Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Nope, not me. Wish I did.
Snape touched his collar to check for what seemed the hundredth time that the chain around his neck was safely out of sight under his clothes. Of course, it was. If he wasn't careful, this was going to become a nervous habit.
Dropping his hand to his side, he chided himself for being paranoid. The chain and charm were presumed destroyed or buried with his supposedly dead body. There was no possible way anyone was actually going to be looking for it. And even if someone did see it, there was a very good chance that they wouldn't understand its significance.
Still, it wasn't a chance he wanted to take. His father had promised that whether the memory charm was recast would be his own decision, but Snape had a nagging feeling that if the Headmaster thought the memories were putting his son's life in jeopardy, he would replace the charm without asking consent. Snape shook his head and leaned against the wall. He couldn't endure loosing everything again.
'All right,' he scolded himself, 'Stop wasting time. You promised that you'd be there. Breakfast.' With a martyred sigh, he tooled his face into neutrality and made his way into the Main Hall.
Snape looked at the Head Table and was pleased to see that the Headmaster had succeeded in saving him a seat. It was part of the deal. If he came to the table for breakfast or dinner, his father would keep his seat for him.
Giving his father a nod to show that he was coming, Snape moved past the student tables, stopping briefly to talk with several of his Slytherins and break up what was nearing a food-fight between the third and fourth years. He was almost past the tables when he suddenly paused. He could feel someone watching him.
Whirling around he saw Potter, Weasley, and Granger quickly return to their breakfasts with startled haste, trying to act innocent. Snape was not fooled for an instant and came up behind them, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Is something wrong?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with the over-privileged Gryffindor brats this early in the morning. Potter turned around slowly and shook his head.
"No, Professor," he insisted, not quite meeting his eyes. Snape wondered idly if he could take points off Gryffindor for lying to a teacher if said teacher couldn't actually prove that he had been lied to. Deciding it wasn't something he was interested in finding out at the moment, he opted to let it drop. He could always check on it later.
"Very well." Snape continued his walk to the table and sat in his chair next to the Headmaster who greeted him cheerfully before lowering his voice to more serious conversation.
"What was that all about?" Dumbledore asked, meaning the interaction with the Gryffindor students. Snape shook his head and looked back at the Gryffindor table.
There had been something amiss about the way they had been looking at him. It wasn't the normal 'Gryffindor hates the ugly, biased, greasy-haired git, Potion's Master, Head of Slytherin bastard.' There had been something else there. Something he couldn't place.
"I'm not sure."
Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He didn't know what to think. Despite how trusting was Dumbledore was, Harry couldn't believe that he would completely ignore a potential danger to the safety of Hogwarts and the students. But there he was, sitting next to Snape, talking about who knows what. It could be anything from Quidditch (unlikely as that seemed) to charms used to protect the school grounds.
But then, how right was Sirius about Snape being a threat? Snape was certainly crafty. And he wouldn't put anything past him. But if he was loyal to Dumbledore, he had the ability to be a great ally. Then again, he was a Slytherin and that kind only look out for themselves. And he had already showed that he had little qualms about switching loyalties.
"Does Snape always sit next to the Headmaster?" Harry asked as he watched Dumbledore pass a pitcher to Snape. Hermione shook her fluffy head, narrowly avoiding the strawberry jam.
"I don't know. I know I've seen them sit together before. But I'm not sure how often." Ron waved his hands wildly to get their attention and quickly swallowed a mouthful of corn flakes.
"Snape usually sits on Dumbledore's left. That's his preference. If one of the other Professors takes that, then he'll be on McGonagall's right. If he's not in either of those places he'll be in whatever seat was open when he came in. He never sits in the first seat on Dumbledore's right. That's Professor McGonagall's seat. She always sits there and no one even thinks of taking it without her permission." Hermione and Harry stared at Ron as he shoved two sausages into his mouth. He looked back up at them.
"W'ot?" he barely managed through his overflowing mouth.
"Besides the fact that your eating habits are bordering on crude, how do you know Snape's favored seating arrangement?" Hermione asked, eyeing Ron carefully. Ron picked over the rasher of bacon and smiled proudly.
"My brothers did an extensive study on it their first year here. Just in case they should ever want to place something in his food or a dung bomb under his chair or." Ron slowly trailed off and Harry realized that there was something his friend was leaving out.
"And?" he pressed, "Did they ever use the information they gathered. Ron smirked.
