Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, situations, and events are property of J.K. Rowling and her publishers.

Author's Note: Welcome to all new readers, and welcome back, those of you who have waited a very long time for this chapter. Your thoughtful feedback makes this story better. My thanks go out to pookha and datbenik513 for their assistance.

(7/2010): Corrected the spelling of this chapter's title and Sirius's spell to wake Hagrid. Whoops!

Rennervate

Faint aromas of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding floated up from the lower floors of Hogwarts Castle. Piercing ghosts of children's laughter rang dissonant against the clink of cutlery on china plates. Sirius Black eyed the golden bell pull hanging near the fireplace. His stomach growled again. Dumbledore was late, but he wouldn't have wanted him to starve. Sirius started to get up. Dorcas Meadowes' hard, pale-blue stare pinned him to his seat.

"Dorcas, I told you I'm sorry."

The Auror turned her face away from him. Sirius slumped in the overstuffed velvet chair. His nervous fingers pulled dog hair off his robes, rolling it into a ball. Surreptitiously, he tucked the ball down between the chair cushions. Dorcas sniffed with distaste.

A dry snow sifted against the window. Feathery white drifts filled the outer depressions in the honeycomb of leaded glass. A sudden draft blew down the chimney, rippling the low flames in the fireplace. Fawkes flapped irritably on his perch.

"Dumbledore told me not to say anything-"

Dorcas cut him off. "Then save your breath till he gets here."

Sirius's heart sank. Dorcas's anger was unexpectedly painful, like having a favorite teacher suddenly turn on him. Damn it! She, of all people, should have understood.

A soft grinding sound heralded the Headmaster's arrival. The marble staircase spun in a slow pirouette, collapsing neatly into the cavity below the linteled door. Albus Dumbledore removed his plain black hat and stood it atop a precarious stack of books. Fawkes pecked at Dumbledore's hand. The old Professor rummaged through his robe pockets and pulled out a small packet of pistachios. "Hungry, my friend?" Fawkes cracked the white shells in his powerful beak. Fragments rolled in between heaps of books and papers.

Dorcas's tension increased visibly. Finally, she could hold back no longer. "You never told me Sirius was an Animagus. I should have arrested him!"

"He saved the Dursley boy."

Dorcas ignored him. "Do you know how many times I could have used an Animagus? You've set yourself so far above the rest of us, you don't share anything that really matters!"

"Madam Meadowes, you may also say the same of yourself."

Dorcas spluttered. Sirius shrunk further down into his chair, hoping to escape notice. "And you, you're a grown man! Stop acting like you're going to be put in detention!"

Dumbledore settled wearily behind his desk and removed his pince-nez, rubbing the lenses clean on the edge of his sleeve. "I hoped that after all these years, Dorcas, you would have a greater understanding of my position."

"Nobody wants to see Voldemort beaten more than I do, Albus, you know that. I've devoted myself to the Order and let the Ministry come second. I've been reprimanded because of you, I've nearly lost my job. And what sort of help do I receive? What sort of thanks? You told Petunia Dursley that you solved my case before you told me!"

Sirius's voice came out small. "I said I was sorry, Dorcas."

"Merlin's pants, don't tell me you knew they were alive!" Sirius opened his mouth to defend himself. "Silencio!"

Sirius grabbed his throat. Nothing but a strangled wheeze escaped. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and raised it toward the ceiling. Dorcas jumped into a defensive position, but Professor Dumbledore raised his palms to stop her.

Golden ribbon erupted from the tip of Sirius's wand, curling into three-dimensional script above their heads. "What the hell was I supposed to do, break my vows? Professor Dumbledore said he was going to tell you as soon as it was safe. I had to trust him."

Dorcas answered tightly. "Breaking your vows never stopped you and Potter before."

Sirius's upturned wand wavered in his hand. Coils of golden satin fluttered slowly to the stone floor. Fawkes hopped down from his perch and glided to the floor, cocking his head with curiosity.

"Maybe I learned something from James. Maybe I learned when to shut up and follow orders. James might be alive now if he hadn't gone off with Peter."

Fawkes pecked curiously at Sirius's bitter words. Tangled accusations lay unwritten on the floor. Dorcas's wand flicked sideways, releasing her Silencing Charm.

"Pettigrew was the traitor?"

Sirius massaged his throat before he spoke. "He was a Death Eater. We saw the brand."

Dorcas was quiet for several moments, intently studying the backs of her hands where they lay folded in her lap. When she raised her face, her eyes were damp. She looked older than Sirius had ever seen her.

"Pettigrew was in Minerva's House. She isn't going to take this well." Dorcas dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

Dumbledore levitated a plain handkerchief into her palm. "No, I expect not. She's already quite upset about the Potters. Hagrid told me yesterday that he'd never seen Professor McGonagall so broken up about a student."

Sirius and Dorcas shared horrified expressions. "Hagrid!" Dorcas grabbed her wand and rushed to the fireplace, shaking a handful of Floo powder into the palm of her hand.

Sirius grasped her arm. "You can't do that! You sealed his Floo!"

Dorcas cursed and dragged Sirius toward the door, barely waiting long enough for the stairs to spool out from the hidden compartment. Professor Dumbledore followed.

