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Chapter 1- I have no mouth and I must scream

?, 2023

The candle flickered, casting strange shadows over the page. It was the only source of light; there were no scones, for the edges were sharp and tempting, and no windows either, they knew his every secret ability. His remaining fingers, scarred and crooked and old, scraped across the paper with a thin rasp. There was an hourglass in the corner. He could barely hear the hiss of sand coarse against his remaining ear. That there was no sand behind the shattered glass didn't quiet the sound any more than breaking the time-turner had stopped time.

It must have been winter, or else late fall. The cold strained inside his bones and he could feel the damp of a rainstorm outside.

There was a respectful knock at the reinforced door. "Professor? Are you awake?"

He didn't reply. The door creaked open briefly, letting in a gust of air and snuffing the candle out. "Professor?"

Severus' dull black eyes squinted at the bright doorway. His face, wrinkled and ravaged by war, was perfectly blank but his hands shook over the book. Draco shuffled over, lighting the candle again with a casual flick of his wand before hastily stuffing it away in an enchanted holder. They both knew the Dark Master forbade Snape access to any form of weapon even as the spy's sharp mind and quick reflexes deteriorated in the secluded darkness.

His former student sat down slowly, staring at the blazing wick. He cleared his throat after a moment, watching his godfather and prisoner out of the corner of his eye. "Pansy's pregnant again." He smiled weakly, looking for the tiniest glimmer of emotion from the captured spy. Severus opened his mouth, felt the musty air rush over the empty space, and shut it with a defeated click. He watched Draco unblinkingly. The young man coughed into his hand and continued in a tight voice, "Daedalus asked about you, wanted to see his favourite teacher."

They were both silent, but Malfoy could almost, almost hear the professor's sharp retort 'a teacher of death eaters, it seems'. Certainly, he could see the helplessly enraged spark in the older man's eyes. He got to his feet with a mournful sigh, ready to give up, when his lowered gaze drifted over to the book laid open across the desk. Long distant time-travel, a fanciful thought in the mind of a modern wizard, was a developed skill among the Men in Saffron-

"Already?" He asked quietly. Draco loosened the wand holder with frozen, clumsy fingers, wincing slightly as it hit the ground. "If this doesn't work..." The heir voice shook and died. Snape's stony eyes softened minutely. Draco could lose everything.

Draco drew in a deep breath and left without looking back, locking the door behind him.

A faint smile floated to the surface of Severus' impassive face as he hobbled over and scooped it up. He wouldn't have much time and no more chances. Too much was at stake.

Severus came back to himself slowly, in bits and pieces. First, was he injured? Ten fingers and eight toes wiggled obediently, a higher number than he had gone to sleep with. Muscles tightened and relaxed, some of which he knew had been torn out years ago. The simple taste of sleep souring his tongue was enough to trigger a wave of emotion that he barely managed to choke back.

Next, was he alone? Hearing that had decayed under an onslaught of screams and curses jumped to attention, filtering out the sound of his own heart-beat and breathing. Complete silence.

The last question was the most important; where was he? Severus risked opening one eye a sliver, knowing the lashes would hide his black gaze, and glanced cautiously around. He was in bed, in his old Hogwart's quarters that he had last seen crumbling in a blaze of Fiendfyre. The walls were blank, the floor bare, the furniture lacking and in need of repair; yes, it was home.

Severus opened both eyes fully and clutched at his bedding with miraculously straight fingers, swallowing hard while his watery gaze locked on the stone ceiling. It took a few minutes to gather himself enough to rise, still clinging to his blankets like a frightened child, and stumble into the bathroom. The light was aching in his mind, though the actual physical eyes were used to it and Snape stomped down the urge to crawl into a spare cubby, wrapped up in the blanket. Soundless night had a way of rubbing off on a person.

The potions master stepped up to the mirror. His skin was still pale and unhealthy, but it seemed like porcelain after the ghastly mug he had grown reluctantly used to. His hair, though greasy, wasn't shorn down to his skull or shot through with grey and save for the familiar bulk of his badly broken nose, Severus' face was largely free of scars. He leaned closer to the reflection, watching the grey fog spread under his breath, searching his eyes for a hint of the torture, years spent wasting away in isolation, filled with spite and fury and regret. His body was disrespectfully hale.

Severus lifted one spindly hand, clenched tight under the blanket, and shattered the mirror. Glass shards tore apart the material and scattered dangerously around his bare feet.