"Yes. Unfortunately, that was one of the few times Snape took a random seat. But they had already set the prank up." Hermione's eyes grew wider. With the twins, she could only imagine what the prank was.
"What happened?" Ron laughed, remembering the pictures that Fred had taken.
"Then entire tray of mashed potatoes for the left side of the table blew up and covered Professor Flitwick. He looked like a miniature snowman. Well, a melting one anyway." Hermione covered her mouth, trying not to laugh aloud while Harry snickered. Ron grinned and continued,
"The teachers figured, correctly, that Fred and George had been after Professor Snape and they got three months of detention with Filch. Plus a really nasty Howler from Mum," he added with a slight wince. "They never tried it again." Hermione nodded her approval. As funny as the story was, she wasn't about to openly approve of the pranks Ron's brothers played. It would ruin her reputation.
"Good. It's not a good idea to douse teachers in food. Especially after all the work the poor House Elves did," she added to Harry who was trying to hide a smile. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Not that again," he complained. Hermione's head snapped back around. "What did you say?" she demanded. Ron blinked innocently. Like he was really going to repeat it.
"Nothing, nothing at all," he insisted. "Oh look, kippers."
"Well," Hermione began again when they were on their way to their first class of the day, "We obviously need more information. No offence meant, Harry," she looked at her friend to watch his reaction, "But Snuffles isn't the most objective person. And while I don't doubt that he did at one time exist, to understand Snape's role in all of this we need to talk to someone who taught here when Dumbledore's son was still alive." Ron winced. He didn't like the gleam in her eye. That was always a bad thing.
"And that means?" Hermione grinned. Ron and Harry exchanged horrified glances. "We are going to the Library." Ron groaned and rolled his eyes.
"I was afraid you were going to say that."
A week later, Hermione was very frustrated. She had always been able to get answers she needed form the Hogwarts Library. But this time.
"Nothing," she declared as she closed another book, sending up a small puff of dust. "These texts don't tell us anything." Hermione, Ron, and Harry were in the library surrounded by the rarely looked at Recorded Years. Other then an off chance that a Ravenclaw might have been curious, no one, except perhaps a professor who had written one, ever read the books.
Every year, one teacher was put in charge of writing down what happened during the school term. Hermione, Ron, and Harry had pulled ten years worth of books around the years Severus had been alive (using Sirius's birthday as a reference point), but in all the books they had looked though, there was no mention of Severus or his death.
"You'd think it was important enough to write down," Hermione growled as she pulled another book toward her and flipped through it.
"That's too far," Ron said, looking at the years stamped on the old cover. "He was dead by then." Hermione glared at him and threw the book down on the table.
"I just don't understand," she cradled her head in her hands. "It doesn't make any sense." Harry looked over the pile of books and pulled one out and handed it to her. He knew this little set back wasn't about to stop her.
"This is the shortest. Do want to go through it again or shall I?" Hermione suddenly froze. Very slowly she raised her head and reached out for the book, turning it over to check the date.
"Why not," she said aloud, her eyes seeing past the book. She dropped it onto the table and quickly arranged the other books in order of their dates.
"There," she said proudly. Harry and Ron looked down at the books and then back at the smiling girl.
"There what?" Ron asked, voicing the confusion they both felt. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled forward the books from the middle of the row.
"Look at the difference," she insisted. "These records," she emphasized, "Were written right around the time Severus was alive. And they are much shorter then any of the others." Harry picked up the one farthest left and compared it to one Hermione had picked out. She was right.
"And look," Hermione continued. She flipped the closest book open and palmed through it before stopping and running her finger down the crease. "Pages have been torn out." Harry sighed and ran a tried hand through his messy hair. Just how many obstacles were they going to hit?
"Someone worked very hard to erase this kid's life." Ron nodded and sneezed from all the dust Hermione was creating by throwing old books around. It was like any hard evidence had been systematically deleted.
"So, now what do we do?" Hermione pulled three sheets of parchment from her book bag and passed them around. Then she gave each of her friends a book from the ones she had isolated.
"We look for the names of Professors who were here then, and still teach here now."
Snape looked up suddenly as the clock on the table began to chime eleven. He had no idea it had gotten so late. Yawning and stretching, he dog-eared his place in the book (his bookmark had been misplaced earlier) right where he had left off-where Mr. Lorry warned Charles Darnay against returning to France.
Snape slipped into his bedroom, set out sleepwear, and snagged his comb off the dresser. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and went into the bathroom. A quick spell and the comb was untangling his hair on its own while he brushed his teeth.
