Disclaimer: If I owned the characters, I couldn't have a computer this
slow.
Hagrid was delighted when he opened his door and found the three young Gryffindor students on his front step. He wasted no time in inviting them inside for a cup of tea, which they readily accepted. It didn't take long for Hagrid to set out tea and place a tray of teacakes in the center of the table. "An old family receipt. Freshly made," he said with pride in his voice as he watched Ron eye the cakes with suspicion.
Harry glanced at his friends and then back at the tray. There was no way out of it. "Thank you, Hagrid," Harry said as he and his friends each took one of the rock-hard treats out of politeness.
Ron, deciding that there was no possible way he was going to be able to actually eat the thing better suited for life as a paperweight, pulled a few walnuts out his pocket that he had saved from an earlier meal and began using his teacake to crack them open.
Hermione heard the fist crunch of shell being broken and turned to see Ron about to murder another walnut. Frowning, she jabbed him in the ribs and shook her head. Ron rolled his eyes, reluctantly put the remaining nuts back in his pocket, and settled back to gnaw for eternity on the offensive thing.
"What do I owe to dis visit?" Hagrid asked as he sat down in his favorite, rather worn chair, and added a few heaping spoonfuls of sugar to his mug of tea.
Hermione shifted into battle mode, pushed her tea out of the way, and folded her hands on the tabletop in a 'no nonsense' way. "We're here to ask you about Dumbledore's son." Ron groaned and mentally cursed her lack of tact as Hagrid's tanned face went from red to purple to white to green faster than Harry's Firebolt.
"How," Hagrid choked, his eyes everywhere but on his young friends, "How'd you find out about dat?" Hermione was unfazed by Hagrid's nervousness and didn't break eye contact for a second.
"If what we've heard is correct," she replied tartly, "Then it is safer for our informer that he remains anonymous." Hagrid stared at her and then nodded in understanding. Anyone who valued his life would know that it was a bad thing to be known as the one spreading THAT story around.
"Why Hagrid," Harry said now, hoping his friendship with the big man would help them in their attempt to get answers, "Why is everyone afraid to talk about him? You seem more afraid to talk about Severus Dumbledore," Hagrid flinched violently, almost dropping his mug, "Then Vold-sorry-You Know Who."
Hagrid looked from one expectant young face to the other. So eager to devour information. He frowned and shook his head. "No," he said.
Hermione blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected a flat out refusal. "No," she repeated slowly, trying to give Hagrid a chance to change his mind.
But Hagrid would have none of it.
"No," Hagrid said, firmly this time, his face set and grim. "I'm not tellin' you anythin'."
"Why not?" Harry demanded. Despite what his godfather had told him, he didn't see the need for all the deception.
Hagrid shook his shaggy head and laughed. It was not his normal booming laugh; it was thin and apprehensive. "'Cause the Wizardin' World would much rather have You-Know-Who as our resident Dark Lord than Albus Dumbledore," he said, his voice turning bitter.
"What!" Ron shouted, his eyes as big as saucers.
"Ssshh," Hagrid hissed, looking around as if checking to make sure no one had heard Ron. Hagrid looked at the young Gryffindors and sighed, running a thick hand through his rough hair. He stood up from the table and systematically went around the room, drawing the curtains. The room was very dark with only the fire letting off a low orange glow. Fang whimpered from his bed in the corner.
Harry heard Hagrid moving somewhere in the room. A soft light eased the dark as Hagrid lit a lantern and came back to set it on the table. Once he had reclaimed his seat, Fang trotted over to his master, his nails clicking on the wooden floor. Hagrid put his hand on the dog's massive head for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"Dumbledore," Hagrid finally began with a heavy sigh, wishing it wasn't him who had to explain this, "He's a good man. A great man. But he's still human. His-The Child's death 'most drove him insane.
Can you imagine," Hagrid looked at the children in front of him, praying that they would understand, "What would've happened if we didn't forget about The Child?
Dumbledore would have sought out You-Know-Who with all his power. And if he killed You-Know-Who out of anger and fer revenge for dat innocent death, well, he would have tapped into some of the very worst dark magic. The kind dat consumes your mind as well as your soul.
