AUTHOR NOTE

This very short story is a stand-alone, but you can take it as a teaser for a longer work in progress, too.

For anyone unacquainted with canon, it's enough to know that Tom, Voldemort and the Dark Lord are all names for the same guy. And Fawkes is a pet Phoenix, not a person. :)

Comments make my day! What are your thoughts on this one-shot. The good, the bad and everything in between — I want to read all about it :D

ORDER MATTERS

February 1981

Hogwarts castle was soundly asleep while the Headmaster's office was still lit, the windows dark, as Fawkes stood quiet and Severus sat tensed, staring down Albus Dumbledore.

"You're not serious," Severus said.

Dumbledore, seated opposite him at the large, wooden desk, never changed expression. His aged face was unreadable, and his pale blue eyes fixed Severus with piercing intensity.

"You are serious."

To that, Dumbledore did answer: a single nod, which made his long, silver hair and beard crinkle slightly.

Severus hated it all.

He hated Dumbledore for having made him sit down to converse. He hated the seat for being too comfortable. And he hated the crystal candy tray for still resting innocuously on the desk between them.

"Why?" Severus asked. At twenty-one, he'd not yet learned to keep the annoyance from his voice, at all times. "Why now? I've been spying for over a year. Why do you want me to join the Order now ?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Because I fear we may have someone in our circle… secretly working for Tom."

Severus felt his stomach knot and his mind freezing still for a moment.

"Who is their Secret Keeper?" he asked quietly. "It is you, I hope."

"That," answered Dumbledore, "is a matter between them and me."

The air in Dumbledore's office felt suddenly thick and the padded seat inexplicably insufferable. Severus stood to his feet.

"You don't want to trust me, don't trust me, fine. But" — he tried suppressing the anger in his voice — "it'd better be you."

Dumbledore never betrayed a hint of an answer, and Severus would have spun round and left the office. But something held him back.

"How would my joining the Order have anything to do with the traitor you suspect?"

"I'm glad you asked."

"I'm sure you are."

"You've been spying on Tom for a while now…"

"I have, yes."

"You have," Dumbledore continued, unperturbed by the edge in Severus' voice. "And with Tom believing you are his double-agent, you have worked your way up in his ranks quickly. Remarkably so, I dare say."

"Go on…"

"And yet, you are not in his innermost circle of trust, are you?"

"No…"

"Well," Dumbledore said. "I believe we can arrange that."

"You believe that if I were to join the Order…"

"I believe," Dumbledore confirmed. "If Tom saw you infiltrating the Order of the Phoenix, and not only the margins of my trust, he would perceive you as an invaluable asset. It could propel you into a position closer to him."

For a fraction of a second, the earth must have spun swifter, because Severus felt the ground slide from under his feet.

"It would bring you closer to him," Dumbledore said carefully. "Closer to his trust."

"And to his scrutiny," Severus murmured.

"That too."

"I'd be risking…" he tried finishing the thought, but couldn't find his voice.

"Are you not risking that already?"

It wasn't only his voice that Severus was missing but his discernment too. For the moment, he felt stupid like he hadn't felt in years; his mind was blank, refusing to process the things precipitating.

"You want to sit down, Severus?"

He shook his head to decline.

Dumbledore sighed.

"You are right to be concerned," he said softly, and in his stupor, Severus felt so benumbed that even the fatherly tone failed to irk him. "If my fears are founded and there is a traitor in our midst, then your position has just become a more dangerous one."

Taking a moment to arrange his words, Dumbledore sized him up appraisingly.

"Severus, if you become a member of the Order and if you infiltrate Tom's inner circle — you will be playing a high risk game. You are already, but the stakes will become higher. As will the chances that you'll be discovered."

At least Dumbledore had the grace to not dance around the subject.

"I cannot ask this of you. It is your choice alone. The risk you bear in this war is greater than I can…" Dumbledore spoke for long, and Severus found he wasn't listening.

