The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 28

Moody drummed his fingers on the table top and considered the Pensieve. So if he really concentrated on the belief that he had already been through all the memories of the demon, he would enter the Pensieve after the last of them, would he?

But supposing he failed to believe strongly enough? He glanced across at his patient. Snape lay deeply asleep, his breathing just audible. If Moody fell foul of the demon again, he sincerely doubted that Snape would be able to save him a second time.

Then again… supposing he tried going in there focused on something else? What he really wanted to know was what had happened on the night of Saturday 15th May, 1982. If he entered the Pensieve with the sincere conviction that he had seen everything up to that memory… would the Pensieve oblige him by taking him straight there?

Moody chewed his lip thoughtfully, a gleam in his normal eye. It had to be worth a try, didn't it?

Harry shuffled through the rest of the parchment. After the first sheet with Moody's report of what he had found, the rest comprised several lists and inventories: the Longbottoms' injuries, the Ministry documents Mrs Longbottom appeared to have been working on at home (and which had not been taken), the damage to the house.

That covered several sheets of parchment. Whatever the Lestranges had been looking for, it seemed they had not found it; it appeared that there wasn't a room, cupboard or box they hadn't torn to pieces in their search. However, nowhere in the report was there any indication of what it was they had been after.

And finally the description of that room of horror. Harry skimmed down it, morbid fascination pulling him on, squeamishness keeping him from lingering over passages listing dismembered body parts.

When there was nothing left to read, he sat for a while and let his mind drift. Snape's book had mentioned that strong emotion could empty the mind, but Harry hadn't considered the effect of horror. Hadn't known about anything so bluntly horrifying before.

He pulled the book into his lap, wanting to find something, anything, to occupy his brain so it would stop picturing what he had just read. Picking up the translator, he opened the book and found himself back at the page he had been on before, when he had decided to experiment and ended up startling Lupin downstairs in the kitchen.

Ah, yes, this was what he need to take his mind off things. How to turn oneself invisible without the aid of a cloak. Harry forced away the images of blood and began to read.

Moody's normal eye narrowed as he concentrated, wand hovering above the Pensieve. Glimpses of earlier memories, ones he had already seen, flitted across its misty surface. He was beginning to recognise a major obstacle: he was trying to find a memory of which he had no personal experience. And because he had never personally experienced it, he had no way of finding it. All he had managed to establish was that it was not the last memory in here.

Finally he sighed and leaned back in his chair. The memory of Snape confessing all to Frank and Albus had come before the demon. If Snape's memories were filed in here thematically, why wasn't the attack in with that? It would have made sense if all memories relating to the Longbottoms were together.

Unless it wasn't in there. Perhaps the attack on the Longbottoms wasn't Snape's idea of a bad memory?

Moody felt his concentration disintegrate. He realised, better than others knew, that he was a bit obsessed and paranoid. But was he really letting his own feelings run away with him that badly? If Snape felt any remorse for anything, if he really had abandoned Voldemort and risked his life rather than kill a child, would not the attack on Alice be a memory as painful to him as it was to Moody? Alice had been pregnant, and the attack had killed her unborn child. Moody swallowed. If only he had got there sooner…

He gazed down at the surface of the Pensieve, and thought of Alice. Lovely Alice. She filled his mind suddenly, the memory bright and clear – and instantly her image appeared below him in the Pensieve. Long, thick blonde hair, big blue eyes in that china doll face, rosebud lips parted in a sweet smile. Moody caught his breath as she smiled up at him, and let the tip of his wand dip the surface almost without realising. There was a dizzying rush, then he was standing in front of her.

'I love you,' she said softly. 'By my soul, I love you more than I have ever loved my husband.'

Harry stood in front of the mirrored wardrobe door, and concentrated. It was difficult to tell if the spell had worked unless he watched himself actually fade, but with practise he was beginning to notice subtle differences in the way the world looked when he was invisible.

Lupin thought he had Disapparated. Maybe he should have told him the truth; but did it really matter? This, according to the book, was hardly magic. It didn't require a wand. Like Occlumency, it only needed a high level of mental discipline. Theoretically, muggles could do this. But only for the magically gifted would this level of success be possible.

If Lupin had stayed to read, he would have found out for himself anyway. But he had left suddenly to go and see Dumbledore and the others down in the kitchen.