The house at the edge of the Forbidden Forest lay as dark as midnight. Little snow drifts rippled across the gravel path, moved back and forth by the changing winds. The candles on the kitchen table had long since melted to pools of hardening beeswax. Hagrid lay by the cold fireplace, a fallen monolith.

Together, Dorcas and Sirius lifted the double Body-Bind. Dorcas knelt beside her friend on the uneven flagstones. Her gentle fingers brushed a rat's nest of black hair back from his broad forehead. "Rubeus, wake up." Either he could not hear her, or refused to do so.

Sirius poked Hagrid in the stomach. "Rennervate!"

Hagrid's barrel chest swelled with a sudden intake of breath. An outpouring of filthy words proved his return to consciousness. "What in 'ell happened?"

Sirius poured firewhisky into a pottery mug the size of a coal hob. Hagrid knocked it back with a single gulp and drew the back of his huge hand across his mouth. "You did'n have to leave lyin' like a dead man on me own kitchen floor. I woulda stayed put if ye'd asked me to."

Sirius gave a doubtful smirk. Comically tiny against Hagrid's wrist, Dorcas's fingers felt for his pulse. "I'm sorry. It was for your own safety."

"Was it really Death Eaters?"

Dorcas nodded curtly. "It was a near miss, but both Mrs. Dursley and her son are alive. They tortured the poor woman for Lily's whereabouts."

Hagrid's florid face went rigid with astonishment. "Lily's alive? Bloody hell!" Gallon-sized teardrops splashed on the kitchen table.

Professor Dumbledore closed the rough-hewn cottage door firmly behind him. He dusted snow from the peak of his brocaded hat. "Sirius, perhaps you could revive the fire and put the kettle on. Many explanations have come due."

"I'd say so," muttered a resentful Dorcas.

In turns, Auror and Headmaster related the story they had pieced together. When Dumbledore spoke of Snape's rescue mission, Sirius covered an uncharitable scowl with the back of his hand. The old man's obvious pride in Snape was a little hard to take considering the circumstances. Sirius hoped that once he'd seen Harry and Lily alive and well, he could get over this nauseating feeling of envy. James' imagined taunt rang in Sirius's head. Jealous of Snivelly: now you've gone and hit rock bottom!

Hagrid blew his nose. "I just can' believe it. I just can' believe they're safe."

Sirius grimaced. "Do you really think they are, Professor? Dolohov gave Petunia some rubbish about Snape and Lily. Said they were involved."

"Consider the source, Sirius. Do you expect the truth from Death Eaters interrogating a Muggle? It's far more likely they were trying to goad poor Mrs. Dursley into releasing information."

"No, sir, but that's not terribly comforting."

Dorcas turned toward Sirius. The waning fire shone on her silvered hair and the rims of her glasses. "No one denies that Lily and Professor Snape were once very close friends and had a falling-out . If Lily is alive and went with Snape of her own free will, this opens up yet another possibility. You probably won't like it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Please go on."

"Perhaps Lily was under the Imperius curse, but that doesn't explain Harry's apparent survival. Surely it would have made far more sense for Snape to have delivered the boy immediately. Perhaps Snape promised she could keep Harry if she sacrificed James. Perhaps he won Lily to Voldemort's cause."

Sirius leapt up and pulled his wand on Dorcas. "Shut up! Lily would never turn, never. Not my best friend's wife. Never!"

Dorcas returned his wild, rage-filled stare with calm. "Sirius, think about Peter Pettigrew. Until a few days ago, you would have stood up just as fiercely for him as you have for Lily. Yet you saw the Dark Mark with your own eyes." The sheer weight of Hagrid's hand on his shoulder was just enough to keep Sirius from leaping up and blasting the self-satisfied look off the Auror's face.

Dumbledore remained silent for some moments, weighing Dorcas's words. Finally, he spoke in a soothing tone. "I think it highly unlikely that a witch of Muggle parentage would willingly throw in her lot with the Dark."

The Auror continued in the same clinical tone. "I've assembled a series of leads with Sirius's assistance, but nothing has come together. I have the names of Snape's family in Ireland, cousins on the Prince side. I have a handful of Slytherin former students who aren't yet fully committed to the other side, but in the current climate, I don't expect much from these.

"Of course, there are the other teachers still to be questioned. Snape was closest to Slughorn as the previous Head of Slytherin. I didn't find anything useful in Snape's personal papers. There was one locked drawer, which neither Sirius nor I could open."

"What about the Death Eater they captured at Petunia's?" Sirius asked. "Is he in any shape to talk?"

Dumbledore answered. "Mr. Dolohov is being transported to Azkaban for questioning. Mr. Nott's body has been taken to the Ministry morgue. I am hopeful the Aurors stationed at the prison will find Mr. Dolohov a productive guest."

Sirius spoke up. "I think we ought to take a look in that drawer. Can you open it, sir?"

"I believe so." Dumbledore chuckled. "You should know this before you return to Hogwarts: the ghosts are still buzzing about your encounter with Peeves. I'm sure all the students have heard the ditty by now. Quite catchy. Mr. Black, I do believe you've renewed your legend in the annals of Hogwarts School."

