13. A five-letter word

Snape's meander down the street just happened to be bringing him closer to the nearest pub. He paused on seeing the sign of The Hog's Head hanging motionless in the unseasonably hot spring day. It would not do to be spotted patronising a notorious establishment while he was on school duty. Though Merlin knows I need a drink right now, he thought as a troop of over-excited Hufflepuff third-years hurtled past. Sending them a filthy look, he made do instead with mentally tallying the points to be deducted on his return to the Castle. Funny how the sun brought out all the most insufferable children. Still, quite a few points from Gryffindor so far, he reminded himself with a satisfied smirk.

'Where are you off to?' came Minerva's sharp voice from somewhere to his side. As she approached, he realised he had been gravitating toward the pub again.

'What?' He stopped and gazed down the street as though wondering how he had come to be there. 'I thought I saw a student down that way. One of the troublemakers from Gryffindor.'

She threw him a sceptical look. 'Hmm. I think the Slytherin troublemakers are up by Honeydukes.'

'Slytherin troublemakers?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Wouldn't you say that's something of an oxymoron?'

Her eyes glistened behind her glasses. She muttered, 'I can think of one or two who would fit the last part, perhaps.' She sniffed. 'Such a beautiful day for it,' she exclaimed, taking in the surroundings.

He grimaced at the blue skies. She knew he despised small talk. Maybe she was trying to get rid of him so she could sneak a sly drink herself. 'Well, I'd better check on the oxy-morons.' He left her to her own nefarious devices and headed in the other direction. At least The Three Broomsticks did not wait for a solstice before cleaning its serving glasses.

He swept down the High Street, travelling cloak billowing as he went. Various passers-by in light summer robes, taking advantage of the mild May weather, looked him up and down, eyeing his heavy dark robes. Normally, he would attempt to pointedly ignore such unwanted attention, but the afternoon's pleasant climate was putting him in a somewhat frivolous, more confrontational mood. Hence, all stares were met with a display of less-perfect teeth set in a forthright smile. He snorted at those who scurried away in fright, snobbish expressions replaced with flushes of embarrassment.

Dismissing them from his mind, he returned to Minerva's words. Troublemaking Slytherins? He could think of only one right now. Lucius's son.

He was confident Draco would not repeat in front of Potter what he had undoubtedly learned from Lucius – at least not bring Snape more overtly into it.

Deciding he'd had to find the boy as soon as possible, he had risked being a little late for Hogsmeade and had gone in search of him.

'We don't want Potter to involve the Headmaster in this,' he had told Draco after finding him in the common room and wrenching him away from his entourage of Crabbe and Goyle junior. 'My position here at Hogwarts may be compromised if Dumbledore discovers our taunting of Potter.'

'So why do I have to stop but you don't?' the boy whined.

Snape observed the blond Slytherin who was used to having his own way and who took it for granted he would receive the best treatment. It came from being an only child in a privileged household, Snape decided with a small amount of bitterness. While he had experienced the former, he had not been so fortunate on the latter. 'Because Potter maintains foolish hopes,' he explained. 'And he does not wish to jeopardise them. But to Potter it is not your opinion that matters.' He watched Draco's eyebrows creep up in understanding.

'So what you're saying is Potter's letting you get away with it? He's cosying up to you because he wants you to like him?'

Snape curled his lips in reply. 'If you mention me in any way, and Dumbledore's golden boy goes crying to him, I will have no choice but to inform my master why I am no longer in the Headmaster's confidence.'

'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wouldn't be very happy about that,' muttered Draco, the boy's pallid demeanour betraying his worried thoughts.

'To say the least,' agreed Snape, gratified to see Draco working through the implications. 'It is not among the Dark Lord's plans I be kept uninformed of the schemes of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix.'

'I didn't think … I'm sorry, sir.' Draco cast his worry to the floor.

'I suggest you think more carefully before you speak in front of Potter in future, Draco.'

And so he had left for Hogsmeade, confident Draco's fear of endangering Lucius's position in the Dark Lord's circle would override any desire to indulge in some Potter-baiting. He expected Draco had already needled him on the matter. In his office Potter had been careful to avoid his eyes. But he had little sympathy for him. Not after the surprise in the Forest. He felt more regret for Draco: It was inevitable the boy would succumb to the foisting of his father's and aunt's beliefs on his impressionable mind and take the Dark Mark for himself.

But like a costly mistake, Potter refused to leave his thoughts.

How close it had been, in the Forest. It did not bear thinking of. And what had the boy been doing there, in the middle of the night? He had been following him, he knew it. Meddling again. Some things never changed.

Little had, anyway. Only the boy's Occlumency appeared to have improved – all because of the potion he had given him. It had to have been done. It had been either make the potion or give him the truth. Because Potter would not be quite so quick to push the pain of his Occlumency if he knew where his father really was.

He had hardly believed it in the library when the boy had asked whether he had taught his father. James Potter had been deficient in every attribute necessary for a skilled Occlumens. The exhibitionist Potter that he had known would have been like a lamb to the slaughter at Death Eater gatherings, never mind in the presence of the Dark Lord himself. He had strutted through life instead like a – well, like a stag.