Personally," Hagrid met the students' eyes with unwavering directness, "I'd rather be fightin' against You-Know-Who than Dumbledore. Less deaths dat way; a better chance of winnin' too.
So if never talkin' 'bout The Child is the key to keepin' Dumbledore on our side, then I happily participate in the deception."
Hagrid only looked away now that he was finished. It was the truth, all of it. But it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, like he was betraying someone.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in stunned silence, letting what Hagrid had said seep into their minds. Only Harry had ever fought face to face with Voldemort, but they had all heard of the horrors during his first rise to power. To have Dumbledore replace Voldemort, it was unthinkable. But according to Hagrid, it was possible. And Hagrid was as loyal as you could get to the Headmaster; he wouldn't lie to them about this.
"I had no idea it was this serious," Hermione whispered, her face wan in the spooky glow of the lantern. Beside her, Harry and Ron nodded in agreement.
Hagrid sighed. It had been so long since he allowed himself to think about any of this. His big heart still ached for the Headmaster. "Dumbledore would have traded his life for The Child's in an instant. But, fer all his power and intelligence, he couldn't. He weren't there when The Child needed him the most. And dat is what he can't live with."
Harry looked at his friends as Hagrid pulled out his checkered handkerchief to mop at his wet eyes. Ron and Hermione nodded at Harry's unspoken question; they didn't need, or want to know, anything else. Some things are just supposed to stay buried.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry said in a voice so soft that it was hardly heard. He felt bad about dragging up all of this. "We won't tell anyone."
Hagrid smiled sadly before looking away into the fire, lost in his memories. "You should leave now," he said, not looking up.
Harry got up from the table and gently herded his friends outside. They went easily, wanting to get away from the ghosts that they had forced Hagrid to recall.
Harry paused at the door and looked back. Fang lay his head on Hagrid's knee and whined sympathetically. Harry went outside and closed the door behind him without a sound. His friends were waiting for him.
Harry took a deep breath and pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders, cold not only from the snow but the demons that seemed to exist only to haunt the living.
"It's cold," he finally said. "Let's get back to the common room."
*** Two Weeks Later ***
A headmaster is never free of paperwork and Albus Dumbledore was no exception. With a few more hours to dinner, he was at his desk trying to shrink the pile of work awaiting his attention. With everything from letters from the Ministry unofficially asking for help with Voldemort's recent actions to messages from former students, he had more than enough to keep him busy. He had just signed a Third Year Hufflepuff's request to bring his own broom to school when someone knocked loudly at his door.
Curious, but not unaware of who it was, he got up from his desk to let his visitor in, carefully stepping to the side to avoid being knocked over as his son hurried in and slammed the door shut behind him.
"Blast that insufferable woman," Snape raged as he plunked himself down in a free chair in front of the desk the dominated the center of the room.
Dumbledore hid a smile as he made his way back to his desk. "Minerva again?" he asked, trying his best to appear innocent of what had irked his son so much as he straightened up the mess of papers strewn across the top of the desk.
Snape, not fooled by the act for a second, scowled at him. "Of course Minerva. Every time she tries to act like nothing has changed she gives me this pitiful, sad look. I swear she's about to burst into tears every time she looks at me." Dumbledore caught a note of something else that wasn't being said and peered at Snape over his glasses.
Snape tried to hold his father's gaze but failed. "So of course, I try harder to provoke her. A few minutes ago there was a hexing incident between two of our first years. She blamed the fight on my student, said he started it, and so I said, 'Yeah right, and I'm the Headmaster's son.'" Snape's smile grew truly wicked.
"You should have seen the look on her face. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or get angry with me. Gods it was funny. So then we exchanged insults, she took three points off Slytherin and I took five off Gryffindor."
Dumbledore laughed. Poor Minerva, she was fair game as far as Snape was concerned. Her being vulnerable to his sarcastic banter only encouraged him more. "So then you ran away before she could apologize and are up here hiding from her?"
Snape nodded. The last time he had stayed around after teasing the Transfiguration Professor into a frenzy, she had tried to hug him as an apology. No matter how much she may have held him before he became Severus Snape, he still didn't want her touching him. "Damn straight."
