Snape's scent in lingered in Graihagh's bed for days after he'd slept there. There was something comforting about it, something she couldn't explain, the way she felt when she woke up to the sounds of tea brewing and voices talking. Sometimes when she was drifting off to sleep she'd think about his skin touching the sheets and remember the way it felt beneath her fingertips, a latticework of scars and smooth skin. She didn't understand this-it wasn't as though she found him attractive. He was a Death Eater, for Circe's sake. And he didn't seem to like her that much anyway. Or maybe he did. She was never sure of anything with him, except that he wasn't dangerous, at least not with her.

She spent a few late nights wondering who'd tortured him and why they'd done it. Maybe the Order had captured him, tortured him for information. She couldn't imagine Remus or Aberforth doing it. Cate's husband used to go on about the evils of the Cruciatus Curse, so it probably hadn't been him. But she didn't know the others very well, and they might not have been so high-minded. The so-called good side had used it plenty during the first war.

But maybe it hadn't been them at all. Maybe the Death Eaters had tortured him, that seemed like the sort of thing they'd do. Which made it all the more baffling that Snape would join them.

She sat up in bed thinking it over, and fell asleep without having made any sense of it at all.

She was in a deep sleep when the bollan cross woke her. Remus had charmed it to light up whenever someone contacted her and she kept it tied to her wrist at night so she could feel its heat. She'd been lucky she'd seen it that first time, when she'd found him half-dead at the gates, and she'd been keeping it close ever since. She propped herself up on one elbow and took it off her wrist.

Meet me in the alley

She checked her watch. 4 o'clock in the morning, their usual time. She threw her robes over her pyjamas and ran a comb through her hair, wishing she had more time to get herself ready. She was mortified that he'd witnessed one of her panic attacks. He was always seeing her at her lowest, her most vulnerable, the parts of herself she tried to keep hidden.

Professor Snape was waiting just outside the door to the alley, wand at the ready, head turning in every direction. Graihagh reached for her own wand on instinct.

"Everything alright, Professor?"

Snape flicked his wand at the air. "Muffliato," he murmured. Graihagh supposed the incantation kept them from being seen, or heard. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, I just-" Graihagh scanned the empty alleyway. "There aren't any Death Eaters out, are there? Or...you know?"

"He's abroad at the moment. But he has a habit of showing up unnanounced. It's always best to be prepared."

Graihagh shivered and looked over her shoulder, as though he might be hiding somewhere in the dark, waiting. But she didn't want Snape to know how nervous she was.

"So he just pops up out of nowhere, does he? Like that Monty Python sketch?" Not until she'd said it did she realise that he probably had no idea what she was talking about.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquistion," said Snape, in a flat-voiced imitation of Cardinal Ximenez. His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed, as though he were annoyed with himself for letting it slip.

Graihagh couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "Wait a minute, how do you about Monty Python?"

"Never mind," said Snape. He handed her a large sack of ingredients and a roll of parchment. "Take these, quickly."

"Can't you just tell me-"

"No. There's no time. You do know there are Death Eaters stationed in Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah, Aberforth told me. He's been plying them with drinks and potions to keep them useless-" She gasped and stared at Snape in horror. "Oh shit. You're not going to tell them are you?"

"No," said Snape, voice thick with disdain. "But you might want to do something about that mouth of yours before it gets someone killed."

"I know, I know it's just...sometimes I find it so hard to believe you're one of them."

Snape had a strange quirk. Every once in awhile he'd stare right into her eyes for a full five seconds or so without glancing away, or even blinking. His death stare, she called it. She saw flashes of his face as he lay in her bed.

"Well, I am," he said. "And speaking of them, you'd better get inside."

"Right," said Graihagh, shoving the sack of ingredients into her pocket. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Would you like to come upstairs for a bit? We could talk some more about that antidote."

She kept her voice casual, almost indifferent, and really, it didn't matter that much to her whether he came upstairs or not.

"I'm rather busy at the moment," he said, not quite meeting her eye. "I've written the components of the poison down on that parchment. I'd like you to look it over and see if you can come up with something."

Graihagh unrolled the parchment and looked it over. "I've never seen anything like this. What is it?"

Snape looked both ways and lowered his voice. "It's a recent development, from what I know. It appears to have been developed by a rogue potioneer with ties to numerous criminal organisations."

They were dealing with some serious shit, in other words. Graihagh studied the parchment again. "The toxin is an organic compound?"