It was strange that a single conversation, some words exchanged in a cluttered office, could unnerve him in such a way. Severus had been in this game for long enough; he should be fine with it — with entrenching deeper into the Dark Lord's ranks, treading closer to his side… and his ever-paranoid watch.

And all the while, Severus couldn't get this one detail off his mind: if there was a traitor among them, and if Dumbledore wasn't the Secret Keeper protecting Lily's home; even if he was, and by some means, Lily was lured out—

"Fine," Severus said. "Fine, I'll do it."

Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon spectacles.

"Severus… " His voice was gentle. "It's a decision to consider. Take a few days to make up your mind."

"I did. I said I'll join the Order," Severus replied curtly. "When's the ceremony?"

All sarcasm aside, Severus had not expected a ceremony.

The night was pitch dark, the air still damp from the late winter rain, as Severus and Dumbledore stepped inside the Order's headquarter in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

Taking in the place, Severus hung his travelling cloak on the rack and cast a swift drying charm. At least the front hall was empty; the door to, supposedly, the living room was closed, and they were alone for the moment.

Well, it wasn't a ceremony in the proper sense, but with the room full of Order members ahead — the indistinct chatter burring from behind the closed door betrayed their numbers — it didn't feel far from one either.

"Do we have to do it like this?"

Dumbledore, arranging his own cloak on a hanger, replied casually, "I don't see why not."

"Where should I even begin?"

"I have informed them I will be introducing our new member today." Dumbledore walked up to the closed door, a merry note in his stride and his voice, and Severus followed, failing to feel any kind of merriness whatsoever. "They're all eager to meet you, Severus."

"I'm sure they are. Do they know it is me?"

Clasping the doorknob, Dumbledore glanced over his shoulder at Severus, and he smiled.

"Not yet."

Brilliant.

Without further ado, Dumbledore pushed the door open and stepped inside, and Severus found himself facing a room full of Black, Potter, Lupin, Pettigrew, even Mad-Eye Moody was there — all seated at a long, wooden table at the centre of the room.

Severus trod inside, observing the rest of the welcoming committee: the Longbottoms, the Weasleys and a middle-aged woman he'd never seen in his life.

"Good evening," Dumbledore greeted and, taking his seat at the table, gestured for Severus to have the free chair by his side.

Severus did.

He sat down, surveying the occupants of the table, all staring back at him scrupulously, while he privately wondered what sort of magic was keeping their mouths shut for so long.

Opposite him, Sirius Black squared his shoulders and brushed his dark hair away from his eyes.

Black frowned.

"What's he doing here?"

So much for the magic of courtesy.

"Likewise, Black — a pleasure to see you."

October 1981

It was eight months since Dumbledore had brought Snape into the Order of the Phoenix, and nothing had been the same since.

The meetings were shrouded in secrecy, with information barely exchanged, plans discussed no more than halfway through, and most conversations had moved in private, in small groups of two or three.

It was clear as daylight that Dumbledore no longer trusted the Order, and it was just as clear that the change had happened when Snape had joined.

Putting two and two together: Dumbledore didn't trust Snape. Neither did Sirius. Or anyone else.

"I don't get it," Sirius told James, setting his glass aside on the kitchen table. The Order meeting had yet to begin, with most members already populating the headquarters. "Why does Dumbledore insist on shoving Snape down our throats when not even he can trust him?"

"I don't know, Sirius. I honestly don't know."

"I swear, if I hear the git one more time mouthing off about you—"

James glanced up at Sirius from behind his round glasses. "Being holed up in my own house?" James smiled. "I have the impression Snape's getting to you more than to me with that one."

Sirius shook his head. "He's the last one to speak — hasn't fought a single battle since joining."

"Supposedly," James said as they got up from the table and headed out of the kitchen, "he's maintaining his cover."

Sirius chuckled. "Cover my ass. He's a bloody coward; that's what he is. And you're starting to sound like Rem!"

"More like Lily."

"The difference being…?"