He stood in the bathroom for several seconds, breathing hard, jaw tight, before stepping carelessly through the mess and back to his bed. His wand was under his pillow, just like it always was in the golden days. It felt like the handshake of an old friend, but squirmed unhappily in his tight grip. He cast tempus wordlessly and the wand reluctantly obeyed; it wasn't his anymore, the spy had changed too much. He would need a new wand.

6:13 AM, August 7, 1995

Severus had gone back almost thirty years. Not far enough to save Lily or stop the Dark Master's return, but far enough to win the War. He got dressed hastily, cleaning the blood from his feet with a forceful swish and shoved on dragon-hide boots. He had lost all feeling in his hands and feet from years of Cruciatus curse but the pain in his toes reminded him that the damage wasn't as extensive yet.

Severus was almost to the door, feverish at the thought of seeing Albus, Minerva, Fillius, even the dratted, long-dead dunderheads, when he realised that he couldn't even remember half the children, never mind his schedule, small recent events, who he had been quarreling with- He sat on his couch, staring out into the distance. This wouldn't be easy.

He summoned a piece of parchment, quill, and inkpot wandlessly and quickly jotted down;

1995. Umbridge, DA group, Ministry attack, Black dies.

Snape tapped the quill against the pot, revealing in the steadiness of his hands. The past was more important to remember at the moment, so he drew a line through the sentence and continued.

1994. Dark Mas-

He hissed impatiently and crossed out the word. It hadn't happened yet.

Dark Lord returns. Diggory dies. HQ at Grimmauld.

He looked over it a few times. Yes, that seemed like the basics. He could blame not recalling who won Quidditch or some nonsense on his anti-social nature. He remembered something else,

Albus wants Potter to learn Legilimency. Potter is still a brat.

He underlined the last part several times. Before, they had developed a grudging respect for each other's skill and determination, even when it seemed they were on opposite sides. One of his greatest regrets was that Potter had died thinking he was the only Order member left, the last man standing. There was a pocket of resistance in Whales, hidden by a Secret Keeper. Severus had been discovered four years after Potter's death, almost immediately following the Whales group's discovery.

Severus read the short list several times before crumpling it up and burning it with a thought. Separation from both his tongue and his wand made silent wandless spells second-nature. He had the thread when it came to the past, or so he hoped, but Snape wasn't sure what to do now. What was the most important task? Destroy the Dark M-Lord, he thought firmly, keep everyone alive, if possible. Albus and Potter, at the very least.

His floo chimed, nearly sending the time-traveler into panic. The name Minerva McGonagall flashed in red over the dead fireplace. It could have been worse; it could have been Albus.

The Legilimens slammed his walls firmly into place. They, at least, had only grown stronger with age, and a wizard's magic was more closely tied to the mind than the body. After checking his mental defenses thoroughly, Severus answered the floo call.

Minerva's head appeared in the swirling flames, fierce and alive. The spy bit down on the inside of his cheek. It had been a nasty curse that took the old lioness down, a flesh devouring spell that started at the toes and worked its way up-

"Severus?" The feline animagus said, looking concerned. Snape got the impression that she had called his name a few times. "Are you alright?"

The potions master opened his mouth to reply and hesitated instinctively. "Yes," He stated without inflection. "You.. woke me up." His voice was foreign and rough to his ears, and he caught himself pausing mid-sentence to listen with surreal fascination. How long had it been since he last talked? Before Daedalus was born, four, eight, ten years? Ten years since he lost his tongue? "Is something wrong?"

Minerva squinted skeptically at the spy through the flames. "Harry Potter's hearing has been scheduled. It's on the 12th."

The hearing! He had almost forgotten about that. Hadn't he refused to act as guard detail? The Dementors, he remembered. Never could stand them. They were a favourite tool of the Dark Lord's and Severus had been unable to summon a patronus since the death of the Headmaster. "Did you need me?"

The witch was definitely suspicious now. Severus Snape was never helpful. "Are you sure you're not sick, Severus?" She asked kindly.

"If you don't need me," Snape sneered coldly, "I am returning to bed." Minerva perked up immediately. That was more like the snarky young potions master she knew.

"Albus has asked you to be a guard during the trial. The won't convict, they can't," she assured him confidently, "but just in case..."

"I am to act as a scapegoat then? Grab the brat and run when they want to slap his wrist?"

