I don't own what I didn't invent.

Can someone help me with a Scottish accent? I am an American with no exposure to "foreign" culture.

–shrug – Hey, it's for Hagrid!

Thank you to Sunna and Hope. You have been very helpful and your consistent reviewing has been wonderful.

And thanks Hope for pointing out that I was miss spelling Alastor's name (through the entire fic!)

And thanks to harrypotter4ever for correcting my corrections.

AND thanks to Sunna for correcting me on the color of Alastor's hair.

Chapter Thirty-three:

'It's just like facing the Boggart.' Neville tried to tell himself, 'Except a Rididlkulus charm won't help.' He took another step forward and was able to see the Potions Master around the curtain.

The Potion Master was wearing one of the white infirmary outfits and was sitting in the middle of his bed with his back to Neville. The greasy black hair that was not covered by the crisp white bandage, was the only bit of color in the room.

'Well he doesn't look too murderously enraged, right now.' "Sir," it was taking all of his Gryffindor courage, but he knew he had to do this. "Sir, I need to speak with you. If that's alright."

"Mister Longbottom, there is a small closet in the wall to your left." He did not turn around, 'It would probably make him faint out of fear if I did.' "Would you get the handkerchief from my right robe pocket? Pomfrey has charmed the bed. If I get up a siren follows me until I get back on the bed."

Neville obediently began searching for the requested handkerchief. Opening the closet door he was surrounded by the scent that clung to the Potion Master's clothes. 'It reminds me of the greenhouse, all of those herbs and roots. I never thought about it but I guess Professor Sprout was right; Professor Snape would have to be up on Herbology to be able to do his work.'

Neville had to walk around the bed to hand him the black silk handkerchief, "What did you want to see me about?" he asked quietly. He held out his had for the large square of cloth, but the boy froze. 'He doesn't need me to mess with him,' he snarled to himself and snatched the fabric away from Neville's trembling, outstretched hand. 'What did I expect? He doesn't have enough of the blood in him to overcome it. I knew that. What am I a flagellant?'

As he slowly unraveled the bandage he motioned to the chair that Dumbledore had vacated, "Sit- on second thought," Neville stopped half way down, "You don't get squeamish do you? She told me it's ugly," he indicated the right of his face with a flick of his wrist.

"Not as a rule, sir," Neville sat.

He couldn't stop it in time and a slight smile pulled at his lips. Causing the skin around his eye to stretch and the pain came back. Closing his good eye he took a moment to school his expression back to its usual neutral foreboding.

Neville watch silently. "Sir," he swallowed then continued. "It was my fault. I did it on purpose." There wasn't anything to look at. The room was bare and the injured professor was directly in front of him.

Watching Neville cast about for something to look at, he had a truly evil idea, "How do you think it looks?" he leaned forward and turned so that only the huge bruise and swollen eye could be seen.

He was very surprised to feel Neville draw closer rather than further away but he didn't move.

"What did she give you?" the boy asked with out realizing that he had spoken aloud.

"Uh, about three meters of gauze and orders not to get up." 'What did the Headmaster tell him?'

"No, I mean what did she dope you up with? You're not yelling at me or taking house points or anything."

'Oh.' Tying the silk around his head so that the mar was covered he took a minute to think up the least out-of-character Snape-ish answer he could, then decided to answer for his own actions the way Neville had just done. "I saw you tipping your cauldron. That's why I looked away from Potter. This was my fault. I could blame you," he shrugged, "But what would that get me?"

Neville blinked and sat back. An answer jumped out at him, "What was in the syringe that Draco injected you with?"

"Get my clothes," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the closet.

Disappointed Neville began to take out and place Snape's clothes on the bed in a neat pile.

"Your mother, Ruth, her maiden name was Chamberlain." The statement was completely out of the blue, "Your grandmother is rather harsh. She lost her father and younger sister in the Second World War."

Neville had heard something about it before, many years ago when everyone had thought he was asleep in bed, and his grandmother had left the room for a few minutes. 'But how would professor Snape hear about my family's personal business?' He set down the black vest and resumed his seat to hear more.

"The Muggles joined the war after the Magi were attacked." His voce became a hypnotic drone, "The first strike was against a Magi village, it is what brought England into the war." He began to change into his/Snape's clothes, careful to stay on the bed, "Because of the Joint Ministries' official policy of non-involvement, Atlanta lost half of her family. You were named after your great uncle, Neville Chamberlain, a Squib who took to Muggle politics and became Prime Minister of England."

The rough velvet of that voice was drawing Neville deeper and deeper into its spell, and he lost track of everything else.

"When her son married a Chamberlain Atlanta was heartbroken. She felt that Frank had betrayed her and she became bitter. When Ruth named you after her father's favorite uncle, she had a knife driven through her heart. She has had to re-learn how to forgive and love." He closed his eye and looked away. The spell was broken.

