14. It was him!

He closed his eyes and focused on the burning on his arm, trying to forget the burning in his head, his throat, his lungs, his stomach. The air he squeezed through was dark and hot as he Disapparated to the Dark Lord's summons.

He was still weightless when he arrived. He wandered around the dream. Or was it a nightmare? The Dark Lord laid his anger at everyone's feet but his own. His mission had failed. Snape watched the wave of fear with a degree of passivity that he had never before managed to achieve.

Then he sensed the accusations turn in his direction. His head was being searched. Perhaps for signs of Dumbledore being warned in advance of the Dark Lord's operation at the Ministry that Snape had been ignorant of, had been absent from, in Hogsmeade at the time, hundreds of miles from the Dark Lord's side. But it was uncommonly easy to keep his mind empty while the Dark Lord's rage groped around inside him seeking release.

Information ran from the Dark Lord's twisted mouth to comfort his wounded ego. Snape absorbed it, preserving it to take back to Dumbledore, as once he would have done for the Dark Lord. All was crucial to success, though now success meant something very different. But the world then had been very different.

Significant absences were noted. Had Lucius finally been caught out?

When the Dark Lord's anger had been vented, Bellatrix cornered Snape as he took his leave. Her face was at once triumphant and layered with suspicion. What had he been doing with her cousin Sirius, she wanted to know.

He almost believed the well-rehearsed lies he offered up to her. Perhaps one day he would wake and think himself a true traitor to Dumbledore's cause. But perhaps that was as likely as waking to believe himself James Potter. Or Severus Snape.

Bellatrix continued her demands, refusing to let him leave. What more did she want of him?

'He drew his wand on you.' She spat the words out like an accusation.

'He was always paranoid. Never trusted me. I wonder why?' A raised eyebrow. A small, sardonic curl of the lip. Mechanical movements designed to conceal the truth within. And where did the real truth lay? Deeper still. But not deep enough. Not deep enough to hide from Black.

But then he realised when he registered the flicker of slight in her keen eyes: She wanted what she always demanded of everyone around her, of course. She wanted recognition. She wanted him to thank her for 'rescuing' him from Black.

'But I do appreciate you finishing him off, and saving me the bother. It might have been difficult to explain away to Dumbledore if I'd had to do it myself.'

She moved aside with beady-eyed suspicion as he left, depositing with her a small incline of the head as a show of his gratitude. Thank you for allowing Black to speak that hated word. Thank you so much, Bellatrix.

He found himself back at Hogwarts, the bustling Entrance Hall alive with news of the simultaneous attacks. Some students voiced concern for families who may or may not have been at Hogsmeade, some for parents employed at the Ministry. Snape ignored the hushed looks cast his way as he drifted through, intent on climbing the marble stairs.

'Sir.'

A girl held the boy back by his sleeve in worry. He shrugged her insistent hand away and confronted Snape at the foot of the steps.

'Sir. In the shop … I couldn't fix it. Professor McGonagall came before I could. It was in a million bits. I didn't have time.'

Snape looked with curiosity at the concern etched on Stebbins' face.

'I … I'll pay for any damage, sir.'

The girl was gesturing behind him now – Fawcett, was it? Stebbins sent her a series of swift glances to warn her off. Snape wondered at the boy's bravery in reminding him, inviting detention. Perhaps the shopkeeper had been injured, killed, and the boy had somehow discovered this? In his head, he heard again the smash of the sweet jar on the floor, caused by Black's sudden appearance. Could the fragments have been repaired given time?

'Never mind, Stebbins. What's done is done.'

He turned from the boy's surprised relief and proceeded up the stairs. He was already at the entrance to the Headmaster's office when he regretted the casual remark. How dare the boy dream of asking him for absolution for such a petty crime? The gargoyle stared silently back as he opened his mouth to snarl the password, when the door opened and Mad-Eye Moody emerged.

'Snape.' Moody's acknowledgement was far from welcoming. He clumped down into the corridor under the torchlight. 'Thought you'd be with him, licking your wounds.'

Snape felt no desire to defend himself against the gruff accusations.

'I saw you, Snape.' The blue eye swivelled in its socket, taking him in.

'I'm pleased to hear your ocular functions are in full working order.' Snape glanced at the magical eye.

'I saw you with Sirius.'

His gaze snapped to Moody's normal eye. He forced down the rush of panic.

'I saw you with him. I fought the wee bitch away.'

So those had been his spells?

'And then after I was done with another of your lot, I looked back and you'd gone – left Sirius all alone, just lying there. Funny that, eh?'