Harry gave a small smile. Perhaps he would go and join them. This time, however, he would be careful not to bump into anything and let anyone know he was there.

Moody, dumbstruck, moved aside and looked around. He recognised the attic bedroom. The summer sun was beginning to set, the soft golden light playing across half the dormer window and into Alice's face as she leaned back against the frame. In the dark shadow of the other half stood Snape, his pale face masked by long fronds of hair. The black eyes no longer looked cold or distant; they held a mixture of hope, fear, longing.

'How?' he whispered. 'How can you possibly want me when you have Frank?'

Alice gave a rueful smile, glancing outside; and Moody thought for a moment he saw pain in her eyes.

'I love Frank,' she replied quietly. 'I thought I was in love with him. He's gorgeous. He's kind, loving, intelligent…' She broke off, shaking her head. 'I wish I could say that it's just the strain of the war, or something… but it's not.'

She looked back at Snape, meeting his eyes, suddenly vulnerable. 'I wouldn't hurt him for the world. But the truth is that my love for him isn't as strong as I thought it was. Maybe if things were different, everything would have been… different. But now you're here in my life… and what I feel for you is like nothing I've ever felt for anyone. I realise now that I am in love, really in love, for the first time in my life. It doesn't affect the way I feel for Frank. I still love him, as much as I ever did. But … it's nothing next to what I feel for you.'

She came towards him, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch his face, his hair. He flinched slightly at that first touch, and the look in his eyes was raw. She leaned up, pulling him down into a gentle kiss. He moaned softly, sliding his hands around her waist…

… and Moody backed away, bewildered and uncomprehending.

Alice had an affair with Snape! It wasn't possible! She and Frank were happy… they were…

He gazed blankly at the two of them as they kissed, deeper, harder, hands roaming each other with building urgency, moving towards the bed… He turned away, feeling again the disorientation caused by overwhelming emotion in a memory, and wondered, tangentially, why Snape had considered this a bad memory…

He tried to ignore what was happening behind him by concentrating on what he knew about Alice; or what he had been so sure he'd known, up until about five minutes ago.

That she and Frank had been through a bit of a rough patch, he knew. It hadn't entirely surprised him; some forward-thinking wizards had no problem with their wives pursuing their own careers, and Frank had been one of them. But when their child had been born, at the height of Voldemort's power, Frank's liberalism had receded sharply.

He wanted Alice to stay at home with the baby. It would be safer, he said; she would be there to protect him; there was a better chance for them both if she was no longer on active service.

Alice had disagreed. Frank's parents were more than willing, and very capable, of looking after their grandson while she went back to work. The Ministry couldn't afford to lose a fully trained Auror at a time like this. And they were both so well known that hiding at home was no defence at all.

Moody had suggested the compromise. Alice would stay at home with her baby, but while she was there she could sift the intelligence reports and come up with new lines of enquiry. It was a valuable task which would free up some more Aurors for frontline work while keeping her out of immediate danger.

It had been agreed, and for almost a year it had worked satisfactorily. And then it had suddenly become very successful, as Alice started turning out some very high quality information. Moody fumed. That would have been when dear Mr Snape had suddenly popped up and been harnessed into service by Dumbledore.

So, while Frank had been risking his life for the Ministry, Alice had been at home receiving… considerably more than just an insight into Voldemort's inner circle. How the hell had this happened! How could she possibly want that scrawny, ugly, pompous little…

He became aware that the sounds behind him had taken on the shape of conversation. That was quick, he thought sourly.

Snape and Alice lay wrapped in each others' arms under thin covers. Moody watched the long narrow fingers as they slid absently though the thick, flaxen hair, and quietly seethed. Alice had her eyes closed, a small, peaceful smile playing on her lips as she rested her head on Snape's chest. Snape, however, was gazing into space with a troubled look in his eyes.

'I love you,' he whispered. Moody thought he could hear a "but" somewhere in that sentence.

'Mmmm,' murmured Alice in a contented voice.

'This is dangerous,' Snape said softly. Alice opened her eyes and looked up at him.

'Everything is dangerous right now, sweetheart,' she said, caressing his arm.

'No. What we're doing… we're going too fast. They're going to get suspicious if we're not careful.'

Alice rolled over so she was sitting on him, staring down into his face with an expression Moody couldn't quite make out. He suddenly realised the light had moved. It was blazing through the fanlight on the other side of the ceiling, when only moments before it had been sending its last rays slanting through the dormer window.