Snape paused at his reflection in a shop window. How annoying it was – all those hours in the Forest over the past several weeks trying to Transfigure into something practical – when in fact he would never be able to get beyond that primitive stage, never be able to achieve better than that pitiful stag. What a supreme waste of his time. Pity – he could have found some use for the conceited James Potter after all. But even when Snape had gone to the trouble, had offered the man the benefit of his doubt, given him the chance to redeem himself, Potter insisted on remaining inept to the end, steadfast in his true love for the superficial, the shallow, the ostentatious.

He watched his face harden in the glass.

But the Potter boy had nearly ruined everything. If Potter had… But no. He was certain he had not seen anything. Yet, just before he had caught him, he had heard him call out…

A tinkle of laughter at his back disturbed his train of thought, making him refocus on the shop window and its contents. His own face looked back at him, swimming above a pink and white sea of witches' lace, artfully modelled.

He whirled round to glare at the swiftly retreating girls. It was difficult to tell which House they were in. Plainly, then, another twenty points from every one except Slytherin.

He peered back up the street. Minerva appeared to be lecturing a group of Gryffindors by Zonko's Joke Shop. Across the way, he recognised an Auror, no doubt assigned here on the information he had provided the Order with weeks earlier.

The last Hogsmeade weekend before the exams: if they were going to strike at all, it would be today. But he had heard similar gossip before among the Death Eaters that had come to nothing. All empty threats voiced over one too many Firewhiskies. And, more significantly, the saviour of the wizarding world was not here for them to attack.

The Potter boy. So like his father. Lacking in subtlety, like him; a dependable troublemaker, like him; the centre of attention… Yet, Potter's little speech after Potions the other month niggled. The unease would not be shaken, and it was reducing his leverage in classes when further observations were called for, as well as in the Occlumency lessons when it was necessary to bring out another distasteful Dursley – imperceptibly, but almost unbearably. He would regain it, certainly. But it was taking much too long for his liking.

Through the crowds milling around in the sunshine, he exchanged an accusatory look with the Auror across the road. The man, no older than twenty, eyed him with all the distrust Snape had come to expect from an associate of Mad-Eye Moody. Though you're here because of information from me, he thought. He inspected his watch. Still another hour to kill before herding the students back to Hogwarts. The warmth was irritating. But so was the spectacle of voracious consumerism that was incomprehensibly dredged out of people on hot, sunny days. He brushed aside the group of middle-aged witches who had surrounded the robe shop. 'Out of my way!' he barked at the women cooing at the display. He headed down the High Street, temper flaring in the heat of the bustle, and took some pleasure from bursting other examples of complacency.

At first, Snape thought it was the discovery of a bargain that was spreading through the throng like wildfire as the sun beat down. After a moment, he paid more attention to the movement of the rushing crowds when he realised it was not the whooping of joy reaching his ears, but the sounds of terror.

Several groups were peeling away, and hurtling in conflicting directions. He followed their lines of sight as they made for the safety of shop doorways. There was the Auror from earlier, crouched beside a signboard on the pavement, his wand pointing down the road.

Snape scanned the panicking mass for students as he stood fast against the surge. 'Stebbins!' He plucked out the terrified boy.

'No! Not me – please – I'm only … Professor Snape!' he cried, eyes wide with relief. 'I thought you were a —'

'Get over here.' He pulled Stebbins into a vacated sweet shop, thanking Merlin he had, as the first curse sent their way caught a nearby elderly wizard who had been too slow.

'Stay back,' he ordered the boy, pointing to the counter, and positioned himself beside the window. His fears were confirmed. He watched the Auror move from doorway to doorway down the street, doing remarkably well in dodging each hex and curse that careered his way, and clearly targeting the culprit … or culprits.

He ignored the fidgeting boy behind, keeping his eyes on the scene outside, until finally he found it. Partially hidden by a large sign proclaiming two-for-one ice creams was at least one of the sources of the attack. Although the man was behind a mask, Snape had spent enough time with his … associates … to be able to distinguish each from their mannerisms and stature. He peered in the opposite direction, wondering anxiously where Minerva was.

'Sir?'

'Silence!' he growled. Hopefully, the rest of the school party were employing common sense and had sought out Minerva, or were at least sheltering somewhere safe.

But he stared in disbelief when he spied a lone figure cutting through the hysterical crowd still pouring down the street. As it approached, it became plain it was a man, not, as he had feared, one of the students. The wizard was getting closer, a wand in one hand and a hungry eagerness across his face. Close enough to be recognised.

'Black!'

Behind there was the shatter of glass on stone.

Snape scowled at Stebbins' surprised guilt. A cherry-red sweet rolled across the concrete floor toward Snape's boot. 'This is not an excuse for looting, Stebbins.'

Snapping his gaze back to the window, Snape stared at Black's outright foolish behaviour as the man, in full view, shot curses down the street. He would not remain a spectator to this. At least Black's presence suggested the Order had learned of the attack.