Dumbledore smiled. He was more than willing to grant Snape sanctuary from McGonagall. If nothing else, it was a chance to talk with him. "You are going to be the death of that poor woman," he teased, "Why do you insisted on giving her a hard time her? Come to think of it, why do you torture everyone but the students of your house?"
Snape smirked and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the Headmaster's desk with an obvious flippant air. "I'm a Slytherin," he said with a satisfied sneer. "It amuses me."
Dumbledore shook his head and struggled not to laugh. "Child," he said, trying very hard to remain serious as he pushed Snape's feet off his desk, "You need a hobby."
A sudden knock at the door made them both turn around. Snape sprung to his feet like a startled cat. "I'm not here," he hissed.
Dumbledore nodded and shooed him into the next room. "I'll be sure to tell Minerva that I haven't seen you," he promised as Snape pulled the door shut.
Dumbledore quickly rearranged the papers on his desk to make it look as though he had been working. Laying a quill across a letter, he nodded in satisfaction and went to open the door.
His smile died when he saw who was standing behind the door. Instantly on his guard, Dumbledore nodded to the uniformed wizard. "Yes?"
"Officer Kaufman. I'm sorry to disturb you, Headmaster Dumbledore," the security wizard said curtly, "But there has been another death."
Dumbledore moved back to let the man in. "Who?" He asked as he took his seat behind his desk. The security officer remained standing.
"Fritzwilliam Walterscot. He was found in his home this morning by his secretary who was concerned when he didn't show up for work." Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes.
"I need to ask Mr. Snape some questions about his whereabouts last night," Officer Kaufman continued, checking his written instructions from his superior.
Dumbledore looked up abruptly, every alarm going off in his head. "Severus was with me." He said it in such a way that would tolerate no argument, but Kaufman still looked unconvinced.
Kaufman looked down at his orders. They clearly said to interview Snape. He shook his head, missing the spark of anger that lit the venerable wizard's crystal blue eyes. "I still need to ask Mr. Snape my question."
Dumbledore rose slightly out of his chair and glared at the wizard, succeeding in making him pale. "Severus. Was. With. Me."
Kaufman nodded and smiled weakly, backing off his line pursuit with nervous haste. "Then I'll take your word for it," he replied, frantically remembering that his supervisor had warned him about the Headmaster's over- protectiveness of the Potions Master. There was no way to fix this now. Get out and try again later.
"Good," Dumbledore said, leaning forward, both palms on his desktop. "If that is all, then I wish you a good day," his low, menacing tone had the desired effect and the security officer scurried out the door as fast as he could.
Dumbledore watched Kaufman leave and waited a few seconds to be sure that he had really gone before sitting back down in his chair, letting his defensive stand collapse. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a weariness that made him look every one of his many, many years.
It wasn't long though, before he was aware of someone standing behind him, hesitantly shifting his weight from foot to foot. A few cat-light steps and a thin, pale hand came to rest gently on his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," Snape whispered, not knowing what else to say.
Dumbledore reached up and placed his hand on top of Snape's. "I know," he said softly, giving the cold hand a light squeeze.
Snape shook his head angrily. He had neither been informed about this mission nor called. It was starting to confuse and worry him; he hated to see what happened in his absence. "Why wasn't I summoned?"
Dumbledore, hearing the unspoken self-loathing in his son's voice, stood and calmly pulled him into his arms. Snape gave in without a fight and rested his head on his father's shoulder.
"I don't know, Severus," Dumbledore answered honestly, not even allowing himself to think that Snape had been discovered as a spy. If that was true, he told himself, Snape would have been summoned and killed by now.
Snape sighed unhappily. "That makes five. And they were all close, long- time friends of yours."
Dumbledore nodded. "Heaven help me, Severus, but I have no idea what they were looking for."
***
Somewhere in a forgotten little village, a cold wet fog had settled in for the night. Nothing moved in the little town except for the idle swirls that the fog made as it wound its way through the bony trees that rattled like old bones hung out to yellow and dry.
Sometime after the bell in the old church tower chimed midnight, a dim light appeared in the graveyard near the outskirts of the village. First only one light could be detected in the gloom, and then others joined it. The lights seemed to float like suspended orbs of fire and villagers would swear in the morning that the town had been visited by the Devil.