Kindly, Hagrid mistook Sirius's discomfort for a nobler emotion. He clapped his friend on the back. "We're gonna find Lily and Harry. They're gonna be all right."

Sirius shivered. "If we reach them before You-Know-Who."

Winter-cold fingers closed steadily around Bellatrix's pointed chin, making white marks in her flushed cheeks. Bellatrix half-closed her eyes in rapture. Lucius Malfoy worked hard to keep his expression neutral. Bellatrix's enthusiasm would get them all killed one day.

The Dark Lord released Bellatrix abruptly. She fell to her hands and knees, her head drooped forward and her dark curls trailing on the flagstone floor. Her labored breaths were magnified by the high, vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall. Voldemort rubbed his fingers clean in the dark folds of his robe. "I don't envy you, Lestrange. It's rather difficult to get through to this one."

Rodolphus answered uncomfortably. "Yes, my Lord."

"Forty-eight hours have passed since Snape and the Mudblood escaped, and you have found nothing. Yet on the way, you have somehow managed to misplace not only Snape and the Potter woman, but Nott and Dolohov as well." Voldemort's reddened eyes swept around the room, coming once more to rest on the groveling Bellatrix. "I assure you, Madam, I hold you fully responsible for the loss of Nott and Dolohov, two of my most faithful servants. If they are dead, your life is forfeit."

"My Lord, the Brixton Portkey was activated! Snape and the Mudblood must have been there, but we could find no trace of them. The Portkey for the Shrieking Shack is still out there. Potter's woman must have taken it. It's our best hope of finding them." Bellatrix lifted her face and emitted a wail that made Lucius' spine crawl. "Please, my Lord, I live only to serve you. My life means nothing if you are displeased with me."

Narcissa Malfoy stood bravely beside her husband. Her cold little hand tightened convulsively around Lucius's fingers. Her alabaster face betrayed nothing, but Lucius knew his wife's thoughts as well as his own. Bellatrix's crimes would drag the Malfoys down as well. For love of his wife and child, he stepped forward. "My Lord."

The Great Hall fell silent. "Lucius."

"Last summer, my Lord, Severus Snape assisted me in securing certain spell books from the library of Hogwarts School."

"I remember. Go on."

"One of the oldest titles was in Welsh: a treatise concerning the interplay of Druid and medieval magic. Naturally, I couldn't decipher such primitive scratches, but Snape could."

Lord Voldemort raised the ghost of an eyebrow. Lucius fought to bring his shaking voice under control. It was imperative he did not draw too much attention to a flaw in his Master's knowledge. "I questioned Snape. He couldn't get off the subject quickly enough. I gather he once visited family in the area."

"I doubt very much that Severus is holed up with poor country relations. Knowing him, I rather think he'd prefer to enjoy his ill-gotten gains in private." Voldemort's quick smile forced appreciative laughter from his followers, though Mulciber did not look pleased at all. "Regardless, I commend you, Malfoy. You may take dear Bellatrix and Narcissa to Wales immediately and follow these leads." Lucius bowed. Bellatrix crawled forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"My Lord, what of the Potter brat? What if he lives?" Risen disheveled from the floor, Bellatrix met the fearful glances with pride. Even for the Dark Lord's most fervent lieutenant, she had opened a perilous line of questioning.

Voldemort stroked his bony fingertips up and down his own forearms. He nodded with grudging approval. "You are bold, Madam. Snape claimed the child was killed when he captured the mother, but you are correct to call any of the traitor's statements into question. If you find the child, bring him to me alive."

"Why, my Lord?"

Voldemort's cultured voice shattered, leaving behind a shriek of rage. "Do not question me further! You are all dismissed!"

Lucius and Narcissa hurried out. Bellatrix pushed her way back into the Great Hall, past her sister's panicked attempts to remove her. "But, my Lord!"

"You had best hope your brother-in-law is correct, and that Snape is hiding in Wales. Madam Lestrange, you are dismissed." Rodolphus grasped his wife's unwilling arm and Lucius held the other. Both men pulled her bodily from the Great Hall.

Only Voldemort remained before the dimming fire. A serpent-headed walking stick, a gift from Malfoy, twirled quickly between his wasted fingers. Shreds of the blasted prophecy lay unravelled before him. The child, marked as his equal, with powers he knew not. Part of Voldemort was reassured that the prophecy could be wrong: no living wizard possessed any magic he had not yet mastered. Why, was he not protected already, with four vessels for his soul?

Perhaps, after all, the Mudblood's brat was not the proper sacrifice. The prophecy could have applied just as well to the Longbottoms' boy, Neville. He deplored the necessity of killing the Longbottoms when recruiting them would be a far better use of Wizarding blood. Voldemort concluded that stamping out the entire bloodline, as well as the Potters', might prove in the end to be wise.

Unbidden, Dumbledore's smug, hated face came to mind. "Prophecy itself is meaningless, Tom. The art of interpreting it lies in predicting the actions of the credulous." Voldemort crushed the head of the walking stick in his palm. Silver dust rained down on his robes, as bright as the stars.