Snape came to himself, mouth full of cold damp grass and a fierce ache at the back of his head. His vague forays into his pockets and sleeves didn't uncover any wand.

"By the lake!" someone shouted from a short distance away. "Dementors by the lake! Harry and Hermione!"

Snape forced himself up to his knees, and spotted his wand in the grass not five feet away. Further down was Weasley. The boy had passed out, presumably from the effort he had put into his warning.

He picked up his wand, cast Vigoriaon himself, and made a quick check on Weasley, who seemed stable.

He could sense the Dementors in vast number but didn't have time to dwell on the dread they inspired. He had to go and save Potter's life. Again.

He ran to the lake, summoning up every moment of happiness he had had in his life, pushing away any and all unpleasant associations.

It was Lily, of course. Lily, a little girl untainted by the evil and sorrow that had plagued Severus's own life, holding an old stick in her hand, eyes focused somewhere far away as she flourished it wildly through the air. Leaning in toward Severus as they sat together on the ground, brilliant green eyes eager, asking questions after question, so happy to rely on Severus to guide her into her new life. The one they'd have together, away from nosy Muggle shrews, and parents who screamed and shouted and fought. He'd give Lily Hogwarts, and she would give him something to live for.

He saw her again, lying on the ground in their copse, sun lighting up her hair so it shone around her, such a bright red it stung Severus's eyes. She asked him questions about his life, and his feelings, interested in everything there was to know about him. She called him by his name. Nothing else had mattered, back then, when he was with her. Nothing had been quite as bad as he'd remembered.

"Expecto patronum," he said, the words coming out softly, but with more conviction than he'd ever managed to cast a Crucio.

He followed the doe as it charged into the mass of Dementors, rushing through them, kicking out with its hind legs as it went. They scattered and Snape felt a sudden generous urge towards Potter, barely standing as his weak Patronus dissipated before him.

The boy crumpled and fell over Granger and Black, his job done. Snape knew that win-or-die-trying protectiveness only too well; he'd been its recipient, until he'd started to take it for granted, and forgotten what truly mattered.

The Dementors were gone, and his Patronus was returning to him. He dismissed it, unable to bear the way it made his heart ache. Perhaps he levitated Potter into the air a little more gently than he did Granger or Black. Maybe he dropped him a little harder onto the stretcher. He couldn't really tell either way.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel didn't like leaving Black in Snape's hands, but no matter how much he wanted his friend to be free, he wasn't going to oppose Snape, not when the man was probably mad enough to leave only bits and pieces of him behind.

He scoured the forest floor for the broomstick he'd dropped, nerves on edge, listening desperately for any noise the werewolf might make. Not that he'd hear it if it was stalking him. It had seemed nuts though, it would probably just berserko charge. He found the broom without too much trouble, picked it up as quickly as he could and got off the ground again straight away.

With the werewolf still on his mind, he found a fairly solid branch well out of reach of any wolves on the ground and painstakingly transferred himself from the broom to the branch. He left the two brooms resting across his lap, propped the mirror up against the trunk of the tree, and waited.

After about twenty minutes he activated the mirror, turning it immediately away from his face in case someone else had gotten their hands on it.

"Daniel?"

Daniel turned the mirror around to face him and his heart soared as Black's face appeared right up close to the mirror, looking strained.

"Daniel?" he whispered. "Go back inside, they've got me."

Daniel glanced at the brooms, and started to shake. "Where are you?" he whispered.

"Go in, you little Slytherin shit," Black retorted.

"Not on your life," Daniel said.

Black picked up the mirror, and it jerked around as he walked somewhere. "Seventh floor," he said. "Flitwick's office, I think. West Tower, anyway."

"I know Flitwick's," Daniel said. "Stay by the window so I can find you." He shoved the mirror into his pocket, and looked at the brooms

He sat tentatively on the Cleansweep and grabbed the Tinderblast, closed his eyes, and rose into the air.

He let himself fall back to the ground, and rearranged his stuff. He tried to cast a feather-light on the Tinderblast, but it must have been enchanted to resist them or something, because it stayed stubbornly heavy. He tucked it as firmly as he could under his left arm at the least awkward angle, took out his wand and gripped it firmly in his right hand, and tried again.

That time he was a little better balanced, and made it fifty feet in the air before his palms started to seriously sweat. He didn't want to fly upwards near the castle where he might be seen from the lower levels, so he had to get up about as high as the seventh floor and fly all the way from the forest.

