A/N: Sorry for the absurdly long interval between this and the previous update! I'm fairly sure that the end is in sight, and I will do my best to update more frequently. Thank you, as always, to those who have favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. It really means a lot to me when you take the time to write a review, and I love hearing what you all have to say ;)

Chapter XXV

Both Sides Now

Hogwarts | February 1995

"I can't continue on like this, Albus. Either you offer assistance in catching the nasty child who's defacing my property or you provide me with more secure accommodations." Dolores Umbridge huffs between forkfuls of potatoes.

"I am afraid more 'secure' accommodations simply do not exist, Dolores." Dumbledore replies disinterestedly, his mind on other, more important things. "And I assure you, we are doing all we can to track down this mysterious tormenter of yours."

"I don't like what you're insinuating, sir." She chirps. Dumbledore turns his head to give her a blank look. "That there is no vandal, right? That I'm mad? Sometimes I think I'm the only sane one in this ruddy castle!"

"Maybe you are." Professor Spektor mutters as she walks behind Umbridge's chair, going down the line of the staff table to her seat between Hagrid and Snape.

"You!" Umbridge cries. "I've been looking for you!"

"No you haven't." Professor Spektor mutters.

"No. I haven't." Umbridge says quietly to herself, shaking her head slightly, as though thinking to herself Silly me, why did I just say that? Spektor shoots a quick look at Dumbledore, who's staring directly at her with his bright blue eyes. No need to hide it anymore. If Dumbledore thinks he knows what he's up against, she might as well set the record straight. Make him shake in his pointy handcrafted Italian leather slippers a bit.

"Dolores?" Albus says, concerned.

"Albus? What is it?" It's as if Umbridge has forgotten everything they've just been talking about.

"So you wish to continue to stay at the castle then?" Dumbledore asks.

"Of course. Why not? I love Hogwarts. And children. Nothing better than being surrounded by all these lovely, fresh-faced little cherubs, am I right?" She picks up a chicken leg and eats the whole thing with very minimal chewing, bone and all, swallowing with a loud gulp. Dumbledore's all shock and confusion.

"Right, of course." Dumbledore says slowly, eyes on Spektor, who has begun to help herself to an inhuman portion of mashed turnips. When he is no longer looking, Spektor slips Snape a piece of parchment under the table. He waits a minute or so before glancing down to read it.

Meet me in the courtyard at half past midnight.

His eyes dart to the woman next to him to see if she's willing to elaborate on the note, but she's too busy shoveling in the turnips and ham she's heaped on her plate. It doesn't take her long to polish it off, and when she's finished she stands abruptly from the table and pauses behind Umbridge's chair again.

"Don't you think you've eaten enough, Dolores?" She mumbles. Dolores drops the bread that had been poised to enter her mouth. Dumbledore reaches out and grabs Spektor's arm before she flits away.

"What are you doing?" He whispers angrily at the devil hovering about Umbridge's shoulders.

"I'm not sure what you're insinuating, sir." Spektor says. Dumbledore glares. "I'm visiting a friend this weekend, so you'll have to give my Hogsmeade duties to someone else. Minerva seems eager, she'd be my pick."

"This isn't a game, Victoria." Dumbledore says seriously. "I expect a full report when you get back."

"Do I look like I'm having fun?" Spector asks, smiling widely. Dumbledore waves her away, feeling nervous. That smile made him nervous. She seemed so unenthusiastic, so opposed even, to the idea of carrying out this plan. Perhaps he's made a terrible mistake. Or perhaps she's a very good actor. No, he will not concede to self-doubt. He's Albus Dumbledore, and he seriously doubts that a convict who's spent most of her life alone in a cell could possibly rival him in wisdom, knowledge, and power. But she doesn't need to rival him. She just needs to know what he doesn't.

In the courtyard, bathed in the light of a waxing moon, Severus Snape shivers, his sleeves pulled down over his broad, pale hands. He looks to his left, then to his right, then his left again. He arrived early, but it's just half past midnight now and he hopes she's not going to be late. With a sigh of relief, he catches the sight of a figure approaching from across the courtyard, walking straight towards him, black cloak drawn tightly around her.

"Thank you for being punctual." V says once close enough to speak quietly. With her voice escapes a cloud of hot vapor, hanging between them briefly before dissipating into the cold February air.

"What is this about then?"

"Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade?"

"What? Now? It's past midnight."

"Yes, I'm aware of that Severus." She smiles. "There's a passage through this tree, the Whomping Willow down by the lake, that leads to the…"

"Shrieking Shack. Yes. I know it." Snape says.

"Would you walk with me? It's been a long time, and I'd rather not go alone."

"May I ask what you…intend to do once you get there?" Snape ventures.

"Severus I'm flattered, but understand my intentions are…" But she doesn't finish the thought. Snape's staring at her, concentrating hard, his cheeks slightly flush from the cold, or from nerves, or both. He's trying read her. Good luck with that. But she catches a glimpse of a very private thought of his and, in response, reaches up and places her hand over his eyes. She can see his body tense, his breath catch. "You're in dangerous territory." She whispers.

"What are you doing?" He stammers nervously. She smiles, although he can't see it.

