For the second time in his life, his arm burned painfully, the flesh feeling as if it had been branded with a heated iron. For the first time, however, he fully understood what had just happened to him.

In the back of his mind, he felt a hazy and indistinct sensation, as if part of him was reaching out beyond his own body. It was a feeling he'd never fully understood until a few weeks ago. He'd felt it for over twenty-five years, but never fully understood it. Instead, the naïve child he'd been had accepted it blindly as part and parcel of pledging himself to Voldemort's side.

It was that feeling that had made the Dark Mark such a destructive piece of magic.

It was also the feeling that made the Fire Mark so useful. From now on, Severus Snape was linked to six other people. The strongest of the links he felt existed between himself and the student he had spent years loathing but quietly protecting.

Seven people wore the Fire Mark, the image of a phoenix rising above a lightening bolt. The two most recognizable symbols of the Order of the Phoenix, old and new. The youngest bearer was the one that served as the focus, the center of the complicated spell weaving them all together. To his credit, Harry Potter seemed to be bearing the burden well. More so than anyone should have expected from a seventeen year old boy. It made his limited respect for the boy grow a slight more, especially after he pulled him aside before he left.

At least he had a conscience. It was more than any of us did.

The ceremony, thankfully, had been brief and uneventful. No major production or spectacle; just a room of nine people, quiet and morose. Even Tonks managed a sense of dignified silence. The marking took as little time as Minerva McGonagall could manage it. There was little speaking and even less lingering once the marking was complete.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts was the only other person in the room not bearing a mark of his own. As with most things, he gave no explanation, but simply presided over the gathering with the quiet dignity that they had all grown to expect from the reserved force of a man before them.

If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn the look that Albus Dumbledore bestowed on him as he left the Order was one of painful regret and grief.

All he wanted in the world was to come back to Hogwarts. To come back to Desi. To find peace and solace in the only place on Earth that he ever had found either of these traits.

Dusting himself off as he stepped from his fireplace, he noticed a scrap of parchment lying next to his apartment door. Puzzled, he walked over and snatched it from the carpet.

Come find me when it's over. Where I first found you.

No signature. Then again, Desi had never needed to sign her notes. She was the only person he'd ever known who neither addressed nor signed anything she wrote. It had driven her professors insane. Snatching his cloak from the arm of his couch, he strode out his door, his feet quickening as he followed a path he knew too well.

He found her in the one place on the whole grounds that he'd been left alone, until one day in September when an eleven year old girl with happy blue eyes had whirled into his life, steadfastly refusing to leave him alone.

The trees by the lake.

She stood under the three pine trees, wrapped in a cloak, half the hair from her braid loose and floating in the light breeze. The moon hung in a starless sky, clouds covering some of its light.

Desi didn't even turn when she heard his footsteps. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes never leaving their view of the ripples that danced on the lake's surface. "Well?"

Severus sighed, his breath hanging in the air between them. "It's over."

She let go of the breath she'd held ever since hearing him walking towards her. Desi knew how selfish she was feeling about the whole thing. It was his decision, not one for her to make, not one for her to take from him. Besides, Harry needed him. The Order needed him. She couldn't keep him to herself forever. "And?"

He took a few more steps to close the distance between them, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't feel the same as before. It hurts, but it's different. Potter's spending the next few days at the Order with your grandfather and McGonagall. Tonks managed to not break anything. Molly's furious at Arthur for agreeing to do this. Moody's thrilled with the vigilance it gives the inner circle."

"And you?" The question barely escaped her lips.

He stepped behind her and gathered her into his arms, her back fitting against his chest, his chin resting in her hair. He hated Dumbledore for putting him in this position. He hated having once been young and stupid; it was for that very reason he now wore a mark of another sort, almost perfectly over the site of the original. But, most of all, he hated hurting her; it was worse this time, because he knew exactly where her feelings about the topic came from. He'd ripped open that wound again, just as he'd done at eighteen. She didn't deserve this pain.

He didn't deserve her.