As it was, they weren't too far off in their superstitions.
Around the graves, moving like shadows through the slushy snow and dirt, Death Eaters patrolled with silent treads. The wind was slight and biting, but no one dared complain. These sentries that prowled the sleeping places of the town's oldest citizens, their only job tonight was to make sure no unwelcome guests showed up. Their Master had promised death to those that failed tonight and no one was anxious to see if he intended to keep his word.
For Voldemort had accompanied his men on this terrible mission. He and a small knot of his most trusted had gathered at the far end of the lonely cemetery. The wind whispered a shrill warning as it twisted through the trees, but no warning can move the Devil.
Voldemort, his red snake-like eyes giving off a hellish glow in the dark, watched as several of his men dug up a small grave. They grunted and panted with effort, for the gave was old and the dirt was difficult to move, as if the person laid to rest was reluctant to be uncovered.
A headstone, carelessly thrown and shattered into sad fragments still managed to spell out a name, 'Severus D. Dumbledore.' Occasionally one of the Death Eaters would glance at the broken tablet and shudder, imagining that he could feel the dark wings of the child's spirit flutter without a sound against his cheek.
Voldemort's long, spidery fingers had just begun to drum with distinct impatience when one of the men around the grave let out a shout. Voldemort moved closer and watched expectantly as a coffin, magically preserved with visible signs of a parent's care, was raised from the hole and set on the ground.
The Death Eaters stood back and looked around nervously. However faithful they were to their Master, there was something sacrilegious about their deed which made them glad for the masks that hid their identities from one another.
"Open it," Voldemort hissed, making several of his men start in surprise. One of them grabbed the pry and held it out to the circle. No one stepped forward to take it. A sudden bolt of lightening emitted form Voldemort's wand and the poor fool that it had been aimed at rushed forward to take the metal bar from his associate.
In the end, it took three men pressing down on the pry to force the smooth top of the coffin open. The dark brown wood shattered with a crack and the lid came off, revealing the light blue sheet that lined the interior. Voldemort stepped forward to see-"Nothing," one of the Death Eaters whispered in a hoarse voice.
Voldemort stood unmoving, his quick Slytherin mind racing over possibilities. His followers edged nervously away from him in case he should feel like taking his anger out on one of them. They were then very surprised then he finally opened his eyes and declared, "How very clever." A trace of a cruel smile lingered on his thin, bloodless lips. "Very clever."
***
Harry woke up screaming in pain and clutching the scar on his forehead. As the dream faded and the pain receded to a dull throb, Harry, still breathing hard, tried to recall the details of what he had seen.
"Harry?" Ron asked, his sleepy voice jolting Harry out of his paralyzed state. "You okay?" Harry tumbled out of his bed and pulled on bathrobe and slippers with frantic speed.
"Wake Hermione," Harry managed, still trembling from what he had seen. "I need to go see that Headmaster." Ron nodded and threw off the covers.
"Where are you going?" Neville mumbled, still half asleep. Ron watched Harry disappear out the door and tucked his wand into the belt of his robe.
"No where," Ron answered, knowing that Neville would follow if he tried to explain. "Go back to sleep."
***
Snape woke with a start, his right hand immediately moving to grip the burning mark on his left forearm. He had almost hoped that Voldemort had forgotten about him. Stupid. More likely the Dark Lord had been working a mission too valuable to let the 'Questionable Servant' participate.
The pair flared in his arm and Snape resisted the urge to cry out. "Damn," he hissed through clenched teeth. From the feel of it, the Dark Lord was in a bad mood tonight.
Snape got up and dressed quickly. The sooner he left, the sooner he would be back. Fixing the clasp on his cloak, he rang for a House Elf. The call was answered promptly by the same Elf that had taken his message the last time.
The Elf eyed Snape's apparel and gave him a disapproving look. "Professor Snape, sir, should be asleep," it reprimanded in a squeaky, irritating voice.
Snape scowled at the House Elf and grabbed his wand off the nightstand. "Never mind that. Tell Dumbledore that I'm going out."