It was over a hundred feet up. He clenched his jaw and rose slowly, the sweat on his body freezing him as he got higher up in the air.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"Shocking business," Fudge said, for about the tenth time during their short walk to the hospital wing. "Shocking. Miracle none of them died … never heard the like. By thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape."

"Thank you, Minister," Snape said decorously.

"Order of Merlin, second class, I'd say," Fudge continued, oblivious to Snape's amusement and disdain. But then, Snape was used to concealing such things. "First class, if I can wangle it!"

"Thank you very much indeed, Minister."

"Nasty cut you've got there. Black's work, I suppose."

Snape hid his smile. "As a matter of fact," he said calmly, "it was Potter, Weasley and Granger, Minister."

"No!" Fudge exclaimed, suitably horrified.

"Black had bewitched them," Snape invented. No point in disabusing Fudge's high opinion of the Potter boy, not when to do so would lessen Snape's magnanimity. "I saw it immediately. A confundus charm, to judge from their behaviour. They seemed to think there was a possibility he was innocent. They weren't responsible for their actions."

Fudge was nodding his understanding, and Snape got the feeling he'd gone a little too far in the forgiveness stakes.

"On the other hand," he said, in that same reasonable tone, "their interference might have permitted Black to escape. They obviously thought they were going to catch Black single-handed. They've got away with a great deal before now; I'm afraid it's given them a rather high opinion of themselves. And, of course, Potter has always been allowed an extraordinary amount of licence by the headmaster…"

"Ah, well, Snape," Fudge hemmed and hawed. "Harry Potter, you know. We've all got a bit of a blind spot where he's concerned."

Snape maintained his avuncular attitude. "And yet," he said, "is it good for him to be given so much special treatment? Personally I try to treat him like any other student. And any other student would be suspended — at the very least — for leading his friends into such danger. Consider, Minister: against all school rules, after all the precautions put into place for his protection, out of bounds at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer. And I have reason to believe he has been visiting Hogsmeade illegally, too —"

"Well, well," Fudge said. "We shall see, Snape, we shall see. The boy has undoubtedly been foolish."

Ah well, it had been worth a try. The evening had garnered a net profit, in any case. Black was due to be destroyed in the most complete way possible, Lupin was exposed, and Potter owed Snape his life. Again. And this time, he didn't even know it. Wouldn't ever know it, from the strength of Snape's confundus charm.

"What amazes me most is the behaviour of the Dementors," Fudge said, rolling his hat nervously in his hands. "You've really no idea what made them retreat, Snape?"

"No, Minister," Snape said, keeping the defensiveness that came over him out of his voice. "By the time I had come round they were heading back to their positions at the entrances."

"Extraordinary," Fudge said, shaking his head. "And yet Black, and Harry, and the girl —"

"All unconscious by the time I reached them," Snape said smoothly. "I bound and gagged Black, naturally, conjured stretchers and brought them all straight back to the castle."

There was a short silence, in which Fudge realised he was playing with his hat, and slammed it abruptly back onto his head.

"Ah, you're awake!" Poppy said from inside the hospital wing.

"How's Ron?" Potter and Granger asked in revolting unison.

"He'll live," Poppy said. "As for you two, you'll be staying here until I'm satisfied you're — Potter, what do you think you're doing?"

Snape braced himself, and gave Fudge a look that suggested they should do their best to be tolerant. For the sake of the children.

"I need to see the headmaster," Potter demanded.

"Potter, it's alright," Poppy said, in a futile bid to calm the boy down. "They've got Black. He's locked away upstairs. The Dementors will be forming the kiss any moment now."

"What!" Potter shrieked. Snape had to admire the way Poppy had found the precise wrong words to say.

"Harry, Harry, what's this?" Fudge said, as Snape followed him into the wing. "You should be in bed. Has he had any chocolate?"

"Minister, listen!" Potter said, eyes painfully earnest. "Sirius Black's innocent! Peter Pettigrew faked his own death! We saw him tonight! You can't let the Dementors do that thing to Sirius, he's —"

Fudge was shaking his head, smiling indulgently. Snape stood back and let his work come to fruition.

"Harry, Harry," Fudge said, in exactly the wrong tone. Did none of these people understand Potter at all? "You're very confused. You've been through a dreadful ordeal, lie back, now, we've got everything under control…"

"You haven't!" Potter bellowed. "You've got the wrong man!"