"It's not worth your unhappiness, Desi, for what it matters. I did what I was asked to do. What choice did I have? He asked me to do this; after eighteen years, could I say no this time?"

Hot tears trickled down her cheeks at his words. He couldn't say no to her grandfather any more than she could. He never asked anyone to do anything unless it was absolutely necessary. One of the self-imposed rules he'd placed on himself years ago, to limit the future regrets he'd feel. He would never have done this to them unless he needed Sev to bear the Mark.

The thought did little to dull the pain.

Did he have any idea of the fear that she carried in her heart ever since the first time her Papa had mentioned the idea? Did he know she only agreed to help find the solution because she was sure it would convince them to walk away from the fool's idea? Did he ever notice her jerking awake at night, visions of terror and heartache filling her dreams?

Did he know she was scared that, once Voldemort learned what they had done, he'd find a way to repay them? That the payment could separate them forever?

She'd pined for twenty-five years. Hadn't that been enough?

He held her close to him as she wept bitterly, hating herself for her self-centeredness, hating the world for making her feel so guilty for not wanting to share, standing underneath the very trees where their paths first crossed.

He had been prepared for the pain in his arm. He had been prepared for the ethics of bearing the responsibility of being the focus. He had even been prepared for the emotional outburst Mrs. Weasley had before the transfiguration took place. But Harry Potter had not been prepared for the spider web of connections to other people in his mind.

He felt as if there were six rubber bands stretching from his mind to six distinct points. Four of those points were still in the room: Moody and Tonks were preparing for night-shift and Lupin and Mr. Weasley were lingering in the room to keep him company since he was staying with the Order so he could get accustomed to everything in his mind. A fifth point felt far away, which made sense, as Kingsley Shacklebolt had left immediately for the Ministry of Magic. The sixth point also felt distant, but in a completely different direction. Which shouldn't have been a surprise; Snape had gone back to Hogwarts almost as quickly as Shacklebolt had left. Almost, but not quite.

A voice at his ear. "Potter, a word."

Standing by the fireplace, facing a man who, until this year, despised him. A man who had become a tenuous ally.

Harsh whispers. "I doubt very much that you're as prepared as you think for this responsibility, Potter. I doubt if you even now have a glimmer of understanding. This isn't something to be taken lightly. This wasn't something that even Dumbledore could have explained to you completely. You have the opportunity to play God now, Potter. Do yourself a favor – don't."

Looking up into black eyes, cold and dark. "I never wanted this. You know that."

A flash of respect in the face of the man before him. "Then make sure you never do, Potter. Because the day you decide you want this is the day that all of this begins to fail. You will be tempted. You will be tested. You will be tried. Never want this, Potter. It will consume you if you do. Trust me."

Fear, respect, understanding, sadness, regret – all flashing in a moment of silence between student and teacher.

Harry felt more alone than he had in years. This was more than having a tool to use against Voldemort or being able to call people to him in a time of need. This was more than balancing the playing field. He could feel them in his head; not enough to know what they were feeling, but aware of them nonetheless. Six people who he could sense if he thought about them. Six people whose whereabouts he knew for certain. Six people whose lives he could affect with just a thought and a gesture. Snape was right; he had the power to affect these peoples' lives; he had the chance to play God.

Now, more than ever, he hated himself for agreeing to this.

From across the room, Remus Lupin stared at his former student, who gazed intently at a spot on the wall. He hadn't moved since his whispered conversation with Snape, which worried him. He had an idea of what the man had said to Harry; they'd had their own conversation earlier in the evening.

"Where's Des?"

"Dumbledore asked her not to come." A cold stare. "You know she's not happy with this plan."

A tired sigh. "And how will this affect you and Des?"

A gruff reply. "Why do you care?"

"Because, she's my dearest living friend and I love her, Severus. She's not happy with this, but you're still doing it. What toll is that going to take on you two?"

"You're going through with this too."

A twinge of pain. "I'm not the one she gave her heart to, Severus. You are."

A deep silence between two men, years of loathing and distrust clashing with the need to work together; for the Order, for Harry, and for Desdemona's sake.

Avoiding the question asked. "Potter's not ready for this."