Next: Dun, dun, dun!
Hagrid was delighted when he opened his door and found the three young Gryffindor students on his front step. He wasted no time in inviting them inside for a cup of tea, which they readily accepted. It didn't take long for Hagrid to set out tea and place a tray of teacakes in the center of the table. "An old family receipt. Freshly made," he said with pride in his voice as he watched Ron eye the cakes with suspicion.
Harry glanced at his friends and then back at the tray. There was no way out of it. "Thank you, Hagrid," Harry said as he and his friends each took one of the rock-hard treats out of politeness.
Ron, deciding that there was no possible way he was going to be able to actually eat the thing better suited for life as a paperweight, pulled a few walnuts out his pocket that he had saved from an earlier meal and began using his teacake to crack them open.
Hermione heard the fist crunch of shell being broken and turned to see Ron about to murder another walnut. Frowning, she jabbed him in the ribs and shook her head. Ron rolled his eyes, reluctantly put the remaining nuts back in his pocket, and settled back to gnaw for eternity on the offensive thing.
"What do I owe to dis visit?" Hagrid asked as he sat down in his favorite, rather worn chair, and added a few heaping spoonfuls of sugar to his mug of tea.
Hermione shifted into battle mode, pushed her tea out of the way, and folded her hands on the tabletop in a 'no nonsense' way. "We're here to ask you about Dumbledore's son." Ron groaned and mentally cursed her lack of tact as Hagrid's tanned face went from red to purple to white to green faster than Harry's Firebolt.
"How," Hagrid choked, his eyes everywhere but on his young friends, "How'd you find out about dat?" Hermione was unfazed by Hagrid's nervousness and didn't break eye contact for a second.
"If what we've heard is correct," she replied tartly, "Then it is safer for our informer that he remains anonymous." Hagrid stared at her and then nodded in understanding. Anyone who valued his life would know that it was a bad thing to be known as the one spreading THAT story around.
"Why Hagrid," Harry said now, hoping his friendship with the big man would help them in their attempt to get answers, "Why is everyone afraid to talk about him? You seem more afraid to talk about Severus Dumbledore," Hagrid flinched violently, almost dropping his mug, "Then Vold-sorry-You Know Who."
Hagrid looked from one expectant young face to the other. So eager to devour information. He frowned and shook his head. "No," he said.
Hermione blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected a flat out refusal. "No," she repeated slowly, trying to give Hagrid a chance to change his mind.
But Hagrid would have none of it.
"No," Hagrid said, firmly this time, his face set and grim. "I'm not tellin' you anythin'."
"Why not?" Harry demanded. Despite what his godfather had told him, he didn't see the need for all the deception.
Hagrid shook his shaggy head and laughed. It was not his normal booming laugh; it was thin and apprehensive. "'Cause the Wizardin' World would much rather have You-Know-Who as our resident Dark Lord than Albus Dumbledore," he said, his voice turning bitter.
"What!" Ron shouted, his eyes as big as saucers.
"Ssshh," Hagrid hissed, looking around as if checking to make sure no one had heard Ron. Hagrid looked at the young Gryffindors and sighed, running a thick hand through his rough hair. He stood up from the table and systematically went around the room, drawing the curtains. The room was very dark with only the fire letting off a low orange glow. Fang whimpered from his bed in the corner.
Harry heard Hagrid moving somewhere in the room. A soft light eased the dark as Hagrid lit a lantern and came back to set it on the table. Once he had reclaimed his seat, Fang trotted over to his master, his nails clicking on the wooden floor. Hagrid put his hand on the dog's massive head for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"Dumbledore," Hagrid finally began with a heavy sigh, wishing it wasn't him who had to explain this, "He's a good man. A great man. But he's still human. His-The Child's death 'most drove him insane.
Can you imagine," Hagrid looked at the children in front of him, praying that they would understand, "What would've happened if we didn't forget about The Child?
Dumbledore would have sought out You-Know-Who with all his power. And if he killed You-Know-Who out of anger and fer revenge for dat innocent death, well, he would have tapped into some of the very worst dark magic. The kind dat consumes your mind as well as your soul.