At that, James did laugh. "Sometimes, I honestly don't know."

Sirius grinned.

"She's your wife, mate. You should know — at least at night, I hope." His grin turned sour a moment later, though, taking in the newly arrived company.

From the other end of the hallway, strutting up in their direction, heading for the living room, was Snape — dark hair, dark garb, deep frown etched on his face.

Snape, too self-absorbed to mind his surroundings, didn't bother making himself small to walk past Sirius, and neither did Sirius. In fact, Sirius may have squared up, just a bit.

Bottom line, the two of them bumped shoulders rather hard, causing Snape to totter back two paces.

"Hey," Sirius bellowed. "Watch where you're going."

Snape blinked a couple of times taking him in, for the moment looking dazed, clutching his shoulder as though in some sort of pain.

"Now, that's a bit dramatic," Sirius said and felt James' hand rest on his shoulder.

"He meant to say he's sorry, Snape." James said.

"I did?"

"Mm-hmm."

James' grip on Sirius tightened noticeably, and Sirius knew better than to argue against that. He stepped aside with a mock reverence.

"My apologies, Snape. Please — your passage is clear."

Having recovered his composure, Snape was eyeing them with unmistakable contempt.

"Where's Dumbledore?"

"Why?" Sirius grinned. "Are you going to tell on us?"

Snape scowled, turning to James impatiently. "Where is he?"

"Hasn't arrived."

For a second or two, Snape's gaze flitted over James, calculating. "I need to speak to you, Potter."

James arched his eyebrows. "Speak."

"In private."

"We're very private now," came James' reply. "I don't keep secrets from my friends."

"Maybe you should."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Precisely what I said." Snape's glare never shifted from James as he answered. "Black can tag along; I don't care. I need to speak to you — behind a closed door."

James, looking as clueless as Sirius felt, ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I suppose," he muttered. "We can go upstairs in—"

But before James could finish, the entrance door swung open, and in walked Albus Dumbledore, shedding copious droplets of water off his traveling cloak on the hardwood floor. And Snape trod up to him without another word to James or Sirius.

"That was weird," Sirius mumbled.

"Quite."

What followed, though, was even weirder.

Dumbledore spent about twelve seconds listening to Snape before poking his head inside the crowded living room to call off the meeting and send everyone home. He then whispered something to James, who told Sirius they'd speak later, and in a matter of minutes, James and Dumbledore had left, and soon after, the house had cleared of other Order members, too — all profoundly dissatisfied.

Now Sirius was alone at the headquarter, wondering what the hell to make of all that.

Well, perhaps he wasn't entirely alone: The light in the kitchen still burned brightly, and Sirius leaned against the doorframe, taking in Snape as he fumbled through something on the counter.

"Snooping around?"

Snape glanced up with a start. He recovered quickly, though, his expression settling to inscrutable dispassion as he returned his attention to what Sirius recognized was the first-aid suitcase.

"Snape, what are you searching for?"

"Feeling bored and looking for company, Black?"

Sirius sighed, annoyed.

He walked up to Snape, quietly, surveying the nearly empty first-aid kit and then Snape, who was leaning heavily against the counter.

His breathing was a bit strained, and he was pale.

"You're all right?" Sirius asked.

"I'm all right."

"Mm-mhm," Sirius mumbled, assessing Snape's left shoulder, where his robes had a small tear, and the black fabric was stained in something wet — blood, probably, which must have dribbled down his arm, because his hand was impressively stained red.

Snape withdrew his hand briskly.

"What is your problem, Black?"

"I don't know, Snape… it hardly looks as if it's my problem."

Snape must have been at Grimdish mansion when the Order's strike force attacked, Sirius reasoned, uncertain how he should feel about that.

"Not much left here, right…?" Sirius picked up a migrene potion from the suitcase, studying its label intently, if only to avoid meeting eyes with Snape. "We have additional stacks upstairs — I'll see what I can find. Anything else wrong with you?"