"It appears to be, yes."

"It doesn't resemble any plant-based toxin that I know."

"It seems to be an entirely new creation."

"How'd you get it?"

"Never mind how I got it. I need an antidote."

Something wasn't adding up-why would a Death Eater need an antidote? Unless the poison was being used on them.

"This wasn't-you didn't take the poison from the Order, did you?"

"I told you not to ask any questions, Miss Corlett."

Graihagh wasn't about to let Snape's anger stop her from finding out just what exactly it was she was doing.

"This isn't going to be used to help the Death Eaters, is it? Because frankly I don't care if a few of them are poisoned."

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"You'd better just tell me, because if it is there's no fucki-there's no way I'm making this and I don't know why you'd even ask."

"It's not going to be used to help all of us," said Snape, and there was an edge to his voice. "Now enough questions."

"So it's going to be used to help you and maybe a few other people, is that what you're saying?"

"What did I just tell you?" said Snape through clenched teeth.

Graihagh couldn't believe his nerve. She lowered the parchment and put a hand to her hip the way her grandmother used to do. "Do you honestly expect me to make something that could potentially help the Death Eaters? The same people who nearly killed my friend and me, the same people who are out there killing everyone-"

Snape made a frustrated noise and raised his hands as though to seize his hair. "I told you it's not going to help them!"

Graihagh relaxed her posture, softened her expression, hoping he'd calm down. "I'm sorry. I believe you."

Snape looked away from her as he lowered his hands, embarrassed maybe, at his loss of control. She understood then that there were things he wasn't telling her, things that he couldn't say. She would just have to trust him.

She smoothed out the parchment like nothing had happened. "I'll get started as soon as I can."

"Good," said Snape, his voice quiet, controlled. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear; a breeze had blown up. "Do you have any more of that potion you gave me?"

Graihagh was so chuffed that he'd asked she had to rub her face to hide her smile. "I made a whole cauldronful. Enough for four bottles. I can get you one, if you'd like."

"Obviously, or I wouldn't have asked."

"Don't be so polite all the time Professor, people will think you're being insincere."

She ducked through the back door before he could make a sharp retort and hurried upstairs to her room. The place was such a mess she supposed it was just as well he didn't want to come up. She wasn't sure why she'd asked.

She was slightly out of breath when she got back to the alley. "Here," she said, handing him the bottle.

Snape took it and tucked it into his pocket. "Keep me informed of your progress."

"I will." She studied his face a moment. His expression was hard to read, but she wondered if he was still in pain. "How's are you feeling, by the way?"

"Better."

Graihagh gave him a teasing smile and reached for his robes. "Would you like me to check you over?"

Snape seized his cloak with both hands and pulled it over his chest, scowling. "That won't be necessary."

"I was only joking, Professor. I'm glad you're alright."

She smiled again, inviting him into an inside joke, and she could've sworn his mouth softened.

"I'll see you later then," she said. Snape turned to leave.

"You owe me two-hundred and sixty-five galleons, by the way" he said over his shoulder.

Graihagh rolled her eyes and went inside.

The first thing Graihagh did with her new ingredients was make herself a cauldronful of calming draught, enough to fill four half-pint bottles. She set one of them on her nightstand, to have on hand when she slept, and lined the others up on the shelf above her workspace.

That done, she made a second potion for herself, one that helped her stay focused when the work got dull and made it easier for her to keep her workspace tidy. A dose in the morning and she could work for hours, cutting and crushing and measuring and stirring, those happy rhythms that her body craved like food.

She made everything she could think of-Blood-Replenishing Solution, another anti-paralytic, a batch of Wolfsbane for Remus in case he changed his mind, plus a few extra bottles for anyone in the camp that wanted some, in the hopes that it would make things safer for Milo.

When she was finished the day's potions and the cauldron was simmering she pulled out the parchment Snape had given her and studied the poison.

On the surface it wasn't all that different from other plant-based poisons like strychnine, but there was something different about it, some powerful magic that set it apart. The antidote would need to be as unique as the poison, part magic and part chemistry.

She scanned the ingredients on her work table for some ideas. Inter-herbal alchemy worked to reduce the toxicity of aconite; perhaps something similar would work on the poison. But without a sample it would be impossible to know anything for certain, and she wished Snape would trust her enough to lend her some. He was so frustrating sometimes. She knew perfectly well there were things he wasn't telling her, cards he was keeping up his sleeve. She'd become part of some bigger scheme, that much was clear, but who was behind it and what it was for she didn't know.

