Snape watched Poppy make her way to Minerva's room. Slowly, he lowered himself against the wall.

And now, he thought, where do we go from here?

Faintly, in the background, he heard the reassuring voice of Poppy, a brief silence, and then a painful, racking sob. Instinctively, he cast a wordless muffling spell. Not that! Funny, he thought, this very evening I looked at the most …let's say 'personal' details of your private life without a qualm. And now I cannot bear the thought of hearing you cry. Because you would hate it? Because I have changed? But why? Has all of Hogwarts been stunned, together with you? That would be an interesting theory …

'Coward,' said the little voice in his head. 'That isn't an interesting theory, it's escapism. What you should be worried about is this overt rebellion. Make that 'utter disloyalty,' even. Albus gave you very clear instructions. You are not going to follow them. So, where exactly do you go from here?'

I'll take the path of careful analysis and logical solutions, Snape thought. What else is there? So let's look at this little conundrum. Option one: Albus is right and Poppy is under an imperius-curse. Is this a hypothesis worth testing by further legilimency? It's not, and you know it. That woman is no more under an imperius than yourself. Which brings us to option two: Albus is utterly wrong, and what Minerva is not telling him about Poppy is that they are lovers. Easy, neat solution: go tell Albus. Easy, neat, and considerate solution: pour the man a stiff drink, and then tell him. Minor hiccup: I'm not going to. If, in all these years of the closest friendship I've ever seen, Minerva has not told him, then I will certainly not. I owe her too much.

'Owe her why, exactly?' said the little voice. 'Owe her, because she was strict but fair when you were at Hogwarts? Owe her, because she behaves towards you with at least outward civility? Or do you really still feel that you owe her, because she once invited you in as if you were really welcome? Offered you a drink, even? That was in honor of it being New Year's day, sentimental old idiot, it had nothing to do with you!'

There is of course a third option, Snape thought, pointedly ignoring the little voice. Albus knows all about the relationship, but feels that Poppy poses a danger. Personally, I still do not believe it. But, as Albus said, do I know what every Death Eater does, in terms of , say, imperius-curses? I do not. There is only one who does. I could, perhaps, find out by reading Poppy's mind. But, again, I'm not going to.

So, which solutions are open at this point? I could invent a story about Poppy that would keep Albus content and none the wiser. The risks are, of course, that I would not be able to pull that off. Or, if I did manage, that Albus would act on misinformation, what might irreparably damage our position. Can't do that.

Or, I could go to Albus and tell him to put his orders where his Phoenix cannot fly. Which means losing the only person who lo… ca… entertains feelings of friendship of some kind toward me.

Snape, terminally analytical, briefly mused on the extraordinary number of four-letter-words in the English language. Then he returned to the problem at hand. The last option really was the only feasible one. He pictured the conversation with Albus, the argument, the curt dismissal.

Suddenly, he felt stone-cold. The air was wet and clammy. It was as if he would never by happy again. In one fluent movement he was on his feet, shielding the corridor to Minerva's room with his back, wand ready.

'Expecto pa..' Only then did he realize that the corridor was a still Dementor-free zone and that the feelings of despair were his own. To be wrapped up and archived, neatly labeled Losing Albus' friendship, reactions to.

He sagged back against the wall. 'If you were a Gryffindor,' he told himself, 'you would not hesitate. Minerva would not. She'd go to Albus, head high, back ramrod-straight, and damn the consequences.'

He smiled at the image. A smile which he slowly changed from fond admiration to contempt.

'Ah, Minerva,' he murmured, 'you'd go, but, only because you could not imagine a fourth option. And there always is one. The Slytherin way. When you are between the devil and the deep blue sea, damned if you do, and damned if you don't, then think Slytherin. Think power. Think about a means towards an end. Think ambition!'

Slowly, he proceeded to fill his mind with images. Minerva boo-ing the Slytherin team during Quidditch. Her barbed remarks when Gryffindor won the house-cup. Her look of triumph when the decorations changed from green and silver to red and gold, that first year that mister Potter… ah, Mr. Potter. An even better thought. He pictured the boy as he always did, in profile, the spitting image of his father. James, who had bullied him relentlessly, who had made his years at Hogwarts hell, who had destroyed his life when he married Lily. Slowly, he let the hatred seep through his entire body. Only then did he rise and make his way to the school gates.

Once outside the gates he carefully pressed the black mark on his arm. He waited a few seconds, twirled elegantly, and disapparated.

*-*-*-*-*-

A corridor, richly decorated. And, at elbow's level, a squeaky voice.

'Lord Voldemort said to send you in.'

Without a further look at Pettigrew, Snape entered.

A/N Sorry folks, I really wanted to update both chapters on Snape today, but real life is as cooperative as Umbridge on a bad hair day. Will try to update soon. Reviews are very stimulating, of course, so if you have not yet done your good deed for the day, press the button!