Dumbledore and McGonagall escorted Medea to her chambers to rest. She was still shaken from her experience during the walk. While she sat near the fire sipping hot chocolate (which Dumbledore had ordered up from the kitchens), they stood outside her room, trying to decide how to proceed.
"What do you think about this, Minerva?"
"It's possible this is merely a memory, explaining how they know each other."
"I agree. However, she described herself as floating. It could very well be a vision. This is quite possibly the reason why Severus has not returned to the school."
"If Voldemort knows of his betrayal-" Minerva gasped.
"He will kill him," Dumbledore finished. "And take amusement in it. We must find out where he is and help him."
"But if this is a trick meant to lure you out into danger? This could all be a hoax."
"God knows he has risked his life for me on numerous occasions. I shall not back down when circumstances call for me to return the favor." His blue eyes flashed at the thought. "We should alert members of the staff of the possibility. When the time comes, I will take Professors Lupin and Flitwick.."
"Albus, we don't even know where he is yet."
"No. Medea has promised to keep us informed of each dream. And I believe there may be one other person here who will be helpful in this."
Dumbledore sat behind his desk and watched Harry Potter sitting across from him. He was growing taller every year, looking more like his father. His hair hung over his forehead, hiding away all but the lowest point of the jagged scar scratched into his brow. His vivid green eyes, Lily's eyes, slid slowly up to meet the professor's.
"Have I done something wrong, Professor?"
"No, Harry. You have done nothing wrong, at least, that has been reported to me." He smiled at the wry grin that touched Harry's lips. "Quite the contrary, I was hoping you could help me with something. It may be difficult for you, so I ask you to help willingly."
He shot up in his seat, his chest proudly puffed out. "Of course, Professor. How can I help?"
"It is very important that you recall everything you can about your- brush with Voldemort last spring. I need to know about the location, where he is now."
He sank back slightly. "But Sn- Professor Snape would be more useful. Wouldn't he know-" Dumbledore held up his hand, silencing the young student. He needed Harry's help, and he would have to tell him the situation.
"Harry, has your scar been causing pain to you?"
Harry, his eyes cast down to the table, absently rubbed his fingers over the thin line. "Yes. Almost every night since school started. Some times are worse than others. I didn't want to bother you with it. You've seemed so busy."
"Harry, Professor Snape is with Voldemort, and he is in grave danger. I believe his anger, his torture of the professor is what is causing your headaches. As you can see, I need your help. We need to know where he is being held."
The boy sat in thought for a moment. Dumbledore knew recalling this memory was a more difficult request than it seemed. After all, Harry had almost been killed. And Cedric Diggory- In his mind, the old man could still see Harry lying on the ground, his eyes squeezed shut, holding onto Cedric's body with all his strength.
Harry, you can't help him now. It's over. Let go.
He wanted me to bring him back. He wanted me to bring him back to his parents…
That's right, Harry. Just let go now.
"Okay, Professor. What do you need to know?"
After some time, Dumbledore released Harry back to the Gryffindor Tower, having promised not to say a word to anyone about their conversation. He leaned back in his chair, feeling very tired. Suddenly, he jumped up, a thought having crossed his mind. September 7, 1984. That was only a few days after Snape's trial. He crossed his office to the black cabinet and unlatched the door. A silvery glow emanated from the shallow stone basin. Dumbledore picked up the pensieve and crossed to his desk where he swirled the silvery contents before laying it down. He looked down and saw the dungeons he had been looking for. Carefully, he touched his finger to the memory and felt himself drawn inside.
He was sitting patiently next to himself, watching the door in the corner, waiting for the prisoner. The door opened and three figures emerged. He felt himself frown, and knew the Dumbledore beside him was doing the same. Dementors. Between them, looking haggard and worn, was a young Severus Snape.
Severus was led to the chair in the front of the room, and sat quietly as the chains snaked their way over him, binding him tightly. He lifted his head, his eyes meeting briefly with his own, at least, his memory's.
"Severus Snape." Mr. Crouch was addressing the prisoner. "You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law to answer to charges of being a Death Eater. Have you a plea?"
Severus sat with his head hung. "Guilty," he whispered.
Crouch stood to pronounce sentence when Dumbledore saw himself stand to address the room.
"One moment please. I do have some evidence in this man's trial."
"Albus, he's already pleaded guilty."
"I heard him, Bartholomew. I have evidence, nonetheless."
"Then you believe Snape is innocent?"
"Innocent? No. Severus confided to me himself, some time before Voldemort's disappearance, that he was a Death Eater. Of that crime, he is guilty. However, at that time, he began helping me, supplying information that helped us to save many lives."
"Have you any evidence of this?"
"I have."
Dumbledore carefully watched Snape while his double presented evidence and spoke for the young man. He sat with his head low, not even seeming to listen to his own defense. Finally, he lifted his eyes and stared up at the far left corner of the room. Dumbledore followed his eyes and saw a young woman sitting alone, a black cloak pulled tightly around her. She stared back, tears streaming down her cheeks. Both sat silently, holding the gaze that connected them. Dumbledore looked back at the young man. His eyes were wide and apologetic. He knew that look. It was the same look he had worn when he first told Dumbledore what he was. It was shame. The young man's chin fell back to his chest. The girl had stood and moved to the door in the back. Dumbledore watched as she hesitated. She turned back to Severus, her hood pulled back from her face. It was Medea, exactly the girl he had been helping for the past week. She disappeared.
This is where I saw her, he thought. She was here, at Severus's trial. It was she who stood and left in the middle.
He was ready to leave this memory now, and felt himself tugged back into his office.