She worked for what felt like eight or nine hours, until her head was tired for her to focus. She summoned up some food and a few whiskey old fashioneds and sank down on her mattress, fervently wishing for a television.

She was halfway through her corned beef sandwich when there were four light raps on the door. She brushed the crumbs off her robes and opened the door to let Remus inside.

He swept into the room with a nervous energy, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other pushing back his hair, looking like a middle-aged professor in a collared shirt and knitted vest, his cuffs rolled up halfway to the elbows.

"Remus," said Graihagh, closing the door behind him. "You look great."

Remus adjusted his shirt collar, which had been sticking up. "You think so? I picked these up a thrift shop in Aberdeen."

"Yeah, they suit you. How is everything?"

"I'm...better," he said, with a meaningful look at Graihagh, who understood. "Actually I was wondering if you still had that Wolfsbane?"

"I still have it. I was able to make you a few months' worth." She flicked her wand towards the work table and sent the bottles flying towards him. Remus caught them, shrunk them, and tucked them into the leather satchel he was carrying.

"So," said Graihagh, her voice relaxed from the drinks. "Have you...?"

"Not yet," said Remus. "I was actually on my way."

So that explained the nervous energy.

Remus set the satchel down and walked over to the work table, picking up a jar of moonstone and turning it in his hands. "Of course she'll probably hex me into oblivion the moment I walk through the door."

"But think of how relieved you'll be if you manage to survive."

"Knowing my wife that's that's not terribly likely." Remus set the jar down and ran a hand through his hair. "And even if she does forgive me, it's not like I can ever give her a normal life."

Graihagh had the feeling his wife had known that when she married him. Maybe she didn't want a normal life. She stepped closer to him and leaned against a barrel. "What is normal, anyway?"

Remus gave her a wry smile. "We're not talking about getting a mohawk and putting safety pins through your nose. This would effect our ability to even exist in the wizarding world. You saw how it was, at the camp."

"I thought it seemed alright."

"In some ways, yes, but..." He picked up another jar and stared down at the work table.

Graihagh didn't know what to say. Telling him to stop caring about what other people thought was too trite, too easy in a situation like this. What other people thought had consequences, big ones. And there was his child to think of.

"I suppose there's nothing for it but to try, right?" said Remus.

"Yeah. I think you'd better."

Remus set the jar down and sighed, resigning himself to the thing he'd been running from for months.

He walked over to the door and picked up the satchel, slipping his arm through the strap. Graihagh put a hand to his other arm.

"Good luck," she said.

Remus nodded. "Thank you. And I appreciate the potion."

"Oh, that reminds me." Graihagh pulled out her wand and Summoned the extra Wolfsbane and a few bottles of calming draught. "Could you bring the Wolfsbane to the camp? And give the calming draught to Milo?"

Remus nodded and tucked them into his satchel. "And that reminds me. Aberforth told me to tell you to, er, wash your dishes and send them back to the kitchen. He's running low."

Remus glanced over Graihagh's shoulder at the stack of dirty dishes beside her bed and her face grew hot. "Right, thanks. I'll do that."

"I'll see you again soon?"

"That'd be great. I'll have more potions for the Order. Some of them need another fortnight or two to mature."

"Well, good-night."

"Good-night."

Graihagh closed the door behind him and sank down on her mattress, thinking about him, and his wife, and what it meant to settle down, to eat with someone and sleep with someone and wake up with someone for years on end. Somehow she'd never been able to imagine it, not because she didn't want it, but because she didn't think it was possible, that someone could see the naked truth of who she was, without filters, without the safety of distance, without anything between them, and still want to stay.

The house-elves had been Snape's eyes and ears ever since the start of term, keeping watch over the students and the Carrows. There was, however, one hitch. There were now so many house-elves popping into his office, relaying the Carrows' latest threats, that his nerves were shot. One more crack of Apparition and he thought he might just seize the messenger by the arms and toss them out the window like a garden gnome. Something would have to be done.

He set his alarm for six o'clock in the morning and when he'd dressed and done a half-assed job on his hair he strode down to the kitchens, where the elves were cooking breakfast and singing, accompanied by the rhythm of pots and pans and stirring spoons.

