Disclaimer: Characters and settings not mine; the story is.

Note: The bulk of this story retells the end of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, portions of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and the beginning of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince from Severus Snape's point of view. I have not incorporated any dialogue from these novels, and any similarities in phrasing are entirely unintentional. Also, please note this is a sequel to "Nor All, That Glisters, Gold" and "The Milk of Paradise."

A portion of Part II has been edited for content from the story posted elsewhere.

Folly to Be Wise

Prologue

3 August 1980

It was just past midday, but the pub was dimly lit. Few windows looked out on the street; those that did were shadowed, letting little light in. A few sconces on the walls had battled valiantly, but were ultimately overcome by the room's determination remain dark; half had burnt out in resignation. The rest produced vague pools of light. The common room itself held an array of small round tables with white marble tops and black iron bases. Empty oak chairs clustered around them, the wood dark with age and use. Empty barstools stood in front of the tall counter; a row of taps was barely visible over it. There was the faint, but easily discernable, smell of goats.

A thin-faced man with white hair stood behind the counter. He wore a dingy green apron. He wiped at the dark wood bartop with a rag that might once have been white. Now, its edges were frayed, and the cloth was a dingy gray. The barman's narrowed eyes were focused on the room's only other inhabitant.

A young man sat with his back in the far corner. The corner was one of the darkest areas in the common room. His pale skin cut through the shadows; his face and hands stood out, skeleton-white, against the black of his eyes, robes, and hair. His nose was large, a prominent beak dominating his thin face. He was hunched over the table. His arms were outstretched across the table surface; his sleeves revealed his arms to a few inches above his wrists. His bony fingers were tightly laced, his elbows in tight against his sides.

He shifted in his chair. Every few minutes, his eyes twitched from their fixed stare at the door, taking in the barman, then shifted back to the door. After each glance, the barman paused for a few moments in his wiping of the counter.

Movement came at the door. The barman set down the cloth, turned to look. The young man jumped in his chair before settling back in place, fingers tightening against each other.

A man pushed the heavy door open, then stepped in, letting it fall closed behind him. His white hair hung down long around his shoulders, and his beard hung to mid-chest. He wore red velvet robes that brushed against the pitted plank floor as he walked. There was a faint glint of light off his spectacles as he shot a glance at the barman, who gave a slight nod in reply.

The young man shuddered in place, eyes darting back and forth between the other two men.

The bearded man walked across the common room until he reached the corner table. He grabbed a chair, dragged it across the floor with a painful shriek, then sat. He set his elbows easily on the table.

The young man's clenched fingers eased momentarily, then grabbed tighter than before.

The barman went back to wiping the bartop.

The bearded man broke the silence, voice quiet. "Well, Mr Snape."

The young man's eyes snapped closed for a moment, then opened again. He cleared his throat, licked his lips, then cleared it again. His voice came out as little above a whisper. "Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore blinked slowly. "Your note indicated you wished to speak to me."

Snape shifted in his chair. "Yes-- I--" He cleared his throat again. "May I, here?"

Dumbledore turned his head left, right, and center, pausing pointedly in each position. "We are the only three here. You have already made the acquaintance of my brother Aberforth, I believe."

Snape's head twisted towared the barman. His face flitted through a series of expressions in a bare few seconds, then assumed a forced-looking indifference. "Yes," he said, "we've met."

The barman's mouth twitched. "Interesting to see you again, Snape," the barman said.

Snape nodded, the motion jerky. He turned back to Dumbledore. His fingers clenched tight together, knuckles very white, even against pale skin. "I applied at Hogwarts last year."

There was no warmth in Dumbledore's response. "And I refused your application, as I did this year."

"Yes." Snape licked his lips, shifting in his chair again. His clenched hands fell apart; he laid them flat against the tabletop. "You know I overheard the prophecy."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, arms still laying loose before him. His tone was light, conversational. "Which, as I assume you know, is the cause of your rejected application. Not that I think either you or Voldemort expected me to accept, Mr Snape. He did send you here, did he not?"

Snape nodded. "Yes."

Dumbledore's head shook slowly from side to side. "Then, since we're speaking plainly: I've no interest in harboring a Death Eater and a spy."

Snape shook his head. His right hand lifted, reaching out toward Dumbledore. "I'm offering to be your spy." He looked down, seemed to see his outstretched hand, dropped it. He laid it flat against the tabletop once more.

The barman froze in place, eyes locked on the pair in the corner.