Snape's face relaxed, and he gently stroked his fingertips up Alice's spine. She sucked in a husky breath, arching her back and closing her eyes. She looked like a beautiful sculpture, picked out in profile by a bright sun in a room which was probably always in shadow.

'We can't tell Frank, can we?' whispered Snape.

Alice relaxed, and looked down at him with wry smile; was it Moody's imagination, or did the blue eyes glisten for a moment?

'No,' she replied softly. 'I hardly see him now anyway. We had so many arguments; now we just avoid each other most of the time. But what would be the point of telling him yet? We can't be together. Not until we've got all of them. The Lestranges are still out there somewhere; they're the worst. And I think there may be a traitor in our department.'

Snape's face suddenly went tight. 'Any idea who?'

She shook her head. 'No. But there's little inconsistencies in some of the paperwork. It's difficult to see until you start looking at everything together. But there's a pattern starting to come out, going back over a year.

Snape pushed himself up on an elbow, his other hand tightening on Alice's hip; Moody caught a glimpse of the Dark Mark

'You will be careful, won't you?' he said, tension in his voice. 'You're so good at what you do. If there is someone, they've got to know you're going to find them.'

Alice smiled, and there seemed a trace of hopelessness in her eyes. 'Careful?' she whispered. 'What difference does it make? Lily was careful.' Her mouth twisted suddenly, and Snape sat up, hugging her tightly as she began to cry, his eyes filled with pain. For a moment she clung to him, helpless with grief, then with an effort she pulled away, rubbing away the tears.

'We've got to do all we can, as fast as we can, to put them all in Azkaban,' she said, and her voice was suddenly harsh. She ran her fingers into Snape's hair and took a hold that made him gasp. 'Do you understand, Severus? There's no point being careful, we're never going to be free until they're all gone.'

Then she sank her mouth onto his in a vicious kiss.

Moody had seen enough. He sat back with a ragged breath, staring without seeing the now blank surface of the Pensieve.

Most of Snape's memories of Alice seemed to involve them shagging each others' brains out. But the recollections were all fused together into one long memory which, judging by the snatches of conversation, covered days, if not months.

He shook his head slowly, as if trying to dislodge this new, unwelcome information. Everything he believed about Alice was shattered; not only a revelation about her, but about himself. Had he really believed her so pure, so pristine? Had he idealised her in the light of her terrible fate? And was he the kind of person who needed those he loved to be pure, to be what he wanted them to be, in order to love them?

Moody centred on the question for a moment, considering it from another perspective. Was he incapable of loving someone if he didn't see them as justified in some way? He glanced across at Snape for a moment. He sighed. He didn't really have time right now for thinking about his own psychological hang-ups.

Put the emotion away, Alastor, you need all your faculties. What was she telling Snape? … someone else in our department… going back over a year…

Someone who knew how good she was and that she would find them.

Moody took some deep breaths. He needed to go back into the Pensieve and see what else Snape and Alice had talked about. He still couldn't grasp that they had been intimate. But his logical sense, still fighting to restore his mental peace, brought back an understanding that in certain circumstances, sometimes people did form unsuitable relationships. Associations based entirely on carnality were not an uncommon way of dealing with the kind of fear and horror that had been almost a way of life back then. Nothing like sex for true mental oblivion. But Alice…?

He got up to stretch himself a bit after spending so long hunched over the Pensieve, and went to look at his patient.

All the… action? … had taken place in the attic room he'd seen in Snape's last memory of his father. He sniffed primly. At least they'd had the decency not to do it in Frank's bed.

He began preparing the herbs he needed for another infusion of vitalis with shaky hands, mashing them slightly too hard in the mortar. Snape shifted slightly. Dark eyelashes fluttered against the chalky skin, as if he was fighting his way back to consciousness. Moody's thin mouth twisted into a small, nasty smile.

Snape blinked at the ceiling, a dazed expression in his eyes. Moody began mixing the crushed herbs into a thin solution in a small metal jug, and looked down at him.

'How are we feeling today then, Mr Snape?' he enquired solicitously. Snape gave him a suspicious look. Moody smiled nastily.

'Very educational, some of your memories. I had to take a break. Lucky for me you were able to tell me how to get out when I wanted to. Well, lucky for you too, since you need feeding every three or four hours. You're a bit early for your next dose, but there's clearly still quite a bit for me to get through, so I thought it prudent to dose you up before I start.'