Snape cleared his throat and the elves went silent, but it wasn't the sullen, resentful silence of the students and staff. The room was alert, expectant, like a theatre when the lights dimmed. He might've been chuffed if they hadn't been such simple creatures.

"I have new orders for you all," he said. He glanced over his shoulder and shot an Imperturbable Charm at the door. "From now on I wish you to tell me only when a student or member of the staff is being badly injured."

There was an outbreak of yes-sirs from all over the kitchen and Snape looked them over, Dobby with his absurd clothes and Winky in her filthy hat and another elf he recognised, with tufts of white hair growing out of his long ears.

"Kreacher?"

The elves around him parted and Kreacher stepped forward, alert, suspicious.

"You is calling me sir?" he croaked.

Snape knew he'd worked in the kitchens before, but he was surprised to see him, just the same. "Have you seen Potter?"

"Master Potter and his friends was staying in the home of my old mistress, but they has not returned. Kreacher does not know where master has gone."

The elf sounded genuinely sorry about this, and Snape wondered if this could work to his advantage. Or not, if he was determined to keep his master's secrets.

He looked the elf over, thinking, and that's when he saw the locket hanging from his chest. Regulus had shown it to him once, said his grandfather had given it to him.

He tapped it lightly with a finger. "Where did you get that?"

The elf glanced at his chest. "That belonged to master Regulus, and was found by master Potter. He is giving it to Kreacher. Master is very kind."

Snape didn't know about that, but the boy was a skilled enough manipulator, where Black had resorted to threats and insults. "Where did Potter get it?"

"Master is not saying, sir."

Likely he'd been rummaging through the house and found it tucked away in a drawer somewhere. Anyway, he'd picked the right gift. Regulus had always been fond of Kreacher, and the elf loved him right back, apparently. Snape had asked him once how he'd died, but the Kreacher wouldn't say.

Snape knelt down in front of him. "I need you to tell me anything you can about what Potter and his friends were doing."

Kreacher rocked back and forth on his feet, and Snape wondered if he'd been forbidden to tell anyone. Potter was so arrogant he probably hadn't thought of it, but Miss Granger might have, she was clever enough.

"You can tell me," said Snape. "I am trying to"- his mouth thinned-"help Potter."

"Sir is a friend of Master Potter?"

Snape would sooner drown himself in a well. He grimaced, hoping Kreacher mistook his twisted facial expression for a smile. "Yes."

Kreacher mouthed silently a moment, searching for the whatever words he was allowed to say, perhaps.

"Master was looking for my mistress' locket. Kreacher told master that the sneak-thief Mundungus Fletcher stole it. Master ordered Kreacher to find Mundungus Fletcher."

"Did you?"

"Kreacher did."

"What happened then?"

"Mundungus Fletcher says is not having it, sir."

"Did Potter go looking for it?"

"Kreacher thinks so, sir."

Snape didn't know what to make of this. "Very well," he said. "I thank you for the information. Return to work."

Snape went straight to his office and pulled an old book out of his nightstand, something he'd picked up at Borgin and Burkes years ago. He tapped his wand to it and the pages flutterered and turned until they reached that word, the dreaded word, the one that had been haunting him ever since he'd first read it. Horcrux.

The chosen object need not be possessed of any extraordinary properties, for it is not the object itself which posseth the magicke, but the spell that concealeth the fragment of soul within...

Snape slammed the book shut. So. The Horcrux could be anything. Such as a locket, perhaps.

He tucked the book away underneath piles of parchment and stepped in front of Dumbledore, who was fast asleep in his frame, head drooped over his chest, snoring.

"I want a word, Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore gasped and raised his head. "What is it, Severus? Have you word on Harry's location?"

"You've sent the boy to hunt a Horcrux."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, a bald accusation, and Dumbledore reacted just as Snape hoped he would. He sucked in his breath, eyes wide, almost pleading.

"How do you know this?"

Snape glanced over his shoulder and shot an Imperturbable Charm at the door. "I've suspected that he had one for awhile now. I've just spoken to Kreacher. He tells me the Potter and his friends have been searching for a locket."

The silence was so profound it was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Even with his back turned he knew every single portrait was watching him. Snape stared the old man down with savage triumph. He'd never trusted him, never thought him good enough to know everything the boy did, but he was smart enough to find out anyway, just like he'd been smart enough to protect himself when no one else would.

Dumbledore leant forward in his frame and his eyes turned sharp, fierce. "No one can know about this, Severus."