Granger hurried to stand beside Potter. "Minister, listen, please," she entreated. "I saw him, too. It was Ron's rat, he's an Animagus. Pettigrew, I mean, and —"

There was always the chance people would listen to Granger. Snape thought he should probably make certain Fudge wouldn't, not this time. "You see, minister?" he said. "Confunded, both of them. Black's done a very good job on them."

"We're not confunded!" Potter yelled, in what was probably the weakest argument he'd made in, well, the last week or so.

"Minister! Professor!" Poppy protested. "I must insist that you leave. Potter is my patient, and he should not be distressed!"

"I'm not distressed," Potter said, calming himself down a little. "I'm trying to tell them what happened! If they'd just listen —"

Poppy, in a move beautiful in its simplicity, filled the boy's mouth with chocolate. He was so distracted trying not to choke on it that it was a simple task to press him back down onto the bed.

"Now, please, Minister," she said, "these children need care. Please leave —"

Dumbledore came in then, and his entrance incited Potter to get up again. Snape grew unaccountably nervous.

"Professor Dumbledore," Potter said. "Sirius Black —"

"For heaven's sake!" Poppy squawked. "Is this a hospital wing, or not? Headmaster, I must insist —"

"My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger," Dumbledore said serenely. "I have just been talking to Sirius Black —"

"I suppose he's told you the same fairy tale he's planted in Potter's mind?" Snape interrupted. "Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive —"

"That, indeed, is Black's story," Dumbledore said, and Snape caught the warning in his gaze.

He wasn't inclined to mind it. "And does my evidence count for nothing? Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him in the grounds."

"That was because you were knocked out, Professor!" Granger said helpfully. "You didn't arrive in time to hear —"

That girl would be the death of him. "Miss Granger, hold your tongue."

"Now, Snape," Fudge said, dismayed. "The young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make allowances —"

"I would like to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," Dumbledore commanded. "Cornelius, Severus, Poppy. Please leave us."

"Headmaster!" Poppy protested. "They need treatment. They need rest!"

"This cannot wait," Dumbledore announced. "I must insist."

Poppy stomped off into her office. Fudge glanced at his watch, no doubt trying to think of a face-saving way to avoid having being ordered out of a room by Dumbledore. "The Dementors should have arrived by now," he said. "I'll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I'll see you upstairs."

He walked to the door, and held it open for Snape, who was feeling the situation spiral out of his control.

"You surely don't believe a word of Black's story?" he asked.

"I wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone," Dumbledore said mildly.

Snape couldn't help taking a step closer. If Dumbledore stood against him in this, he didn't know what he'd do.

"Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen," he said softly. "You haven't forgotten that, headmaster? You haven't forgotten that he once tried to kill me?"

"My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus," Dumbledore told him.

There was nothing more for him to do. He turned his back abruptly on the old man and marched out of the room.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel found Black staring out of a window and inched towards it, trembling with relief. He tried to balance himself on the broom with only one hand, wobbling a little before he found his centre of gravity. He lifted his right hand up, holding his wand, and wanted so desperately to find his feet on the ground again that he skipped straight to the Alohomora.

There was a click, and Black opened the window from inside. Daniel dropped to hover slightly lower, so he could hold the Tinderblast out for Black to climb out of the window and onto.

Black only just made it out of the window, but dropped with enviable grace onto the broom.

"Come on," he said, placing a hand on Daniel's back to steady him.

"I fucking hate flying," Daniel said weakly.

Black guided him up to the top of the West Tower, and as soon as he could, Daniel all but fell off his broom onto the cool stone.

"Are you alright?" Black asked, pulling him up by the arm.

Daniel steadied himself, but didn't mind it when Black kept holding on to his arm. "I really hate flying," he said. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Black said. "I should go, and quickly. They'll be coming up to the office any moment."

"Wait," Daniel said. "Take this." He pulled out the mirror, and held it out to Black.

Black took his hand off Daniel's arm and pushed the mirror away from him. "Keep it," he said. "I still need to teach you the rest."

Daniel frowned. "I don't want them to find it, ever. I bet Dumbledore could trace it back to your one, and you'd get caught. The whole point of this is that you're free."

"I trust you to keep it safe," Black said.