Snape said nothing, but his brow furrowed slightly. Moody put the jug on the bedside table, and reached into a box under it.

'Now you've been unconscious every time we've done this before, so you won't know what to expect. But let me assure you, that while it is a bit invasive, for people as severely injured and weakened such as yourself, it's the most effective method, and perfectly safe.'

He pulled out a funnel, a rubber tube, and a metal pipe six inches long. Snape's eyes widened.

'No,' he whispered weakly, 'that's not necessary, I can swallow…'

Moody leaned over him, his normal eye glinting furiously. 'You had Frank's wife, you depraved little bastard. What was she to you, some sort of bonus? You'd given up torture and murder and thought you'd try a different way of destroying people's lives?'

Snape blinked at him, his eyes suddenly unfocused and empty. Moody seized the blankets and yanked them down to his ankles in one sharp movement, then slid his arms under the wasted body and flipped him onto his stomach.

Snape flailed weakly at him, momentarily suffocated by the pillow before Moody wrenched it away. His head dropped to the mattress and Moody heard his teeth jar with the impact. He didn't care. He suddenly badly wanted to make Snape suffer, and the anger was pounding in his head so hard he almost didn't hear him speak.

'It was your fault.'

Moody froze, and his blood ran cold. He turned to look at him. Snape's head was twisted awkwardly on one side, and he was glaring up with a savage look of fury as intense as anything Moody was feeling at that moment.

'Alice and Frank,' Snape hissed. 'You didn't come. Alice said you had alarms which would let you know if anyone got inside their house. But you didn't come until it was too late. You stupid, useless old man.'

Moody stared back, and wanted to hit him. Wanted to punch him in the mouth as hard as he could. His breathing came fast and heavy as he struggled to push down his anger, and Snape glared back up at him, his good hand clenching and unclenching.

Moody closed his eyes and with a huge mental effort, clawed back his self-control. He turned away and focused on the process of administering the vitalis. But he felt only a small sense of satisfaction at the sound of Snape's strangulated yelp when he inserted the cold, hard metal pipe.

Moody sat in front of the Pensieve, glaring into its depths. Behind him, Snape lay sniffling and trembling on his back, the covers pulled to his chin, his good arm wrapped around his face. Moody ignored him.

He recognised the truth in Snape's accusation. The alarms had gone off far too late, and he had never been able to work out why. The shock of failing Alice and Frank had been the beginning of the end for his career as an Auror. Nobody blamed him, but he blamed himself. When the last of those wanted by the Ministry for their horrific attack had been tried and sentenced, Moody had retired.

Knowing Snape had never stood trial had been a thorn in Moody's side ever since. He had carried the memory of the boy's burning look of hatred ever since, convinced he had been as deeply involved as the Lestranges and Crouch. And now, fourteen years later… He shook his head again. The revelations of the Pensieve had derailed his theories and convictions utterly.

He hated Snape for what happened to Frank and Alice. And Snape hated him, for exactly the same reason. He ran through his own memories again: seeing the thick blood oozing like tar under the door; blasting it into non-existence to get in, and seeing… Snape holding the baby, his wand pointing at the child's head, glaring at Moody with indescribable hatred…

… because he hadn't saved them.

Moody turned his head towards the window without seeing it, frowning. Snape hadn't been there. He had arrived after the attack, but before Moody.

Snape had been in love with Alice. The baby she had lost in the attack… had been his, not Frank's.

And Moody hadn't saved them.

Moody swallowed, took some deep breaths. He picked up his wand and concentrated on the Pensieve. Concentrated on believing he had seen all the memories it contained of Alice and Severus making love.

The surface cleared, and Moody recognised the front door of number eighteen, Firkin Lane. He lowered his wand and entered Snape's memory of Saturday 15th May 1982.

Snape gazed at the door. It stood slightly ajar, a wedge of darkness in the orange light of the street lamp. He drew his black cloak more tightly around himself, and Moody saw that his left hand was tightly wrapped in a small white towel, a spreading stain of red just visible.

He reached his uninjured hand towards the door, then hesitated. For a moment he seemed frozen – then the colours began to change, taking on an odd quality, as if being viewed through yellow glass. He took a step forward – and his hand disappeared into the surface of the door. Moody followed closely, and watched in wonder as they passed through the heavy wooden door, through layers of different coloured paint, then wood grain, more paint… then out into the Longbottoms' hall.