Snape failed to see what was supposed to be amusing about it. 'I have to see Dumbledore.' He made toward the spiralling staircase.

'Perfect opportunity.'

Snape paused at the open door and turned. 'Pardon?'

'You heard me. You ought to watch your step, laddie, because one of these days you're going to mess up. And I'll be there. Waiting.'

It was funny how much the mad Auror seemed to enjoy his own paranoia. He nurtured its consistency like a Hungarian Horntail guarding its first egg. 'I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.'

Moody sensed he was losing him, and shortened the distance with a clunk. 'Finished him off, didn't you?' There was a menace in Moody's normal eye which nearly matched that in the electric-blue one; it seemed to pulse with hostile magic as it stared back. 'Finished Sirius off then made a run for it.'

Snape's chest tightened and the blood went to his head at the injustice – accused of killing the man who had once tried to kill him! – coupled with the reminder of Black's final words. 'I did nothing of the kind. You can check my wand—'

Moody's laugh was a scratchy growl. 'Don't bother. You've had a couple of hours to get it adjusted.'

There was something about the way he had emphasised that last word, had spat it out in mockery. Snape narrowed his eyes as he tried to fathom his meaning. But apparently Moody was all too eager to explain.

'That's right.' Moody seemed pleased he had got a reaction. 'Someone saw you a few weeks ago in Ollivander's asking about adjustments.'

Now Snape understood. He had stopped by the wandmaker's in Diagon Alley the other weekend. He had wondered whether the change of magical core more than fourteen years ago might have dampened the effects of his magic. He had asked about fine-tuning his wand. It was quite feasible, of course, that over those years his core and wand had normalised naturally. But under the pretence of citing possible wand damage, it would not have hurt to ask. That was what he had thought at the time, at least. But of course he could tell Moody nothing of this. 'I have no desire to defend myself to you. I'm sure you've already discussed this with Dumbledore.' He had, after all, just come from the Headmaster's office.

The responding glare said everything: No doubt Dumbledore had given one of his little speeches on how much trust he placed in him. Snape allowed his mouth to quirk in a semblance of victory, and returned to the staircase – only to be forced back when Lupin stepped down.

The first thing Snape noticed was his dazed appearance. Then it occurred to him that he must have just learned of Black's death. Snape checked himself from sneering, but he need not have bothered: Lupin had apparently not noticed him stood to the side.

'Mad-Eye.' Under the torchlight Lupin was pale and sickly.

'You all right?' asked Moody.

'Yes. I just … I think I just need some fresh air.'

'Why don't you go to St Mungo's? I'll come with you. See how Minerva is. Though she'll probably be out in a week or so.'

Unlike whom? wondered Snape.

'That's good.' Lupin seemed distant.

'Well, come on.'

'Oh. No – they wouldn't want me in the way. She wouldn't know I was there anyway.'

'Nonsense. It'll do you good. Stop you imagining the worst. It's not like any of her family will be there for her, is it?'

Of course. Snape had heard one of the Death Eaters gloating about Cursing Bellatrix's Auror cousin Nymphadora at Hogsmeade. So her injuries must be serious then. Naturally there were no expectations of her only living relative who was not a fugitive, Narcissa, rushing to her bedside.

'No, no.' Lupin was shaking his head, plainly trying to convince himself. 'I need some air. I'll just have a short walk round the school grounds.' His glance was brief and surprisingly accurate. 'Severus,' he said levelly, and turned down the corridor.

Snape found himself watching his receding back with a small amount of bewilderment. He had just left the Headmaster's office. Most likely he had been present for Moody's accusation. But wasn't he simply in a daze because of Black's death and Nymphadora's hospitalisation?

'I know your secret.'

Snape turned to Moody with a start. Though he was well aware Moody knew his past – the entire Order knew, of course – on being caught off guard, his hand still had a habit of rising convulsively toward his left forearm. He checked it now before it reached the Dark Mark, and forced it back down.

Moody sneered at this. 'Not your dirty secret. I mean the one I warned Dumbledore not to tell you about.'

A nasty jolt shot through Snape. So he knew. And he had known even before him. But it was all too clear now. The Auror must have jumped at the chance to interrogate for himself the freshly captured fugitive Death Eater Flintoff. Why hadn't he thought of this before?

'I didn't want you bragging about it to your chums.' He looked Snape up and down, magical eye fastened on his face, which had likely betrayed some hint of shock in spite of his efforts.

'Think you've got one over on us, eh? And now Sirius… Well, I'll tell you, Snape, Dumbledore might trust you, but I don't.' His magical eye swivelled in its socket to underline the point. 'I suppose you think you've convinced him you've got yourself a new conscience and the past doesn't matter any more.' The blue eye travelled over him again. 'But me – I say some people never change. With or without a new core.' The eye returned to his face and fixed itself there.