"Exactly what you want me to do." She says, and places her lips on his. He doesn't expect it. Not in the least. She removes her hand from his eyes and he regards her with the strangest look she's ever seen him wear. He looks like he's about to cry and laugh at the same time. She kisses him again as he stands there before her, rigid and anxious. "Am I right?" She asks.

"You shouldn't have done that." He says nervously.

"I know." She says, eyes glittering. "That's fine. Just doing my part to help you get what you want. That's what friends are for, so I hear."

"We're friends?" Snape asks. V shrugs. "What is it you want, then?" She's gone and scattered the seed, and now an absurd hope has begun to blossom deep within him.

"I want my husband to love me." She says. Snape's eyes widen.

"Husband?" He arches an eyebrow. V holds out her hand, the gold ring with its polished stone glistening in the moonlight. Snape shakes his head in disbelief.

"Surprised? Do you think I'm not, as they say, 'marriage material?'"

"You're joking." Snape laughs out loud. Surely, she must be. "How come you go by your maiden name, then?" Why is everyone so damn curious about that? Is it really so strange for a woman to keep her own name?

"Well I couldn't file for a name change with the Ministry while I was in hiding, now could I?" V rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. Right, that makes sense, Snape thinks. Oh shit, she's telling the truth. He just kissed the Dark Lord's wife. "Oh don't worry yourself about it." She says, regarding the kiss, which she can tell he's thinking about. "No big deal, really. It's not like I'm gonna tell him about it. I've gotten in enough trouble as it is in that department." Her smile offers no reassurance to the fidgeting Potions master. He's gotten himself in a sticky situation alright, and he's still unable to gauge where her allegiance truly lies.

"Does Albus know?" Severus whispers. She gives him a piercing look, and nods her head slowly, painfully so.

"Severus, listen." She steps closer, whispers in his ear, "In whatever capacity you are trying to puzzle it out, you need to know this: I am invested in one thing and one thing only, and that is myself. And don't you think to yourself that I'm lying, saying this to cover up some allegiance to either side, to throw you off the trail. Trust me, I am not to be trusted."

He tosses that last part around in his brain for a bit, a clever little phrase she cobbled together there. Should he take her at her word? Perhaps, given a little more time, he'll be able to tell. She takes his hand in hers.

"Walk me to the willow, would you? It's getting awfully late." He squints at her in the darkness, and with a stiff nod, he leads her from the courtyard to the sloping lawn beyond.

Shivering violently in the midwinter pre-dawn, Victoria Spektor walks quickly up the paved drive leading to Malfoy Manor. The door is answered by the Malfoys' house elf, Dobby, who gazes up at her with big wobbly eyes.

"Victoria Spektor." She says, extending her hand. The house elf regards her nervously, as though she were about to smack him across the face. Guess they don't shake hands with witches, do they? "Tom's expecting me." Dobby gives her a blank look. "Right, um…I mean…The Dark Lord is expecting me." She mumbles begrudgingly, trying to curb the sarcasm in her voice. The house elf closes the door and after an excruciatingly long ten minutes, the door opens again to reveal a tall, chalk-white man, bald, red eyes glowing in the polished foyer. His thin mouth forms a smile.

"Ah, look who it is." Lord Voldemort says, "And to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" He steps aside to let her in.

"You speak French, right?" She asks as he takes her cloak, slipping it delicately from her shoulders. He nods. "I need your help then. I want to read this but it's all in French and I can't make heads or tails of it." From her pocket she pulls a slim book and hands it to him.

"This is a children's book." Lord Voldemort says, confused. It's old, with intricate foiled letters spelling out the title, The Scentless Apprentice. He flips through the pages. It seems simple enough. The illustrator sure had a flair for depicting the grotesque.

"Yes, well then you should have no trouble understanding it." She winks.

"You want me to read this to you?" His laugh pierces her. It's too cold. She nods. He's walking toward the staircase now, pausing at the bottom to wave V along. Her heels skitter across the glossy black and white tiled floor, and she follows him upstairs, and then down the plushly carpeted hallway, all the while making not a sound. Light is leaking from the crack under the door at the end, and, with a wave of his wand, it opens to reveal a rather large, richly furnished bedroom, fire crackling in the grate, candle burning on the nightstand beside the queen-sized four-poster bed, draped with dark velvet the color of which, in the dim lighting, V can't quite make out.

She walks over to the fire to warm herself, and soon he joins her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. She breathes in slowly, casting a glance at the man standing beside her. Not only has his body changed, but so has his voice, his scent, his aura. Her muscles tighten not due to nerves or arousal, but an automatic fight-or-flight response, sensing the dark, intensely negative energies he's emitting. Her body will not allow her to get too comfortable, her guard will not be let down. Constant vigilance, as Mad-Eye would say.

"Shall we, then?" She says, motioning with her eyes towards the bed. He smiles that same smile; at least that hasn't changed. It's the one thing that's helping her see old Tom in him, who was a monster still, yes, but less visibly so, and certainly not as far gone. Settling her body atop the soft mattress, she props several pillows between her tired head and the ornate wooden headboard. He sits down beside her, and, nuzzling her head on his shoulder, she yawns widely. "Get on with it…before I fall asleep…"

"Right then." He squints, holding the book up, and clears his throat. "The Scentless Apprentice by Mallory D'Arbanville…"