Severus slid the diced aconite leaves into the cauldron to his left and turned on his heel to stir the bubbling one behind him. It was a good night - productive, quiet, with a summer storm gaining power above ground. If all went as planned, he could enjoy a chapter of the Salazar Slytherin biography Albus had given him last Christmas before he went to bed.

Nine stirs clockwise, three counterclockwise. He kept count absently, one eye on the flames under his second cauldron. They were charmed to slowly rise in intensity over a period of ten minutes, but he left nothing to chance. The burn paste he was stirring was for Madam Pomfrey was easily made and easily put off until closer to the start of term. The simmering cauldron on the left was for the Dark Lord, and much depended on his ability to complete this potion before his next summons. At that thought, Severus reflexively reached for his left sleeve to roll it down, then stopped himself. He only rolled his sleeves up when it the privacy of his own potions laboratory and he refused to allow his own revulsion to the Mark to impede his efficiency.

He contemplated starting a third cauldron. It was getting to be late evening, but he could afford to lose the sleep. He still had two potions to brew to fulfill his charge from the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters who were not sufficiently talented at Memory Charms had been running through Forgetfulness Potion at an alarming rate as they tracked down information on traitors in their ranks. Karkaroff was marked for death. Two other former comrades had already been disposed of. The hunters requested poisons, Phantasm Philters, anything to torture their prey beyond the quick Avada. Much as he attempted to foil their sadistic plans, there was a limit to how many defective potions could be explained away by oversight. He needed this batch to be flawless. He had enough secrets to keep without testing his Occlumency for another round of questioning from the Dark Lord when the potions failed.

Severus set another cauldron on his work table, sending a bottle of essence of belladonna whizzing through the air toward him with a flick toward the cabinet. He poured half the phial into the cauldron, eyes on the open potions book beside it. His lip curled slightly at the ingredient list. Nettles, four runespoor eggs, scarab beetle blood. This was a particularly nasty one. He added a dash more of the belladonna and turned to stir his burn paste.

A silvery phoenix flew down the stairs, a haunting song announcing its presence. Snape let the ladle clatter against the side of the cauldron, spitting out a curse as the bird settled on the edge of the table. One night. Just one night without interference from either of his masters. Perhaps it was folly to hope for.

"Harry has been attacked by dementors in Little Whinging," came Dumbledore's voice through the Patronus. "I'm going to the Ministry right now to straighten things out. The Order will meet first thing in the morning."

The phoenix flew away before Severus had a chance to swear again. Leave it to Potter to be the one to spoil his night of freedom. He knew all too well that Dumbledore would expect information in time for that meeting. The burn paste was emitting a greenish smoke and was no longer the deep orange it was supposed to be. Snape swiped his wand at it with a vengeance, nearly cracking the cauldron with the nonverbal Scourgify. Poppy would just have to wait for it.

"Let Dumbledore explain why the infirmary is bare when term begins," Severus muttered, checking his other cauldron. It was due for another simmer, so he adjusted the flames and left it for the night.

He tossed a pinch of Floo powder into his fireplace, putting just his head and shoulders inside. "Malfoy Manor, study."

In a moment the charred brick of his fireplace had given way to the pristine black marble of Lucius' mantle. As expected, the blond man sat at his desk, sipping from a wine glass and looking altogether too pleased with himself.

"Ah, Severus," he greeted, his tone warmer than Snape had heard since the Dark Lord's return. "'Tisn't often you drop in at this hour."

Snape forced a smirk. "The fumes in my laboratory were more potent than the poisons themselves. I thought you might have something more… palatable about."

Lucius preened. "Come in, then, Pour yourself something and sit while I tell you the latest development."

Severus stepped through and nodded his acquiescence. The wine cart stood within arm's reach of the desk, and Lucius waved him toward it genially.

"It is a night to celebrate," he said, his tone portentous and grating to Severus' already raw nerves.

"Indeed?" Severus looked over the selection carefully, keeping his back to Lucius. The man was no Legilimens, but Snape saw no need to tempt the man to try.

"I succeed in Imperiusing Umbridge into taking action against Potter.

Severus filled a tumbler to precisely half-full of elderberry wine. He didn't recognize the name. "Indeed?" he repeated, infusing his voice with as much interest as he could reasonably muster.