When no reply came, Sirius glanced up from the label to find Snape frowning vaguely, looking halfway annoyed and all the way puzzled.

"Snape, except for this marvelous achievement" — Sirius gestured to Snape's shoulder — "are you otherwise injured? To know what else to fetch from upstairs."

It was another long moment before Snape finally replied, very quietly, "No. I'm fine."

"Good. Go sit down. You look a bit unsteady."

Some good minutes later, Sirius was back in the kitchen with a jar of Dittany ointment, a painkiller and clean bandages. To his relief, he found Snape had listened to reason and had seated himself in a chair.

"Suit yourself," Sirius said and placed his loot by Snape's side, on the table.

Glancing between the potions and Sirius a couple of times, Snape nodded eventually. Sirius nodded in return, spun on his heels and headed for the door.

Before exiting the kitchen, though, he stopped in the doorway, and shook his head, defeated. This was a shitty Friday evening.

"I wasn't aware you were injured," he said, turning again to Snape. "If I had known, I wouldn't have — you know."

Another nod from Snape as he struggled awkwardly to unscrew the cap off the Dittany jar. He didn't seem to have much control of that bloody hand, and Sirius found himself privately cursing the whole goddamn world around him.

"Here," he said, walking up to Snape and taking the jar from his hand. "Give me that." He opened the thing and handed it back to Snape.

Snape didn't take it. "Do you know if Dumbledore left?"

"He did."

"And Potter?"

"Why so curious, Snape?"

"Did he go home?"

Sirius rubbed his brow, trying to piece it all together. Whatever it was about James tonight, it seemed to unnerve Snape more than his own bloodied shoulder.

Sirius forced a strained grin on his face.

"Snape, don't you think you have other things to concern yourself with?"

Snape frowned, annoyed with Sirius and everything else, and pulled himself to his feet.

For a moment, he seemed overwhelmed by a wave of dizziness, and for that same moment, Sirius considered having to steady Snape before he'd lose his balance and make a scene.

But then, Snape found his way back into his chair, rather ungainly, and covered his eyes with his hand and took a second to steady his probably swaying surroundings.

"Black, please," he said, lowering his hand to look Sirius in the eyes. He looked absolutely spent. "Did Dumbledore leave with Potter? Do you know?"

Sirius frowned.

There was something unexpectedly discomforting about having a man he so much hated at his mercy like this.

He'd been wrong — It wasn't a shitty evening; it was the epitome of shittiness in every imaginable way.

Taking a moment to bring his mind in order, Sirius crouched down before Snape. "Yes," he answered quietly. "Yes, they left together. I assume to Jame's place."

At that, Snape seemed to relax a bit. He nodded, rather to his own thoughts, and cradled his injured arm.

"What's going on?" asked Sirius.

"Nothing."

"Right." Sirius sighed, looking into Snape's eyes that glistened tiredly. "Need help patching that up?"

For another while, Snape regarded him puzzled, as though trying to find some sort of sense in Sirius' question and some sort of a reply, too. In the end, he found his answer.

It was a simple, "No."

Late that night — when James called Sirius to an unknown location to tell him they had moved house after Dumbledore discovered Peter, their Secret Keeper, to be Voldemort's man — the odd occurrence with Snape was all but forgotten.

That was, until some weeks later, when irrefutable proof of Peter Pettigrew's allegiance surfaced, leading to the fucking traitor's arrest. And the evening of that same day saw Sirius sitting in the Order meeting, staring at Snape… connecting the dots.

Whatever mad courage had suffused Severus when he'd provided Dumbledore with evidence for Pettigrew's arrest, it had promptly left him that morning, when the traitor's capture had made it in the newspapers.

To amp up the game, the Dark Lord had called tonight's meeting two hours early — he was rounding everyone up to investigate the dubious context of Pettigrew's apprehension. Severus had expected nothing less.

And yet… he was bloody terrified.