As he rinsed the brush he paused to look at his reflection. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see himself as he was without the spell that was cast over him and darkened his hair and eyes. Then he sighed and looked away.
"At least they can't call me cute anymore." Not even with the spell lifted was he 'cute' material. Life had been too cruel to him.
Shelving his thoughts, Snape plucked the comb out of the air and set it down on the sink. He turned to go when a sudden pain flared on his left arm and he clutched it convulsively.
"Speak of the Devil," he ground out through clenched teeth. So much for sleep. But then, evil never rests. And he has a tendency to keep everyone else up.
Snape quickly went back to his room, trying to unclasp the chain around his neck as he went. But his hands were shaking too hard for him to get it while he was moving. He had to stop and fiddle with it for a few seconds before it finally came off in his hand.
Looking around his room, he opened a drawer a hid the chain and its charm under some clothes. It wasn't the safest place, but he didn't have time to look for somewhere else to put it. Hopefully no one would be going through his things anytime soon.
Entering the main living space again, he rang for a House Elf.
"What would Professor Snape be liking?" the little creature squeaked in an annoying high-pitched voice as it appeared, bouncing on its feet.
'Oddly dressed little thing,' Snape thought to himself as he idly rubbed at the Dark Mark that was burning under his sleeve, trying to ease the pain. 'Must has gotten tired of the tea towel.'
"Would you kindly tell Headmaster Dumbledore that I have gone out?" The House Elf blinked his large green eyes and glanced at the clock. Snape paused in putting on his cloak and raised an eyebrow in question.
"Its being very late, sir. Headmaster sir will be asleep," the Elf replied in what he seemed to think sounded reasonable. But the titled squeak betrayed his reluctance to bother the sleeping wizard.
"I don't care," Snape snapped sharply, closing the silver fastenings on his cloak and tucking his wand up his sleeve. "Tell him anyway." The House Elf sighed and nodded, his ears lowering in agreement.
"Yes sir. Dobby will tell Headmaster sir that Professor Snape sir is going out." Then he popped out of the room to do as he was asked.
"Thank you," Snape said sarcastically to the space the House Elf had vacated. He pulled the heavy black cloth of his cloak closely around his shoulders and hurried out the door, locking it firmly behind him.
He didn't want to go. Every fiber of his body was telling him not to go. To run upstairs to the Headmaster, to hide and huddle against his father who would stroke his hair and assure him that he was safe.
But no, he couldn't let himself be the frightened child. Voldermort was calling. And, as the Light's only spy in the Dark Lord's inner ring, he really had no choice. It was his job to protect the school and the students.
And he took his job very seriously.
Black had grounds patrol. It would have been more fun if Lupin would have come with him. But the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor couldn't be conjoled into leaving his room or his bed where he had been sleeping when Black burst in. He had thrown a pillow across the room at the Animagus to emphasize his opinion to going outside into the cold.
What a grouchy git.
Black had just completed his third circle all the way around the castle, having seen Hagrid on one of those rounds before the big man trudged into the forest with Fang, when he saw someone dressed in black come hurrying down the walk. They appeared to be in a great hurry.
'Interesting,' Black thought to himself. He ran through across the field, being careful to stay out of the person's direct line of sight. A large black dog playing spy-man would obviously trigger suspicion.
As the person turned slightly, Black realized with a low growl that he was trailing Snape. Wherever the damn Death Eater was going, it couldn't be good. He would follow.
Snape disappeared into the Forbidden Forest, Black close behind. As they moved deep into the trees, Black shook his head to dislodge the snow that accumulated there and looked behind him. Both sets of prints, one human and the other canine, would soon be covered as the snow fell harder.
Suddenly, Snape stopped. Black ducked behind a tree and watched as Snape put his right hand over his left arm and, with a soft murmur, disapparated. With a dissatisfied grunt, Black made himself comfortable on the snow, curling up to preserve heat.
He would wait until Snape returned.
Dumbledore's favorite or not, he would not let Snape return to Hogwarts. In order to keep his godson and Harry's friends safe, he really had no choice. It was his job to protect the school and its students.
And he took his job very seriously.
Author's Note: I almost forgot. Special thanks to H.L.B. for helping me with Mrs. Dumbledore's first name. According to H.L.B.'s source, 'Sabra' is Hebrew for 'thorny cactus.'
Next: What! And give away the surprise?