"He's as ready as anyone can make him, Severus."

"No, he isn't. I haven't talked to him yet." Regret mingling with doubt in a tired voice.

Remus knew what he meant by that, but he didn't say anything. When the former Death Eater had lain unconscious in a hospital bed, Des had cried on her big brother's shoulder, spilling secrets that, had she been calm, would never have been spoken aloud. She rambled about memories of his she had seen, nightmares of his from when he wore the original mark. The guilt, the hate, and the self-loathing he carried inside. The way he'd felt like a puppet. The torture he went through when he rediscovered his conscience. And those were just the memories she gleaned from the potion. They didn't include the pieces of regret and sadness that they'd shared in conversation over the last few months.

That was the turning point for Lupin. Never before that night had he thought about the effect being a Death Eater had on the man. Whenever he looked at the greasy-haired former Potions Master, all Lupin saw was the lonely, brooding child he had mercilessly teased for years in school. Until Des had convinced him to stop.

He'd known the risk he took years ago to leave Voldemort, but he'd never known the depth to which the decision haunted him. Sometimes he forgot that the boy he'd teased in school had grown up over twenty five years, had experienced a side of life he himself could never imagine.

Maybe Des wasn't as insane for loving him as Remus thought.

Lupin rose and walked over to the young man, laying a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. Instead, he received the brunt of the frustration Harry felt right now.

"Why did you all agree to this? Why did you go through with it?" Harry turned eyes cold and empty towards his friend, the man who had offered him a shoulder to vent on for years. His father's friend; the only one left. All he could think in that moment was how he now had the chance to hurt his father's last remaining best friend.

Remus looked at Harry with eyes filled with understanding. His friend's son. The only living legacy to what four friends had shared at school years ago. And with one choice, the Order had stripped him of what was left of his childhood. They'd asked Harry to make a decision that no student, no young person, should ever have to make.

Severus was right. They'd done a horrible job of preparing him for it; he could see that now.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in an absent-minded way. "You've seen what Voldemort will do to hurt those in his way. You know the prophecy. You know that, in the end, it will come down to you and him. There's nothing any of us can do to change that. But we can use every available means to keep you alive and safe until that day comes."

Harry felt the weight of Lupin's words on his shoulders, already bearing down on the guilt and responsibility he already carried. His voice echoed these burdens. "Snape's right. How can I do this? I'm not ready. I can feel you in my head. Did you know that? I can feel Snape, if I think about him hard enough. I can tell you he's tired and cold and worried about something. It might be vague and fuzzy, but I can do it. I can feel him, Remus. I can feel all of you. And I'm expected to call you all to me when I'm in need? So I can feel you die? Feel you hurt? I don't know if I'll be able to do it. Just seeing Sirius that night...I still have nightmares about that, Remus. And I didn't have him in my head. What if it's your death I feel? Or Mr. Weasley's? I can't do it..." His voice trailed off, the young wizard feeling completely overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last few hours.

What answer could he possibly give to those questions? Swallowing hard, Remus looked the young man firmly in the eyes. "Harry, I can't answer you. I can't tell you what you want to hear. I don't know how. I agreed to this because it was the most logical of all the illogical ideas we came up with. None of us are happy with this; don't let yourself think otherwise. We all hate putting you through this. You're too young and it's not fair and it's a huge responsibility to place on your shoulders. Why do you think Des fought it so much? She doesn't want to take your childhood from you. None of us do. But that choice was taken from us years ago. I'm so sorry, Harry."

He had known the risks of joining the Order. So had James and Lily. So had Sirius. But, in the end, none of them were prepared for the price of peace.

How could they expect Harry to handle that burden when they themselves couldn't?

Part of Harry wanted to scream at the man before him. Scream and yell about how he hated being so damned special and important, about how he was sick of being pitied and looked after, and about how he was tired of the sympathy and the regret. The other part of Harry, the voice that seemed to have grown in volume over the year thanks to long talks with his professor, spoke up finally. Is there any lie or manipulation in what he's saying? Is it his fault that Voldemort did this to you? Is it their fault that this prophecy exists in the first place?