"Azkaban is no slap on the wrist!" Minerva snapped angrily. "Unless you are a death eater, that is!" Severus bowed his head slightly. It was a low blow, they both knew it. He must have stepped over the line, he thought mournfully. It had been too long. Through the comforting curtain of his hair, he saw McGonagall flinch guiltily. "Ah'm sorry, Severus." She apologetically sighed. "Ah did'n' mean that." Strange, the things that he had once hardly noticed were suddenly important. Minerva's Scottish accent always thickened when she was upset, like how Lily's Southern and his Irish ones popped up when they argued.

"I'll attend," Severus pretended to sound reluctant and annoyed. "After all, you never can know when a death eater will pop up disguised as an owl." His lips twitched slightly.

Minerva smiled, amused and relieved. "Don't give them any ideas! The hearing is at 9 am. I'll tell Albus you agreed." The flames vanished abruptly and Snape fell back onto his couch like his strings had been cut. Ten minutes with Minerva had him feeling like a wrung-out sock, how would he be able to face Potter, never mind Albus?

Severus rubbed his wand, drawing strength from the familiar grooves and bumps. He had a few days to recover. He would make it count.

The first thing the time-traveling spy did was buy a new wand. Blackthorn wood, twelve-and a-quarter-inches, the bones of a Joint-eater as a core. Ollivander had actually shuddered when he handed it over to the disguised wizard. "A very dark wand," he had muttered worriedly. "One that consumes." He hadn't even said what it was particularly good for but Severus had gotten the idea and it didn't bother him in the least. He was used to the dark, unicorn horn and phoenix feathers were no use to him.

The old wand he kept tucked in his left holster, covering the Dark Mark. Most of the staff knew he was dominantly left-handed, it would raise less questions if the blackthorn wand was found in his right holder. In any case, he could fight just as well with his right hand as his left.

New wand in hand, Severus thought about changing his role in the war. The old man wanted him as a spy, but Severus was bone-weary of watching and observing. He wanted to fight. Repressed wrath simmered constantly below his skin, roaring in his ears, licking at his walls and demanding to be released. Last time, the wizard had made it as far as Albus' death before killing someone. That innocence was gone. The only thing stopping Severus from burning alive men that he had seen torture, rape and kill helpless muggles was the weight of Dumbledore's disapproval. What the old warlock didn't know, however, could hardly hurt him. In this case, at least.

Severus would work with the Order of the Phoenix in secret, as he always had, but for once as a warrior and equal. For that, he needed a name. From the depths of half-remembered, treasured memories, a name rose up. Cúchulainn.

Why not? In his youth, before Tobias even knew about magic or began to hate his family for it, the legend of Cúchulainn had been Severus' favourite bedtime story. His father would sit them down on the threadbare couch, wrapped up against the early morning winter chill in a moth-eaten blanket, and tell his little boy the legends of his own childhood. After his falling out with Lily, the memory of his father weaving the beloved tale had become Snape's patronus memory, which in turn was replaced by a quiet Christmas dinner with the staff after the old bastard's death.

Cúchulainn, Severus mouthed the words to himself over and over during the night, not daring to speak in the darkness. Cúchulainn.

It wasn't accurate, but that was the point. Who would associate mean-hearted, ugly, aggressive Snivellus with the legendary Irish hero?

There would be no attack in early August, if Severus recalled, but it would be wise for Cúchulainn to contact the Order sooner rather than later. After the hearing, he thought. The spy would find a reason.

During the days before the hearing, Severus trained. His body was quick and skilled, but not up to par with the grace and control Snape had achieved in battle before being caught. His mind, too, needed sharpening, and long hours were spent in the Come-and-Go room, dueling summoned creatures. Nights he spent carefully weaving his Occlumency walls into a fortress that couldn't even be seen from the outside.

It was a better prepared but very nervous spy that woke early in the morning of August 12th. Potter was released, he remembered that much, but the thought of seeing Albus again wound Severus up tightly. He couldn't even wait until 9 for the trial and hurried to the Ministry at quarter to 8.

Severus stepped gracefully out of the floo. He still marveled at how easy it was to move again, time and pain sliding off his body. The mind fared worse, but you can't have everything. He allowed the young wizard to confiscate his wand, the old one, and reluctantly return it after jotting down its notable features.

"Here on business, Professor?" The security wizard asked, an odd mix of meek and irritated. It took Severus a moment to reply, he wasn't used to speaking again yet. It took even longer to recognize the man. A former student, Gryffindor.