Dropping his eyes to his clenched fists Neville drew a breath to speak.

Madame Pomfrey stormed in, "Albus sent word, you're to get back to your classes as soon as you're dressed. " Realizing that he was nearly dressed, she clipped out the release to the alarm and left in a huff.

Neville had never seen Madame Pomfrey angry, ever.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" he asked, trying to stop the questions Neville was sure to ask next.

"No, the Headmaster gave us the day off." he looked back down at his hands again, "Some of the other kids were really upset."

He slid from the edge of the bed and pulled on his frock coat, "I think you would probably consider it an unrefined form of Heroin. You have Advanced Potions Theory tomorrow, you might want to work on that if you don't have anything else to do." Pulling on his robe he swept into the hall. The impression was of a great black bird soaring through the halls and down the stairs to the Dungeons

Chapter Thirty-four

Slapping the Tele-orb into its cradle Albus snapped, "Alastor Moody," he tried sitting but stood and began pacing. He darted back to his desk and took his seat, as Alastor's head appeared in the globe's depths.

"What in the world is so important?" the retired Auror groused from under a fluffy white towel.

Leaning his elbows on his blotter Albus knew that he was going to have a very bad headache soon, "Things are progressing faster than we anticipated. I need to speak with you."

Moody stopped drying his unruly dark hair and put down his towel, "I'll be two minutes. You caught me in the shower." He signed off and rushed to get dressed.

The fire turned jade green for a moment then a damp Alastor Moody stepped into the room, "Which one was it?" he barked.

"Ours," Albus did not bother to offer tea. (He didn't even get up.)

Alastor began pacing in front of his friend's desk, "What was the damage?"

"He fell." Alastor stopped pacing, incredulity on his face. Albus continued, "Yes I know it was on purpose. Though I have no idea what he thinks he is doing."

"You moved Lupin down?"

"And Black when he arrived. They have not been in the dungeon more than a week, but as I told you he seems to be accepting them." Albus was hoping that Moody could make sense of it.

Alastor for his part was wondering what all the fuss was about, "So he looks pretty bad… He heals quick enough right, Snape can't be too upset about it."

Dumbledore let his head rest against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, "He doesn't know yet, and that is not the problem."

Moody took one of the plush seats on the other side of the desk and waited for the other shoe to drop.

Mouthing a mild pain reliever charm Albus sat up, "He broke his cheek bone, it and a minor cut in his lip healed before he even reached the hospital wing. Snape will be rather angry about the bruise, but we have dealt with that before. What I called you here for is what he said to me when I arrived in the hospital wing."

Raising one bristly brow Alastor inclined his head.

"His exact words were 'I don't care what he does now. I can't take the darkness any longer. He's turned. There's no softness in his heart anymore.' I asked him what he meant. He looked me right in the eye and said 'You must kill him.'"

"Shit."

Albus nearly laughed, "Oh believe me I have already thought it through that far. It's getting past that that seems to be the problem."

Moody shook his head, "I thought the self destructive tendency had been eliminated."

"It was," Albus affirmed, "I think this is something else."

"Such as?"

"I haven't a clue."

"Severa wrote," Alastor offered, "She's pulling some kind of trick too."

Forgetting his headache Albus jerked upright, "Is she?"

"Nothing like," he waved a hand to indicate the entire day's events, "She's being much more subtle. Which reminds me of that fiasco at Mungo's. The records are still missing, but I have a lead."

"Yes," Albus lazily steepled his fingers and leaned into the chair back. He looked relaxed but Alastor could see the glint in his eyes.

Moody conjured himself a cup of tea, "They are still missing, and from what I hear Fudge is very hot under the collar about it. One of my people says that a Doctor Ignatius requested the records of a mister Snape Severus."

"A simple substitution charm to reverse the order of the name and no red flags are tripped when he asks for the file," Albus suggested and Alastor nodded. "Smooth, but do you have a lead on this Ignatius?"

Moody sighed, "No. He seems to fall off the face of the planet at that point. All I do know is that he isn't from the Ministry and he isn't a Death Eater."

"And Severa?"

"She has managed to procure a Parramorph's egg."

"So," Albus dropped his hands to his chair's padded armrests, "They have independently managed to get a week of uncensored action. The same week?"

Alastor nodded wearily, "Should we alter our time table?"

"No," Albus spoke firmly now, "They are doing this for a reason. I don't think we should interfere. Lets just leave the interviews for the new staff positions as scheduled for this Saturday."

Moody rose to take his leave, "And the Order will be meeting as scheduled, on Sunday." He vanished his teacup, "See you Friday." Floo powder again jaded the flames and Alastor Moody returned to his own study.