Snape touched his collar to check for what seemed the hundredth time that the chain around his neck was safely out of sight under his clothes. Of course, it was. If he wasn't careful, this was going to become a nervous habit.
Dropping his hand to his side, he chided himself for being paranoid. The chain and charm were presumed destroyed or buried with his supposedly dead body. There was no possible way anyone was actually going to be looking for it. And even if someone did see it, there was a very good chance that they wouldn't understand its significance.
Still, it wasn't a chance he wanted to take. His father had promised that whether the memory charm was recast would be his own decision, but Snape had a nagging feeling that if the Headmaster thought the memories were putting his son's life in jeopardy, he would replace the charm without asking consent. Snape shook his head and leaned against the wall. He couldn't endure loosing everything again.
'All right,' he scolded himself, 'Stop wasting time. You promised that you'd be there. Breakfast.' With a martyred sigh, he tooled his face into neutrality and made his way into the Main Hall.
Snape looked at the Head Table and was pleased to see that the Headmaster had succeeded in saving him a seat. It was part of the deal. If he came to the table for breakfast or dinner, his father would keep his seat for him.
Giving his father a nod to show that he was coming, Snape moved past the student tables, stopping briefly to talk with several of his Slytherins and break up what was nearing a food-fight between the third and fourth years. He was almost past the tables when he suddenly paused. He could feel someone watching him.
Whirling around he saw Potter, Weasley, and Granger quickly return to their breakfasts with startled haste, trying to act innocent. Snape was not fooled for an instant and came up behind them, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Is something wrong?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with the over-privileged Gryffindor brats this early in the morning. Potter turned around slowly and shook his head.
"No, Professor," he insisted, not quite meeting his eyes. Snape wondered idly if he could take points off Gryffindor for lying to a teacher if said teacher couldn't actually prove that he had been lied to. Deciding it wasn't something he was interested in finding out at the moment, he opted to let it drop. He could always check on it later.
"Very well." Snape continued his walk to the table and sat in his chair next to the Headmaster who greeted him cheerfully before lowering his voice to more serious conversation.
"What was that all about?" Dumbledore asked, meaning the interaction with the Gryffindor students. Snape shook his head and looked back at the Gryffindor table.
There had been something amiss about the way they had been looking at him. It wasn't the normal 'Gryffindor hates the ugly, biased, greasy-haired git, Potion's Master, Head of Slytherin bastard.' There had been something else there. Something he couldn't place.
"I'm not sure."
Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He didn't know what to think. Despite how trusting was Dumbledore was, Harry couldn't believe that he would completely ignore a potential danger to the safety of Hogwarts and the students. But there he was, sitting next to Snape, talking about who knows what. It could be anything from Quidditch (unlikely as that seemed) to charms used to protect the school grounds.
But then, how right was Sirius about Snape being a threat? Snape was certainly crafty. And he wouldn't put anything past him. But if he was loyal to Dumbledore, he had the ability to be a great ally. Then again, he was a Slytherin and that kind only look out for themselves. And he had already showed that he had little qualms about switching loyalties.
"Does Snape always sit next to the Headmaster?" Harry asked as he watched Dumbledore pass a pitcher to Snape. Hermione shook her fluffy head, narrowly avoiding the strawberry jam.
"I don't know. I know I've seen them sit together before. But I'm not sure how often." Ron waved his hands wildly to get their attention and quickly swallowed a mouthful of corn flakes.
"Snape usually sits on Dumbledore's left. That's his preference. If one of the other Professors takes that, then he'll be on McGonagall's right. If he's not in either of those places he'll be in whatever seat was open when he came in. He never sits in the first seat on Dumbledore's right. That's Professor McGonagall's seat. She always sits there and no one even thinks of taking it without her permission." Hermione and Harry stared at Ron as he shoved two sausages into his mouth. He looked back up at them.
"W'ot?" he barely managed through his overflowing mouth.
"Besides the fact that your eating habits are bordering on crude, how do you know Snape's favored seating arrangement?" Hermione asked, eyeing Ron carefully. Ron picked over the rasher of bacon and smiled proudly.
"My brothers did an extensive study on it their first year here. Just in case they should ever want to place something in his food or a dung bomb under his chair or." Ron slowly trailed off and Harry realized that there was something his friend was leaving out.
"And?" he pressed, "Did they ever use the information they gathered. Ron smirked.