Snape sensed the old man's fear. He stood up straighter, taller. This was power. He'd gotten one over on him, he was the one in control now.

Perhaps Dumbledore sensed it. His face fell. "Severus. Please..."

Severus please, there it was again, the old man always went straight for the jugular, didn't he, always knew which strings to pull. Snape slammed his hand down on his desk.

"Enough!"

Dumbledore went quiet-or rather his portrait did, but that didn't matter, Dumbledore was in that portrait, he must have been, those eyes were as sharp and knowing as they'd been in real life. He didn't know how he'd done it but he must've put himself there.

"I know you would not be so careless as to tell anyone, Severus."

Snape slumped down in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand. His position was more dangerous than ever, the staff despised him, and the Carrows were breathing down his neck. And the boy, the one everyone placed their hopes on, was off on an impossible mission.

He didn't see much hope for either of them.

Hogwarts had been a refuge when the war began, the atmosphere lighter, calmer, more innocent than the world outside. There were those times when death had come to the castle, but they were few and far between. Now it was just another battleground. Everyone knew the Carrows were beating their students, encouraged by their tyrannical murderer of a Headmaster. And Snape played the part as best he could, sweeping through the castle like a bad omen, darkening corridors, stifling conversations, leaving a tense silence in his wake. Students cowered. Teachers whispered, glared, turned their backs. Minerva wouldn't look at him. They feared him. But they didn't respect him, and he couldn't force them to.

He'd arranged for each staff member to spend one evening every fortnight patrolling the corridors, knowing most of them would protect the students, but he couldn't deny the privege to his deputies. He'd taken to walking the corridors whenever they were on patrol, hoping to scare the students away before Alecto or Amycus got them.

November blew in damp and cold and the castle was so draughty he'd taken to wearing his traveling cloak indoors. He didn't want to leave his warm room to walk the freezing castle but Alecto was on patrol and he had a bad feeling about it somehow. She was quieter than her brother, calmer, at least on the surface. She'd been a fifth year when Snape started school and all his memories were of her bent over her books, studying. They were both fanatical and cruel, but she was the more dangerous of the two, he thought. Perhaps the students thought so too, because the corridors were silent and still, no sound except the faint hum of the Frog Choir and Flitwick's piano from the music room on the fifth floor. Snape was making his way down a narrow staircase to the floor below, thinking he might return to his office, when a low voice rang out from somewhere down the corridor. Draco, he thought.

Snape followed his voice. Draco had Longbottom backed up against the stone wall, wand pointed at his chest, and behind him was the fragment of a message. Dumb-

Of course it would have to be that, something close enough to amusing to set Snape on edge, as though the situation was mocking him.

Longbottom'seyes flickered towards Snape a half-second. His face was still bruised and his eyes were wide and scared. Snape opened his mouth to say something and the corridor echoed with the clack of those stupid platform boots Alecto wore to make herself taller. Fucking hell.

"What's all this noise?" said Alecto.

"Nothing," muttered Draco, lowering his wand.

"Doesn't look like nothing, Draco," said Alecto, and there was a hint of mockery in his voice, and something else, was it disappointment? "Are you going to stand there and let him get away with it?"

Draco glanced at Snape, scowling, as though this were all his fault. "No." He stood back to let Alecto have a clear shot at the Longbottom boy.

"Why don't you do the honours?" said Alecto.

"What do you mean?" said Draco, but Snape suspected he knew perfectly well what she meant, and was playing for time.

"I think the Cruciatus Curse ought to break the boy's spirit, yeah? Nothing too drawn-out. Just enough for him to get the message."

Draco looked from Alecto to Longbottom, his jaw clenched tight. There was no way he'd refuse her, his family was on thin ice as it was. Snape wondered if the Dark Lord had ordered her to do this to him, as a test of his loyalty. He was bloody everywhere.

His wand hand shook but there was nothing forced or phony about the hatred in his face. Draco hated Longbottom. He hated that he was there, hated that this was happening, hated that he'd made different choices. Snape knew because he would have hated him too.

Longbottom closed his eyes, breathing fast. The pain was so much worse when you saw it coming.

"Crucio."

Longbottom breathed harder and sank to his knees but he didn't seem to be in much pain.

Alecto clicked her tongue. "You can do better than that, Draco."

Draco screwed up his face in concentration and opened his mouth but the incantation got caught in his throat and came out a jarbled mess.