Harry could only answer himself with one word. No. With a sigh, he quietly walked away from the man who had become a friend over the years, and headed upstairs to the room prepared for him.

Students no longer spent time outside in the sunshine that finally came to the countryside. Instead, they lingered in common rooms, libraries, classrooms, and every available nook and cranny as if Dementors were patrolling the grounds again. Professors looked haggard, assignments grew lengthy, and the infirmary was filled with patients dealing with stress.

Exams were coming to Hogwarts.

In her office, Desdemona struggled to work on exam material. It was hard; she knew what she had covered, and she had an idea of what Severus had taught, but what to test them on? What was fair? Did she really expect them to remember all these potions?

How was she expected to focus on her work with all the distractions going on in the world around her? Her grandfather had been growing more and more distant over the last several days, shutting himself in his office and rarely knocking on her office door to chat like he used to. Harry had been slowly becoming more social since the transfiguration and marking; the first weekend back from the Order had been hard on him, but with prompting, he sat down for a long heart to heart with his two best friends, who somehow made him feel a little less alone and bitter. The latest piece of intelligence on Voldemort's actions was less than good; something was coming, but details were thin.

And the one thing in her life that should be constant wasn't; ever since he'd received the new mark, a chasm had begun to grow between the two of them. Ever since that night, he'd kept his distance, keeping her at arm's distance, not perpetually following her as usual. No more long talks, no more meals together courtesy of kind house-elf catering. Hell, she'd slept alone for the first time in months since that one.

She was afraid everything had changed completely.

"Des, love, don't worry about it. He's probably just being grumpy; he wouldn't be Severus Snape if he was cheerful all the time, you know."

Sighing at her big brother. "It's beyond that. It's as if he's trying to push me away. Why? Why now?" Tears fighting to fall. "I thought this was behind us."

A long, deep silence. "Des, the past is behind you both. This isn't the past coming back to haunt you."

Choking on a strangled cry. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because the man would kill or die for you. Without hesitation." Sad eyes staring from flames. "He loves you, Des. More than I ever thought possible from someone like him. He hates himself for deciding to go along with this, because he knows it's breaking your heart. He made that clear that night. He could be pushing you away to spare you."

"Spare me what?"

"More heartache. Des, if things go badly, none of us in the Order are safe, and the inner circle even less so. I think Severus may feel you've cried enough tears on his account."

She had enough to deal with as it was without this on top of things. What made him think he had a right to decide whether or not she'd cried enough tears? Hell, what made him think he needed to protect her? She wasn't fourteen anymore. Just because she didn't support this choice didn't mean she didn't understand the logic. At least this time, he made the choice with more forethought, more conscience, and more honor than the last time. And it wasn't her place to support it or not. It was her place to support the person who made it.

And as for protecting her, it was a joke. What made him think pushing her away would keep her safe, when she was as involved in everything as he was. She would never know safety and security again in her life. Not from Voldemort. Not from her own guilt. Not from Sev's misplaced sense of duty. And certainly not from her future.

That fear weighed on her more than anything. Her future. Why did it have to be her?

It wasn't her grandfather's fault. She knew that. It hadn't been his decision to make. He was merely the bearer of the news. Not even the whole news, either; he could only tell her bits and pieces. She wouldn't know the rest until the Secret Keeper revealed it to her. The little she did know pressed on her shoulders immensely.

Wearing the Fire Mark might have made her safer in the long run.

In another room in the castle, her counterpart paced, his ire at the lackluster homework assignments the third years had turned in fueling his frustration with himself.

He missed her. He missed her smile, her voice, her eyes first thing in the morning. But he couldn't stand holding her in his arms, knowing he was only hurting her all over again. She deserved so much better in this world. She deserved happiness and laughter. Things he couldn't give her. He'd spent the whole school year lying to himself.

All he wanted was to spare her. Holding her that night, standing under trees he'd both loved and shunned, he realized how important she had become over the months. How important she'd always been. He'd loathed himself most of his life; his childhood had made sure of that. However, he'd never hated himself so much as he had that night, when he'd managed to shatter her fourteen year old heart. He spent years trying to convince himself it was nothing more than a silly childish crush, and that he was better rid of her.