"Yes, Mr. Tiller, I am." Snape said flatly. The boy shrunk away at the emotionless tone, refusing to meet the potions master's eyes. "Where is the Potter Disciplinary Hearing taking place?"

Tiller bit his lip rebelliously for a moment before years of engraved obedience won over bloody-mindedness. "Courtroom 10, sir. It's starting in a few minutes."

Severus hid his confusion and silently cast tempus. 7:51 AM, August 12, 1995. From Tiller's wide eyed look, he had forgotten to use his wand.

"I was under the impression the hearing would begin at nine." The spy stated curtly. Tiller fluttered a few papers desperately just to make him look competent before shaking his head.

"No sir. Says here 8, sir."

Severus spun abruptly on his heels, striding quickly towards the courtrooms. He could remember where they were. He had been on trial before. He was nearly through the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office when he spotted a head of flaming orange hair. A Weasley. Arthur, probably. The sight sent an unexpected lance of pain through him. Though never close enough to consider him a friend, Snape had quite liked Arthur and spent more than a few evenings in Grimmuald playing chess. The snake had eaten him. He remembered giving Molly an anonymous note himself and later staying to watch the funeral in disguise as a useless punishment for failing the willful mother.

Arthur looked up and caught sight of the potions master. "Professor Snape," he called excitedly, waving him over. Severus' feet carried him to the other man's desk almost against his will. "What brings you here?"

"The hearing," Severus answered indifferently. "The time and place have been moved. Courtroom 10 in five minutes."

Arthur's face paled and he leapt to his feet. "Oh dear, oh- we'd better hurry, Harry."

It was a struggle to keep his face blank as Snape turned his head to face Potter. The boy was torn between looking mulish, worried, and grateful. Severus looked away quickly. It wasn't the same Potter that had once faced Severus in battle and taken his old professor's left ear with a well-placed blasting curse. This Potter was still stuck with dreaming about fighting his hated teacher.

"Well, are you coming?" Arthur's slightly teasing question shook Severus back to the present. The spy nodded briskly and quickly overtook the redhead, leading the way. His trial had been in Courtroom 7, most Dark Arts hearings did. Ten wouldn't be hard to find.

Severus tried to keep himself from watching Potter out of the corner of his eye. The teenager walked with his head low, unruly hair blocking his green eyes, hands tucked into his pocket. Holding his wand, if he had an ounce of sense. He kept comparing the ruthless but weary young man to the awkward, angry boy. The other Potter wouldn't have gone to a hearing; it was far too easy for the Dark Master to ambush him. He would know better than to look at his feet when he walked, especially in the presence of a known Death Eater. He wouldn't keep his wand in his pocket either as it could get caught in his clothes in the heat of battle. This kid needs training, Snape thought wryly. Desperately.

The Potions Master stood aside as the reached the door. He and Arthur would be in the stands, Potter would be alone.

"It'll be fine, Harry." The redhead reassured the boy quickly, patting his shoulder fondly. Potter nodded glumly, eyeing the door under the unruly fringe of black hair. Arthur gave the child one last concerned smile before slipping away to join the stands.

Potter was silent for a moment before glaring up at Snape. "I know you're just here to see me get expelled, sir." Potter spat bitterly.

Severus looked down at the boy dispassionately. "I have no reason to lie or attempt to coddle you, Potter, so trust me when I say they won't expel you." The student glanced at him, surprised, and Severus cursed the gentleness age had lent him. "Unfortunately. I am sure you will pull some stunt worthy of expulsion soon, however." He tossed in a contemptuous frown and watched Potter bristle. That's the first thing we will work on, Severus thought. Teach the boy some damn patience and how to hide his emotions. It was a good foundation for the Mind Arts.

The massive courtroom door swung open silently at a swish of Snape's old wand. "Best get it over with, Potter." His skin crawled at the blast of cold air but the Dementors were well hidden. In the rafters, likely, skulking above the despondent accused. Severus caught a glimpse of a boar patronus patrolling the stands before the door swept shut behind Potter.

Snape allowed himself a few moments to focus on his breathing and control the rising black tide of despair brought on by the Dementors. He fumbled with his wand a moment, suddenly stiff and cold.

"Severus, my most loyal servant."

Severus felt a steel band close over his chest, cutting his breaths into painful gasps.

"We may now begin."