The house looked just as Moody remembered it. The doors to the sitting room, dining room and kitchen stood open, the rooms beyond wrecked. Snape gazed around, his young face a mask. He drifted towards the stairs, and Moody felt the emotion start to rise, pushing at him. He let himself fall back slightly, and followed as Snape moved steadily through the silent house, until he found himself facing the nursery.

Snape gazed into the devastated room, and Moody felt the emotion build as he watched the mask begin to slip. The black eyes widened as they took in the smashed furniture, and he lurched forwards with a gasp at the sight of the overturned cot, the bloody towel falling unnoticed from his outstretched hands. Moody watched with a sombre expression as he pushed the cot upright, pulling apart the blankets, then feverishly began hunting through the wreckage until his shaking hands closed on something small and white.

For a moment, Snape knelt in the remains of the nursery in a silent paroxysm of grief, clutching the teddy bear in his bloody left hand. Then he surged to his feet, the colour rising his sallow face as a savage anger rose in his eyes. Moody followed him as he swept out and into the master bedroom.

No sign of anyone in here. Snape leaned on the door frame, his bleeding hand still clenched around the bear, and Moody watched his eyes narrow. All at once the scene changed. Everything was bleached of colour, then substance, until all Moody could see were outlines: all objects suddenly rendered transparent. It was a little like the view from his magical eye, except he could see colours and apparently Snape could not.

No sign of anyone in here either. Snape screwed up his eyes then opened them again, blinking rapidly. The scene returned to normal, and Moody noticed the yellowish tinge had also disappeared. Presumably that was Snape's ability to walk through walls gone as well, then.

Snape pushed himself away from the door and turned to face the last room of the house, that terrible room at the end of the passage. The door stood open, and he stared at it for a long time. Then he took a ragged breath and strode through it into the room beyond. Moody noted that there was no blood.

Alice lay under the window, gazing sightlessly upwards. Her infant son was sitting next to her, his podgy little hands bending her fingers around something. He made soft whimpering sounds as he did so, rocking slightly as he pushed at his mother's hand.

A tiny sound came from Snape. He swooped down to kneel beside them, and the little boy jumped up with a cry. He froze, shocked for a moment, then wailed and flung his arms around Snape's neck. Snape clutched the howling child to him, the teddy bear falling forgotten into the corner.

After a few moments, he shifted the little boy onto his left, oblivious of the blood he was smearing all over the child's clothes, and reached for Alice.

Alice blinked slowly, and Snape gave a gasp of relief. But Moody could see the damage was already done. The large blue eyes gazed vacantly into space, all signs of that wonderful mind gone forever. Her lovely blonde hair was turning white as he watched, and clumps of it had fallen out. Snape gave choking sob as his eyes scanned her body and saw the blood staining the skirt of her robes.

'… in here… I heard the child, I'm sure of it…'

Snape's head jerked up at the sound of voices, and the savage look returned to his eyes. Without taking his eyes off the door, he reached into his sleeve and withdrew his wand. He rose slowly, still holding the hysterical toddler, and aimed his wand at the child's head.

'Imperio,' he hissed.

The child's distraught cries subsided, a dazed look appearing in his eyes. Snape hefted him into a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm, and whispered in a soft, soothing voice:

'You are not afraid. Your mummy and daddy are asleep, and they are perfectly all right. They love you, very, very much. You will go to sleep and have lovely dreams.'

The little boy relaxed, put his thumb in his mouth and sank his head onto Snape's shoulder. Snape turned to face the door, an ugly expression on his face, wand ready. The door opened.

Two large, rough-looking men Moody had never seen before came in. Behind them, robes billowing, was a wizard who looked vaguely familiar. Tall, broad-shouldered, small blue eyes in a squarish face, and long, flowing silver hair and beard. He looked at Snape, and raised an eyebrow.

'Good morning, Severus,' he said mildly. Snape said nothing, the look in his eyes lethal. The man gave a thin smile.

'You're a little late. As you can see, we've finished with the Longbottoms. Sadly, they refused to tell us anything. Always possible that they really didn't know… but I doubt it. After all… here you are, aren't you?'

Snape took a slow breath, nostrils flaring. 'What do you mean?' he replied in a low, steady voice. 'What were you hoping they were going to say? I notice you haven't killed them. And you missed their son, didn't you? You couldn't have searched the house very carefully if a small child managed to escape you.'