Personally," Hagrid met the students' eyes with unwavering directness, "I'd rather be fightin' against You-Know-Who than Dumbledore. Less deaths dat way; a better chance of winnin' too.
So if never talkin' 'bout The Child is the key to keepin' Dumbledore on our side, then I happily participate in the deception."
Hagrid only looked away now that he was finished. It was the truth, all of it. But it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, like he was betraying someone.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in stunned silence, letting what Hagrid had said seep into their minds. Only Harry had ever fought face to face with Voldemort, but they had all heard of the horrors during his first rise to power. To have Dumbledore replace Voldemort, it was unthinkable. But according to Hagrid, it was possible. And Hagrid was as loyal as you could get to the Headmaster; he wouldn't lie to them about this.
"I had no idea it was this serious," Hermione whispered, her face wan in the spooky glow of the lantern. Beside her, Harry and Ron nodded in agreement.
Hagrid sighed. It had been so long since he allowed himself to think about any of this. His big heart still ached for the Headmaster. "Dumbledore would have traded his life for The Child's in an instant. But, fer all his power and intelligence, he couldn't. He weren't there when The Child needed him the most. And dat is what he can't live with."
Harry looked at his friends as Hagrid pulled out his checkered handkerchief to mop at his wet eyes. Ron and Hermione nodded at Harry's unspoken question; they didn't need, or want to know, anything else. Some things are just supposed to stay buried.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry said in a voice so soft that it was hardly heard. He felt bad about dragging up all of this. "We won't tell anyone."
Hagrid smiled sadly before looking away into the fire, lost in his memories. "You should leave now," he said, not looking up.
Harry got up from the table and gently herded his friends outside. They went easily, wanting to get away from the ghosts that they had forced Hagrid to recall.
Harry paused at the door and looked back. Fang lay his head on Hagrid's knee and whined sympathetically. Harry went outside and closed the door behind him without a sound. His friends were waiting for him.
Harry took a deep breath and pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders, cold not only from the snow but the demons that seemed to exist only to haunt the living.
"It's cold," he finally said. "Let's get back to the common room."
*** Two Weeks Later ***
A headmaster is never free of paperwork and Albus Dumbledore was no exception. With a few more hours to dinner, he was at his desk trying to shrink the pile of work awaiting his attention. With everything from letters from the Ministry unofficially asking for help with Voldemort's recent actions to messages from former students, he had more than enough to keep him busy. He had just signed a Third Year Hufflepuff's request to bring his own broom to school when someone knocked loudly at his door.
Curious, but not unaware of who it was, he got up from his desk to let his visitor in, carefully stepping to the side to avoid being knocked over as his son hurried in and slammed the door shut behind him.
"Blast that insufferable woman," Snape raged as he plunked himself down in a free chair in front of the desk the dominated the center of the room.
Dumbledore hid a smile as he made his way back to his desk. "Minerva again?" he asked, trying his best to appear innocent of what had irked his son so much as he straightened up the mess of papers strewn across the top of the desk.
Snape, not fooled by the act for a second, scowled at him. "Of course Minerva. Every time she tries to act like nothing has changed she gives me this pitiful, sad look. I swear she's about to burst into tears every time she looks at me." Dumbledore caught a note of something else that wasn't being said and peered at Snape over his glasses.
Snape tried to hold his father's gaze but failed. "So of course, I try harder to provoke her. A few minutes ago there was a hexing incident between two of our first years. She blamed the fight on my student, said he started it, and so I said, 'Yeah right, and I'm the Headmaster's son.'" Snape's smile grew truly wicked.
"You should have seen the look on her face. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or get angry with me. Gods it was funny. So then we exchanged insults, she took three points off Slytherin and I took five off Gryffindor."
Dumbledore laughed. Poor Minerva, she was fair game as far as Snape was concerned. Her being vulnerable to his sarcastic banter only encouraged him more. "So then you ran away before she could apologize and are up here hiding from her?"
Snape nodded. The last time he had stayed around after teasing the Transfiguration Professor into a frenzy, she had tried to hug him as an apology. No matter how much she may have held him before he became Severus Snape, he still didn't want her touching him. "Damn straight."