Too bad he'd only been fooling himself. It had taken only the mere mention of her name to convince him to finally leave the path he'd begun walking at seventeen. The mere thought of her had been enough for him to agree to the insane idea of an old man who was weary with regret and loss. The smallest chance of rectifying the past had given him new life that day when Dumbledore told him she was coming back to Hogwarts.

The fear that had gone through him that day in the Potions classroom, when she swallowed that damned potion in front of him. The panic when Potter came to get him the night she'd gone after Malfoy. The abject horror on seeing her unconscious and barely breathing on the ground. All because of him and that damned choice he'd made one night, stupidly and rashly.

The fact that Desi had never been able to tell him about her parents. How she carried guilt about her own mistakes. Knowing full well she didn't support the most recent insane idea of her tired and overly-burdened grandfather. The implications that the Fire Mark carried with it. The phoenix and lightening bolt on his arm reminded him of twenty five lost years, while at the same time serving as an omen of more lost years to come.

He couldn't put her through it again.

He hated himself for being so cowardly.

"So, you're pushing Des away? Again?"

"Leave me alone, Lupin."

The voice in the fire not leaving. "Not until I either knock some sense into you or I get to finally bite you like you deserve. She doesn't need or want your nobility, Severus. Not right now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. There's something weighing on her, but she's not talking about it. But you've got her upset, worried she did something wrong."

Thunder in his voice. "But she didn't!"

"How is she supposed to know that if you're trying to drive her away?"

"I'm trying to protect her, damn it!"

"Are you really this inept with women? Des doesn't want you to protect her, Severus. She doesn't want safe, she doesn't want secure, and she doesn't want happiness and light. For some inexplicable reason, she wants you. And pushing her away because you're worried about a fate that may never come is not what she needs right now. She needs to be whole, to know that the past is dead and resolved, and she needs you. I swear to Merlin, if you don't snap out of your self- pity and misplaced sense of duty and take care of my little sister, I will personally end your suffering, and to hell with the consequences."

She was destined for only more pain, more tears, more hurt. He didn't want that for her. He sure as hell didn't want to be the cause. She deserved so much better. So much more. She deserved a life filled with only the best. He couldn't offer that.

However, it wasn't his choice to make. It was hers. He knew he should walk down the hallway to her classroom and tell her. He knew he should tell her everything he felt and let her make the final decision. He knew he should let her hear his thoughts.

Instead, he stayed in his office, glaring at the rolls of parchment littering his desk.

He didn't know what to say anymore, let alone how to say it.

In yet another room in the castle, an old man looked around his office, picking out a book here, placing an object on a shelf there, watched by a phoenix and conversing with a shabby looking hat.

"I will miss you when I leave, my old friend."

"And I as well, Dumbledore." The hat's voice resonated in genuine respect and admiration. "If I may be completely honest, you have been one of the greatest headmasters it has been my privilege to counsel."

Albus Dumbledore actually bowed in the hat's direction, wondering if he could see the action, as he gathered the few personal affects he was taking with him. Many of the objects littering the room were left over from previous headmasters, but some items were precious to him, and even though he was leaving the school, he wanted them nearby.

Where he was going, few items could travel with him.

The hat became curious. "Will you tell them, Dumbledore? The students? The truth, I mean."

Dumbledore's eyes filled suddenly with tears. The students. He would miss them. Their wide-eyed wonder. Their insatiable curiosity. Their brutal honesty and blunt objectivity. The students of Hogwarts had been his life for decades.

How could he tell them the truth?

"No, old friend. Allow them to think I am merely retiring. They need not know the truth. They don't need to know I'm fleeing Hogwarts rather than leaving of my own free will." As he spoke the words, Fawkes left his perch to be at the side of the man he'd known for years, offering a sympathetic note of phoenix song and companionship, as he'd done on so many other occasions.

"And Desdemona? What does the heiress know?"