Snape fought to keep his distracted thoughts firmly to the back of his mind. But he felt the colour creeping over him as he stared defiantly back. It seemed to satisfy Moody: He sneered one last time, before turning on his heel, false leg clumping on the wooden floor.

Snape watched him leave, then made his way up the winding stairs to the Headmaster's office. He hammered on the door and threw it open. Dumbledore turned from a portrait whose startled gaze swiftly morphed into the deep frown of a former headmaster.

'How did he take it?' asked Dumbledore before Snape had even closed the door. There was no doubt to whom he was referring.

'Angrily.' Snape stepped inside. 'It was … not a pleasant sight.'

'I expect he tried to blame everyone but himself?'

Snape smiled wryly. 'You know him well.'

'Ah, yes. Too well.' He said it with sadness, and grew thoughtful.

'He wasn't after the boy,' said Snape. 'It was the prophecy he wanted.'

'Yes.' Dumbledore offered nothing more.

'He should have tried to use Potter to get it.'

'Really?' He peered over his spectacles. 'I hope you didn't tell him that.'

'I think he was angry enough.'

'Well, Harry can resist the Imperius Curse.'

'Indeed?' Snape looked around and saw Fawkes' perch was empty. 'The Hogsmeade attack was a diversion.'

'Yes, I know.' He sighed, and Snape waited.

'You know I did not?'

There was a pause. 'Why would I doubt that?'

'I knew nothing of his plans.'

'Of course. Because you weren't involved in them. It's not entirely unexpected.'

'Still…' He stopped, unsure what he had meant to say. Really, he should feel fortunate for having been kept in the dark. Otherwise he might have been accused of informing Dumbledore, and blamed for the Ministry fiasco. As it was, the Dark Lord was too stupid to see that some of the very Aurors he'd intended to be diverted from the Ministry had already been assigned to keep an eye on the village.

'Sit,' said Dumbledore. 'Before you drop. You look like you haven't had the chance all day.'

Snape turned to the chair as though it were a foreign object. But when he settled into its embrace he was grateful for it.

'At least,' said Dumbledore, turning to pace the floor, 'the Ministry cannot now deny Lord Voldemort's return.'

It was hard not to agree. Appearing in the Department of Mysteries to obtain a prophecy about oneself did leave rather little room for doubt in that respect. 'But he did not succeed in hearing all of it.' It was a statement rather than a question: The Dark Lord had made the failure abundantly clear, to the terrified scraping of the assembly.

'Fortunately, with your advance warnings, there were enough Aurors still in place at the Department. Even more fortunately, I also happened to be at the Ministry at the time.'

No doubt, thought Snape, still trying to persuade them of the Dark Lord's return. Just what one needs to help one's cause is the very appearance of the fact one is trying to prove. Auspicious indeed.

'I was forced to destroy it before he could learn the rest.'

Dumbledore's words invoked in Snape an image of the stained pine door at the Hog's Head: scratchy wood against his face as he pressed an ear to one of its spidery knots; straining to filter out the noises of the pub downstairs so that he could better hear Trelawney droning her intriguing proclamation; his heart applauding it as its importance became clear – the Dark Lord would be pleased – now he did not have to dread reporting another failure to join Dumbledore's employ. His excitement built as she droned on, and he had not heard the bartender's footsteps until it was too late.

Even now, Dumbledore would not tell him the rest of it.

'I saw Moody just now.'

'Is Alastor still here?' Dumbledore was by Fawkes' stand, removing a gnawed end of cuttlefish and replacing it with a fresh piece.

'He left … but not without a few words for me first. I'm sure you can guess.'

If Dumbledore did, he was not saying.

'Not that I particularly care about his opinion of me, but you have explained?'

'Explained?' Having finished replenishing Fawkes' seed tray, Dumbledore patted the empty perch.

'About my ignorance of the Dark Lord's plot.'

'Ah, that.' He came back over to his chair. Once seated, he held Snape's gaze for a moment. 'Alastor hasn't been voicing his doubts on the information you gave us.'

'Oh?' The Auror did not doubt him on that? This was news surely worthy of the front page of the Prophet.

'Alastor was at Hogsmeade. He told me he successfully fought off Bellatrix Lestrange. But not before she had injured Sirius.'

'I tried to ascertain the spell she'd used,' said Snape after Dumbledore had relayed Moody's assertion that he had seen him with Black. 'But there was nothing to be done.'