"You might need it again," Daniel said. "If you leave it here, you won't be able to get it back for ages, if you're going to stay underground. And just because you trust me doesn't mean I'm a match for someone like Dumbledore or Snape trying to find out the truth."

Black was shifting from foot to foot, glancing at the door to the stairs. "You're doing too much for me," he protested.

"Deal with it," Daniel told him. "Or you could just go downstairs and go back to Azkaban. Whatever." He shoved the mirror out again.

Black took it.

"Take both brooms," Daniel said. "I'll walk back down."

Black clenched his jaw.

"Thank you," he said. "You'll hear from me again. I promise."

He swung a casual leg over the Cleansweep, holding Daniel's mirror in one hand and the Tinderblast in another.

"Good luck," Daniel said. "Do you need any spells, or anything?"

Black considered him for a moment. "Did you lock the Quidditch shed after you?"

Daniel shook his head. "I guess not," he said.

"Good," Black said. "I owe you my life."

"Get out of here," Daniel said, before he could say anything else to delay Black's escape.

"I won't forget this," Black said, and then he'd pushed off, flown over the wall and dived out of sight.

Daniel turned and sat with his back against the outer wall, twirling his wand in the fingers of his right hand. Now he'd done everything he could for Black, he had to think of what he could possibly use as an alibi.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

"I only hope Dumbledore's not going to make difficulties," Snape said, slowing his pace to allow for Fudge's slow steps. What he really wanted was to run up to where they'd locked up Black, and stand guard over him for as long as it took for the Dementors to arrive and perform the kiss. "The kiss will be performed immediately?"

"As soon as Macnair returns with the Dementors," Fudge said. "This whole Black affair has been highly embarrassing. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to informing the Daily Prophet that we've got him at last — I daresay they'll want to interview you, Snape — and once young Harry's back in his right mind, I expect he'll want to tell the Prophet exactly how you saved him."

Snape turned his smirk into a smile. Or he tried, at least. He held no illusions that Potter would do any such thing, but he certainly would enjoy telling the Prophet how profoundly Black had injured the Boy Who Lived, that he would never quite remember the truth of this fateful evening. Indeed, the confundus charm he had been hit with had tainted the whole evening with an uncertain fog for the boy. He had no recollection of seeing whoever had cast the mysterious Patronus, but would no doubt thank whoever it had been from the bottom of his heart.

"Indeed," he said.

"Such a pity, that he got caught up in all this business," Fudge mused. "If only the boy could grow up as untroubled as his peers! I don't feel that Dumbledore truly understands his need for a strong respect for authority."

"Mm," Snape said.

"Dumbledore's always been a little like that," Fudge said, painfully unsubtle. "Takes a little too much onto his own shoulders, at times. No fault of the man himself, of course, but unnecessary, when there are so many us prepared to take such responsibilities as we are able. And, indeed, elected to do so!"

"I quite agree," Snape said.

Macnair was coming down the corridor, his face red with rage.

"Oh dear," Fudge said. Snape's heart sank.

"Black's gone," Macnair announced. He was still carrying his axe. Snape stared at it, allowing himself a small fantasy.

"Macnair!" Fudge exclaimed in horror. "What are you saying? How can he be gone?"

Macnair glowered. "Went up with the Dementors," he elaborated. "Black wasn't there."

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said out of nowhere. Fudge jumped at the noise. Snape held himself perfectly still.

"Return to your post immediately!" Fudge said, his voice cracking.

Macnair stared at him insolently for a moment, then turned and walked away.

"Well," Dumbledore said. "This is a very concerning development."

Snape was ready to snap the old man's skinny little neck. He turned on his heel and marched back to the hospital wing, Dumbledore keeping easy pace beside him.

"How can you have let this happen?" Snape asked with the breath he could spare.

"He must have disapparated, Severus," Dumbledore said. "We should have left somebody in the room with him. When this gets out —"

Did Dumbledore — what — the nerve — on purpose — disapparate —

"He didn't disapparate!"Snape roared. "You can't apparate or disapparate inside this castle!" His last gasp of sanity prevented him from accusing Dumbledore, who had obviously engineered the escape, and he latched onto the only other person he held such hatred for, who could remotely take the blame. "This," he bellowed, "has something to do with Potter!"

"Severus, be reasonable," Dumbledore said. "Harry has been locked up."

Black had been "locked up", and look how that had ended up. As Dumbledore well knew. Snape rode on the waves of his anger, and the door to the hospital wing burst open ahead of him.