Dumbledore smiled. He was more than willing to grant Snape sanctuary from McGonagall. If nothing else, it was a chance to talk with him. "You are going to be the death of that poor woman," he teased, "Why do you insisted on giving her a hard time her? Come to think of it, why do you torture everyone but the students of your house?"
Snape smirked and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the Headmaster's desk with an obvious flippant air. "I'm a Slytherin," he said with a satisfied sneer. "It amuses me."
Dumbledore shook his head and struggled not to laugh. "Child," he said, trying very hard to remain serious as he pushed Snape's feet off his desk, "You need a hobby."
A sudden knock at the door made them both turn around. Snape sprung to his feet like a startled cat. "I'm not here," he hissed.
Dumbledore nodded and shooed him into the next room. "I'll be sure to tell Minerva that I haven't seen you," he promised as Snape pulled the door shut.
Dumbledore quickly rearranged the papers on his desk to make it look as though he had been working. Laying a quill across a letter, he nodded in satisfaction and went to open the door.
His smile died when he saw who was standing behind the door. Instantly on his guard, Dumbledore nodded to the uniformed wizard. "Yes?"
"Officer Kaufman. I'm sorry to disturb you, Headmaster Dumbledore," the security wizard said curtly, "But there has been another death."
Dumbledore moved back to let the man in. "Who?" He asked as he took his seat behind his desk. The security officer remained standing.
"Fritzwilliam Walterscot. He was found in his home this morning by his secretary who was concerned when he didn't show up for work." Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes.
"I need to ask Mr. Snape some questions about his whereabouts last night," Officer Kaufman continued, checking his written instructions from his superior.
Dumbledore looked up abruptly, every alarm going off in his head. "Severus was with me." He said it in such a way that would tolerate no argument, but Kaufman still looked unconvinced.
Kaufman looked down at his orders. They clearly said to interview Snape. He shook his head, missing the spark of anger that lit the venerable wizard's crystal blue eyes. "I still need to ask Mr. Snape my question."
Dumbledore rose slightly out of his chair and glared at the wizard, succeeding in making him pale. "Severus. Was. With. Me."
Kaufman nodded and smiled weakly, backing off his line pursuit with nervous haste. "Then I'll take your word for it," he replied, frantically remembering that his supervisor had warned him about the Headmaster's over- protectiveness of the Potions Master. There was no way to fix this now. Get out and try again later.
"Good," Dumbledore said, leaning forward, both palms on his desktop. "If that is all, then I wish you a good day," his low, menacing tone had the desired effect and the security officer scurried out the door as fast as he could.
Dumbledore watched Kaufman leave and waited a few seconds to be sure that he had really gone before sitting back down in his chair, letting his defensive stand collapse. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a weariness that made him look every one of his many, many years.
It wasn't long though, before he was aware of someone standing behind him, hesitantly shifting his weight from foot to foot. A few cat-light steps and a thin, pale hand came to rest gently on his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," Snape whispered, not knowing what else to say.
Dumbledore reached up and placed his hand on top of Snape's. "I know," he said softly, giving the cold hand a light squeeze.
Snape shook his head angrily. He had neither been informed about this mission nor called. It was starting to confuse and worry him; he hated to see what happened in his absence. "Why wasn't I summoned?"
Dumbledore, hearing the unspoken self-loathing in his son's voice, stood and calmly pulled him into his arms. Snape gave in without a fight and rested his head on his father's shoulder.
"I don't know, Severus," Dumbledore answered honestly, not even allowing himself to think that Snape had been discovered as a spy. If that was true, he told himself, Snape would have been summoned and killed by now.
Snape sighed unhappily. "That makes five. And they were all close, long- time friends of yours."
Dumbledore nodded. "Heaven help me, Severus, but I have no idea what they were looking for."
***
Somewhere in a forgotten little village, a cold wet fog had settled in for the night. Nothing moved in the little town except for the idle swirls that the fog made as it wound its way through the bony trees that rattled like old bones hung out to yellow and dry.
Sometime after the bell in the old church tower chimed midnight, a dim light appeared in the graveyard near the outskirts of the village. First only one light could be detected in the gloom, and then others joined it. The lights seemed to float like suspended orbs of fire and villagers would swear in the morning that the town had been visited by the Devil.