Stebbins was stammering a repairing spell. Without bothering to look, Snape pointed as he grabbed the door. 'Stay here and stay down.'

-x-

'We are so gonna slaughter them.'

'Complacency's not what we want, Ron,' announced Angelina as she entered the changing room. 'The Final's only a few weeks away. We need to work damn hard if we want a shot at the Cup, people!'

Harry had thought their training session had gone pretty well. But Angelina was turning out to be a tougher taskmaster than Oliver Wood.

'And I want everyone to turn up on time for the next session.' She glared at Harry.

He was about to explain he had been held back by Snape's detention, when he felt a rush of anger. He wanted to wipe that superior look off her face. What right did she have to tell him what to do?

'And Ron – you need to play more to your strengths. Less mucking about.'

Ron looked mildly insulted. But Harry was incensed. He could not contain the rage any longer. 'Just what do you know anyway? You're just a STUPID GIRL who ought to stick to Charms!'

The room had gone quiet; Angelina's and Ron's faces swam into focus, wide-eyed and gaping at him.

Harry's cheeks were burning. 'I – I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me.'

'You need to learn respect for leadership, Potter,' she snarled, and turned on her heel back to the Captain's office.

'Blimey,' whispered Ron, as Harry avoided the barrage of glances, 'what the hell happened there?'

'I just… I dunno.' She had not deserved that; there had been nothing unjust in her words. Perhaps it was the stress of everything this year, the heavy OWL workload, the frustration of not being able to see his dad. It was not the first time he had lost control lately: he would not easily forget the outburst in front of Snape a few months back. But this had been something else. He had never felt such sudden anger. There was no excuse for what he had said to Angelina, especially after all the work she had put in this year for the team. 'I'm apologising properly,' he told Ron, and sprang to his feet.

-x-

It was extraordinary, Snape mused, how a dog could be taught to stay when told, yet not, it seemed, the mutt Black.

'Get off me, Snape.'

'What are you doing here?' He let go of Black's arm where he had pulled him into an empty doorway. 'Where's Minerva?'

'McGonagall? She's up there somewhere.' He motioned up the street. 'She sent me a message at Order headquarters when the raid went off.'

'You oaf,' spat Snape. 'You were supposed to inform the rest of the Order, not turn up yourself and place your position even further in jeopardy.'

'What do you take me for – of course I told them! I've seen Tonks around somewhere, and Mad-Eye said he'd bring along a bunch of Aurors – and I think Remus is here too.' His eyes were alive, and Snape angrily tried to follow them as they flitted about for the best action; he was plainly enraptured after several months' confinement in his mother's old house.

'I must not be seen with you if your presence here has already been noticed.'

Black looked at him curiously. 'Maybe I should hex you, then – in case we've been spotted already. It would be my pleasure.' He leered and raised his wand.

Snape wondered how the mutt could find amusement at a time such as this. 'Just you try,' he whispered, tightening his grip on his own wand in response.

Black's grin broadened. 'I could put—' His face opened in surprise.

'Put what?'

But Black only slumped forward in reply. Snape snagged an arm as he fell.

The stationary figure came into view.

There, just a few yards away, despite her mask and standard Death Eater robes, stood the unmistakable bony form of Black's cousin, her wand trained in their direction. And now pointing at Snape.

He hastily let Black's arm drop to the ground and straightened.

A battery of spells shot by the witch. She tarried two that fell close and danced with the crossfire out of sight.

He sank to a knee and rolled Black over, sliding him into the shelter of the doorway. 'Black!'

The mutt only groaned. A sweep of Snape's wand told him Black was in no condition to be Side-Along-Apparated to help. He would have to find the counter-spell himself to whatever Bellatrix had done. But there were no obvious signs. 'What did she use?' he urged in his ear. 'Did you hear it? What does it feel like?'

Black's breathing was harsh and heavy. He was deteriorating rapidly.

Snape yelled his name, and shook his shoulders. The fool was about to slip into unconsciousness. 'Black!' There was no choice now but to risk Apparition to St Mungo's. He hauled him up, using the door as a prop. 'Get up, you idiot.'

Breath hitched. The eyes that met him were startling in their distance.

But Snape thought he saw a hint of recognition. Hopefully this meant Black grasped the urgency of the situation. He was about to demand he tell him the spell, when the dry lips parted.

If he had not already been two short inches from the man's slack face, Snape might have thought he had misheard. As it was, the word Black murmured was too clear to be mistaken.

'James?'

Caught in the unblinking gaze, blood icy water beneath his skin.

'What … you doing … here…' Black breathed, the final word a sigh borne away by a passing breeze.

Snape could not say how much time slipped by before he snatched himself back from the glassy grey stare, and realised the man was no longer breathing.

The only thing he could recollect with any certainty was the cold, rough stone of the dark alley against his palms and temple, and the sound of urgent panting.

He barely felt the Dark Mark when it came. His throat burned stronger with drowning gasps. On and on it dragged at the treacherous air that had carried to his ears one word, with five fatal letters.