The man chuckled, but there was a cold glint in his eyes. 'I was hoping they might divulge the identity of the one who was selling us out. But no. Impressive, really; other people have given way under much less encouragement than we gave them. The woman in particular took some breaking. And I knew there was something there she could tell us. But she held on until it was too late, far too late to save herself. She shielded you to the last, Severus.'

Snape's mouth suddenly twisted into a horrible, lopsided smile. 'So you know it's me, then, do you, Professor Lovelock? It's taken you long enough. Have you told the others yet, or are you waiting to make your big announcement and take all the glory yourself? Yes, that would be more your style, wouldn't it?'

Lovelock moved further into the room, flanked by the other two men. Snape backed away, wand held out in front of him, and they circled each other until Snape was standing in front of Frank.

'You know me, Severus. And I know you. Why shouldn't I take the glory of bringing you in? The others have no idea who our traitor is; why should I tell them and let them get you instead? No, this will be my pleasure. Expelliarmus!'

Snape's wand flew out of his hand and sailed into the shadows behind Frank. His eyes became wide, and Moody saw that faux-innocent, puppy-dog look fill them; he raised his empty right hand as if in supplication. Moody found himself back away towards the door, a sudden creeping premonition in his mind. Lovelock laughed joyously.

'Ah, Severus! You really are something, aren't you? If I didn't know better, I'd–'

A string of words in a language Moody didn't know came out in a guttural snarl, and for once, Snape's memory supplied no translation. They hit his senses like a rain of nails, sharp and painful, and he raised his arm defensively by reflex. When he lowered it, he saw exactly what he had expected to see.

The room seemed much bigger. It was still dark, but the shadows were fewer, because there were no longer any solid objects to deflect the orange light of the streetlamps outside. Snape, his hand still raised, glowered out of the darkness with a horrible look of triumph, and Moody shivered.

'Accio wand! Lumos!'

Snape's wand flew into his hand, the tip alight and filling the room with a low light. It was just enough for Moody to see clearly the images of Lovelock and his two henchmen visible in the opposite wall as if painted there.

But this wasn't like that earlier memory, when Snape had cast this spell in a transfiguration class at the age of eleven or twelve. Moody could just make out movement. Lovelock was frowning in surprise, and the two men looked as if they were shouting. Unlike the children in Snape's class, these three were completely aware.

Snape transferred his wand to his left hand, and raised his right, the fingers outstretched. Moody watched the narrow fingers flex, casting giant shadows on the ceiling. Snape's eyes narrowed, as if concentrating. Then, like a cat extending its claws, the fingernails suddenly lengthened.

Moody drew a sharp breath. Snape, an expression of pure evil on his face, flexed his talons, and… Moody looked away. There was a sharp scraping sound, the tearing of paper, the crumbling of brick…

… blood gushed out of the wall and rained down on Alice, then spread like oil across the carpet. Moody stared at the blood as it oozed towards the door, hardly hearing the words Snape used to restore the room.

Then there was a mighty crash, and the door behind him disintegrated. Moody moved out of the way, in time to see Snape move back to face whoever was coming in; to see his dishevelled younger self standing in the doorway, wand outstretched, nothing but his travelling cloak thrown over his nightshirt.

Snape raised his wand – then slowly pointed it at the child in his arms.

'Finite incantatem,' he whispered, his lips hardly moving. The toddler awoke with a start, saw his mother lying motionless and covered in blood, and began to wail. Moody watched himself stare at Snape, and remembered the utter revulsion he had felt on hearing the child cry. Watched Snape, from a perspective so different from the one he had back then that he could have been a different person, as the young wizard's eyes narrowed on the Auror with visceral rage and hatred.

'Put the wand down,' he breathed in a deadly voice. Moody watched the struggle in his own eyes at the words, remembered how helpless he had felt, and how sure that he was about to die as he slowly obeyed; and his utter surprise, which he'd hidden, when Snape had handed over the screaming child and Disapparated.

The vision of Moody holding the Longbottoms' baby dissolved, and Moody saw that they were now in a dense wood. Snape stood motionless, and for a moment Moody thought he was going to pass out. Slowly he sank to his knees, eyes unfocused and empty.

The memory faded into grey, and Moody found himself sitting at the table in front of the Pensieve.