Potter sat up, looking fearful. Which just made it even more impossible for Snape not to completely lose his mind. "Out with it, Potter!' he bellowed, taking a savage satisfaction in the fear on the nasty little face. "What did you do?"

"Professor Snape!" Pomfrey exclaimed, eyes wide. "Control yourself!"

What was the point? Dumbledore had events well in hand. Nothing Snape could do or say would make the tiniest difference to how events unfolded.

"See here, Snape," Fudge said, "be reasonable. This door's been locked, we just saw —"

Snape did not have time for spineless politicians, with stupid hats.

"They helped him escape, I know it!" He flung a wild hand to point at Potter and Granger, who just looked shellshocked.

"Calm down, man!" Fudge snapped pompously. "You're talking nonsense!"

"You don't know Potter!" Snape's throat was shredding, but he couldn't stop. "He did it, I know he did it."

"That will do, Severus," Dumbledore said, and Snape just couldn't shout over him, as he dearly wished to do. "Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I'm afraid I don't see any point in troubling them further."

Snape looked at Fudge, who was looking back at him in disappointed bewilderment and fear.

He looked at Dumbledore.

Who was twinkling at him.

Snape took two deep breaths.

He had to destroy something. He had to.

If he so much as looked at Potter, it would be that boy left bleeding and broken. Snape gathered every scrap of control he had left, and left the hospital wing, unable to so much as see where he was going.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Daniel was just deciding he could spent the night up at the top of the tower and claim to have fallen asleep, when the door opened. He quickly closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open, loosening his grip on his wand slightly.

The door closed. "Mr. Livingstone," Dumbledore said.

Daniel kept his eyes closed. He was pretty sure there needed to be eye contact for Legilimency. That was how it had always come across to him, even if Snape hadn't directly said so.

"Sirius is safely out of the castle grounds," Dumbledore said. From the sound of his voice, he'd sat down a little way away from Daniel. "He has returned one of the brooms used in his escape safely to the Quidditch shed, so only one will be reported missing."

Daniel did nothing.

"It was unfortunate you were discovered entering the castle twenty minutes after curfew," Dumbledore said breezily. "And just as Mr. Filch was passing on his rounds, as well. I think a six-hour detention, though extreme, is not an unfair punishment for your flouting of the rules."

"Or you could expel me," Daniel said, eyes still firmly shut. "Save Snape from killing me slowly."

Dumbledore's voice was mild. "I have always seen Severus as the kind of man to follow the objects of his ambition, however distant they may become."

Daniel shivered.

"I think it would be best for all involved if he had no reason to question you on the matter," Dumbledore said.

"Well, yeah," Daniel said. "I figured that out for myself."

"You are not injured, I trust?"

Daniel swallowed. The concerned voice was way more discomfiting than the cool, informative one. He couldn't trust it, but it was so close to being convincing.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You're cold, no doubt."

"I'm fine."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, accepting Daniel's hostility perfectly calmly. "Well. You'd best get back down to your dormitory, then."

Daniel opened his eyes a little, and saw Dumbledore getting slowly to his feet. Dumbledore saw him looking, and smiled a little. Daniel didn't feel anything intruding into his mind, and relaxed an equally small amount.

He stood up, stomping around a bit to bring his feet back to life. "Potter and Granger are alright, are they?" he asked casually. "Oh, and Weasley I guess."

"They will be spending the night in the hospital wing," Dumbledore said. "I expect they will recover with typically youthful swiftness."

Dumbledore opened the door and motioned for Daniel to go through before him. Daniel didn't particularly feel like having his back to the man, but that was stupid. Dumbledore could do anything he wanted whether Daniel was facing him or not.

He couldn't help but shoot a grim look up at the man as he went past.

It was a confusing fog of thoughts and memories, nothing like it had ever been with Snape. With Snape he'd felt anchored, and he'd understood, at least vaguely, what was meant to be going on. He'd felt contact with the man himself the whole time, and had a sense of how he could communicate with him if he needed to.

Dumbledore melted his mind down into a suffocating blur, and it was all Daniel could do remember who he was.

Then hands were lowering him gently to the floor, and he spent a few minutes putting his thoughts back in order before he started to look through his open eyes.

Dumbledore was crouching in front of him, calculating something. "Well," he said, once Daniel's eyes finally focused on him. "It seems you have indeed fully recovered from the events of last year."