As it was, they weren't too far off in their superstitions.
Around the graves, moving like shadows through the slushy snow and dirt, Death Eaters patrolled with silent treads. The wind was slight and biting, but no one dared complain. These sentries that prowled the sleeping places of the town's oldest citizens, their only job tonight was to make sure no unwelcome guests showed up. Their Master had promised death to those that failed tonight and no one was anxious to see if he intended to keep his word.
For Voldemort had accompanied his men on this terrible mission. He and a small knot of his most trusted had gathered at the far end of the lonely cemetery. The wind whispered a shrill warning as it twisted through the trees, but no warning can move the Devil.
Voldemort, his red snake-like eyes giving off a hellish glow in the dark, watched as several of his men dug up a small grave. They grunted and panted with effort, for the gave was old and the dirt was difficult to move, as if the person laid to rest was reluctant to be uncovered.
A headstone, carelessly thrown and shattered into sad fragments still managed to spell out a name, 'Severus D. Dumbledore.' Occasionally one of the Death Eaters would glance at the broken tablet and shudder, imagining that he could feel the dark wings of the child's spirit flutter without a sound against his cheek.
Voldemort's long, spidery fingers had just begun to drum with distinct impatience when one of the men around the grave let out a shout. Voldemort moved closer and watched expectantly as a coffin, magically preserved with visible signs of a parent's care, was raised from the hole and set on the ground.
The Death Eaters stood back and looked around nervously. However faithful they were to their Master, there was something sacrilegious about their deed which made them glad for the masks that hid their identities from one another.
"Open it," Voldemort hissed, making several of his men start in surprise. One of them grabbed the pry and held it out to the circle. No one stepped forward to take it. A sudden bolt of lightening emitted form Voldemort's wand and the poor fool that it had been aimed at rushed forward to take the metal bar from his associate.
In the end, it took three men pressing down on the pry to force the smooth top of the coffin open. The dark brown wood shattered with a crack and the lid came off, revealing the light blue sheet that lined the interior. Voldemort stepped forward to see-"Nothing," one of the Death Eaters whispered in a hoarse voice.
Voldemort stood unmoving, his quick Slytherin mind racing over possibilities. His followers edged nervously away from him in case he should feel like taking his anger out on one of them. They were then very surprised then he finally opened his eyes and declared, "How very clever." A trace of a cruel smile lingered on his thin, bloodless lips. "Very clever."
***
Harry woke up screaming in pain and clutching the scar on his forehead. As the dream faded and the pain receded to a dull throb, Harry, still breathing hard, tried to recall the details of what he had seen.
"Harry?" Ron asked, his sleepy voice jolting Harry out of his paralyzed state. "You okay?" Harry tumbled out of his bed and pulled on bathrobe and slippers with frantic speed.
"Wake Hermione," Harry managed, still trembling from what he had seen. "I need to go see that Headmaster." Ron nodded and threw off the covers.
"Where are you going?" Neville mumbled, still half asleep. Ron watched Harry disappear out the door and tucked his wand into the belt of his robe.
"No where," Ron answered, knowing that Neville would follow if he tried to explain. "Go back to sleep."
***
Snape woke with a start, his right hand immediately moving to grip the burning mark on his left forearm. He had almost hoped that Voldemort had forgotten about him. Stupid. More likely the Dark Lord had been working a mission too valuable to let the 'Questionable Servant' participate.
The pair flared in his arm and Snape resisted the urge to cry out. "Damn," he hissed through clenched teeth. From the feel of it, the Dark Lord was in a bad mood tonight.
Snape got up and dressed quickly. The sooner he left, the sooner he would be back. Fixing the clasp on his cloak, he rang for a House Elf. The call was answered promptly by the same Elf that had taken his message the last time.
The Elf eyed Snape's apparel and gave him a disapproving look. "Professor Snape, sir, should be asleep," it reprimanded in a squeaky, irritating voice.
Snape scowled at the House Elf and grabbed his wand off the nightstand. "Never mind that. Tell Dumbledore that I'm going out."
Next: Dun, dun, dun!