed the magic according to his instructions. Potter succeeded again, and Snape was finally free.

"Can you stand up?" Lily asked.

"Of course," he said curtly.

He made a point of getting to his feet without help. It was not easy, and once he grabbed a tree for support, but he managed and was ready to go.

"Hang on a minute," said Potter suddenly. He reached into his pocket. "The mirror!"

He produced a small mirror, looked into it and whistled.

"It's Wormtail!"

Lily and Snape stepped closer and stared at the mirror from two sides. The face of Brutus Brockhoist was looking back at Potter from it, talking.

"Yes, it's me," he said in an undertone. "I just want to tell you that everything is going according to the plan. I could not report earlier because I had jobs to do here."

"Well done," Potter said, grinning. "Keep in touch."

Brockhoist-Pettigrew nodded. "I must go now," he mumbled and hastily vanished from the mirror.

Lily glanced at Snape. He was thinking.

"I will still inform Moody," he said pensively. "The Dark Lord is up to something. We must be careful."

His conviction that the Death Eater meeting had something to do with them was growing stronger even in spite of Pettigrew's report.

"Constant vigilance!" Potter bellowed, imitating the auror's voice.

"Expecto Patronum!" shouted Lily. Snape's eyes followed the silver-white doe dashing lightly among the trees.

"The Patronus will wake Moody," she said. "It's time he got up anyway."

They went back to the tents together. Snape's newly healed leg still hurt and he could walk only rather slowly. Potter and Lily were holding hands, but stayed close to Snape as though they expected him to collapse any minute. They spoke very little, and Snape was secretly thankful that neither of the other two thought of asking him how he had got trapped.

"I must talk to Moody," Snape repeated when they reached the Snape-Moody tent.

"We will tell him what you said about You-Know-Who," said Lily. "You must go to bed as soon as possible."

After a moment's hesitation, Snape growled something in agreement, and quietly climbed inside.

"Where have you been?" said a gruff voice. The auror was already up, getting ready for his turn of guard duty.

"Walking," muttered Snape, and limped towards the bathroom. He heard subdued voices hurriedly murmuring something to Moody behind his back. It was a relief to have the burden of explanation lifted from his shoulders.

By the time he washed the dirt of the fight with a werewolf off himself and returned to the bedroom area of the tent, Moody had left. Snape was glad to be alone. He knew that he needed a potion for medicinal purposes, but he felt too ill to make the effort to even go to his potion stock. Instead, he climbed into his bed, and lay there awake for a while, struggling with the fever and thinking about the events of the night: His embarrassing accident with the trap, the burning Dark Mark and Pettigrew's appearance in the mirror, the conversation between Black and Lupin, the werewolf attack, the fact that Potter and Black were Animagi and had rescued him from the werewolf and the trap, Lily being so incredibly kind to him...

He did not notice when Lily entered the tent. He only saw her when she was already by his side, and then he almost jumped.

"Severus," Lily whispered. "I did not expect to find you still awake, but I've brought something for you."

She handed him a goblet with some hot liquid in it.

"Drink it," she said. "It will make you feel better."

He smelt the potion that had been put into his hands, and he was already feeling better, or at least more cheerful. There was something unmistakably Lily-like in the scent of the drink.

"Since you are too ill to brew your own medicine, it is evident that someone else has to do it," she said, perhaps misunderstanding his silence. "This is what I give Harry, too, when he has a temperature. He really likes it."

With these words, she hurried out of the tent. Snape gazed at the goblet, astonished. It would have been better if Lily had not mentioned that she was giving the same medicine to her child - he was not quite sure that the parallel might not hurt his dignity in some way. Yet, what really mattered was the gently steaming potion, a tangible sign of Lily's friendship. The first sip almost made him smile, for the potion tasted of honey, apples and cinnamon. Out of a thousand different flavours, he still would have recognized her style of brewing.