He found himself sitting through the Order meeting, regarding the room with a vague sense of detachment: Moody was arguing with Molly, both were flushed and both too rowdy — Severus tried and couldn't follow their quarrel.

On occasion, he could feel Black's gaze drifting his way, and strangely, he felt too numb to even mind it.

The chair by Black's side, where Potter usually sat, was empty tonight, and Severus had this most useless thought that maybe Potter was home with Lily and her child, and maybe she was just safe enough, and maybe, if things played out well, she'd stay that way until the war was over and for a long time after that.

He couldn't tell how on earth he ended up having such thoughts anyway. Not long ago, he had pleaded for Lily to be spared and would have been content with her alone surviving. And now…

Maybe the war had changed him — that did sound a tad dramatic — or Dumbledore's reasoning was rubbing off on him. Or perhaps, he was getting older and sizeably less stupid. Although, truth be told, at twenty-one, Severus felt like neither.

He glanced at the clock and back at Potter's empty chair, and gathered whatever courage he had left and stood to his feet.

"I'm leaving early today," he announced to no one in particular, "other engagements..." and failed to register whether any reply had followed at all.

Out in the hallway, Severus closed the door behind him, picked up his cloak from the rack and put it on absently, and headed for the entrance.

He clasped the cold, metal doorknob, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and will away the daunting fear that was seizing his senses. If he couldn't outplay the Dark Lord in his Legilimency incursion tonight—

"Snape…"

There was a soft grip on Severus' arm, and he turned around to find himself face to face with Black.

In his distracted state of mind, Severus hadn't noticed anyone approaching, and he was now standing under Black's very close gaze — grey eyes flitted over him with an unusual air of uncertainty.

In the end, Black frowned without a trace of anger, and his voice lacked the habitually harsh edge when he spoke.

"What's going on?"

There must have been about a dozen answers flooding Severus' head, and he must have been rather off, because none of them was an insult. He had this strangest impulse that he would blurt out something, anything.

Maybe he would have said he was afraid — to Sirius Black, of all people.

"Nothing," Severus clarified and glanced down at Black's hand, still gripping his arm lightly.

If he picked up a fight with Black and didn't make it to the meeting — it was a stupid notion; it would only delay the inevitable.

Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Black let go of Severus' arm and withdrew his hand carefully, slowly, as though to show he had meant no harm.

For a long while, Severus could feel Black's gaze fixing him before he lifted his head and they met eyes.

"The next Order meeting," Black said in a tone carefully measured, "is in two days."

Severus could only nod.

"See you then?"

The silence between them was numbly suffocating, and Severus couldn't discern what to make of it all. All he knew was: If he stood here a moment longer, he'd lose his courage to leave.

"Yeah," he managed eventually. "Looking forward."

He turned around, and pushed the door open and left the house.

The two days came and went; the Order meeting had been going for hours, and Snape, for whatever reason, had not cared to join.

So much for looking forward.

Not that the meeting tonight was anything worth attending. Moody was rowdy; Molly wasn't losing the contest either; Remus was trying to be rational, and the noise peg in the room was giving Sirius a headache.

"Waiting for someone?" whispered James into Sirius' ear.

"Huh?"

"Come on, spit it out." James flashed a cheeky smile. "You've been eyeing the door incessantly. Did we recruit someone new?"

Sirius frowned, which only caused James' smirk to sharpen a bit.

"Is it a girl?"

"Tch." Sirius leaned back carelessly on the rear chair legs. "Quit being ridiculous."

He wasn't eying the door.

He couldn't care less for the door and who was or was not walking through it. The meeting was a bore.

It was another full hour before they called it a night, too.

"It's a bugger Dumbledore didn't join," Remus said while draping his tattered traveling cloak over his shoulders. "I was looking forward to handing him this." He pulled a thin notebook out of his cloak.

"What's that?" asked Sirius.

"My findings on that dubious concoction we found in…" Sirius smiled, listening to Rem. There were nights like this when people talked too much. "I guess it can wait a couple more days."