Daniel stared at him dumbly, trying to remember how to speak.

"Severus was concerned for you," Dumbledore said, and pulled Daniel to his feet, holding out a hand to stop the boy from falling flat on his face.

Daniel couldn't think all that clearly as Dumbledore accompanied him down to the Slytherin rooms, but one thought was hammering at him fiercely, not letting him forget for an instant that Dumbledore was not to be trusted.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Snape was in the final stages of brewing the Draught of Peace when somebody knocked on his door. He didn't answer. He just continued stirring, nearly hypnotised by the waves forming and subsiding as his oak stirring rod disturbed the calm grey potion.

Once the stirring was complete, he turned down the flames and watched the potion bubbling gently until it was the precise shade of grey it required.

He added the syrup of hellebore and as the silver mist rose above the cauldron he found his centre again. It had been far too long since he had been calm, he realised, and now that he didn't feel he could get any lower, it was a good time to remember how.

There was another knock. Snape lifted the cauldron off the heat, and placed it on the opposite bench. Once it had cooled, he would split it into doses and take it up to Poppy.

He took off his gloves, picked up his cloak from where he had left it on a stool near at the front of the room, and opened the door.

"Severus," Dumbledore said. If Snape listened closely enough, he would probably be able to detect a note of apology.

He didn't feel like listening.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered around the room, and settled on the cloak in Snape's hands. "Shall we walk?" he suggested.

"A marvellous idea," Snape said curtly. He stepped out of his laboratory, closed the door firmly, and put on his cloak. "Do you have any destination in mind?"

Dumbledore started to stroll down the corridor, his hands behind his back. Snape walked by his side, trying not to let his feet drag as he walked.

"I suggest that in the morning you speak with Mr. Livingstone," Dumbledore said after a few minutes of silent perambulation.

Snape didn't even look at him. He didn't want to see Dumbledore's face. He didn't want to know whether it contained sincerity, or guile, or, god forbid, sympathy.

"Oh?" he said, giving a grim look to a portrait mouse holding a disproportionately large ear horn. The little rodent dropped the device and scampered away. "Does the boy not have exams?"

"He is finished for the year," Dumbledore said, "along with the rest of his peers."

"What has he done?" Snape asked. He didn't know why Dumbledore had decided that Livingstone was the most important topic of conversation, but he supposed it was easier than discussing the events of the evening.

There was little to say on such a subject, anyway. It wasn't as though Snape had learned anything new about Dumbledore's regard for him. It was probably healthiest to have it all out in the open.

But Dumbledore had been his chance.

"It is not a matter of what he has done," Dumbledore said. "Though you could no doubt uncover any number of breaches of school rules if you chose to thoroughly investigate his behaviour."

"The boy does not need conversations with me to remain stable," Snape reminded Dumbledore. "He fares better when left alone, as I have told you before." And the boy was not the only one. He didn't say it aloud, but knew Dumbledore would get the message.

"That may be true," Dumbledore mused. "However, I dare say you would not wish him to spent his entire summer, as you say, alone."

"Of course not," Snape said. "He is not yet fourteen. He will be returning to his guardians."

"No," Dumbledore said. "Without intervention, he will not."

Snape finally lifted his tired eyes to Dumbledore's. The man regarded him seriously, then opened the door to the nearest classroom and motioned Snape into it. Snape walked to a window and stared out over the grounds, bathed in cool moonlight. As far as he knew, Lupin was still out there, unrestrained and bloodthirsty.

"The Muggle authorities have seen fit to transfer Mr. Livingstone to another family," Dumbledore said, closing the door softly behind him. "The young man does not intend to submit himself to their guidance. He will board the Hogwarts Express back to London. Beyond that he has no strategy for survival."

Snape frowned and turned back into the room. "Has he told you this?" he asked.

"It is true," Dumbledore said simply. "He spent two weeks in Diagon Alley before arriving at Hogwarts, having left his new foster parents without warning."

"I spoke to his guardians during the term," Snape told him. "They said nothing of any of this."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Nor will they," he said. "They prefer happiness for their son, not security."

"I will speak to him," Snape said. "Thank you for bringing this issue to my attention."

Dumbledore nodded again. "I am sorry to keep you up so late," he said. "Good night."

Snape stared at him, motionless, until he left the room. Then he sank down into one of the student seats, and closed his eyes.