He knelt slowly, feeling the ache of all his fifty-two years rattle through his bones as he pressed his chapped lips to the Dark Master's robe hem. An elegant hand caressed the back of his head. Severus ruthlessly wrestled down the urge to shudder in disgust and rose to take his place with the others. They didn't wear masks anymore. There was no-one left to oppose them.

The Dark Master smiled handsomely at his gathered followers. He had fixed his snake-like face to celebrate the defeat of Potter. He gestured grandly to a cowering halfblood and the slave scurried eagerly out of the hall.

"Some among you have earned a reward," The Dark Master purred smoothly. The Death Eaters shuffled, eyeing each-other up. One word from their Lord would send the entire group into a writhing mess of blood and spells for the honour of the 'reward'. "Lucius, Bellatrix, Severus, step forwards." The battlelust drained immediately from the wizards and witches.

Severus smoothed the surface of his mind, willing forth the ancient admiration and loyalty he fostered as a teenager. The three high ranking Death Eaters bowed at their master as the halfblood returned leading a line of prisoners. It was two witches and a wizard. Severus felt his blood turn to ice as he recognized the muggleborns; Colin Creevey, Penelope Clearwater and Hermione Granger. He had taught them all a lifetime ago. They had finally been caught.

Creevey was given to Bellatrix, Clearwater to Lucius and Granger, as he had guessed she would be, was given to Severus.

"Impress me." The Dark Master said with a fatherly smile.

Snape shut his ears to the wailing of Creevey and Clearwater, staring down his crooked nose at Granger. She glared defiantly at him, her young face filled with terror and pain but she remained standing, meeting his eyes without fear. Severus raised his wand with a struggle, mind racing. Bellatrix predictably had opened with the Cruciatus curse, but the Potions Master wouldn't be able to summon the hatred for that. He knew a spell that increased the rate their blood used up oxygen, boiling and suffocating them from the inside out. It would be sufficiently showy and not take too long.

Severus tightened his grip on the wand and prepared to say the incantation. Granger's glare faltered and she didn't quite manage to stop her fearful gasp. The wand tip trembled for a moment before lowering.

Severus couldn't do it.

He thought of everything that was going to waste; all those deaths, all the blood on his hands, decades spent spying, all for a clever muggleborn like Lily that would be killed anyway. He still couldn't bring himself to raise his wand again.

"Kill the mudblood, Severus." The Dark Master ordered coldly.

"No." Severus whispered. Granger's eyes widened in realization and hope.

"Professo-" Her face was frozen forever in a hopeful expression as Lucius' killing curse slammed into her.

The hall was completely silent. Severus swayed where he stood, gaze locked on the dead muggleborn's collapsed body. Even the Dark Master was thrown for a moment.

"Grab him." He murmured flatly. Lucius pressed his wand against Severus' head. Bellatrix aimed deviously lower. "Draco Malfoy will be in charge of the prisoner, Lucius, as a reward for your services today. Make sure he knows the importance of this task."

"Yes, my Master."

"Bellatrix."

The witch needed no further instruction.

Severus forced the memory back under his shields and shook himself. He could hear voices in the courtroom and was relieved to find he was still standing. Little time seemed to have past.

"Expecto Patronum." He whispered, nearly inaudible even to himself, thinking about a pair of thick green wool socks with little wiggly silver snakes that Albus had given him his seventh year teaching. A shivery streak of light rose from his old wand. A second year could do better, but it was enough to drive off the lingering chill.

He made his shaky way over to the stands entrance and ducked into the shadows, letting his eyes sweep over the courtroom as a distraction. Potter was sitting in the chair, fortunately unchained, glaring up at Fudge. He was pale but defiant and angry. Albus was next to him in a comfortable armchair and Severus quickly looked away. Percy Weasley was studiously jotting down notes, nose nearly pressed to his parchment. He spotted Umbridge and felt a rush of loathing. He would have to deal with her soon.

Severus hesitantly glanced back to Albus. The old man looked tired, and the Potions Master was rather surprised by the distance Dumbledore was putting between himself and the boy. Had that happened last time?

"Weasley, fetch the witness." Fudge commanded. Percy leapt to his feet and hurriedly let Figg in. Snape vaguely recognized the squib from his lonely patrols of Little Whinging over the summers before Albus' death.

"Full name?" The Minister asked.

