Title: Ideals (a few months later)

Genre: Drama/Angst

Dedicated to: Krummi, who told me about a rather obvious typo that I missedcompletely.

Rating: PG-13.

Disclaimer: I claim the ideas and details that I brought to the party. The rest is somebody else's responsibility.

Authoress's note: This started off as a One-Shot thingy…but then I got these really nice reviews…and then I dragged my feet about it…and then, well…I feel like I have more to offer. Ok, this time it's a little longer. Just over one thousand words, according to MS Word. I think there is a format for these One-Shot POV things, a thousand words or something, but this really isn't my forte so, I'm trying, but, shrug.

Severus told me this would happen…

At some recent point in time, someone made a joke. And now we're all laughing…but I can't remember what I am supposed to be laughing about.

I. Lost. My. Focus.

The obvious answer is that the joke was made at the expense of someone from The Order- or the Ministry. In smaller groups, those who aren't present are usually targeted. With a group of this size, though, that would be dangerous; you can never be sure who is allied with whom.

They're still laughing. If I can't come up with an appropriate response before the laughter dies, then I will miss the chance to steal the spotlight. Which would mean a missed opportunity to assert myself over the whole lot of them.

None of my worry shows, of course. My inner thoughts are separate from the emotions that should accompany them. Later, when I am safe…

When I am safe I will feel all of the panic and fear that this lapse in attention generated. Right now I allow a slight, knife's edge of a smile to barely register on my face, while I stare into my brandy as though I were utterly bored.

Of course, when Severus told me that this would happen I paid attention. He has been a spy longer than I have been alive. So I followed his advice and made sure to comprise my 'inner circle' of just the right sort of people; a few who want as many table-scraps as they can get, a few who think they could rise above me, and one lowly toady who will repeat anything that others are laughing at or getting approval for.

I owe my getting through this 'friendly get-together' to that little boot-licker and his lack of originality.

As soon as the boldest of the other guests begin to make their elaborate departure manoeuvres, I announce that I am leaving and out manoeuvre them all. It also reinforces the fact that Power and Money give me status enough so I don't need to participate in their games.

Apparating to the small club where I have a late dinner reservation, for two, I begin my second task of the night.

She and I attended school together. And I still remember hearing a rumour that she had a crush on me when we were in sixth year. Could that have really only been two years ago… But its not safe to feel sickened at being ordered to use someone I remember as a 'teacher's pet', and I can't afford to feel used myself, even though the 'champion of the downtrodden' (as his own propaganda refers to him) has decided that my social status, intelligence and body are just tools for his cause.

We have a pleasant meal, with subdued tension. As we are leaving a minor spat is started and I leave her on the curb in front of the doorman and Blaise Zabini, who happened to also be exiting at that moment. She is now in the strategic position of being available for consolation from the man she has been ordered to gather information on. And because Blaise and I are rivals for the same position within The Brotherhood, he will try to keep her around so that he can gather information on me…

Did I really trade Ginny's love, for this? But I shut the emotions away before I can do more than think the question rhetorically. I'm not safe here.

I can hear Blaise offer her a drink before I am far enough away to have made a point of needing to walk a bit before disapparating. After all, I am supposed to be angry enough to break up with her tomorrow.

My own estate is warded against people apparating in on me, so the closest I can get is the front gate. I enter and ignore the grovelling House Elves that I pass as I make my way to my bedchamber. But I am not safe yet. I cannot allow my bitterness, anger, and weariness to catch up with me here. This place is all a part of the show. I bought it under the direction of The Order as soon as I had graduated; something immodestly large for a bachelor yet imposing and unwelcoming enough for the brooding, aloof persona that I have been assigned by Them. Fortunately, hiding my emotions at home is easy; I've done it all my life.

I wanted to escape the people who had tormented me as a child and I suppose that is at least a part of my motivation for joining the fight. I have the safety of familiar things like being used and abused by people who say they care about me, while covertly working against them, which I could never do as a child. But, if am to be really honest, there is another motivation even darker than my childhood angst.

Tossing a bit of floo powder into the fireplace I whisper a name.

Stepping into my fireplace and out of his, I am finally safe.

Severus greets me as he usually does; silently offering a glass of whisky and making eye contact before allowing me to decompress, at my own rate.

I swirl the gold-tinged liquid and watch it climb the side of my glass. He doesn't stare and he doesn't ask. Sometimes we don't speak at all, sometimes it's small talk and sometimes it's more. He knows what it's like trying to process dangerous emotions- hell he taught me how to survive it!

There is nothing sexual between us. I think I could have accepted that easier. It's the sort of thing I would have expected a Spy Master to use to control his Agents. But what he provides for me is something I am ashamed to discover that I needed.

And as the shame and fear and panic finally begin to seep out of me he takes the glass from my hand –I'm shaking– and he sets it aside.

I can't tell what is upsetting me so much; I didn't betray anyone today and I didn't have to watch anyone being tortured while pretending that I find it amusing. But I'm clinging to his robe like it's my sanity I'm holding onto. Begging him to tell me I'm still doing the right thing. He strokes my back and whispers things I can't hear over the throbbing in my head.

Am I just manipulatively crying to get this? Or am I crying because he has freed me to? Why did I have to hide this need for so long from everyone, from Ginny, even from myself? It's so simple, such a trivial thing. When I hurt, he gives me comfort.