"Yes. Unfortunately, that was one of the few times Snape took a random seat. But they had already set the prank up." Hermione's eyes grew wider. With the twins, she could only imagine what the prank was.
"What happened?" Ron laughed, remembering the pictures that Fred had taken.
"Then entire tray of mashed potatoes for the left side of the table blew up and covered Professor Flitwick. He looked like a miniature snowman. Well, a melting one anyway." Hermione covered her mouth, trying not to laugh aloud while Harry snickered. Ron grinned and continued,
"The teachers figured, correctly, that Fred and George had been after Professor Snape and they got three months of detention with Filch. Plus a really nasty Howler from Mum," he added with a slight wince. "They never tried it again." Hermione nodded her approval. As funny as the story was, she wasn't about to openly approve of the pranks Ron's brothers played. It would ruin her reputation.
"Good. It's not a good idea to douse teachers in food. Especially after all the work the poor House Elves did," she added to Harry who was trying to hide a smile. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Not that again," he complained. Hermione's head snapped back around. "What did you say?" she demanded. Ron blinked innocently. Like he was really going to repeat it.
"Nothing, nothing at all," he insisted. "Oh look, kippers."
"Well," Hermione began again when they were on their way to their first class of the day, "We obviously need more information. No offence meant, Harry," she looked at her friend to watch his reaction, "But Snuffles isn't the most objective person. And while I don't doubt that he did at one time exist, to understand Snape's role in all of this we need to talk to someone who taught here when Dumbledore's son was still alive." Ron winced. He didn't like the gleam in her eye. That was always a bad thing.
"And that means?" Hermione grinned. Ron and Harry exchanged horrified glances. "We are going to the Library." Ron groaned and rolled his eyes.
"I was afraid you were going to say that."
A week later, Hermione was very frustrated. She had always been able to get answers she needed form the Hogwarts Library. But this time.
"Nothing," she declared as she closed another book, sending up a small puff of dust. "These texts don't tell us anything." Hermione, Ron, and Harry were in the library surrounded by the rarely looked at Recorded Years. Other then an off chance that a Ravenclaw might have been curious, no one, except perhaps a professor who had written one, ever read the books.
Every year, one teacher was put in charge of writing down what happened during the school term. Hermione, Ron, and Harry had pulled ten years worth of books around the years Severus had been alive (using Sirius's birthday as a reference point), but in all the books they had looked though, there was no mention of Severus or his death.
"You'd think it was important enough to write down," Hermione growled as she pulled another book toward her and flipped through it.
"That's too far," Ron said, looking at the years stamped on the old cover. "He was dead by then." Hermione glared at him and threw the book down on the table.
"I just don't understand," she cradled her head in her hands. "It doesn't make any sense." Harry looked over the pile of books and pulled one out and handed it to her. He knew this little set back wasn't about to stop her.
"This is the shortest. Do want to go through it again or shall I?" Hermione suddenly froze. Very slowly she raised her head and reached out for the book, turning it over to check the date.
"Why not," she said aloud, her eyes seeing past the book. She dropped it onto the table and quickly arranged the other books in order of their dates.
"There," she said proudly. Harry and Ron looked down at the books and then back at the smiling girl.
"There what?" Ron asked, voicing the confusion they both felt. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled forward the books from the middle of the row.
"Look at the difference," she insisted. "These records," she emphasized, "Were written right around the time Severus was alive. And they are much shorter then any of the others." Harry picked up the one farthest left and compared it to one Hermione had picked out. She was right.
"And look," Hermione continued. She flipped the closest book open and palmed through it before stopping and running her finger down the crease. "Pages have been torn out." Harry sighed and ran a tried hand through his messy hair. Just how many obstacles were they going to hit?
"Someone worked very hard to erase this kid's life." Ron nodded and sneezed from all the dust Hermione was creating by throwing old books around. It was like any hard evidence had been systematically deleted.
"So, now what do we do?" Hermione pulled three sheets of parchment from her book bag and passed them around. Then she gave each of her friends a book from the ones she had isolated.
"We look for the names of Professors who were here then, and still teach here now."
Snape looked up suddenly as the clock on the table began to chime eleven. He had no idea it had gotten so late. Yawning and stretching, he dog-eared his place in the book (his bookmark had been misplaced earlier) right where he had left off-where Mr. Lorry warned Charles Darnay against returning to France.
Snape slipped into his bedroom, set out sleepwear, and snagged his comb off the dresser. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and went into the bathroom. A quick spell and the comb was untangling his hair on its own while he brushed his teeth.
