CHAPTER 2
WHY NOT ATTEND, SEVERUS?
The night before…
"Fizzing Whizbee."
It was one minute to midnight when the gargoyle leapt to the side to reveal the polished oak door bearing the gryphon knocker, and Severus stepped into the headmaster's office.
The large circular room was dimly lit, with Albus Dumbledore nowhere in sight. Severus walked to the windowsill across the room and, turning his back to it, found a small patch of wall on which to rest his gaze from the spectacle of old paintings, books and the bizarre instruments that crowded the office.
The clutter in this place was enough to give him a headache, as were his motives behind the impromptu visit.
The small door to the headmaster's private cabinet opened with a prolonged screech, and Albus Dumbledore walked out, tugging at a threadbare purple dressing-gown, trying to properly arrange it over his nightshirt. The elderly wizard's long silver hair and beard crinkled, wiry and untamed, but then again, he had just gotten out of bed.
He stopped his struggle with his attire for a moment to look over the half-moon spectacles sitting atop his long crooked nose.
"Ah, Severus," he said with little surprise and walked down the three stairs that led out of his cabinet and into the office, the dressing-gown, which still sat oddly at the shoulders, now seemingly forgotten.
"I'm sorry to disturb you so late, headmaster," Severus said. "It's a delicate matter.'
Dumbledore gestured with his hand, inviting Severus to make himself comfortable in the seat facing his desk, and Severus declined with a slight shake of the head.
He stood by the chair and waited while Dumbledore crossed the room and sank down behind his desk with a sigh.
"Lemon drops?"
"No, thank you."
"I think I'll have one." Dumbledore nearly smiled as he leaned over the desk to pick up a candy from a porcelain tray. "You know, Severus, with the lemon drops — I found recently, they can be prepared without actual lemons. Can you imagine?"
"I suppose I can. Muggle inventiveness knows no boundaries, does it?"
"Apparently, it does not."
"Fascinating, indeed. The Dark Lord knows of Black's mission in Longmoon Forest," Severus said and watched Dumbledore leave the candy, half unwrapped from its thin paper packaging, to rest on his desk. "I'm leading the assault to capture him. Tomorrow, after nightfall."
For a prolonged moment, Dumbledore's eyes remained steady, unblinking.
"Do you know," he asked quietly, "how Lord Voldemort learned of this?"
"No," Severus said, deciding his suspicions were better kept private for the time being. "It was confined only to the Order…"
"It was."
Of course it was.
"We wouldn't be in this situation ," Severus said, "had you sent someone else to retrieve the Pearl Beak in Longmoon. It would seem Black has a way of attracting attention."
"Severus…"
"You have done more than enough for Black tolerating him around the Order. There's no need to cater to his pointless need of heroics."
Dumbledore, trained through years and years of students calling his judgement into question, did not frown or raise his tone, but said most calmly, "As you know, Sirius is not tolerated. He is a full member of the Order. Just as you are, Severus."
Of course.
At some point, it would seem, spying on the Dark Lord had become as comfortable as sitting home in the company of a demented House-elf. Or so Dumbledore had decided, from the comfort of his own office.
"Besides," Dumbledore added, a knowledgeable smile finding its way on his aged face, "Sirius' Animagus, the dog, does better in that forest than any man."
"Yes… I'm certain Black's Animagus did even better in Azkaban."
"I trust you did not mean that, Severus."
Still no frown, no raise of the tone, but the warmth had vanished from Dumbledore's gaze. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold as chips of ice, and Severus recognised he might have gone too far. Just a little.
Dumbledore stood up.
"I must alert Sirius," he said. "He'll have to return."
"You can't do that," said Severus, a little too hasty. "The Dark Lord entrusted the matter only to Bellatrix and me. If there is suspicion that Black had warning — Well, I hardly believe I need to draw a picture."
Dumbledore nodded, though seemingly to his own thoughts rather than to Severus' words.
"You know the Dark Lord is on the rise, he's gathering his forces, infiltrating his informers — has quite a few of them, quite a few, while we only have…" Severus trailed off, regarding Dumbledore, who had come to stand by the window — brilliant, he wasn't even listening.
Severus sighed.
He followed Dumbledore's gaze that rested on the glass where absolutely nothing could be seen but the endless blackness of the winter night and a vague reflection of the room.
"You," Dumbledore said after a while, eyes still affixed on the black window, "— we only have you."
Well, yes.
"If Black were to escape before the assault takes place, I should not be able to return to their ranks. Surely you know."
Dumbledore turned to look at him. Pale blue eyes flickered as if searching the maps of his own mind for an answer, and Severus, for the first time, found he didn't quite want to know what it was. Just how much and who was Dumbledore prepared to sacrifice in this war…
Severus spoke before Dumbledore could.
"There is a way. It's the only way, really. It's not a walk in the park, but — I can ensure a diversion."
"Go on…"
"If Black was to counter a Stunning Spell with Larvaenum Invenia , it would buy him just enough time to flee through the Floo network. The fireplace is still connected, I verified."
"A gardening spell?"
"A gardening spell," Severus replied. "When it collides with the Stunning Spell, it — I'll show you."
Both took out their wands and stepped to stand further apart. "Be gentle," Severus warned, "or you'll have some cleaning up to do." They cast their spells, Severus the Stunning hex and Dumbledore the gardening charm, and their magic collided and unwound in synergy, beautifully perfect — a glimpse of a flawless diversion.
By the end of it, Dumbledore was left gazing in mild astoundment, silver eyebrows raised and lips stretched to a wrinkled smile.
"Why, Severus, this is brilliant!"
Indeed it was.
"And you will be the one to cast the Stunning Spell?" A statement from Dumbledore, rather than a question.