He turned to face Lucius, reading the eagerness on the pale face. "And the Dark Lord approves of this?" he questioned into the tumbler.

Lucius' lips tightened into a straight line. "He need not know if it displeases him. Something had to be done and Umbridge was ripe for the part. She's been on tenterhooks all year for Fudge to do something about Dumbledore. All I had to do was override that last little bit of caution. I daresay she'll do well for us even after the curse has worn off."

Severus sipped his wine, savoring the flavor and postponing his reaction. "Splendid."

If Lucius had noticed that his guest was only responding in single-word sentences, he made no mention of it.

"She has no idea the Dark Lord is involved, of course. To her mind, Dumbledore is simply a raving madman who is seeking to overturn her precious Ministry. All I had to do was convince her she was absolutely correct in that assessment."

Lucius went on, detailing how he had planted the idea of dementors, and apparently the job had already been done – judging by the flap at the Ministry when he left for the evening. His tale was punctuated by larger and larger swallows of the wine.

"She'll deny having any part in it, of course, so even if any suspicion falls on the Ministry, we needn't worry about being discovered. I have sources at the Daily Prophet who tell me that Fudge has been leaning on them to keep Dumbledore in disgrace."

The silence indicated Lucius now expected Severus' participation in the conversation. Severus smirked a bit. "Dumbledore is making it easy for them, isn't he? To so openly stand with Potter… it's folly."

"And just what the Dark Lord wants," Lucius reminded. "He would love to bring Dumbledore to his knees before he finishes him off. Fudge is just doing the dirty work for us."

"Any further news about the Department of Mysteries?" Severus asked, pacing toward the fireplace again.

"We have people working on the Unspeakables. The prophecies are very well guarded, and we mustn't just waltz in and take it by force. I believe we'll soon have a more exact estimate of its whereabouts."

"Oh?"

Lucius' grin was unholy with glee. "The old prophecy cataloguer is in St. Mungo's for full-time care. Poor old man is frightfully feeble and he has no family to tend him. I've already sent visitors to inquire, and Goyle is working on recruiting a healer or two. Wouldn't be bad strategy in any case."

Treasa. She would be in danger. Severus schooled his face into passive agreement as his mind raced. She had proven herself far too outspoken to be trusted should a Death Eater come calling – even if she should be so fortunate as to go unrecognized by whomever the Dark Lord chose to send. Like as not she'd do something ridiculous and compromise the Order in the process.

"You look terribly preoccupied, Severus. Come, have another glass and we'll celebrate Potter's catastrophe together. I daresay you're more anxious than any of us to see the boy expelled from school."

"He's earned expulsion and more by now," Severus replied automatically. "But you'll excuse me, Lucius, I'd best return to my potions. The Dark Lord will expect them soon."

Lucius raised his glass in salute – slightly cock-eyed. "Go, then. Perhaps sometime soon we'll have more freedom to use your delightful concoctions. I do believe some of our number are getting restless."

The very thought was disturbing. Snape arched an eyebrow at Lucius. "I hope that is not disapproval of the Dark Lord's plan –"

Lucius' rather tipsy laugh cut off the veiled accusation. "No, no, old friend. I merely worry about keeping everyone unoccupied for such an extended amount of time. No doubt the Dark Lord knows what he is doing. Perhaps the recruiting at St. Mungo's will ease some of the tension."

Severus stepped into the fireplace. "Indeed," he muttered even as the flames burned green around him.

He landed in his laboratory with an ignoble tumble onto the rug. After righting himself, he checked the cauldron he had left to simmer and reached for the potions cabinet to restart the burn paste. Keeping busy would be the best way to pass the long hours of the night before the meeting. There was no immediate danger, and he had a good idea of how his news would be received by the Order. Treasa would likely get her own detachment of private guards. No need for him to concern himself with direct intervention. He would hardly be expected to do so for anyone, much less the new mediwitch who seemed to spending so much time with his sworn enemy. It was a small blessing that Black had no idea who she truly was.

Severus dropped a handful of nettles into the cauldron, wincing as he realized he had forgotten the tongs. He bit his lip and indulged in a gusty sigh. His life grew more complicated by the day.