'Alastor was prevented from coming to your aid by another Death Eater. After dealing with him, he went in search of you, and found Sirius's body where he had fallen.'

Snape debated telling him about his and Moody's confrontation a few moments ago. 'So the madman thinks I finished him off,' he said instead, and regretted it when Dumbledore gave him a reproachful look.

'There is something else.'

'Indeed?' Snape tried to make it sound casual; as though there could be nothing surprising in whatever new conspiracies Moody accused him of.

'You were seen in Ollivander's a few weeks ago enquiring about adjustments.'

'Moody has already told me his suspicions. He was quite vocal about them, just now in the corridor.'

'I see. And what did you tell him?'

'I told him nothing. As I said, I don't care about his opinion of me.'

'And do you feel the same about mine, Severus?'

Snape was determined not to bite. If Dumbledore wanted to know the truth, he could ask like anyone else. He certainly seemed to be accusing him like everyone else. 'At least I did learn something interesting from Moody's ramblings,' Snape said. 'It appears he was one of those who had advised you not to tell me about Flintoff's revelation.' There was surprisingly little reaction from Dumbledore. 'I didn't know he knew – indeed, he'd known before me.' Of course, Snape realised then, Dumbledore had probably already guessed this was linked to his visit to the wandmaker and had offered it to Moody as a possible explanation.

'I don't think it matters. Alastor promised me he would not tell a soul.'

Snape made no comment on Dumbledore's choice of words. 'He enjoyed throwing it in my face. Watching me dance.'

'I don't think he did.'

'I don't think you appreciate what it's like to be on the receiving end of one of Moody's accusations.'

'Not all of them are unfounded.'

The remark was uncalled for. Not after what he had endured today. It burned more strongly than the Mark on his arm had done hours earlier.

Dumbledore took pity on his fight to find appropriate release for his anger. He sighed. 'Severus, I expect you visited Ollivander's seeking adjustments because of your magical core. Am I right?' He waited for Snape's terse nod. 'Very well. I believe it's understandable. So now we come to Sirius.' He paused and held his gaze. 'You said there was nothing to be done. Is that why you left?'

It would have been easy to say yes and be done with it. But Snape hesitated, and it was just long enough for the doubt to creep into Dumbledore's eyes.

'You were seen running from him.'

Running? Had he been so eager to get away? 'The Dark Lord was summoning us.' He watched Dumbledore wonder why in that case he had not simply Disapparated on the spot.

'Dumbledore – if you doubt—'

'Severus, it is not a question of doubt. I simply wish to establish the facts. Not just to reassure Alastor – although that in itself would bring welcome peace.'

'Very well. I suppose as he knows everything else about me, he may as well know this too.'

On Dumbledore's face, lines were being drawn: The Headmaster had not been expecting a revelation. For Snape they marked the point of no return.

'It was when Black died. As he died. You see, he called me…' He looked to Dumbledore, but he offered no help. 'He saw me. That is, he saw…'

Now something was dawning. Snape saw it inch its way through Dumbledore's thoughts like a snake.

'It was him! He made Black say it. So that he could … torture me.'

The blue eyes looked calmly back. 'Who?'

'Him. Potter.'

'Harry?'

'Not the boy!' Snape seized the arms of his chair and tried to stare sense into the old man. 'The boy's father!'

But Dumbledore's mind continued to work. 'Are you saying you were with Sirius when he died? He spoke to you?'

'Not to me.'

'To James?'

Though he had wanted the inquisition to end, it was no less of a shock. There was that same jolt in his chest, the same grip stealing his breath, and he recognised it now as fear. The terror of no escape. 'How … how could it be?'

Dumbledore pondered as Snape fought his own battle. 'Perhaps – perhaps one soul passing can recognise another.' He turned to studying him with some interest, like one does a dying animal. 'Are you certain?'

'Do you think if there was the slightest chance of it having been any other word…?'

'Of course.'

It was not so much the remark that hit him like a Bludger, but the calmness of its delivery, its confidence, its simplicity. The fear was infecting every part of him now. 'Dumbledore. What does it mean?'

'Perhaps Alastor does not need to know every detail. No, I think he'll take my word on faith.'

'Dumbledore.' Black's final breath, the astonishment in his question What are you doing here? – no his demand, it had to have been a demand – made Snape now wonder the same. Whose life, exactly, was he living? The last words of the dying man had been like a pronouncement on him. They had been saying, what right did he have to keep the man shackled to earth? But Potter was not a man, he was a parasite, and how strongly he wanted to cast out his tormentor. Would he then resemble someone who had received the Dementor's Kiss – a soulless mere shadow of a human? In all likelihood. But to exist in the bliss of unawareness seemed preferable to continuing to live a life that did not seem to belong to him at all, a life that had been a present from the man he hated even more than James Potter.