A lone tear streaked from his blue eyes to land in his white tangled beard. Having Desdemona back had been a precious gift. Having to let her go again would rip him apart, but it was necessary. He needed to leave the school; for the students, for the Order, and for his only grandchild. "She knows only that she is the heiress. She will know the truth soon enough. It is better for her to learn the truth, all of it, on her own. She doesn't need an old man's feelings to color her perceptions."

"A wise decision. From you, I would have expected no less."

No small words of praise from the Sorting Hat, who had known headmasters of the school for a thousand years. Dumbledore was touched more deeply than he could ever let the hat know.

In London, another man sat alone, in dark solitude and isolation, old memories running through his mind.

"Why are you picking on him?"

"Des, stay out of it. It dates back to our first year here, which is years ago already. Besides, he deserves some of it. Now, let's go over this chapter..."

The slam of the heavy Transfiguration book. "You are going to stop, Remus John Lupin. And you're going to stop now."

"Des, what's it to you?"

"He's my friend, Remus. Same as you. And if the two of you don't cut it out, I will lock you both in the Vanishing Cabinet in the fourth floor west corridor and not tell Papa what I've done for three whole weeks."

"Desdemona, you wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Remus."

The glare across the desk showing her sincerity.

"Why, Des? Of all the people in this school, why is he your friend?"

"I like making friends with weird people. Explains why I'm friends with you. Besides, you spend so much time teasing him that you never thought to get to know him."

"Oh, really. Ok, wise one, what do you know?"

"He's smart. Brilliant, almost. And I should recognize brilliance, considering my grandfather is the most brilliant man alive right now. What you take for arrogance is really his insecurity. I know he hates himself as much as you hate him. I know he envies you and your friends more than he'll ever admit. I know that he has never had a real friend before I came along. Everyone in his life either wants to hurt him or use him, and it's wrong. And I know that, deep down, he's not as completely detestable as you and your cronies have convinced yourselves he is. So there."

Complete shock overtaking him.

"Alright, Des. If I promise to stop, will that make you happy?"

"Maybe. We'll see."

He still didn't know what possessed him to confront Snape after Des had floo'd him, frustrated to the point of tears. All he knew was that she was upset, conflicted, and unhappy, and the cause of all her unhappiness wasn't going to do anything about it because he lacked the common sense required to do so. If that man possessed an ounce of cognitive ability when it came to dealing with relationships, his little sister would never have left Slytherin. Would never have lived with the Order. Would never have been forced into hiding in America.

A world of things would never have happened.

"Remus? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

A pain sharp in his heart. "Des, there was an incident at the Ministry. You-know-who lured Harry there. There was a fight..."

"And? Papa?! Is he alright?"

"He is, Des. But..."

"But what, Remus? What the hell happened?"

"It's Sirius, Des. We lost him."

Catching his little sister as her knees gave out under her.

Feeling her shaking in his arms. Hearing her sobs begin.

Knowing just how much she mourned. Knowing the secret Sirius had accidentally shared one night while in his cups. Knowing he could never let her know he knew.

Mourning the loss of a man who was like a brother to him. A friend who he'd lost once, and only recently found again.

Grateful to have someone to share the pain with.

Sirius had been one of the Order members Dumbledore had asked him to serve as a discrete bodyguard for Desdemona when she was not in school. He knew Des trusted Sirius and Remus, and wouldn't suspect them of keeping her company on someone's orders. But Dumbledore never knew how close the two grew in the little time they spent together. Few people did. That had been Sirius' doing; he rarely made friends, preferring casual acquaintances. To let others know he befriended Desdemona Dumbledore would have caused endless talk and speculation, not to mention awkward Order meetings and assignments. Better to keep some things quiet.

Dumbledore had wanted to send her an owl with the news. In the end, he'd asked Dumbledore to let him tell her personally. It was, after all, the least he could do for her.

It wasn't the first time he'd held her as she cried her heart out. And he was hell-bent on ensuring he didn't have to do so again any time soon.

It was, after all was said and done, the reason he'd decided to confront Severus moments ago.