"Arabella Doreen Figg, resident of Little Whinging." Figg replied tightly, holding her bag close to her chest. Severus couldn't imagine what it felt like for a squib to be in a wizard's courtroom, knowing you had no political weight or magical defenses.

The Potions Master let the hearing wash over him without paying it much mind, searching the room for anything suspicious or the Dementors. He thought he spotted Lucius' pale head in the crowd and turned his attention back to the trial.

"I-I felt them." Mrs. Figg was whispering. "It was horrible... like I would never be happy again."

The room suddenly felt far colder and Severus glanced up at the ceiling again, expecting to see a dark corner turn into tattered cloth.

"Very well. You may go." Fudge said, disappointed. Potter had lost some of his nervousness, perking up in the chair. Albus, like Severus, was watching the shadows. He spotted his spy lurking in the murkiness and smiled grandfatherly, though his blue eyes didn't sparkle as they normally would. "Not very convincing," Fudge muttered as the squib shuffled proudly out of the room.

"Oh, I disagree. She described their effects very complete." Bones argued. Bones was a capable witch, Severus remembered. Her niece was attending Hogwarts now, wasn't she?

"So two Dementors just happen to be in Little Whinging? I think not." Protested Fudge stiffly.

"Only if the Dementors are still taking their orders from the Ministry these days." Albus countered firmly. "I believe you know my views on this, Cornelius."

The Minister straightened and glared down his nose at the Headmaster. "Yes, and they're nothing but bilge, Dumbledore."

Hem, hem.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment and summoned his patience. Umbridge stood and spoke in a high, aggravating voice; "Excuse me, Dumbledore, but did you just accuse the Ministry of Magic of ordering an attack on this boy?" She laughed incredulously.

Dumbledore raised his head with confidence, leveling a not unkind blue gaze on the bright pink Ministry official. "If the Dementors are taking their orders from the Ministry exclusively, then it must certainly follow logically that someone in the Ministry ordered the attack." He didn't look at Severus, didn't look at him so pointedly that Severus got the feeling Albus was watching him. "And in that case, I'm sure the Ministry will make a full inquiry."

Ah, you mean you will make a full inquiry, the spy thought sarcastically.

"The dementors are irrelevant!" Fudge snapped, nearly rising from his seat.

"On the contrary, Cornelius!" Albus raised his voice sharply, just shy of shouting. "If they were there, than Harry was acting in self-defense, which is perfectly allowable under Clause 7 of the Decree of Reasonable Restriction of Underaged Magic." His wise burning eyes swept powerfully over the gathered crowd. "We are all in agreement of this?"

"Well, yes, if he's telling the truth!" Fudge nearly wailed back in exasperation before paling abruptly. He had just agreed before the jury. It didn't matter what he had agreed to, the people would fix in their minds that ground had been lost by the Minister. Severus nearly chuckled at the deviousness of Albus.

Dumbledore leaned back slightly in his chair, smiling slightly. "You have heard from the eye-witnesses, Cornelius." He folded his wrinkled hands patiently over his lap, looking for all the world like he had just finished scolding a troublesome student.

Fudge swelled like an angry cat, but he knew when he was beat. "Very well," he ground out, "all for clearing the accused of charges?" Over half the room lifted their hands high, avoiding the Minister's annoyed gaze. Fudge brought the gavel down with more force than necessary. "Fine! Cleared of all charges!"

The echoes of the gavel had barely faded away before Albus was on his feet, banishing his chair and sweeping grandly out of the courtroom door. The Headmaster cast a subtle glance to the shadows at the stand's entrance and Severus obediently slipped soundlessly out. He was reasonable certain it was without being seen as Potter was exchanging glowering looks with Umbridge and everyone else were discussing the hearing.

Severus crept into an empty corridor adjacent to the courtroom hall and waited nervously for Albus to join him. He Occluded his mind, meticulously drawing every emotion from his face and double-checked that every incriminating memory was banked safely. At least he could no longer feel the presence of the hidden Dementor.

Albus stepped into the hallway, hands tucked up his sleeves. Snape tried to breath shallowly but he could still smell sugar and smoke and citrus, making his eyes sting fiercely. Somehow, even when the memory of his old mentor's kind voice, gentle touch and twinkling eyes faded, Severus always recalled the wise wizard's overpoweringly sweet odor with clarity.

"Severus?" Dumbledore touched Severus' shoulder worriedly. "Are you alright, my boy?"