"Only if I must," Severus answered. "I would be surprised if it doesn't rain Stunning Spells. The Dark Lord wants him alive."
"I see… Butterflies…" Dumbledore mused. "How did you even—"
Severus shook his head. "Unimportant. What matters is that the plan be executed to perfection. Black must master the spell and use the diversion to flee through the Floo. He must have the fire burning already, be close to the fireplace—"
"Have the Floo powder at hand, of course," Dumbledore caught on, and his voice held an enthusiasm Severus didn't share. "I will speak to Sirius, instruct him on everything."
"And, Dumbledore," said Severus, "no one can know it was me."
"But Severus—"
"No one. I don't know how the Dark Lord learned about Black's whereabouts. You put your trust in every one of the Order members, I know. I do not have your luxury."
"They have fought on our side from the beginning."
"Impressive, yes — and inaccurate for some of them. If it were you bowing your head before the Dark Lord every other day, wondering what he learned about you in between the encounters, I'm certain you'd share my concerns."
"But surely you know you can trust Sirius."
There was a fatherly tone to Dumbledore's voice that just about made Severus feel like he was chewing on a lemon. Not the drops, the actual lemon, sour and cringy. It reminded him of his days as a student when the headmaster believed he could broker peace between Severus and Black and that godawful Potter and their lot.
"You can't tell him," Severus said, his voice contained, still. "You can't tell anyone. You can't tell the warning came from someone involved in the attack. Inform Black of the plan and nothing more. If Black is captured, the Dark Lord will extract my name from his memories. I would rather avoid the minor inconvenience."
And truth be told, Severus would consider dancing for Longbottom's birthday in granny's garments before letting Black know he would as much as lift a finger to help save his worthless hide.
"If Sirius is captured, Lord Voldemort will find enough in his memories to know it was you anyhow," said Dumbledore. "I trust you are aware of that."
Severus averted his gaze, somewhere to an ugly painting on the wall. "Yes, well—" It was the portrait of a scrawny, old woman dozing off in her chair.
He wasn't an imbecile. Of course he was aware.
"I see…" Dumbledore said. "Your mind is made up then…"
Whether it was a question or a statement, Severus couldn't tell. He didn't see the point in it either way.
"It would seem as though," Dumbledore said after a while, "it falls to Remus to retrieve the Pearl Beak."
"I'd rather not know for now."
Dumbledore gave him a long quizzical look, which seemed to end in no sort of insight, followed by a nod.
"If there's nothing else," he concluded unperturbed, "I'll be on my way to Sirius."
"There is," Severus said, finding he still needed a moment to arrange his words. "I need to ask you a favour. The Order meeting is Wednesday, the evening after the attack. I must ask you to push it back one day. Otherwise, if I can't attend — after the attempt on Black — my absence would incriminate me."
"Why would you not be attending, Severus?"
He couldn't be serious.
Dumbledore blinked, bushy eyebrows slightly raised.
He was serious.
Severus wasn't on the mission, he was leading it. Black's escape was Severus' failure, to be accounted before the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord didn't take failure graciously. Putting two and two together…
"On Wednesday," Dumbledore said, his calm explanatory tone only irking Severus further, "I am departing on a long journey for the Island of Faringale."
"That's wonderful — have a safe trip! I'm certain your leave can handle postponement. It's one day, Dumbledore."
The look on Dumbledore's face didn't change, not in the slightest, and he continued regarding Severus with an expression so placid they could be discussing the weather. Unperturbed by the slip of impertinence… or by the humourlessness of Severus' stupidly self-assigned mission.
Whatever the motives for acting so, it was pointless and, frankly, in bad taste.
Severus felt quite tired of this. He held back the impulse to rub his forehead and shake his head and tell Dumbledore to —
He sighed.
He wanted nothing but to get out of this meeting and rest his head for a moment… before everything.
"All I ask, Dumbledore," he said quietly, "is that you push the meeting to the following day. It might make all the difference."
Dumbledore lingered for a moment, studying him closely, as though trying to figure out whether there was something Severus wasn't saying, and Severus realised that maybe, just maybe, a small detail had gone missing on Dumbledore from his earlier introduction.
He felt uneasy repeating it. Put so bluntly, straightforward in context.
"I'm leading the assault."
Dumbledore's eyes glistened strangely, of a sudden slightly wider, and the placid expression was gone.
Severus, judging the apprehensive glare too uncomfortable for his liking, averted his gaze. To the scrawny old lady slumbering in her chair. You have it comfortable, don't you?
"You?" Dumbledore asked.
Severus nodded once.
"It means—"
"It means. Yes," Severus snapped back. "One day, Dumbledore. Have the meeting on Thursday."
"I will," Dumbledore said, "Severus, you—"
"I will leave you, then." The conversation was nettling him beyond reason. "Please, do make sure Black follows the plan."
"Of course," Dumbledore said softly. "You won't have to worry about that."
And with those kind words from Albus Dumbledore, all of Severus' worries vanished, like dust under the Evanesce charm, and his mind was, once more, free from qualm.
Wouldn't that have been lovely?
He gave a terse nod and turned around and walked for the door, directing his thoughts, compulsively, to nothing but his own bed downstairs and his pillow, and his hope that he would not be too edgy to fall asleep.
"Severus…" Dumbledore said. "You would truly sacrifice so much for Sirius?"
Severus froze. His footsteps halted, but he did not turn.
'Sacrifice for Sirius.' The words made him twitch. The most he'd eve r sacrifice for Sirius was an old sock, maybe.
He rested his hand on the cold metal doorknob and stared at it for a long moment. He wasn't doing anything for Black; he was only not delivering him to his death. There was a slight difference.
"With some luck," Severus said, "no one will have to sacrifice anything."
He pushed the door open and left the room.
The only thing was, Severus did not believe in luck.