"I'll take it to him," Sirius said.

"What?"

Sirius snatched the notebook from Rem's hand with a smirk.

"You know it's past midnight, don't you?"

"So?" Sirius shrugged. "He's probably in his office, working late."

"Say, where's Snape?" asked James.

Sirius skimmed through Rem's notes that made no sense to him, not caring to follow James' train of thought.

"I don't think he announced his absence for today."

"Uh-uhu," Sirius mumbled. "And that's my problem because…?"

"They might be a bit caught up on the other side after—" Rem paused almost as if he didn't want to say the words. He did eventually. "After Peter's arrest."

That did cause James to avert his gaze uncomfortably and a rueful silence to stretch out between them. It felt thick and tense and tasted bitter.

"Well… I'm off to Dumbledore's." Sirius closed the thin notebook and flashed a reckless grin. "Do you think he has Firewhisky or should I grab a bottle from the kitchen?"

James snorted, Rem sighed exasperated, and a moment later, Sirius was out of the door and Disapparated.

Hogwarts castle was immersed in its nightly slumber, but the light in the Headmaster's office still burned brightly, and when Sirius finally walked through the door, Albus Dumbledore was seated at his large, wooden desk, hunched over a long piece of parchment.

"Sirius," Dumbledore greeted, sitting straighter.

"I'm sorry for the late disturbance. I saw the light still on."

Dumbledore arched his silver eyebrows, regarding Sirius with unconcealed curiosity.

"You were passing by and saw the lights still on?"

"Something like that."

Dumbledore nodded. "Is something the matter?"

All of a sudden, Sirius felt like an idiot. It was late and inappropriate, and what the fuck had gotten into him showing up like this?

"I… I came to give you this." Sirius set the tattered notebook on Dumbledore's desk. "Remus wanted you to have it."

"Thank you." Dumbledore smiled gently, glancing at the notebook but not picking it up. "I trust the Order meeting went well?"

"It… did."

"Mhm." Dumbledore reached for the small porcelain tray on his desk. "Lemon drops?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Alastor was in a sour mood tonight, I assume..."

"Quite," Sirius answered, watching Dumbledore serenely unwrap a piece of candy from its thin paper packaging. "Your beloved spy finally fled the ranks?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he got cold feet after Pettigrew's arrest and didn't show up tonight. He turned coat against us, hasn't he?"

After a brief moment of surveying Sirius, Dumbledore's aged face lightened slightly, a hint of mischief showing in his eyes.

"He did not turn coat, Sirius. Though, you are obviously right that he didn't attend. He was otherwise detained."

"Detained…?" The words cut like steel through the seconds of silence.

"Yes, he…" Dumbledore took a moment to arrange his words, and Sirius stood straighter against a sudden chill, glancing around the room — Why the fuck had he even come here? "There is some news about Severus you might have missed."

"Mm-hmm."

"Seveus' allegiance is unwavering, rest assured, but…"

"But what?"

Dumbledore cast him an appraising glance.

"Sirius," he said very gently, "you might want to sit down. You look a bit distraught."

"But what?"

Dumbledore didn't frown at his cutting tone. He didn't hurry to provide an answer either. Instead, he sketched the slightest smile and his pale blue eyes twinkled knowingly.

"But Severus has other obligations aside from the war," he finally explained. "The academic year has started, and he's behind with correcting the assignements from his sixth-year students. He took tonight off to finish up on that. Oh," he added as a side note. "He's teaching at Hogwarts — Did I tell you?"

The words left Sirius stricken.

"So you saw him after — today."

Dumbledore smiled. "I saw him, Sirius, after… today . He was in a sour mood courtesy of a splitting headache, but otherwise just fine. I will let him know you asked about his well-being."

"As though I'd care if he— Wait—" Sirius frowned. "He's teaching. You made Snape a professor? At Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Shall I send him your good wishes for the new position, too?"

Sirius shook his head, befuddled.

"More like my sympathies to your students."