The Potions Master looked at the healthy hand for a few seconds, unable to think. "Yes." He whispered roughly. "I- I apologize, Headmaster. I seem to be coming down with a cold." The excuse sounded flimsy to him, and he couldn't inject any emotion into his voice. He couldn't remember how to. "What was it you wished to speak about?"

Albus scrutinized his spy doubtfully but dropped the matter for the moment. "What do you know about the Dementor attack, Severus?"

Snape cursed inside the sanctity of his head. What did he remember of an attack thirty years ago? "Only what I can guess, sir." Severus replied respectfully.

Albus looked nearly alarmed now. He reached for Severus' forehead, hesitating at the man's instinctive flinch, and checked his temperature. "I think you need to have a lay-down, Severus." The Headmaster stated with a touch of authority. "Perhaps a check-up with Poppy, as well?"

Severus felt well and truly lost. Had he said something wrong? How did he used to treat Albus? He knew he always held Albus in the highest esteem and had the greatest affection for him that he'd ever had for anyone. "I believe the Dark Lord was behind this attack," the Potions Master stated bluntly, "or one of his followers."

Albus frowned but appeared slightly reassured by Snape's frankness. "You don't think it was someone within the Ministry?"

"It is possible, but not as likely." Severus glanced up and down the halls to avoid looking at the Headmaster. "We know he is back and has no further reason to keep Potter alive. If the boy is Kissed, the people will lose faith in the Ministry and panic will spread."

Dumbledore nodded, still watching Snape closely. He squeezed the other wizard's shoulder comfortingly. "Thank you for coming, my boy. I know how the Dementors affect you. I'm proud of you."

Severus cleared his throat, refusing to meet Albus' eyes. "Anything else?" He rasped.

Albus released Severus and scratched his beard. "Now that you mention it, yes. Harry needs training in the Mind Arts, and I can think no-one better than yourself."

This is the best chance you'll get, Snape thought. "I can. I fought a man in Ireland before I began spying. His Legilimens shields are the strongest I've seen, and he moved like a snake in battle. He has an intense hatred of the Dark Lord and his followers. I do not believe he would betray you or Potter."

"Are you sure? That was fifteen years ago, my boy!"

"I am. He was protecting the Hill of Tara against Dark Wizards, it is possible he is still there."

"What if he attacks you?"

"Send Lupin," Severus said without thought and had to hide his wince. "He is an Animus Augur. I believe that is why he did not kill me when we fought, though I doubt he would do so again. It is perhaps best if we do not meet again. Loathe as I am to admit it, Lupin wears his heart on his sleeve and despite his little problem will cause less issues." He held his breath at the magnitude of the lie. Animus Augurs were able to discern the soul of another person almost immediately. They made for natural masters of Occlumency and Legilimency. Daedalus Malfoy had been particularly quick at the Mind Arts. Severus had some ability in seeing the magic of others that had been developed and strengthened through necessity, but he knew he was no Augur.

"An Animus Augur?" Albus echoed, stunned and impressed. "Yes, yes, perhaps that would be best. I will send Remus to the Hill of Tara soon. Harry can begin training before the school year starts." The Headmaster smiled fondly at the professor. "Please, get some rest, Severus. I will Floo if anything happens."

Severus bows and eagerly hurried away. It could have been worse, he repeated to himself. It could have been worse.

Severus did rest, after he was done warding the Hill of Tara. He set up an alarm to warn him if a werewolf crossed them. When he was done, he doused every light in his rooms, wrapped himself into a blanket, and curled up in a niche between two stuffed bookcases and an end table with a boiling cup of tea. He had trouble sleeping in the open with light on his face.

He dozed most the night like that, occasionally rousing enough to take another sip of tea and reassure himself that the rooms were empty.

When his internal clock said the sun was up, Severus crawled out of the corner and got ready for the day. He read over all of his recent notes and schedule plans, reviewed the students attending and who had graduated in the last three years. He scanned every letter he kept in ten years, flipped through some of his books for scribbles in the margins. Snape even dug out the Pensive Albus gave him for his thirtieth birthday and dug up every memory of the summer of '95 that were intact.

Two days into his extensive recollection, the wards went off. Severus slipped on a silver ring engraved with a running hound and felt the enchantment settling over him like a cloak. He checked his reflection in the mirror.