Dumbledore's forearms pivoted up; he steepled his fingers before his lips. His eyes narrowed. He spoke with slow consideration. "Are you indeed? Why might you think I would be interested in a spy? Should you not be offering your services to the Ministry?"

Snape shook his head, hard. He jerked his arms back, crossed them over his chest. He gave a bitter laugh. "Let's not pretend. The price is too high. I know the Dark Lord has agents at the Ministry. Some I know personally, some I do not. The Dark Lord has no fear of the Ministry. They will do nothing, and they cannot protect me. I know about you and your 'Order of the Phoenix.' You can. Are you interested in my information?" Snape's tone was firm, but his body shook.

The barman seemed to realise he was staring. He looked down at his right hand, still clutching the cloth. His mouth twisted. He started wiping at the bartop once more.

Dumbledore tapped his lips with his steepled fingers. "And your price?"

Snape's laugh was a single humorless snort. "Place me at Hogwarts-- your word on it. They will kill me."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. His tone changed from considering to regretful. "I cannot; not this year." He made a move to rise.

Snape flinched. His response came quickly, words tripping over one another. "Next year? Please."

Dumbledore settled back in his chair. His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Why would you do this?"

Snape looked away. His arms uncrossed. His right hand rubbed back and forth against the edge of the tabletop. It stilled. He lifted his chin, turned his head back, and looked straight at Dumbledore. "I told the Dark Lord what I heard, last year-- the child, the seventh month, the defeat of the Dark Lord." Snape drew in a breath, continued. "James Potter's child was born three days ago."

Dumbledore's eyes closed. He let out a faint sigh. "I see. Please go on."

Snape's voice was bitter. "I don't like Potter, and I don't like his Mudblood wife. But I don't want either of them dead. I owe Potter a life debt."

Dumbledore had flinched at the word "Mudblood." There was a thread of anger in his response. "Do you expect me to believe you would take such a drastic step for James Potter, Mr Snape? You were hardly friends. As I recall, you despised each other."

Snape clutched the edge of the tabletop. "I don't want him dead." It was said with too much force.

"It might not refer to Potter's child, Mr Snape. If Voldemort finds another target, your life debt would seem to be of little use to me." Dumbledore shook his head again. His right eyebrow lifted. "You are a very skilled Occlumens, Mr Snape. I'm impressed. I cannot read you. I dare not risk so much for someone I cannot trust. No, Mr Snape, I think not." This time, Dumbledore did rise from his chair. He had half-turned before Snape spoke again.

"I will take the Unbreakable Vow. Anything you want. Please."

Dumbledore turned back, stood looking down at Snape. Two faint creases appeared between his brows. "The Unbreakable Vow?" he repeated

"Yes." Snape sighed. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The barman had dropped the cloth on the bartop. He crossed his arms and stood, staring at Snape. Snape's face was slack.

For a long time, Dumbledore looked wordlessly down at Snape. The barman's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. "What will you swear?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape's voice was hollow. "What do you want me to swear?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Loyalty, to me. Your word to defend the child-- whomever it might be. Will you swear it?"

"Of course." Snape sounded dismissive, but he sat up in his chair. His eyes opened, looking up at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's lips parted. He sighed. "This is a high price to pay. I ask you again. Why? Most are not so eager for a teaching position at Hogwarts. I see very little gain in this for you."

Snape looked away. Two spots of red colour rose in his cheeks, starkly visible against the sickly pale skin.

Dumbledore sighed again. "I already knew you were sleeping with Sirius Black, Mr Snape. Are you passing information on him?"

The barman's lips pursed. He looked down at the bartop.

The colour drained out of Snape's face, leaving him white as death. His mouth twitched, and he nodded, then shook his head hard. The ends of his black hair whipped against his cheeks. "Yes-- no. Only at the beginning-- the Dark Lord wanted to know about Regulus."

Dumbledore's hand reached out to the back of the chair he had vacated. He slid it back and forth along the top of the chair. "I'd noticed Sirius seemed happier."

Snape laughed; the sound contained no mirth. "It doesn't matter now."

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "No. It doesn't."

Snape swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his neck. He looked down; his hand rubbed at the edge of the tabletop once more. "I couldn't do it, you understand. I can't help the Dark Lord with this."

"No. You couldn't." Dumbledore sighed. His hand stilled, gripped the back of the chair. "I will accept your vow, Mr Snape. Aberforth will serve as our Bonder." Snape nodded jerkily, still not looking up. "Then, Mr Snape, you will tell me everything you have done for Voldemort in the past few years."

"Yes, sir."

The barman moved around the bar and to the table.