As he rinsed the brush he paused to look at his reflection. If he tried hard enough, he could almost see himself as he was without the spell that was cast over him and darkened his hair and eyes. Then he sighed and looked away.
"At least they can't call me cute anymore." Not even with the spell lifted was he 'cute' material. Life had been too cruel to him.
Shelving his thoughts, Snape plucked the comb out of the air and set it down on the sink. He turned to go when a sudden pain flared on his left arm and he clutched it convulsively.
"Speak of the Devil," he ground out through clenched teeth. So much for sleep. But then, evil never rests. And he has a tendency to keep everyone else up.
Snape quickly went back to his room, trying to unclasp the chain around his neck as he went. But his hands were shaking too hard for him to get it while he was moving. He had to stop and fiddle with it for a few seconds before it finally came off in his hand.
Looking around his room, he opened a drawer a hid the chain and its charm under some clothes. It wasn't the safest place, but he didn't have time to look for somewhere else to put it. Hopefully no one would be going through his things anytime soon.
Entering the main living space again, he rang for a House Elf.
"What would Professor Snape be liking?" the little creature squeaked in an annoying high-pitched voice as it appeared, bouncing on its feet.
'Oddly dressed little thing,' Snape thought to himself as he idly rubbed at the Dark Mark that was burning under his sleeve, trying to ease the pain. 'Must has gotten tired of the tea towel.'
"Would you kindly tell Headmaster Dumbledore that I have gone out?" The House Elf blinked his large green eyes and glanced at the clock. Snape paused in putting on his cloak and raised an eyebrow in question.
"Its being very late, sir. Headmaster sir will be asleep," the Elf replied in what he seemed to think sounded reasonable. But the titled squeak betrayed his reluctance to bother the sleeping wizard.
"I don't care," Snape snapped sharply, closing the silver fastenings on his cloak and tucking his wand up his sleeve. "Tell him anyway." The House Elf sighed and nodded, his ears lowering in agreement.
"Yes sir. Dobby will tell Headmaster sir that Professor Snape sir is going out." Then he popped out of the room to do as he was asked.
"Thank you," Snape said sarcastically to the space the House Elf had vacated. He pulled the heavy black cloth of his cloak closely around his shoulders and hurried out the door, locking it firmly behind him.
He didn't want to go. Every fiber of his body was telling him not to go. To run upstairs to the Headmaster, to hide and huddle against his father who would stroke his hair and assure him that he was safe.
But no, he couldn't let himself be the frightened child. Voldermort was calling. And, as the Light's only spy in the Dark Lord's inner ring, he really had no choice. It was his job to protect the school and the students.
And he took his job very seriously.
Black had grounds patrol. It would have been more fun if Lupin would have come with him. But the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor couldn't be conjoled into leaving his room or his bed where he had been sleeping when Black burst in. He had thrown a pillow across the room at the Animagus to emphasize his opinion to going outside into the cold.
What a grouchy git.
Black had just completed his third circle all the way around the castle, having seen Hagrid on one of those rounds before the big man trudged into the forest with Fang, when he saw someone dressed in black come hurrying down the walk. They appeared to be in a great hurry.
'Interesting,' Black thought to himself. He ran through across the field, being careful to stay out of the person's direct line of sight. A large black dog playing spy-man would obviously trigger suspicion.
As the person turned slightly, Black realized with a low growl that he was trailing Snape. Wherever the damn Death Eater was going, it couldn't be good. He would follow.
Snape disappeared into the Forbidden Forest, Black close behind. As they moved deep into the trees, Black shook his head to dislodge the snow that accumulated there and looked behind him. Both sets of prints, one human and the other canine, would soon be covered as the snow fell harder.
Suddenly, Snape stopped. Black ducked behind a tree and watched as Snape put his right hand over his left arm and, with a soft murmur, disapparated. With a dissatisfied grunt, Black made himself comfortable on the snow, curling up to preserve heat.
He would wait until Snape returned.
Dumbledore's favorite or not, he would not let Snape return to Hogwarts. In order to keep his godson and Harry's friends safe, he really had no choice. It was his job to protect the school and its students.
And he took his job very seriously.
Author's Note: I almost forgot. Special thanks to H.L.B. for helping me with Mrs. Dumbledore's first name. According to H.L.B.'s source, 'Sabra' is Hebrew for 'thorny cactus.'
Next: What! And give away the surprise?