Severus looked to be in his mid-fifties, a decade younger than his mental age, with dull brown hair liberally shot through with grey cropped close to his ears. His hooked nose was inflated and shortened into a bulbous, slightly squashed shape. His black eyes had been lightened into a silvery blue and were set farther apart while his sharp, angular head had turned round and solid with faded scars. The illusion would hold as long as he wore the ring. It doubled as an emergency Portkey, a back-up to his other hidden ones.

Before he left, Severus quickly rubbed lemon grass over his arms and neck. It would drown out his natural smell, he knew. He had used it during raids to keep Greyback or his mutts from tracking him down. He hadn't started using the trick until after Dumbledore's death so he could be reasonably certain the Order wouldn't know that particular tactic.

Snape Floo'd to Knockturn Alley and Apperated to the Hill of Tara from there, arriving with a near silent crack. He was at the Mound of the Hostages, he saw. Lupin was laying against the slop, sharp nose twitching. Severus took a moment to observe the werewolf. He looked much the same as he had the last time the time-traveler had seen him; beat to hell, scruffy as a stray dog, and hopelessly optimistic, even when simply lying back, watching the clouds. It was easier to see Lupin. They had never been friends, and Severus hadn't seen his fall personally, only heard word of it. He never ran missions during the full moon.

The wind changed and Lupin's head rose. He caught a glimpse of Severus lurking in the falling dusk and scrambled to his feet, grinning hopefully and amiably. "Hullo?" He called, shuffling towards him nervously. His amber eyes fixed nervously on the silver ring.

Severus drew himself to his full imposing height, eyeing Lupin closely. The werewolf must have been told about his 'Augur abilities' and remained still, looking straight ahead, as Snape circled him.

"Why are you here?" Severus asked softly, thickening his Irish brogue. It had been awhile since he had sounded so much like his father. The purebloods in his house had scolded him for his 'muggle filth accent' and corrected it completely by the time he was sixteen.

Lupin bowed formally, subtly baring his neck to the taller wizard. "Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, sent me to ask your services." He answered hesitantly. "Harry Potter needs training in the Mind Arts and a member of our order recommended you."

"Who." Severus stopped behind the werewolf, leaning in intimidatingly.

Remus wrestled with himself for a moment before sighing deeply. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell you that." Severus was reluctantly impressed with Lupin's loyalty before remembering that Albus probably told him to keep it secret. He raised his head slightly but didn't turn around to face Snape. "If I may ask... What is your name, sir?"

"Cúchulainn." The words drifted into the night like a breath of wind. Lupin shivered and bowed his head again. Snape could see the hairs on the back of his neck rising and was surprised at the effect the twilight and a mysterious stranger had on a Gryffindor. He had never commanded such respect from anyone.

"Lord Cúchulainn," Lupin spoke deferentially to his feet. Severus twitched slightly at the term but didn't correct it. The title would help keep distance between himself and the other members, decreasing the likelihood someone would figure him out. "On behalf of the Order of the Phoenix, I respectfully beg your assistance against the Dark Lord Voldemort." The werewolf held his breath.

"Very well." Severus replied simply. He noticed Remus' shoulders tense in surprise and smirked to himself. He pressed an Irish pound coin into Lupin's hand. "Speak my name, I will answer." Snape had no shame in stealing Granger's idea. A spy who didn't use every tool available to him didn't live long.

He twirled on the spot and Apparated away with a louder crack than he normally would allow. No use revealing all of his abilities right away.

Severus appeared in the Forbidden Forest after two pointless jumps to throw off any tag-alongs. He paused under the thick trees, breathing in the sharp twilight air and listening to unseen creatures crawl through the undergrowth. Collecting his thoughts, Severus emptied his mind and focused on the smells of night. He pictured his body shrinking and twisting, sprouting feathers and scaly feet. It was easy to imagine his hooked nose curving into a short beak. With a soft pop and a dizzying moment of disorientation, a large black Great Horned Owl stood in the Potions Master's place.

Severus clumsily hopped several times and labored himself into the air. He pumped his wings powerfully, rising above the trees into the open air. He enjoyed the sting of cool late summer wind pulling at the tufts on his head and swirling over his broad back as he skirted the dead-drops of cold air and caught the weak cooling updrafts. He circled the Owlery for nearly an hour, watching the stars crawl across the sky.

He reluctantly landed and removed the ring. Severus slunk unseen down to the dungeons, running his thumb over the silver hound compulsively.

Animus Augur is not a real thing. Feel free to use it.

I used HPL: Calendar: OP to organize events and dates. They can be ignored.