'I don't want to lose myself.' He spoke to his hand, white on the black cloth of his robes. The definable borders he presented to the world were unfamiliar to him. He was adrift somewhere beyond them.

'I don't believe that will ever be likely, Severus. You have such a … strong personality.' There was a smile in the words. 'Why would you change now? It's been fourteen years —'

Snape looked up. 'Fifteen.'

'Ah yes.'

'And is my path still clear, Dumbledore? Dare to say it.'

Dumbledore's face shifted; the Headmaster was preparing a rebuke. 'Voldemort could not lose you, Severus,' he said. More gently, 'Not then.'

'It is punishment, isn't it? For…'

'Oh, I think you were punished for that.'

'But how could Black know? How was it possible? Could anyone else – Moody? If he didn't know already, could he see too?'

'His soul was casting off the burdens of this life,' said Dumbledore, shaking his head. 'I would imagine it's not so very different from meeting one's love for the first time. Sometimes a thing can only be seen when it and it alone is seen.'

The convoluted theorising offered little, other than to stop his thoughts. Snape sat back and turned his mind to the day's other events. 'I take it Lucius was among those captured at the Ministry?' he asked after a moment.

'Yes, he was. But I've just discovered he has been released on bail.'

Bail? More like bribery, thought Snape, and he could not resist a sardonic smile. The trivialities of others could always be relied upon to relieve the load that was peculiar to oneself.

'Minerva will be in St Mungo's for the next few weeks,' said Dumbledore with a sigh. 'Thankfully, her injuries are not severe, though I wish I could say the same for others.'

There was no need to discuss death tolls and casualties. He had heard the boastful recitals being bandied against one another as soon as he had Apparated among the battle-charged Death Eaters.

'Perhaps it is some relief that Sirius at least died with a friend.'

'What?' But even in the face of Snape's shock, Dumbledore refused to give up his thoughtful look. 'Don't mention him,' Snape demanded, feeling the blood pump faster. 'Don't talk about Potter to me!'

'It's intriguing you still bear him such ill will after all this time.'

'Small wonder, when he has taken everything from me again.'

'Has he? Has he really?'

'I shall not be defined by him!'

'Identity.' Dumbledore grew ponderous again. 'Identity is a curious thing, isn't it?'

Snape said nothing. At least he had moved on from talk of Potter.

'It is not our blood or our genes, or our magical cores,' said Dumbledore, gazing now into the distance. 'Oh, it is in those things, but do they make us everything we are? What of our actions, our connections, our loves?'

Snape found Dumbledore looking at him as though waiting for an answer. He jerked his head away, and his breaths tried to follow from his tightening chest. 'All I know is,' he said, seeking to fill the silence, 'the more I return to the past, the less I recognise.' His eyes were on a sleeping headmistress; she lolled in her hand, her silver hair falling across her face. 'Do I know myself from fifteen years ago? So many things changed that night. How can I distinguish between them…' He turned his eyes; they pricked from staring at the picture too hard. 'Where am I to be found?'

'I think you know your true self.'

Snape waited.

'Does anyone know?' said Dumbledore. But Snape's stare demanded an answer. 'In what you hold most dear.'

Snape shook his head slowly. 'No, Dumbledore.' He took the chair arm and pulled himself to his feet. 'Too easy, too simple. Between me and the husband, can a distinction be made? Can you do it?'

'We've been through this. Your memories—'

'My memories! But who am I!'

Dumbledore's patience, so generous only moments ago, was already nearing an end. 'Sirius has confused you.'

'Black has confused me? No, if anything, he's made things clearer.'

'But this is interesting. You seek for a distinction between you, yet see none between the father and son?'

'Why bring the boy into this! It is nothing to do with him!'

'No, perhaps not,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'But I must concern Harry with other things…' He turned his head and took his thoughts with him.

'So you are to talk with the boy.'

Dumbledore caught his tone. 'Harry has lost his godfather today.'

'Black was a fool—'

'I'm well aware of your opinion of him.' He sighed, and his hard gaze softened, more with weariness than anything else. 'Today has been stressful for all of us. Some more than for others.'

'And what of Moody?'

'I think that is of little concern today, wouldn't you agree?'

Snape made for the door. On reaching it amid a silence, he stopped. 'You were right on one thing, all those years ago,' he said to its solid wall. 'That was not my weakness. At least not my greatest weakness.' As he pulled it open, he looked back. 'This is.'