Alecto let out an impatient huff and Snape cringed. She was one of those people who could ratchet up the tension in the room just by being there.

"Never mind. I'll do it." She raised her wand. "Crucio!"

Longbottom collapsed on the floor and clutched at his head, screaming, the sound horribly high-pitched and helpless. And all Snape could do was watch. He was powerless to stop her.

She wasn't letting up. Draco leaned against the wall, heaving and swallowing like he was trying not to throw up.

"Stop it! Just stop it!"

Snape whipped around. Miss Greengrass was walking down the corridor with a small group of Slytherins, just out of choir practice, most likely.

Alecto lowered her wand and Miss Greengrass looked from her to Snape, mouth slightly open, shocked by what she'd done. "I'm sorry. I didn't..."

Snape ignored her. "Better let him go, Alecto," he said, in what he hoped was a bored voice. "It looks like Mr. Malfoy is about to be sick and I don't want my boots soiled."

"All right then," said Alecto. She nodded to Draco, who shot Snape a dark look and rubbed his mouth as he hurried down the corridor, Miss Greengrass on his heels. Snape had given him a reprieve and he'd spared Longbottom and Miss Greengrass, but he'd paid a heavy price for it. Draco hadn't liked him much before this, and he sure as hell wasn't going to now.

Alecto jabbed the toe of her shoe into Longbottom's back. "You. Back to your dormitory, and don't let me catch you again."

Longbottom stayed on all fours with his face to the floor, dry heaving.

"Don't mind this useless lump," said Snape, with as much disdain as he could manage. "He always was a weakling. I'll see to it that he gets back to his dormitory."

Alecto smiled a bit, impressed that he was back on form, perhaps. "I'll leave you to it then."

Snape watched her go and when she was halfway down the corridor he flashed a two-fingered salute to her retreating backside. Just a stupid childish thing but Merlin, it felt good.

He waited until she'd turned the corner and her footfalls had died away. The corridor was empty, and with curfew so close he doubted there'd be anyone else coming.

He ducked into an empty classroom. "Dobby," he muttered. The elf popped into the room.

"You is calling me, sir?"

Snape pulled Miss Corlett's potion out of his pocket and conjured a small cup. "You'll find Mr. Longbottom in the corridor. Tell him to drink this. It will ease his pain. Then take him to the hospital wing. Have Madam Pomfrey give him a calming draught. After that you will take him back to his common room. You will not mention me. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

Dobby took the cup from him and hurried out of the room. Snape stood behind the wooden door and peered around it, watching as Dobby held out a hand to Longbottom and helped him sit up. When he was upright Dobby tipped the cup into his mouth and after a minute or so the boy's body slackened and his face relaxed. He leaned back against the wall a moment, then stood up on uncertain legs and began to walk, the elf at his side, telling him it would be alright.

Snape tore through corridors and up staircases, scarcely paying attention to where he was going. He'd slowed down some by the time he reached the seventh floor, and he was passing by Flitwick's office when he heard voices. He flattened himself against the wall and listened, not really knowing why.

"...so thankful Potter didn't come back," said Minerva in a low, anxious voice. "Can you imagine the danger he'd be in?"

"Snape's always had it in for the boy," said Flitwick. "Always looking for excuses to punish him and get him expelled." Sprout made a murmur of agreement.

"I never spoke up for him," said Minerva, and her voice was thin and strained. "No matter how horrible Severus was to him. I always backed him up. What if he'd been in danger..."

"You couldn't have known," said Sprout. "He had us all fooled. I mean even Dumbledore believed him, for goodness sake."

"And that's another thing." Minerva's voice was rising now. "How could he have been so stupid? I tried so hard to warn him...but he would never listen..."

Snape tore himself away from the wall, face red and eyes stinging like he was eight years old, He didn't stop until he was out of the castle, deep in the grounds, where no one would hear him.

He stood in front of an alder tree and kicked at the trunk until his foot throbbed, pummeling the bark with his fists and slamming his head against it. Idiots, stupid fucking morons, they thought he was so powerful, they had no-bloody-clue.

He sat against the tree with his face in his hands and his knees drawn up to his chest, rocking back and forth. Without knowing why he slipped his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the bollan cross, holding it in his hand until everything inside him had come out.

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robes and looked out at the lights of Hogsmeade.

A/N: Thanks so much for the review! And thanks so much to all of you for reading!